Ainu Music, Poetry, and Dancing.
The music of each nation has certain characteristics of its own; and
though according to European ideas the music of what are called
barbarous peoples may sound in some sense excruciating, it always has a
certain occult charm, more especially to one who is able to forget his
former training, and teach himself to see, hear, and think in the same
way as the natives he is studying.
Undoubtedly we Westerns have brought music to a pitch of refinement that
no savage nation has even attempted to reach; but in my opinion we do
savages injustice when we call their music "unmitigated discord."
Barbarians like the Ainu do not indicate their rhythmical effects and
modulations by means of a musical notation; and harmony is of course
very defective with them, from our point of view. On the other hand, the
feeling and passion with which they chant their songs make them go
straight to the heart, if as a melody they are not always pleasing to
the cultivated Western ear.
An Ainu seldom sings for the mere pleasure of art as art, and it is only
when full of joy or "crazed with care" that he gives expression to his
feelings in music. Then he pours out his whole soul in that which to
him is melody beyond the power of words to compass.
After a hunt, a fishing expedition, a journey, or a misfortune, the Ainu
enters his hut and seats himself cross-legged on the ground. He then
holds out both hands with the palms together, and rubs them backwards
and forwards three or four times; after this he raises them, palms
upwards, to a level with his head, gracefully lowers them to his knees,
and then, raising them again, strokes his hair and beard. Again he
lowers his hands twice, thrice, or even more times, according to the
amount of respect to which the person saluted is entitled, the latter
following in every smallest detail the motions of his saluting friend.
When this complicated salutation has been performed separately before
each male member of the household, the new arrival relates the tale of
his good-or ill-luck; and if the events be of an unusual character the
story is chanted in a sort of sing-song which makes each note of joy or
lamentation vibrate in the heart of the listener. It is only in such
circumstances of stress of feeling that I ever heard the Ainu sing,
though sometimes women and young folks when alone, fishing, riding, or
travelling, sing out bits of their past lives as they remember this
scene or that event.
Ainu music is almost entirely vocal, and their singing has more the
character of the _recitative_ than of the _aria_ proper. Their songs are
always for _solo_; and during my stay among the hairy people I never
heard a concerted piece, nor even an air or a single voice with a chorus
for a number of voices; neither did I hear any songs performed by men
and women together, but invariably by men to other men, and by women to
other women. It seems to me that the reason why they have no choruses is
their strict etiquette, which forbids them to interrupt a speaker till
he has finished his narrative; and as their songs are only narratives
which the musical sing-song makes more impressive, it seems more than
probable that the reason I have given is the right one. If a singer
during his narrative stops, and is silent for a minute or two, another
takes up the "lost chord" in exactly the same intonation of voice,
asking a question or singing words of comfort, anger, or scorn, as the
case may be; but no Ainu ever joins in the song before the person
singing has stopped.
The hairy people are fond, not only of their own, but of all music, and
their ear is acute enough to hit a tone or note when sung to them, and
even to remember with more or less accuracy a short air after they have
heard it two or three times. Many who have come in contact with the
Japanese have learned from them songs of a totally different character
from their own. Of my personal experience I can speak of a boy who,
while I was sketching, heard me sing a few bars of the _Trovatore_. An
hour or two later I heard him repeat this passage, certainly with an
Ainu _libretto_, and somewhat Ainuized; but for all that he had managed
to catch the melody, which showed that the lad must have had some
musical instinct as well as a good musical memory.
[Illustration: SIDE VIEW OF THE "MUKKO."]
[Illustration: A "MUKKO," OR MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.]
The Ainu are remarkably quick at reproducing sounds which are direct
imitations of noises, cries of animals, &c., and it is instinctive in
them, as when children they are not taught or trained to do so. The
education of Ainu children is indeed a thing far to seek in every way,
and what they know is self-taught. Nature is their only school. The Ainu
voice is pleasant, flexible, and very soft in quality. The men are
mostly baritone and bass, the women alto; but when singing, a falsetto
is preferred to the natural voice, especially by the women, and this
always without an instrumental accompaniment. Musical instruments are
more than rare among the Ainu; indeed, I saw only one, which is now in
my own possession. It is a black-stained wooden instrument, fifty-one
inches in length and three wide. The upper part is flat, the under is
half a cylinder scooped out by a knife, while five keys are fixed in the
short neck, in which a cavity is cut, leaving a space for the strings to
be tied to each key. The top is circular, and flattened on each side.
One very small hole is bored exactly in the middle of the instrument and
another is at the lower end, where the point of a triangular piece of
leather, seven inches long, is passed through and fastened by a knot
tied in the leather on the opposite side. The five strings, which are of
_Ulmus campestris_ fibre, are fastened to this leather piece and then to
each key. A peculiarity of this instrument is, that it has two
prism-shaped bridges, and they are placed at each end of the harmonic
case. The Ainu call it _mukko_, which word, however, means only a
musical instrument; and as it is applied by them to all Japanese
instruments of music, it shows that they do not distinguish very sharply
one instrument from another. Though in my long journeying I found one of
these _mukkos_, I was never able to discover any Ainu who could play on
it, and the Ainu of Ishikari from whom I bought it told me that the man,
the only one, who could play on it, was dead. This was unfortunate, as
none of the others could tell me how he tuned it; and one old man, in
attempting to solve the problem, broke three strings. Seeing that I was
then quite unable to learn any of the tunes of the deceased Ainu
Paganini I purchased the instrument, and found by cross-examining the
natives that it was played by twanging the strings with the fingers, and
not with a plectrum, as is the case with the Japanese _shamesen_. In the
illustration I have faithfully drawn a front and a side view of this
instrument, so as to give the reader an exact idea of its shape. The
Ainu of Volcano Bay sometimes make bamboo jew's-harps for their
children; but even those are very uncommon, so we might as well define
Ainu music as entirely vocal. Ainu music is sentimental, and not
displeasing, but it is monotonous, and continually repeats itself. It is
difficult to establish a rule as to what order of intervals their music
is founded on, as their progressions, modulations, and rhythmical
effects are often so peculiar as to make it impossible to indicate them
accurately by means of our musical notation; but the nearest approach to
it is the diatonic minor scale. The Ainu are fond of chromatic
intervals, and when their recital comes to an exciting point they make
use of this method in a _crescendo_ to give strength to the narrative,
especially at the end of the tune, which invariably winds up in the
tonic. The intervals which are of most frequent occurrence in the Ainu
tunes are as follows:--
[Illustration]
The tunes seldom contain modulations from one key into another, except
in the case of genius-gifted improvisators, who sometimes indulge in
such a luxury, especially when intoxicated; but the usual modulation is
generally begun _pianissimo_ and in irregular time, and is sometimes
like a slow lamentation gradually and irregularly increasing in force,
some notes marked violently and the next very faintly, thus giving a
weird effect of light and shade. When a sentence comes to an end, there
is a chromatic interval _fortissimo_, and the keynote generally
concludes the tune. The melody repeats itself again in the next
sentence, sometimes altering the _pianissimo_ into _fortissimo_, and
_vice versâ_, according to the force which the narrator wishes to give
to certain words. The Ainu, as far as I could judge, have no fixed
rhythmical method, and each man constructs his own. Their melodies are
generally short and simple, and the same phrases and passages--in fact,
usually the whole melody--occur again and again in their songs. No Ainu
melody that I heard was constructed according to any rule of musical
form. All were invariably of one part only, in which the name of the
tune was often applied to a certain form of rude poetical composition.
For instance, some of the folk-lore legends--which, unfortunately, are
not purely Ainu--are chanted in a musical intonation, and are a kind of
extempore composition, though the roots of the songs and the verse have
probably been brought down from former generations. This is proved by
the preservation in them of some obsolete words and forms of speech
which are never used in current conversation, and which none of the
younger folks can understand or explain. I believe, however, that none
of these legends are very old. The Ainu, having no written language, it
is but natural that their tradition and legends should have been greatly
changed and corrupted, especially by intercourse with the more
imaginative Japanese. It is to be noted, however, that the Ainu, though
to a certain extent as imitative as monkeys, have also a large amount of
personality and originality, due to their shy and unsocial habits. This
originality is not surprising when we remember that they are taught
nothing, and that each man provides for himself and his family, but has
no markedly friendly feelings towards his neighbours; in other words, it
is a state of degradation very similar to that of wild animals. Perfect
indifference is shown by the people of one village towards those of
another. They are neither friends nor foes. All have a right to live,
but as for helping one another, that is out of the question.
Having no written documents, each man, in his easy-going manner, recites
and sings as best pleases himself such verses or legends as he has heard
from his father or from some other person, and the result is that,
according to the reciter's greater or smaller poetical and musical
tastes, the grandfather's composition, already altered by his father, is
again altered by the son, which makes it a composition of his own. This
transformation of a given theme is common even among civilised nations
when people are set to repeat the same story verbally transmitted from
one to the other--the version of the third person has but little in
common with that of the first. If this we do with a spoken narrative,
how much more with tunes learned by ear only, and characterised in the
delivery by individual temperament and transient mood.
The Ainu do not teach these legends to their children, and if learned at
all they are merely "picked up" by ear and, in a manner, at random;
therefore, most Ainu profess ignorance as to their existence, and a man,
when I asked him if he knew any, scornfully answered in these identical
words, translated:--"The Ainu are taught nothing, and they know
nothing."
The few legends, &c., that I heard were told me by Benry at Piratori,
and by another old man, the chief of a village up the Saru River. The
title of one was "Tushi-une-pan"--"Twice Below;" the story of
Yoshitsune, a Japanese hero, and Samoro-kuru (a Japanese man-friend of
Yoshitsune), who came to Yezo and had a great struggle with a huge fish,
which was harpooned by them and disappeared twice under the water,
capsizing the boat which contained the two fishermen. Yoshitsune's
temper was roused, and he cut the _nipesh_[38] rope to which the harpoon
was fastened. The fish went to die at the mouth of the Saru River, when
plains of hemp sprouted out of its body.
[38] _Nipesh_: a kind of hemp.
Another legend, called "Kimta-na," is a rather different and more simple
version of Tushi-une-pan's story which I have just related.
Yet another variant of the same legend is found in the "Inu-sapk"--or "A
Summer Story" (literally translated: _Inu_, hear, relate; _sapk_,
summer), which was so very confused that I could not make head or tail
of its minuter details; but, like the "Kimta-na," it was about a famine
in the Ainu land.
Then there was a fourth, which went by the name of
"Abe-ten-rui"--"Burning to embrace," or love-sick. It was again about
Yoshitsune, who had fallen in love with a pretty Ainu maid, and could
not eat either good or bad fish until she appeared to him in a dream. As
Yoshitsune was a strong-minded man he got over his love, and taught the
Ainu not to be deceived by woman's wiles.
These and other similar legends, some of which do not bear repeating,
being too improper, can be collected at Piratori or on Volcano Bay from
the half-civilised Ainu; but I am inclined to think that they are mostly
concoctions of Japanese ideas construed or misconstrued in the Ainu
language.
Ainu do not indulge in poetic compositions which have a definite metre,
nor do they use special words for rhyme or rhythm; but all the words in
their songs are intelligible, and seldom meaningless syllables are used,
as in many of the chants of other savage nations. This of course is
because, as has been said, their songs are merely a form of conversation
adopted on certain occasions.
Some of their music seems to have been suggested to them by such animal
sounds as the plaintive howling of bears, wolves, and dogs.
Music is believed by the Ainu to have the power of curing illness, or
rather, of scaring away from the body those evil spirits which are
supposed to have taken possession of it; but, when used as exorcism, the
music is no longer grave, slow, and sentimental, but verily diabolical,
consisting mainly of wild howling with an accompaniment of stamping feet
and the rattling of sword and knife, and followed by a disgusting
expectoration of chewed convolvulus roots, which are said to be powerful
in expelling the evil spirit and restoring the sick person to health.
Furthermore, music is invariably used by the Ainu--especially by the
women--to facilitate manual labour, as when pounding millet, rowing,
pulling canoes on shore, or drawing water from a well, when packing
sea-weed, or when preparing salmon for the winter; and also in their
games, which I have already described in the chapter on the festival at
Piratori.
During the process of pounding millet--which is only practised in the
southern part of Yezo--two or three girls stand round a mortar in which
the millet has been placed, and each girl, holding with both hands a
pestle, beats and sings, one after the other, the words "_Huye, huye_,"
as the pestle is let down, increasing in loudness when the grain
requires harder pounding, and slowly decreasing in volume towards the
end. This pounding begins about sunset, and the place chosen for the
operation is generally the small porch of the huts. It has indeed a
weird effect to hear these many voices from the distant huts gradually
dying away as darkness comes on, till finally only two or three break
the stillness of the coming night. Then even those wear away, and
everything becomes as silent as the grave.
When riding on horseback, especially if alone, young men are fond of
singing, and when going through forests, chopping and collecting
firewood, Ainu invariably sing.
I have often heard two or three Ainu, when packing sea-weed within a few
yards of one another, each singing to himself, and each so much absorbed
in his own composition as not to even hear his neighbours. An Ainu does
not and cannot sing unless he feels in the mood for it; but if he sings
he is carried away by his own music. Of course this is a good quality in
Ainu music, as in all arts where "feeling" is to be appreciated as much
as execution. The latter is to be got by constant practice and teaching;
but the first has to be born in one.
My readers must forgive me if I am judging Ainu music, not from the
European, but from the native standpoint, for I think it is only fair to
give things as they are, without too much reference to our own ideas.
With savage nations, music is the expression of the feelings and
passions of the musician. Thus, it is necessary to well know the man
himself before we can understand his productions and appreciate them;
and such knowledge is only attained by constantly living with natives,
not as a mere stranger, but as one of them.
Very few travellers have seen the real Ainu, or studied them accurately,
while many, partly owing to their inability to differentiate one race
from another, have given us highly imaginative descriptions, and even
photographs, of Japanese half-castes and actual Japanese, describing
them as Ainu. If such worthy ethnologists as have visited the "civilised
part only" of the Ainu country, have been unable to distinguish types of
the hairy Ainu race from those of the hairless Japanese, or from
mixtures of the two, undoubtedly racial characteristics have been but
imperfectly recorded.
It is more particularly in music and poetry, as I have already
explained, that temperamental characteristics are shown, and one ought
to be careful to clearly define what is native music and poetry--in
which I include legends, traditions, and folk-lore--and what has been
transmitted by neighbouring and conquering races. Loud music is not
appreciated by the Ainu, and makes them grin with more scorn than
enjoyment. I could only try experiments in this direction by singing to
them, as I had no European musical instruments with me; but I found that
singing _con brio_ at the top of my voice was not so pleasing to them as
when I sang _piano con passione_. For instance, the song "Toreador," in
the opera _Carmen_, created fits of merriment from a crowd at
Frishikobets, while the same crowd, a few minutes later, listened
attentively and silently to Gounod's "Ave Maria," sung in a kind of
"miaoling" voice.
I may here mention incidentally, to show the different musical tastes of
Ainu and Japanese, that some months previous to this I was at a concert
at Tokio in which the same "Ave Maria" was performed by some
distinguished European musicians. The large Japanese audience, who had
been attentive and well-composed till then, went into fits of laughter
when Gounod's masterpiece was played, and all through it the noise of
people laughing was so great as to drown entirely the orchestra and
singers. Some of the women in the audience nearly went into hysterics at
the long _legato_ notes at the beginning of the piece. Louder melodies
and of a livelier character did not affect them so. I wish to draw
attention to this fact, that amongst all primitive peoples the native
music is sad and slow--the livelier melodies coming later; and also,
that with both wild and domestic animals the most noteworthy effects are
produced by slow and simple music. We all know how dogs will remain
quiet and calm when a soft and gentle air is played, but get furious to
the point of savageness under the "plan-plan-rataplan" of a merry noisy
tune. As for the last item connected with Ainu music, viz., dancing, it
is rarely practised, even by the Ainu women, to whom alone it pertains.
At the best it is of a very rude form. In the Piratori festival (Chapter
IV.) we have seen that their dancing is accompanied by rhythmical sounds
imitating the noises produced by implements in everyday use, as the
squeaking of a paddle by the friction on the canoe, the cry which
accompanies the pounding of millet, blowing alight the fire, and similar
sounds. Time is kept by clapping the hands and by vociferations which
tell the partners what position or action to assume, each action being
accompanied by a different sound, but all performed while the hopping is
kept up. I have not felt justified in classifying these rhythmical
sounds, which accompany the dancing, as choruses, for there is not
enough in them to constitute either a tune or a melody. They are
suggested more by the action of the arms and upper part of the body than
by the steps; in fact, if it were not for the continuous hopping it
would be more accurate to describe Ainu dancing as "posturing." The
dancers form a circle, with sometimes one or two children in the centre.
As there are no professional musicians, there are no professional
dancers; but though each man may be his own composer of music, the women
never alter their dances, which are handed down unchanged from one
generation to another. It is only at festivals that the dance is
performed, and never inside the huts, but in the open air. It is not for
the amusement of spectators, for besides one or two of the older women,
spectators there are none; but it is for the enjoyment of the dancers
themselves. The men do not seem to take the slightest interest in the
dancing, and apparently regard it as unmanly. They remain in the hut
drinking while the girls enjoy themselves in this way outside, and
should one of them by chance come out, he would stop and look on no more
than men in civilised countries would stop and watch little children at
play. On the other hand, on such occasions Ainu matrons squat in a
semicircle not far from the dancers, and keep up a lament-like or
sometimes quarrelsome conversation among themselves, and occasionally
encourage the girls in their hopping, and suggesting _encores_ of this
figure or that, which, between one quarrel and another, has taken their
fancy.
[Illustration: A WOODEN PIPE.]