These stories were collected in various parts of Greenland, taken
down from the lips of the Eskimo story-tellers themselves, by Knud
Rasmussen, the Danish explorer.
No man is better qualified to tell the story of Greenland, or the
stories of its people. Knud Rasmussen is himself partly of Eskimo
origin; his childhood was spent in Greenland, and to Greenland he
returned again and again, studying, exploring, crossing the desert
of the inland ice, making unique collections of material, tangible
and otherwise, from all parts of that vast and little-known land,
and his achievements on these various expeditions have gained for
him much honour and the appreciation of many learned societies.
But it is as an interpreter of native life, of the ways and customs
of the Eskimos, that he has done his greatest work. "Kununguaq"--that
is his native name--is known throughout the country and possesses the
confidence of the natives to a superlative degree, forming himself,
as it were, a link between them and the rest of the world. Such
work, as regards its hither side, must naturally consist to a great
extent of scientific treatises, collections of facts and specimens,
all requiring previous knowledge of the subject for their proper
comprehension. These have their great value as additions to the sum of
human knowledge, but they remain unknown to the majority of men. The
present volume is designed to be essentially a popular, as distinct
from a scientific work.
The original collection of stories and legends made by Knud Rasmussen
under the auspices of the Carlsberg Foundation has never yet been
published. In making the present selection, I have endeavoured to
choose those which are most characteristic and best calculated to
give an idea of the life and thought of the people. The clearest
variants have been chosen, and vague or doubtful passages omitted,
so as to render the narratives easily understandable for the ordinary
reader. In many cases also, the extreme outspokenness of the primitive
people concerned has necessitated further editing, in respect of which,
I can confidently refer any inclined to protest, to the unabridged
English version, lodged with the Trustees of the Carlsberg Foundation
in Copenhagen, for my defence. For the rest, I have endeavoured to keep
as closely as possible to the spirit and tone of the originals, working
from the Eskimo text and Knud Rasmussen's Danish version side by side.
The illustrations are by native Eskimo artists. They are not drawn to
illustrate the particular stories, but represent typical scenes and
incidents such as are there described. In the selection of these,
preference has been given to those of unusual character, as for
instance those dealing with the "tupilak" theme, and matters of
wizardry or superstition generally, which the reader would find more
difficult to visualize for himself than ordinary scenes of daily life.
As regards their contents, the stories bring before us, more clearly,
perhaps, than any objective study, the daily life of the Eskimos, their
habit of thought, their conception of the universe, and the curious
"spirit world" which forms their primitive religion or mythology.
In point of form they are unique. The aim of the Eskimo story-teller
is to pass the time during the long hours of darkness; if he can
send his hearers to sleep, he achieves a triumph. Not infrequently
a story-teller will introduce his chef-d'oeuvre with the proud
declaration that "no one has ever heard this story to the end." The
telling of the story thus becomes a kind of contest between his power
of sustained invention and detailed embroidery on the one hand and his
hearers' power of endurance on the other. Nevertheless, the stories
are not as interminable as might be expected; we find also long and
short variants of the same theme. In the present selection, versions
of reasonable length have been preferred. The themes themselves are,
of course, capable of almost infinite expansion.
In the technique of an ordinary novel there is a certain balance, or
just proportion, between the amount of space devoted to the various
items, scenes and episodes. The ordinary reader does not notice it as a
rule, for the simple reason that it is always there. The Eskimo stories
are magnificently heedless of such proportion. Any detail, whether
of fact or fancy, can be expanded at will; a journey of many hundred
miles may be summarized in a dozen words: "Then he went away to the
Northward, and came to a place." Thus with the little story of the Man
who went out to search for his Son; the version here employed covers no
more than a few pages, yet it is a record of six distinct adventures,
threaded on to the main theme of the search. It is thus a parallel in
brief to the "Wandering" stories popular in Europe in the Middle Ages,
when any kind of journey served as the string on which to gather all
sorts of anecdote and adventure. The story of Atungait, who goes on a
journey and meets with lame people, left-handed people, and the like,
is an example of another well-known classical and mediaeval type.
The mythical stories present some interesting features when compared
with the beliefs and folk-lore of other peoples. The legend of the Men
who travelled round the World is based on a conception of the world
as round. There is the tradition of a deluge, but here supported by
geological evidence which is appreciated by the natives themselves:
i.e. the finding of mussel shells on the hills far inland. The
principle of the tides is recognized in what is otherwise a fairy
tale; "There will be no more ebb-tide or flood if you strangle me,"
says the Moon Man to the Obstinate One.
The constellation of the Great Bear is explained in one story,
the origin of Venus in another. The spirits of the departed are
"stellified" as seen in "The Coming of Men." There seems to be a
considerable intermingling of Christian culture and modern science
in the general attitude towards life, but these foreign elements
are coated over, as it were, like the speck of grit in an oyster,
till they appear as concentrations of the native poetic spirit that
forms their environment.
We find, too, constant evidence of derivation from the earliest,
common sources of all folk-lore and myth; parallels to the fairy
tales and legends of other lands and other ages. There is a version of
the Bluebeard theme in Imarasugssuaq, "who, it is said, was wont to
eat his wives." Instances of friendship and affection between human
beings and animals are found, as in the tale of the Foster-mother
and the Bear. Various resemblances to well-known fairy tales are
discernible in such stories as that of the Eagle and the Whale, where
the brothers set out to rescue their sisters from the husbands who
hold them captive. Here too, we encounter that ancient and classical
expedient of fugitives; throwing out objects behind to check pursuit.
The conception of the under-world, as shown in the story of Kunigseq
and others, is a striking example of this kinship with ancient and
well-known legends. Kunigseq comes to the land of shades, and meets
there his mother, who is dead. But she must not kiss him, for "he is
only here on a visit." Or again: "If you eat of those berries, you
will never return." The under-world is partly an Elysium of existence
without cares; partly Dantesque: "Bring ice when you come again, for
we thirst for cold water down here." And the traveller who has been
away from earth for what seems an hour, finds that years of earthly
time have passed when he returns.
Spirits of the departed appearing to their kin upon earth do so with
an injunction "not to tell." (In England we write to the newspapers
about them.) Magic powers or gifts are lost by telling others how they
came. Spirit gifts are made subject to some condition of restraint:
"Choose only one and no more." "If you kill more than one seal to-day,
you will never kill seal again hereafter."
The technique of the fairy tale is frequently apparent. One
test fulfilled is followed by the demand for fulfilment of
another. Qujavarssuk, having found the skeleton as instructed,
is then sent off to search for a lamb stone. This, of course, apart
from its aesthetic value as retardation, is particularly useful to the
story-teller aiming principally at length. We also find the common
progression from one great or splendid thing to other greater or more
splendid; a woman appears "even more finely dressed than on the day
before." English children will perhaps remember Hans Andersen's dog
with "eyes as big as saucers ... eyes as big as Rundetaarn."
The use of "magic power" is of very frequent occurrence; it
seems, indeed, to be the generally accepted way of solving any
difficulty. As soon as the hero has been brought into a situation
from which no ordinary way of escape appears, it then transpires--as
an afterthought--that he is possessed of magic powers, when the rest,
of course, is easy. A delightful instance of the extent to which this
useful faculty can be watered down and yet remain effective is seen in
the case of the village where no wizard can be found to help in time
of famine, until it is "revealed" that Ikardlituarssuk "had formerly
sat on the knee of one of those present when the wizards called up
their helping spirits." In virtue of which very distant connection
he proceeds to magic away the ice.
There is a general tendency towards anthropomorphic conception of
supernatural beings. The Moon Man has his stock of harpoons like
any mortal hunter; the Mountain Spirit has a wife and children. The
life and domestic arrangements of "spirits" are mostly represented
as very similar to those with which the story-teller and his hearers
are familiar, much as we find, in early Italian paintings, Scriptural
personages represented in the costume and environment of the artist's
own place and period.
The style of narrative is peculiar. The stories open, as a rule, with
some traditionally accepted gambit. "There was once a man ..." or "A
fatherless boy lived in the house of the many brothers." The ending
may occasionally point a sort of moral, as in the case of Ukaleq,
who after having escaped from a Magic Bear, "never went out hunting
bear again." But the usual form is either a sort of equivalent to
"lived happily ever after," or a frank and direct intimation: "Here
ends this story," or "That is all I know of so-and-so." Some such
hint is not infrequently necessary, since the "end" of a story often
leaves considerable scope for further development.
It is a characteristic feature of these stories that one never knows
what is going to happen. Poetic justice is often satisfied, but by no
means always (Kagssagssuk). One or two of them are naively weak and
lacking in incident; we are constantly expecting something to happen,
but nothing happens ... still nothing happens ... and the story ends
(Puagssuaq). It is sometimes difficult to follow the exact course of a
conversation or action between two personages, owing to the inadequate
"he" which is used for both.
The story-teller, while observing the traditional form, does not
always do so uncritically. Occasionally he will throw in a little
interpolation of his own, as if in apology: "There was once a wifeless
man--that is the way a story always begins." Or the entertainer starts
off in a cheerfully familiar style: "Well, it was the usual thing;
there was a Strong Man, and he had a wife. And, of course, he used
to beat her...."
Here and there, too, a touch of explanation may be inserted. "This
happened in the old days," or "So men thought in the olden time." There
is a general recognition of the difference between old times and
new. And the manner in which this difference is viewed reveals two
characteristic attitudes of mind, the blending of which is apparent
throughout the Eskimo culture of to-day. There is the attitude of
condescension, the arrogant tolerance of the proselyte and the parvenu:
"So our forefathers used to do, for they were ignorant folk." At times,
however, it is with precisely opposite view, mourning the present
degeneration from earlier days, "when men were yet skilful rowers in
'kayaks,' or when this or that might still be done 'by magic power.'"
And it is here, perhaps, that the stories reach their highest poetic
level. This regret for the passing of "the former age," whether as
an age of greater strength and virtue, greater courage and skill, or
as the Golden Age of Romance, is a touching and most human trait. It
gives to these poor Eskimo hunters, far removed from the leisure and
security that normally precede the growth of art, a place among the
poets of the world.
W. W. Worster.