"earth lodge." The occasion drew together a large concourse of
people,--men, women, and children; and the gay costumes, the glinting
of ornaments, the picturesque groups, and the happy, smiling faces of
old and young made a scene full of colour and motion. Many times I
have witnessed this ceremony and joined in its beautiful chorals, led
by the bearers, who swayed the "calumets" to the rhythm of the song,
wafting over the heads of the people the blessing of peace.
The following choral was sung immediately after the "calumets" had
been ceremonially taken from their resting-place, with movements that
simulated the eagle rising from its nest. The bearers then faced the
people, seated on the ground against the wall of the lodge, and with
slow rhythmic steps moved around the circle, waving the "calumets"
over the heads of the multitude. As the "calumets" passed slowly by,
the people took up the choral, until at last the great lodge resounded
with its majestic cadences. The leaping flames from the central fire
lit up the faces of the hundreds of men and women; while the swaying
feathers of the "calumets" cast great wing-like shadows on the
glistening roof, and seemed to make real the symbolic presence of the
mighty eagle himself, circling over the people as he sped on his
mission, bearing the benediction of good will among men.
Once, at the close of this song, an old Indian turned to me and said,
"The 'calumets' are of God."
The words of this choral refer to the blessing of peace given to "the
fathers" in ancient days, and now brought by the symbolic "calumets"
to "the children."
Down through the ages vast,
On wings strong and true,
From great Wa-ko_n_'-da comes
Good will unto you,--
Peace, that shall here remain.
[Music: CHORAL.
_Omaha._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Dha ke-de hia u-dha ho-dha
ke-de ho-dha dha ke-de
ha dhe he hia dha ke-de hia
dha ke-de ha dhe he.]
After the bearers, or "the fathers," had ceremonially borne the
"calumets" four times around the lodge, singing as they went and
waving the blessing of peace and fellowship over the heads of "the
children," they paused as they reached a consecrated place at the back
of the lodge, facing the entrance to the east. Here the ground had
been specially prepared, and a wildcat skin spread upon it for the
reception of the "calumets." Over this skin, which had its symbolic
meaning, the bearers waved the "calumets," imitating the movements of
the eagle, sweeping lower and lower, rising and circling again, and
then dropping lightly upon its nest.
The song is one of those sung to accompany the movements of the
"calumets" as they are thus lowered to rest. The words refer to the
search of "the fathers" for "the children," to bring them peace, as
the eagle soars abroad and returns to its nest.
Far above the earth he soars,
Circling the clear sky,
Flying over forests dim,
Peering in shadows,
Seeking far and wide his child,
To give him peace.
[Music: THE GIFT OF PEACE.
_Otoe._
Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.
Zhin-ga dha-we dho dho we he ho-i ne
Zhin-ga dha-we dho dho we he ho-i-ne
Zhin-ga dha we dho dho we ha je dha we.]
COMFORTING THE CHILD.
The three following songs have a common motive, and are parts of one
ceremonial action; but the motive is treated differently in each song,
so as to conform to the movements of the ceremony.[11] An unconscious
art is here shown, which is interesting as a bit of musical
archaeology. During the "calumet" ceremony among the Pawnees, if a
child cried and would not be comforted, its parents were permitted to
appeal to the "calumets" for help.
[Footnote 11: These songs were never before noted, and have hitherto
been sealed from the knowledge of the white race. They were given and
explained by a priest of the rite, through Mr. James R. Murie.]
The fan-shaped pendant of one of these "calumets" was made of the
feathers of the golden eagle. This bird in the ceremony was called
Kawas, and symbolised the peaceful and conserving power, the giver and
preserver of life, the parent of all things. It was to the priestly
bearer of this particular "calumet" that the parents appealed. On
receiving the appeal, the priest and his assistants arose, and,
standing beside "the holy place,"--the consecrated space where the
"calumets" were laid at ceremonial rest,--they sang this song, thus
passing on to Kawas the appeal of the parents.
[Music: KAWAS, THY BABY IS CRYING.
_Pawnee._
Transcribed from Graphophone record and Harmonized by E.S. TRACY.
Ho o Kawas ta wha-ka ra-tsa we
Kawas ta wha-ka ra-tsa we
Ah he-wi! wha-ka ra-tsa we,
Kawas ta wha-ka-ra tsa we.]
The words are in the nature of a prayer, the music has the swing of a
lullaby.
Kawas, thy baby is crying!
Grieving sore, wailing, and weeping.
Aye, forsooth! wailing and weeping,
Kawas, thy baby is crying!
Then the bearers took up the "calumets" and moved with slow rhythmic
steps toward the crying child, singing as they went and swaying the
sacred symbols to the measure of this song. Its meaning was explained
to me as follows:--
"Hah-ars (a contraction of the word meaning father) signifies
Ti-ra'-wa, the power that animates all things, all animals, all men,
the heavens, and the earth. Ti-ra'-wa is represented by the Hako (the
'calumets'), and it is this power which now approaches to console the
child."
In the music one hears the coming of Ti-ra'-wa in the footsteps of his
creatures, both great and small.
Thy father is coming,
E'en now he is near thee;
Cry no more: the mighty one,
Thy father, is coming!
[Music: THY FATHER IS COMING.
_Pawnee._
Transcribed from Graphophone record and Harmonized by E.S. TRACY.
Ho Hah-ars si-rah ti we-ra,
Hah-ars si-ra ti we-ra
Re-ko ji!
He ti we-ra,
Hah-ars si-ra ti we-ra.]
Upon reaching the child, the golden eagle "calumet" was gently swayed
above it, while in the background the other "calumet" was waved to
ward off disturbing influences, and the priests sang this song. It is
said that on hearing it "the child always looks up and ceases its
crying."
The caressing, almost playful rhythm of the music twines about the
deep religious feeling expressed in the words, like the arms of an
infant about the neck of its thoughtful, reverent parent.
Lift thine eyes, 'tis the gods who come near,
Bringing thee joy, release from all pain.
Sending sorrow and sighing
Far from the child, Ti-ra'-wa makes fain.
Ah, you look! Surely, you know who comes,
Claiming you his and bidding you rise,
Blithely smiling and happy,
Child of Ti-ra'-wa, Lord of the skies!
[Music: LOOK UP!
_Pawnee._
Transcribed from Graphophone record, and Harmonized by E.S. TRACY.
Ho Ha!
Is-te wa-ta si wi-ta ha,
Ha! Is-te wa-ta si wi-ta ha
Hah-ars hi re wa-ha-ki,
Ha! Is-te wa-ta si wi-ta ha.]
MUSIC IN INDIAN LIFE.
Music enveloped the Indian's individual and social life like an
atmosphere. There was no important personal experience where it did
not bear a part, nor any ceremonial where it was not essential to the
expression of religious feeling. The songs of a tribe were coextensive
with the life of the people.
This universal use of music was because of the belief that it was a
medium of communication between man and the unseen. The invisible
voice could reach the invisible power that permeates all nature,
animating all natural forms. As success depended upon help from this
mysterious power, in every avocation, in every undertaking, and in
every ceremonial, the Indian appealed to this power through song. When
a man went forth to hunt, that he might secure food and clothing for
his family, he sang songs to insure the assistance of the unseen power
in capturing the game. In like manner, when he confronted danger and
death, he sang that strength might be given him to meet his fate
unflinchingly. In gathering the healing herbs and in administering
them, song brought the required efficacy. When he planted, he sang,
in order that the seed might fructify and the harvest follow. In his
sports, in his games, when he wooed and when he mourned, song alike
gave zest to pleasure and brought solace to his suffering. In fact,
the Indian sang in every experience of life from his cradle to his
grave.
It would be a mistake to fancy that songs floated indiscriminately
about among the Indians, and could be picked up here and there by any
chance observer. Every song had originally its owner. It belonged
either to a society, secular or religious, to a certain clan or
political organization, to a particular rite or ceremony, or to some
individual.
Religious songs were known only to the priesthood; and, as music
constituted a medium between man and the unseen powers which
controlled his life, literal accuracy was important, otherwise the
path between the god and the man would not be straight, and the appeal
would miscarry.
In every tribe there were societies having a definite membership, with
initiatory rites and reciprocal duties. Each society had its peculiar
songs; and there were officials chosen from among the members because
of their good voices and retentive memories, to lead the singing and
to transmit with accuracy the stories and songs of the society, which
frequently preserved bits of tribal history. Fines were imposed upon
any member who sang incorrectly, while ridicule always and everywhere
followed a faulty rendering of a song.
The right to sing a song which belonged to an individual could be
purchased, the person buying the song being taught it by its owner.
These beliefs and customs among the Indians have made it possible to
preserve their songs without change from one generation to another.
Many curious and interesting proofs of accuracy of transmittal have
come to my knowledge during the past twenty years, while studying
these primitive melodies.
Indian singing was always in unison; and, as the natural soprano,
contralto, tenor, and bass moved along in octaves, the different
qualities of tone in the voices brought out the overtones and produced
harmonic effects. When listening to chorals sung by two or three
hundred voices, as I have many times heard them in ceremonials, it has
been difficult to realise that all were singing in unison.
Close and continued observation has revealed that the Indian, when he
sings, is not concerned with the making of a musical presentation to
his audience. He is simply pouring out his feelings, regardless of
artistic effects. To him music is subjective: it is the vehicle of
communication between him and the object of his desire.
Certain peculiarities in the Indian's mode of singing make it
difficult for one of our race to intelligently hear their songs or to
truthfully transcribe them.
There is no uniform key for any given song, for the Indians have no
mechanical device for determining pitch to create a standard by which
to train the ear. This, however, does not affect the song; for,
whatever the starting note, the intervals bear the same relation to
each other, so that the melody itself suffers no change with the
change of pitch.
Again, the continual slurring of the voice from one tone to another
produces upon us the impression of out-of-tune singing. Then, the
custom of singing out of doors, to the accompaniment of the drum, and
against the various noises of the camp, and the ever-restless wind,
tending to strain the voice and robbing it of sweetness, increases the
difficulty of distinguishing the music concealed within the noise,--a
difficulty still further aggravated by the habit of pulsating the
voice, creating a rhythm within the rhythm of the song.
Emotion also affects the rendering of Indian music. This is especially
noticeable in solos, as love-songs, where the singer quite
unconsciously varies from a quarter to a whole tone from the true
pitch. On the contrary, emphasis sharps the tone. If, however, these
peculiarities are imitated to him, the Indian immediately detects, and
declares them to be wrong, thus betraying his unconsciousness of his
own inaccuracies in endeavouring to strike a plain diatonic interval.
Our difficulty in hearing the music of the Indian is equalled by the
trouble he has with our instruments. His attention is engaged by the
mechanism. He hears the thud of the hammer, "the drum inside" the
piano, the twanging of the metal strings, and the abrupt, disconnected
tones. Until he is able to ignore these noises he cannot recognise the
most familiar tune. Even then, if his songs are played as an
unsupported aria, they are unsatisfactory to him. His ear misses
something it heard in the unison singing of his people, and which the
addition of a simple harmonic accompaniment supplies, making the
melody, as he says, "sound natural." The discovery of the Indian's
preference in the rendition of his songs upon the piano led to many
experiments, in which Professor Fillmore took part, and that brought
to light many interesting facts. Among these facts may be mentioned
the complexity of rhythms, one played against the other; the
modulation implied in some of the melodies; the preference for a major
chord in closing a minor song; and the use of certain harmonic
relations which have been deemed peculiar to the modern romantic
school.
As these melodies are the spontaneous utterances of a people without
any theory of music or even a musical notation, they throw light upon
the structure, development, and freedom of natural expression in
music.
THE RELATION OF STORY AND SONG.
The rise of our music and poetry is lost in an irrevocable past; but,
as the operation of psychical laws is universal, it may be that some
of the influences that have been operative in the growth of these arts
can be discovered through the study of native American story and song,
born of a race living in a state of culture antecedent to that in
which our earliest literature and music flourished.
Within a generation diligent search has begun among some of the Indian
tribes, to ascertain, through a sympathetic study of rites,
ceremonies, and customs, what were the red man's ideals, what his
beliefs, and what his actual attainments. Already this labour is
bearing fruit. Scholars are recognising that the aboriginal conditions
on this continent throw light on the slow development of human society
and its institutions; and the time seems not distant when students of
man's culture will turn hither for evidence needed to fill gaps or to
explain phases in the development of art,--art in form, in colour, and
in melody,--for, it has been well said, America is the "fossil bed"
where are preserved stages of progress unrecorded in written history.
In Indian story and song we come upon a time where poetry is not yet
differentiated from story and story not yet set free from song. We
note that the song clasps the story as a part of its being, and the
story itself is not fully told without the cadence of the song. Yet in
even the most primitive examples a line of demarcation can be
discerned; and when this line has deepened, and differentiation has
begun, we are able to trace the formative influence exerted by story
upon song and by song upon story, and can observe what appear to be
the beginnings of musical and poetical structure.
The brevity of Indian songs at once arrests attention. They begin
without introduction, almost abruptly, breaking out upon us as though
surcharged. This peculiarity arises from the relation of the song to
the story. The story is always founded upon a dramatic circumstance,
in which at some point the emotion is forced to find a means of
expression beyond the limitation of words alone; and the song is the
result. This dramatic circumstance may be a danger confronted or
averted, a valorous deed achieved or a difficulty surmounted, a
religious experience or an ardent craving for supernatural aid. The
Omaha tribal prayer will serve as an illustration, where the cry to
Wa-ko_n_-da is the climatic voicing of the youth's desire in the midst
of his weary vigil and fasting. His long preparation for the rite, the
solitude of his surroundings, the suffering of mind and body as alone
he faces nature and the supernatural,--all these conditions make the
story, and, to the Indian, form the true setting of the song.
The motive of a song and its distinctive rhythm were determined by the
emotion evoked by the dramatic circumstance. The simplest resultant of
this directive emotion in music is a pulsating rhythm on a single
tone. Such songs are not random shoutings, but have a definite meaning
for those who sing and for those who listen, as in this Navaho ritual
song.
[Music]
From this extremely simple expression the growth of the musical motive
can be traced in these Indian songs through the use of two or more
tones up to the employment of the full complement of the octave.[12]
[Footnote 12: A careful analysis of hundreds of aboriginal songs,
gathered from the arctic seas to the tropics, shows that in every
instance the line taken by these tones is a chord-line where the tones
are harmonically related to each other. Out of these related tones the
untutored savage has built his simple melodies. The demonstration of
the interesting fact that "the line of least resistance" in music is a
harmonic line was made by my late associate, Professor John Comfort
Fillmore.]
[Music: A PRAYER FOR RAIN.
_Mexico. Tarahumare._
From DR. CARL LUMHOLTZ.]
[Music: SONG.
_British Columbia. Kwakiutl._
PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.]
The creation of that which we know as musical form seems also to be
due to the influence of story upon song. We have already noted how the
directive emotion started the distinctive rhythm and determined the
order of the related tones, and so constructed the motive or theme.
But neither the rhythm nor the simple motive could express the
_movement_ of the dramatic story: hence we find this expressed by the
repetition, modification, and variation of the motive, the growth of
the phrase, the formation of the clause, and the grouping of clauses
into a period,--in fact, the outline of the form upon which all our
culture music is built. Culture music, however, shows an intellectual
control of emotion, a power of musical thinking, the enlarging and
embellishing of musical form,--a form, nevertheless, which we find
outlined, more or less clearly, in the songs of the untutored red man.
The difference between these spontaneous Indian melodies and the
compositions of the modern masters would seem to be not one of kind,
but one of degree.
As these songs are from a race practically without musical
instruments,--for the drum and rattle were used only to accentuate
rhythm,--they are representative of the period when the human voice
was the sole means of musical expression,--a period which antedated
the invention of instruments by an immeasurable time. They prove,
therefore, that musical form was not developed, as has sometimes been
stated, by the use of instruments, but that it took its rise in a
mental necessity similar to that which gave structure to language.
The influence of song upon story is seen in the attempt to bend prose
to a poetic form.
Many Indian songs have no words at all, vocables only being used to
float the voice. On classifying these wordless songs, we discover that
those which are expressive of the gentle emotions have flowing,
breathing vocables, but, where warlike feelings dominate the song, the
vocables are aspirate and explosive. In this determinate use of
vocables we happen upon what seems to represent the most primitive
attempt yet discovered to give intellectual definition in verbal form
to an emotion voiced in rhythm and melody.
In songs where words are employed, we also find vocables which are in
accord with the spirit of the song, used to make the words conform to
the musical phrase. These vocables are either appended to the word or
else inserted between its syllables, to give length or added euphony.
We also note a desire for rhyming, since vocables similar in sound
frequently occur at the end of each musical phrase.
It would lead into too many details to present the various devices
discernible in this aboriginal material by which the Indian sought
euphony and measure. Nor can it be easily illustrated how words of
many different languages were bent by elisions or stretched by
vocables, that they might conform to the musical phrase. There is
abundant evidence that the ear, accustomed to the pleasure of the
rhythmic cadence of the song, was beginning to demand a corresponding
metrical use of words in expressing the poetic thought involved in the
dramatic story which gave birth to the music.
The art of poetry is here in its infancy, giving even less sign of its
future development than music, which had already acquired the outline
of that form which has since crystallised into the art of music.
Notwithstanding, we find that words were chosen for their descriptive
power, and that they were made rhythmical to fit the melody. Like the
swelling buds on the bare branch, which hint the approach of summer's
wealth, so these little vocables and rhythmic devices whisper the
coming of the poets.
End of Project Gutenberg's Indian Story and Song, by Alice C. Fletcher