The most prominent of the artistic activities of the totemic age is _formative art_. In this field, the lowest stages of totemic development show little advance beyond the achievements of primitive man. True, even Australia possesses cave drawings which, perhaps have some sort of cult significance. As yet, however, we have not succeeded in interpreting these drawings. With this exception, the formative art of the totemic period is limited to carvings upon weapons or other implements--obviously thought, just as in primitive times, to possess magical potencies--and to the painting of the face on the occasion of cult festivals.
In the regions of Oceania, particularly the Polynesian Islands, we find a far richer development of that form of pictorial art which aims at the adornment of the body, or, as we ought rather to say with reference to the beginnings of this artistic practice, at the exercise on the part of the body of a magical influence upon external things. Polynesia is the chief centre of _artistic tattooing_. Throughout these regions this practice has universally taken the form of prick tattooing. By means of separate, close-lying prick points filled with colour, various symmetrical designs are formed. This tattooing is the only art whose highest perfection is reached at the beginning of culture. As soon as clothing appears, the decoration of the body itself gives way to that of dress. On particular occasions, as, for example, in connection with certain cult practices of the American Indians, custom may continue to demand entire nakedness. Under these circumstances, there is a sort of retrogressive development in which the painting necessitated by the festivals takes the place of tattooing. This occurs even among the Australians. Moreover, even after clothing has appeared, it long remains a favourite custom to tattoo certain exposed parts of the skin, particularly the face and the arms and hands. Even to-day, indeed, the arms are sometimes tattooed. The fact that tattooing is now practised almost exclusively by criminals and prostitutes, and, occasionally, by sailors, finds its explanation in a circumstance which was also of influence at the time when tattooing was in its first flower, namely, in the interruption of occupational activity by long periods of leisure.
There is an additional factor which obviously favours the development of the art of tattooing, particularly in the territory of the Polynesian Islands. I refer to the combination of totemism with celestial mythology, which is peculiar to these peoples, and to the consequent recedence of totemism. Particularly illuminative as regards this point is the tattooing of the Maoris. The mythology of this people gives an important place to the sun, and their bodily decorations frequently include pictures of this celestial body, in the form of spiral ornamentations. Some two years ago travelling investigators brought back copies of the tattooing of other islanders, particularly those of the Marquesas group. These tattoo-patterns contain many significant elements of a celestial mythology; those of to-day, however, in so far as the custom has not been entirely effaced by the Europeans, consist almost entirely of simple geometrical ornamentations. The tattooings of early times frequently included also representations of animals. Plants were less common, as might be expected from the fact that it was only later that they acquired importance for totemic cults. At the same time, it is evident that a sort of reversal took place as regards the pictorial representation of objects. This is even more striking in the tattooing of the American Indians, a tattooing restricted to certain parts of the body. In the preceding chapter the fact has already been noted that, among the primitive peoples of the pretotemic age, as, for example, the Semangs and Senoi of Malacca, the multiplication of simple parallel lines, triangles, arcs, etc., gives rise to plant-like and animal-like forms. Doubtless the primitive artist himself discovers such figures in his drawings and then sometimes consciously sets about to imitate more closely the actual forms of the natural objects. At the stage of development now under discussion, we find, conversely, that animal forms, particularly, are retranslated into geometrical objects in that they become, as we would to-day express it, more and more conventionalized. Since only the simplest outlines of the objects are retained, it may eventually become a matter of doubt whether these really are schematic representations of natural objects, and whether they are not, even from the very beginning, geometrical ornamentations. Nevertheless the fact that there are continuous transitions from the developed animal form to the geometrical ornament, as occurs particularly in America, is incontrovertible proof that such a conventionalization took place, though in many cases, doubtless, very slowly. This process of conventionalization, however, may be more clearly traced in connection with a different art, one that is related to tattooing but whose development is not limited, as is that of the latter, and destined from the very outset to become obsolete. I refer to _ceramics_, the art of decorating the vessels which were at first intended for the preservation, and later for the preparation, of food.
Even though the art of making pottery is not to be found in primitive culture proper, it nevertheless dates back to a very early age. It is not impossible that this age coincides approximately with the beginning of the totemic period. At any rate, it was totemic cult which, from earliest times on, furnished the motives for the decoration or--as is here also doubtless generally true of the early beginnings--for the magical protection of the vessels, or for the imparting of magical potencies to their contents. Doubtless the clay vessel was originally modelled partly after the natural objects that were used for storing food, and partly after the woven basket. The latter, in turn, may, in its beginnings, have been copied from the bird's nest. When it was discovered, probably accidentally, that clay is hardened by fire, the clay vessel came to be used not merely for the preservation of food but also for its preparation by means of fire. Or, perhaps it would be truer to say that the attempt to accomplish this latter purpose with the unhardened clay vessel led to the art of baking clay. Now, even before the art of making pottery was known, implements, weapons, women's combs, and even the body itself were marked with simple and regular linear drawings to which a magical significance was attached. These geometrical forms, which arose semi-accidentally, were, even from very early times, apperceived as the outlines of animal or plant forms, and it was under the influence of these ideas that they attained a further development. Precisely the same process was repeated in the case of ceramics, only, as it were, upon a broader scale, challenging a richer play of imagination. It is precisely here, however, particularly in the ceramics of the American Indians, that we can trace the ascending and the descending developments of primitive linear drawings, first into completely developed animal designs with meagre suggestions of attempts at plant ornamentation, and then regressively, through a continued conventionalization, into purely geometrical figures. At the same time, it was ceramics, especially, that developed a combination of these two designs, the systematic arrangement of which marks the perfection of this art. Thus arose representations of natural objects framed in by geometrical ornamentations. In this respect also, tattooing furnished a preparation, even though imperfectly, for ceramics. In inner significance, moreover, the latter was a direct outgrowth of the former. By tattooing, man originally guarded his own person with protective magic; in ceramics, this magic was brought into connection with man's utensils, with the food necessary for his life, and with its preparation. In ceramics, therefore, just as in tattooing, the animals represented were at first primarily _totem animals_. Among them we find particularly snakes, fish, and birds, and, in America, the alligator. Especially characteristic of the totemic age is the fact that the decorations scarcely ever include the representation of the _human figure_. It is by this mark that the art products, even of the earliest age of Greece, may be distinguished at first glance from those of totemic culture. In the former case, the human figure is introduced, either along with that of the animal or even alone; in the latter case, only animal representations occur. Strange to say, it is in only _one_ respect that the ceramics, more particularly of the American Indians, copy man--the vessel as a whole represents a head or a skull. Doubtless this is connected with the obnoxious custom of head-hunting. Just as the Indian adorns the roof of his hut with the heads of his conquered foes, so he perpetuates the memory of his feats of war in his ceramic objects. No portrayal of activities in which human beings participate, is to be found in the totemic age.
Connected with this, no doubt, is the lack of any real _sculpture_, with the exception of crude idols representing animal or human forms. These idols, on the whole, are of the nature of fetishes, and as such may, of course, be regarded as the precursors of the divine images of a later period. As there is no sculpture, so also is there, strictly speaking, no _architecture_. In this respect, again, there is a wide difference between this age and the succeeding one. In its higher forms, architecture presupposes gods who are worshipped in a temple. In the totemic period, however, there are no temples. True, the Australian preserves his magic wands and pieces of wood, the churingas, in caves or huts, but the latter differ in no wise from other huts. In the totemic age, therefore, man alone has a dwelling-place. Of such structures there are, in general, _two_ types, the _conical_ and the _spherical_. The conical hut apparently had its origin in the tent. The rounded or beehive hut, as it has been called in Africa, may originally have been copied from a natural cave built in the sand. The two forms, moreover, are not always mutually exclusive. In winter, for example, the Esquimo of Behring Strait lives in a round hut made of snow; in summer, he pitches a tent. In Melanesia, Polynesia, and other regions, the erection of dwelling-places on the seashore or on the shores of large rivers led to the _pole-hut_, a modification which came to resemble the houses of later times. This hut, which is generally occupied jointly by several families, is erected on poles that are firmly driven into the ground and reach far up into the air. Such a pole-hut, even at this early age, develops the typical form of a commodious dwelling. One of the factors here operative is the institution of men's clubs, which is prevalent in these regions: the necessity that many individuals live together leads to the erection of buildings of considerable size. In this connection, we note a characteristic difference between the beginnings of architectonic art and that of the other arts. The latter, whether in the case of tattooing, ceramics, or the fetishistic precursors of sculpture, always originate in mythological and, primarily, in magical motives; the sole impetus to architecture is furnished by the immediate needs of practical life. Thus, then, it is not to religious impulses but to the social conditions which require that many individuals shall live together, that we must trace a more perfected technique of building than that of primitive times.
Much more nearly parallel to the development of the other forms of art is that of the _musical arts_, meaning by this all those arts which consist in the direct activity of man himself. The musical arts include the dance, poetry, and music, as well as the various combinations into which these enter with one another. Since it is the third of these arts, music, that manifests a particular tendency to combine with and to supplement the other two, all three may be comprehended under its name. This will also serve to suggest the fact that, just as the formative arts are closely related in that they give objective embodiment to the creations of the imagination, so also are the musical arts allied by virtue of their reliance on subjective expression. Of all these various arts, the _dance_ preserves the closest connection with the more primitive age. In the cult dance of the totemic period, however, the dance receives an extraordinarily rich development, reaching a stage of perfection comparable to that to which formative art attains in the external adornment of the body--that is, in tattooing. The dance and tattooing, indeed, are closely related, since nowhere else is the _personal body_ so directly the object and the means of artistic activity. To the dances of the primitive period, however, the totemic dance adds _one_ external feature--the _mask_--whose origin is directly due to totem belief. Even the Australians, of course, are not familiar with the mask-dance. They sometimes paint the face or mark it with single lines, and this may be regarded as the precursor of the mask; the mask itself however appears only in the later development of totemism, and continues far into the succeeding age. Moreover, as regards its distribution, there are considerable differences. It plays its most important rôle in American and Polynesian regions, a less prominent one in Africa. In America, the mask-dance and the elevation of masks into cult objects, to which the mask-dance occasionally gives rise, extend from the Esquimos of the north far down to the south. Koch-Grünberg has given a clear picture of the mask-dances and the mask-cult of the natives of the Brazilian forests. Here the masks are not a secondary means of magic, as it were--much less an occasional object of adornment. Every mask is a sort of sacred object. When the youth attains to manhood, he receives a mask, which is sacred to him throughout his entire life. After the great cult festivals, which are celebrated with mask-dances, the masks are carefully preserved. In the mask there is supposed to reside the demon who is represented by it, and the fear of the demon is transferred to the mask. The dancing of this period consists primarily of the animal dance, which is a rhythmic imitation, often wonderfully skilful, of the movements of an animal. The mask also, therefore, always represents, in a more or less altered or grotesquely exaggerated form, an animal's head, or a being intermediate between animal and man, thus vividly calling to mind certain totemic legends whose heroes are sometimes animals and sometimes human beings. On the more advanced stages of totemic culture, there are also masks representing objects of external nature. Mention has already been made of the cloud masks used in the vegetation festivals of the Hopi and Zuni. The rain-priests of these tribes, with these masks on their heads and with pictures of zigzag lightning on their garments, are the living representatives of storm demons. Thus, the mask imparts to its wearer the character of the demon represented by it. The characteristics of face-masks, such as enormous beards and teeth, huge eyes, noses, etc., cause them, particularly, to be the living embodiments of the fear of demons, and thus to be themselves regarded as demoniacal beings. Whatever may be their more specific nature, whether, for example, they represent demons of sickness or of fertility, they always present the same fear-inspiring features. A certain diversity of expression is much more likely to come as a result of the external character of the dance in which the masks are used. This may give rise to expressions portraying surprise and astonishment, or the more lively emotions of fear, terror, or exalted joy. In the latter case, we must bear in mind that representations of grinning laughter differ in but a few characteristic marks from those of violent weeping.
Corresponding to these differences in the character of the masks that are worn, are _two_ main forms of the dance, particularly of the cult dance. The first of these is the _ceremonial dance_, which moves in slow and solemn rhythm. This is the dance that generally inaugurates the great cult festivals of the semi-cultural peoples of totemism or that accompanies certain of the chief features of the festival--such, for example, as the entrance and procession of the cloud-masked ancestral spirits in the vegetation festivals of New Mexico. Contrasting with the ceremonial dance are the _ecstatic dances_, which for the most part form the climax of the festival. Only the men are allowed to take part in the ceremonial dances, and the same is generally true also of the ecstatic dances. The women, if not altogether excluded from the ceremonies, are either silent witnesses or accompany the dance with songs or screams. It is only in the more extreme form of the ecstatic-orgiastic dance that both sexes participate. The mixed dances probably arose in connection with the vegetation festivals, as a result of the relation which was thought to exist between the sexual emotions and the creative forces of nature. It was doubtless because of this late origin that the Greeks long continued to regard the dances of the Dionysian festivals, which were borrowed from Oriental cults and executed by women alone or by women and men together, as in part a degeneration of good custom. In the drama, whose origin was the mimetic dance, the rôle of women was taken by men.
Closely connected with the dance is _music_, the preparatory stage of which is constituted by the participation of the voice in the rhythm of the external movements of the body. These articulatory movements, which form a part of the mimicking activity of the face, supplement the dynamic rhythm of the dance with the melodic rise and fall of tones. The emotion which finds its outlet in the dance itself, then seeks a further enhancement through objective means. These means also involve the activity of the bodily organs; noises are produced by clapping the hands, by stamping on the ground, or by the rhythmic clash of sticks. In the latter case, the transition from instruments of noise to those of tone is easily made. The earliest forms of tone instruments are of two sorts, according as they copy the production of sound by external means, on the one hand, or by the vocal organs, in the accompanying tones, on the other. Thus, the two original forms of musical instruments are _instruments of concussion_ and _wind instruments_. In origin, these are directly connected with the dance. They are natural means of intensification created directly by the emotion, though later modified by systematic invention. The later development of musical art continues to remain in close relation to the two main forms of the dance, the solemn ceremonial and the ecstatic dance, between which there come to be numerous transitions. From the most primitive to the highest stages of music, we continually find two sorts of musical expression, the _sustained_ and the _animated_. These correspond to the contrasting feelings of rest and excitement, which are experienced even by animals, and which man therefore doubtless carried with him from his natural state into his cultural life. With the progress of culture, these feelings constantly become more richly differentiated.
The totemic age may be said to include only the first few advances beyond the simple emotions already expressed in the dance. Nevertheless, there are ethnological differences that register in a very characteristic way those specific musical talents of the various races which are obscured on higher levels of culture because of the increasing complexity of international relations. Thus, Africa is apparently the chief centre, if not the original home, of instruments of concussion and of the great variety of stringed instruments that develop from them. America, on the other hand, is the region in which wind instruments, in particular their original form, the flute, have attained their chief development. The flute of the American Indians is not, of course, like our own; it is blown, not with the lips, but with the mouth. It therefore resembles a shawm or a clarinet. As regards production of tone, however, it is a flute, for the tone is produced by the extension of one lip over the other in a manner similar to that of the flute-pipes of our organs. That which distinguishes the sound of the flute and of its shorter form, the fife, from that of stringed instruments is primarily the greater intensity and the longer duration of the tone. Corresponding to the difference in musical instruments is that of the noise instruments which characterize the two regions. Africa possesses the drum. This it employs not only for purposes of accompaniment in cult ceremonies, but also as a means of signalling, since it renders distant communication possible by use of the so-called drum-language. In America, we find the rattle. Though this, of course, is not entirely lacking in Africa, it nevertheless occurs primarily within the cultural realm of the North American Indians. Here it is employed as an instrument of noise and magic, similarly to the bull-roarer of the Australians. As between the rattle and the drum, the difference is again one of the longer duration of sound in the case of the American instrument.
The tones produced by these early musical instruments, however, even those of the stringed instruments and their vocal accompaniment, by no means, of course, form harmonic music. On the contrary, harmony is an achievement of the succeeding age; it is here foreshadowed in only imperfect beginnings. Such beginnings, however, may everywhere be discerned in the records that we have of the melodies of the Soudan negroes and the American races. Nevertheless, most of the records that are as yet available are still of doubtful value. The auditor is too prone to find in them his own musical experiences. For reliable data we must wait until, following the beginnings that have already been made, a greater number of such natural songs will have been objectively recorded by the aid of the phonograph. As yet we can only say that, if we may judge from their musical instruments, the Africans surpass all other natural peoples in musical talent. Their melodies ordinarily move within the range of about an octave, whereas those of the North American Indians seldom pass beyond a sixth. The fact of this small tonal compass will itself indicate that the melody of all natural peoples tends to very constant rhythms and intervals. The latter, moreover, show some similarity to those with which we are familiar. The chief characteristic of these songs, however, is their tendency toward repetition. One and the same motive frequently recurs with tiresome monotony. The melodies thus reflect certain universal characteristics of primitive poetry as they appear in the songs of the Veddahs and of other pretotemic tribes.
Nevertheless, the forms of _poetry_ exhibit an important advance over those of the more primitive peoples just mentioned. Particularly in the case of the _song_, we find that the simple expression of the moods directly aroused by nature is supplemented by a further important feature. This feature is closely bound up with that more lively bodily and mental activity of totemic culture which is reflected likewise in its use of implements and weapons. Karl Bücher was the first to point out that common labour gives rise to common songs, whose rhythm and melody are determined by the labour. The increasing diversity of the work results in a wider range of content and also in a richer differentiation of forms. Such _work-songs_ are to be found throughout the entire totemic era, whereas, of course, they are lacking in the preceding age, in which common labour scarcely exists. Contemporaneously with the work-song, the _cult-song_ makes its appearance. The latter is essentially conditioned by the development of totemic ceremonies. As these become more numerous, the cult-song likewise gradually grows richer and more manifold, in close reciprocal relations with the dance and music. In the case of the cult-song, as well as of the work-song, the above-mentioned repetition of motives comes to exercise an important influence on the accompanying activity. Though different causes are operative in the two cases, these causes nevertheless ultimately spring from a _single_ source--namely, the heightening of emotions. In the cult-song, man aims to bring his petitions and, as we may say for the earlier age, the magic which his words exercise, as forcibly as possible to the notice of the demons or, at a later period, of the gods whom he addresses. For this reason the same wish is repeated again and again. The most primitive form of cult-song generally consists of but a single wish repeated in rhythmic form. In the work-song, on the other hand, it is the constantly recurring rhythm of the work that leads directly to the repetition of the accompanying rhythmic and melodic motives. When one and the same external task becomes associated time and again with these accompanying songs, the two mutually reinforce each other. The song is a stimulus to the work, and the work heightens the emotion expressed in the song. Both results vary with the degree in which the song is adapted to the work and thus itself becomes a poetic representation of it. Here again neither plan nor purpose originally played the least part; the development was determined by the rhythmic and melodic motives immanent in the work.
Several brief illustrations may serve to give us a clear picture of what has been said. The first is a cult-song of American origin. Again we turn to the cult usages of one of the tribes of New Mexico, the Sia. The motif of the song, which is rain-magic, furnishes the material for very many of the ceremonies of these regions. The song of the rain-priests is as follows:--
All ye fluttering clouds, All ye clouds, cherish the fields, All ye lightnings and thunders, rainbows and cloud-peoples, Come and labour for us.
This song is repeated again and again without change of motif--it is a conjuration in the form of a song.
The snake society of the Hopi, to which we have already referred, has a similar song, which it sings with musical accompaniment. It runs as follows:--
Oh, snake society of the North, come and labour for us, Snake society of the South, of the West, snake society of the Zenith and of the Nadir, Come hither and labour for us.
The fact that the snake societies of the Zenith and Nadir are invoked makes it clear that this song is not, as it were, an appeal addressed to other societies of human beings. There are, of course, none such at the Zenith or the Nadir. The song is obviously directed to a demon society conceived as similar to human cult associations. It petitions for assistance in the preparation of the field and for a successful harvest.
The repetitions in such cases as these are always due to the fact that the songs are conjurations. Not so with the work-song. This is generally the expression of a greater diversity of motives, as is shown by the following lines taken from a song of the Maoris of New Zealand. The song is one which they sing while transporting trunks of trees to the coast:--
Give more room, Joyous folk, give room for the totara, Joyous folk, Give me the maro. ***************************** Slide on, slide on! Slip along, slip along! Joyous folk! etc.
'Totara' and 'maro' are the names of trees that they have felled. In its rhythm and its repetitions, the song gives us a direct portrayal of the work itself.
These song-forms are still entirely the product of external motives and never arise under the independent and immediate influence of subjective moods. Far superior to them is another field of literary composition, the _narrative_. The totemic age, particularly, has produced a great variety of forms of narrative. Predominant among these is the _märchen-myth_, a narrative which resembles the fairy-tale and which, as a rule, continues during this period to be of the nature of a credited myth. It is a prose narrative circulated by word of mouth, in which manner it sometimes traverses wide regions. With occasional changes or in connection with different mythical ideas it may survive many generations. So far as these general characteristics are concerned, the märchen, indeed, is the most permanent of all forms of literary composition. It extends from the most primitive levels of culture down to the present. In the form of the märchen-myth, however, it is especially characteristic of the totemic age. We now possess numerous collections of such tales from the most diverse regions of totemic as well as of later civilizations. An Englishwoman, Mrs. Parker, has brought together a number of Australian tales, and these have been augmented in more recent times, particularly through the labours of the German missionary Strehlow. Strehlow has a great advantage over most of the other Australian investigators in being familiar with the languages of the tribes among whom he lives. Valuable material regarding America and Africa has been gathered particularly by American and English travellers; data, furthermore, are not lacking concerning the natural and cultural peoples of other parts of the earth. Moreover, comparative research has for some time past studied the märchen with the primary purpose of determining to what localities the materials of the märchen and the fable have spread, and thus, in turn, of learning the early cultural relations of peoples. This investigation of the märchen, however, has, for the most part, suffered from a false preconception. The criterion by which we judge present-day tales of this sort was applied to märchen-fiction in general. The märchen-myths of primitive peoples, therefore, were regarded either as creations of individuals and as never having been credited, or, at best, as retrogressive forms of higher types of myth--particularly of nature myths--adapted to the needs of childlike comprehension. A closer investigation of the märchen-myths of relatively primitive peoples has rendered this theory absolutely untenable. True, retrogressive forms occasionally occur in this as well as in most other sorts of myth and of literary composition. Nevertheless, there is no longer any room for doubt that, on the one hand, the earliest products of narrative composition were all of the nature of the märchen, and that, on the other hand, most primitive märchen-fictions were _credited myths_. An attempt to arrive at the sources of the most common motifs of the märchen of different peoples and ages will reveal the fact that the majority of them must undoubtedly be traced to the totemic age. Such was the environment, certainly, in which the earliest narrative had its setting, particularly in so far as it was believed to report truths of history.
The early myth narrative was of the general character of the märchen primarily in that it was not, as a rule, restricted to a specific time or place. This also differentiates the folk märchen of to-day from the saga. An occasional exception is offered by the anthropogenic legends of peoples of nature, although these also are in other respects of the nature of the märchen. A second essential characteristic of the märchen is the fact that magical agencies play a rôle in the determination of events. This is true even of present-day folk märchen, and is due to the circumstance that the primitive märchen arose in an age which was still entirely under the dominance of magical beliefs. These beliefs, which influenced all phases of the activity of primitive man, also caused the magical märchen to be credited either in their entirety or at least in great part. All the narratives of this age, however, bear the characteristics of the märchen, as these have just been indicated, or, at any rate, it is at most only occasionally, in the primitive legend, that they approximate to the saga. It follows, therefore, that the development of the myth in general begins with the märchen-myth. Here also the development proceeds from below upwards, and not the reverse.
But even though the beginnings of the märchen-myth doubtless date back to primitive man, the flower of the development is undeniably to be found in the totemic age. For it is to this age that all those characteristics point that are still to be found, as survivals of the totemic period, in present-day märchen and children's fairy-tales. Of such characteristics, we might mention primarily the magical causality which the action involves--a point to which we have already referred--and also the rôle assigned to the _animal_, which is portrayed either as the helper and benefactor of man or, at the least, as like him in nature. The latter resemblance appears particularly in the fact that marriages are frequently represented as taking place between man and animals; furthermore, transformations of men into animals are said to occur, and retransformations of the latter into men. In these totemic märchen we very seldom find man to the exclusion of animals; just as little, moreover, do animals appear alone. Both the animal fable and the märchen which deals exclusively with human beings, are products of a later development and belong to a period in which the märchen is no longer credited. Even more truly, however, do these primitive märchen lack the moral lessons which are taught by the stories of later times, particularly by the fable. Nevertheless, those fable märchen which are generally called 'explicative' because they explain the traits of certain animals, still generally bear the marks of the totemic age, even though they apparently belong to one of its somewhat later periods. An example of this is the tale of the American Indians of the North-west, according to which the crow became black through being burned by the sun while stealing celestial fire; or the tale of the Bantus, which explains that the rabbit acquired the cleft in his lip as the result of a blow once dealt him by the man in the moon.
The most primitive märchen lacks all such intellectualistic motives. It recounts an event without any discernible purpose or without bringing the action to any natural conclusion. The following Australian märchen may serve as an illustration: 'Several women go out into the field with their children to gather grass seed. There they meet a magpie. It offers to watch the children while the women are gathering the seeds. They leave the children with the magpie. When they return, however, the children have disappeared. The magpie has hidden them in a hollow tree. The women hear the children crying, but do not know where they are, and return home without them. The magpie has disappeared.' Such a narrative is strikingly similar, in its lack of aim, to the songs of primitive peoples. Markedly superior is the märchen-fiction found among other natural peoples of totemic culture. These tales gradually develop a closer connection between the events. It is now that the märchen hero makes his appearance, and it is with him, particularly, that the events are associated. This hero is not of course, similar to the one of the later hero saga, who gains distinction by his strength, cleverness, and other qualities. He is a magic-hero, in control of magical forces. The latter are frequently represented as communicated to him by an animal which he meets, or by an old woman; more rarely, he is said to receive them from a male magician. A further characteristic of the childhood period of the märchen-fiction is the fact that the hero himself is almost always a child. A youth sets forth on adventure, meets with magical experiences, returns home, and generally benefits his tribe through certain possessions that he has acquired on his journey. Here, again, animals play a supporting rôle. Rich collections of such märchen have been gathered, particularly in America. One of the tales of the Pawnee tribe of prairie Indians runs as follows: 'A young man did not join his companions in their sports, but went alone into the forest. One day he returned with a buffalo cow which had become his wife and had borne him a buffalo calf. But the very moment that the wife and calf entered the hut of the man they were transformed into human beings. Nevertheless, a cloud of magic hung over the man. If the child were to fall to the floor, it would be changed back into a buffalo calf. Now, this misfortune actually came to pass, and the mother was also again changed into a buffalo cow. Sadly the young man then went with them into the forest, where he himself became a buffalo and for a time lived quietly with the buffalo herd. Suddenly he again returned home, transformed into a man. But he had learned from the buffaloes how one must set about to lure them forth in order to hunt them. This secret he imparted to his fellow-tribesmen, and since that time the tribe has enjoyed plenty of buffalo meat.' This is a buffalo legend which tells of a sort of compact between the tribe and the buffaloes. That the legend, moreover, is not a mere märchen in our sense of the term, has been strikingly shown by Dorsey, to whom we owe the collection of Pawnee tales from which this story is taken. The tale is still recounted by the Pawnees when they wish the buffalo to appear for the hunt. Thus, it is a magical märchen, not only in that it deals with magical events but also in that its narration is supposed to exercise magical powers. This naturally presupposes that it is credited.
To trace the further development of the totemic märchen-myth is to find the gradual emergence of characteristic changes. The relation between man and the animal is slowly altered. This is most clearly apparent in connection with the transformation of human beings into animals. This change is no longer held to be one in which man, because of the magical powers which he acquires, is the gainer, and not the loser. The transformation now more and more comes to be regarded as a degradation. The man who has changed into an animal is portrayed by the märchen as denounced and persecuted by his fellow-tribesmen. He is compelled to withdraw into solitude or to live exclusively with the animal herd, because he is no longer regarded by his fellows as an equal. Later, near the end of the totemic period, the change is conceived, not as degradation but as the result of an evil magic from which an innocent person suffers, and, eventually, as a punishment which overtakes a person because of some misdeed or other. Of these notions, that of malevolent magic again apparently antedates that of punishment. When the latter appears, the relation which was characteristic of totemism at its height becomes practically reversed. Quite naturally, therefore, the idea that transformation into an animal is a punishment arises long after the close of the totemic age. Indeed, it is to be found far into the period of ideas of requital, which are a relatively late product of deity cult, and whose development is largely influenced by philosophical reflection. Thus considered, the doctrine of metempsychosis developed by the Brahmans of India and by the Pythagorean sect of the Occident is the last metamorphosis of a very ancient totemic animal tale. These changes, however, have had practically no influence on the development of the märchen itself. This is shown by the fact that the folk märchen of to-day have universally retained the idea that the transformation of men into animals is the result of malevolent magic. The latter, indeed, is the form in which these survivals of a distant totemic past are even to-day most easily comprehensible to the child mind.
Thus, the animal märchen is an important product of totemic culture, directly embodying the views that dominate the life of this age. In addition to such tales, however, and, in part, in combination with them, there are several other forms of the märchen-myth, consisting chiefly of ideas concerning nature and, to some extent, of magical ideas sustained by the human emotions of fear and of hope. _Two_ sorts of märchen, especially, should here be mentioned, _celestial tales_ and _tales of fortune_, both of which owe their development to totemic culture. The celestial märchen, however, disappears comparatively early, mainly, no doubt, because it is displaced or assimilated by the celestial mythology of the post-totemic age. The märchen of fortune, on the other hand, remains as a permanent form of märchen-fiction, and all later narrative composition has been influenced by it.
The celestial märchen affords a direct record of the impression made by celestial phenomena on the consciousness of an age whose ideas were as yet circumscribed by the environment. By the environment, however, must as yet be understood the entire visible world--sun, moon, and stars, as well as hills and valleys, animals and men. The distant, moreover, was always likened to that which was near at hand and immediately accessible. Animals and men were supposed to inhabit the clouds and the heavenly bodies, precisely as they do the earth, and the relations which they were there held to sustain to one another are identical with those described in the animal tale. When the new moon appears, a wolf is devouring the moon; in an eclipse of the sun, the sun is swallowed up by a black monster; and when, in the evening, the sun disappears behind a dark cloud, it likewise is overpowered by a monster, and the red glow of the sunset is the blood which it sheds. _Three_ themes in particular are dominant in the most primitive celestial tales: the ascension of man into the heavens, his descent from heaven, and the devourment of the great heavenly bodies, in particular of the sun, at sunset. One of the earliest of these conceptions is the journey to heaven. This is indicated by the very fact that the means for this journey are always derived directly from nature, or consist of the weapons and implements of primitive culture. There is a conception current in Australia and Oceania that beings have climbed to heaven by means of high trees, or have allowed themselves to be raised up by the branch of a tree that had been bent down to the earth. Where the bow and arrow exist, as in Melanesia and America, the arrow-ladder is frequently employed for the celestial journey. A hunter shoots an arrow into the heavens, where it remains fixed; he then sends a second arrow which catches into the notch of the first, then a third, a fourth, etc., until the ladder reaches to the earth. The downward journey is not so difficult. This is generally accomplished by means of a basket or a rope sustained by cords; it is thus that the celestial inhabitant is enabled to descend to the earth. Many märchen relate that the sun and the moon were originally human beings who journeyed to the heavens. Here they are thought to remain, or occasionally, perhaps, to return to the earth while other human beings take their place.
Besides the märchen telling of the interrelations of human and celestial beings, there are also a number of other sorts. Of them we may here single out, as a particularly characteristic type, those which deal with _devourment_. Obviously, as has already been noticed, it is the setting of the sun that very frequently constitutes the central theme of these tales. These märchen of devourment, however, differ from those that deal with celestial journeys in that they clearly exemplify narratives in which only _one_ of the elements consists of a celestial phenomenon; in addition to it, there are regularly also other elements borrowed from the terrestrial environment. Indeed, the latter may of itself originate märchen, independently of the influence of celestial phenomena. We must distinguish at the outset, therefore, between those märchen of devourment that contain celestial elements and others in which these elements are apparently lacking. A familiar example of märchen of devourment is the Biblical legend of Jonah. In its traditional rendering, this is clearly of a relatively late origin, though it is probably based on much older tales. Many of the tales of devourment, which are common to all parts of the earth, centre about a hero, who is generally a courageous youth seeking adventure. The hero is devoured by a monster; he kindles a fire in the belly of the monster, and, by burning up its entrails, rescues himself. The fact that fire figures so prominently in these tales makes it highly probable that they took shape under the influence of observations of the setting sun. Other tales make no mention of fire, but relate that the belly of the monster is extremely hot, and that the heat singes the hair of the one who has been swallowed. In an old illustrated Bible which was recently discovered, Jonah is pictured as having a luxuriant growth of hair at the moment when he is being swallowed; in a second picture, when he comes forth from the belly of the whale, he is entirely bald. But even though this reference to fire and to heat indicates an influence on the part of the sunset, this type of celestial märchen is none the less entirely different from that which deals with journeys to heaven and the return to earth. In the latter, the heaven is itself the scene of action upon which men and animals play their rôles. In the märchen of devourment, the celestial phenomenon imparts certain characteristics to the terrestrial action that is being described, but the latter continues to preserve its terrestrial nature. The narrator of the märchen or legend, therefore, may be wholly unconscious of any reference to the heavens. The psychological process of assimilation causes elements of a celestial phenomenon to be fused into an action of the terrestrial environment and to communicate to the latter certain characteristics without, however, thereby changing the setting of the action. The shark and the alligator are animals capable of devouring men, though this occurs less frequently in reality than in story. Yet because thoughts of this sort arouse strong emotions, they may of themselves very well come to form themes of märchen of devourment. This has frequently been the case. It seems to have happened, for example, in the Jonah legend. The above-mentioned picture in which the prophet is represented as hairless after having been in the belly of the fish, may very well have its source in some other märchen of devourment. In thus combining numerous elements of different origins, the märchen is truly representative of myth development. It shows clearly that the main theme of the myth is usually taken from man's terrestrial environment. True, celestial elements may enter into its composition and may sometimes give to the mythological conception its characteristic features. Even in such cases, however, a consideration of the tale as a whole will show that the celestial elements are completely absorbed by the terrestrial theme; their very existence may be completely unknown to the narrators of the tale. In a similar manner, celestial elements have probably been involved in the formation of other widely current märchen. Thus, the märchen theme underlying the legends of the Babylonian Sargon, the Israelitic Moses, and the Egyptian Osiris, as well as other tales in which a child, secreted in a chest, is borne away by the waves and lands on a distant shore, is generally regarded as having been suggested by the temporary disappearance and reappearance of the sun in a cloudy sky. In this case, however, the supposition is doubtless much more uncertain than in the case of the märchen of devourment. The theme relating to fire in the belly of the monster may be regarded as fairly unambiguous evidence of the influence of celestial phenomena, precisely because it is related only externally and apparently accidentally to the action. It should further be said that the märchen of the floating chest, at least in its connection with the personalities of the saga and of history, does not appear until the post-totemic age. It is probably an old märchen-theme which was assimilated by these legends of origin because the origin of a hero or a god was unknown and demanded explanation. Once appropriated, it underwent a number of changes in form.
Thus, the celestial märchen transcends the ideas characteristic of the totemic age. No less do the tales of _fortune_ or _adventure_ generally mark the transition from the supremacy of the animal to the dominance of man. These tales, however, exhibit but a gradual and continuous development. In the earliest märchen-myths, of which several examples have already been mentioned, the narrative describes an event with entire objectivity, without any apparent colouring derived from the emotional attitude of the narrator. Later, however, even the totemic animal märchen more and more betrays a love of the adventurous and of shifting fortunes. This change varies with the degree in which _man_ steps into the centre of action, and animals, though not entirely disappearing, receive a place, similarly to monsters and other fantastic beings, only in so far as they affect the destinies of the hero of the tale. The main theme of the narrative then consists of the adventures of the hero, who is represented as experiencing many changes of fortune, always, however, with a happy ending. But even at this stage of development the hero is a boy; at a somewhat later period, a young girl sometimes assumes the rôle, or a youth wins a maiden after numerous adventures. At this point, the tale of fortune ceases to be a true märchen-myth. Just as the dance changes from a cult ceremony into a direct expression of lively emotions of pleasure, themselves heightened by the joy in the rhythm of the bodily movements, so also does the märchen develop into a narrative that ministers to the mere delight in fluctuations of life-events and in their happy outcome.
Thus, the beginnings of the tale of fortune go back to early totemic culture, though its more perfect development is to be found only among the semi-cultural peoples of the totemic era. The hero of the märchen then gradually passes over into the hero of the saga and of the epic. Instead of the boy who sets forth upon magical adventures, we find the youth who has matured into manhood and whose mighty deeds fill the world with his fame. The preliminary steps to this transition are taken when the märchen hero, particularly in the tale of fortune, acquires a more and more _personal_ character. Thus, even at a very early age, we find that two types of hero appear side by side--the strong and the clever. These types, portrayed by the märchen, survive also in the heroes of the epic. Moreover, in addition to the strong and the clever, the Achilles and the Ulysses, the märchen introduces also the malevolent, quarrelsome, and despicable hero, the Thersites.
