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diff --git a/14080-h/14080-h.htm b/14080-h/14080-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f83435 --- /dev/null +++ b/14080-h/14080-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8170 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Custom and Myth</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Custom and Myth, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Custom and Myth, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Custom and Myth + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: November 17, 2004 [eBook #14080] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUSTOM AND MYTH*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1884 Longmans, Green and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>CUSTOM AND MYTH</h1> +<p>To E. B. Tylor, author of ‘Primitive Culture,’ these +studies of the oldest stories are dedicated.</p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p>Though some of the essays in this volume have appeared in various +serials, the majority of them were written expressly for their present +purpose, and they are now arranged in a designed order. During +some years of study of Greek, Indian, and savage mythologies, I have +become more and more impressed with a sense of the inadequacy of the +prevalent method of comparative mythology. That method is based +on the belief that myths are the result of a disease of language, as +the pearl is the result of a disease of the oyster. It is argued +that men at some period, or periods, spoke in a singular style of coloured +and concrete language, and that their children retained the phrases +of this language after losing hold of the original meaning. The +consequence was the growth of myths about supposed persons, whose names +had originally been mere ‘appellations.’ In conformity +with this hypothesis the method of comparative mythology examines the +proper names which occur in myths. The notion is that these names +contain a key to the meaning of the story, and that, in fact, of the +story the names are the germs and the oldest surviving part.</p> +<p>The objections to this method are so numerous that it is difficult +to state them briefly. The attempt, however, must be made. +To desert the path opened by the most eminent scholars is in itself +presumptuous; the least that an innovator can do is to give his reasons +for advancing in a novel direction. If this were a question of +scholarship merely, it would be simply foolhardy to differ from men +like Max Müller, Adalbert Kuhn, Bréal, and many others. +But a revolutionary mythologist is encouraged by finding that these +scholars usually differ from each other. Examples will be found +chiefly in the essays styled ‘The Myth of Cronus,’ ‘A +Far-travelled Tale,’ and ‘Cupid and Psyche.’ +Why, then, do distinguished scholars and mythologists reach such different +goals? Clearly because their method is so precarious. They +all analyse the names in myths; but, where one scholar decides that +the name is originally Sanskrit, another holds that it is purely Greek, +and a third, perhaps, is all for an Accadian etymology, or a Semitic +derivation. Again, even when scholars agree as to the original +root from which a name springs, they differ as much as ever as to the +meaning of the name in its present place. The inference is, that +the analysis of names, on which the whole edifice of philological ‘comparative +mythology’ rests, is a foundation of shifting sand. The +method is called ‘orthodox,’ but, among those who practise +it, there is none of the beautiful unanimity of orthodoxy.</p> +<p>These objections are not made by the unscholarly anthropologist alone. +Curtius has especially remarked the difficulties which beset the ‘etymological +operation’ in the case of proper names. ‘Peculiarly +dubious and perilous is mythological etymology. Are we to seek +the sources of the divine names in aspects of nature, or in moral conceptions; +in special Greek geographical conditions, or in natural circumstances +which are everywhere the same: in dawn with her rays, or in clouds with +their floods; are we to seek the origin of the names of heroes in things +historical and human, or in physical phenomena?’ <a name="citation3a"></a><a href="#footnote3a">{3a}</a> +Professor Tiele, of Leyden, says much the same thing: ‘The uncertainties +are great, and there is a constant risk of taking mere <i>jeux d’esprit</i> +for scientific results.’ <a name="citation3b"></a><a href="#footnote3b">{3b}</a> +Every name has, if we can discover or conjecture it, a meaning. +That meaning—be it ‘large’ or ‘small,’ +‘loud’ or ‘bright,’ ‘wise’ or ‘dark,’ +‘swift’ or ‘slow’—is always capable of +being explained as an epithet of the sun, or of the cloud, or of both. +Whatever, then, a name may signify, some scholars will find that it +originally denoted the cloud, if they belong to one school, or the sun +or dawn, if they belong to another faction. Obviously this process +is a mere <i>jeu d’esprit</i>. This logic would be admitted +in no other science, and, by similar arguments, any name whatever might +be shown to be appropriate to a solar hero.</p> +<p>The scholarly method has now been applied for many years, and what +are the results? The ideas attained by the method have been so +popularised that they are actually made to enter into the education +of children, and are published in primers and catechisms of mythology. +But what has a discreet scholar to say to the whole business? +‘The difficult task of interpreting mythical names has, so far, +produced few certain results’—so writes Otto Schrader. <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a> +Though Schrader still has hopes of better things, it is admitted that +the present results are highly disputable. In England, where one +set of these results has become an article of faith, readers chiefly +accept the opinions of a single etymological school, and thus escape +the difficulty of making up their minds when scholars differ. +But differ scholars do, so widely and so often, that scarcely any solid +advantages have been gained in mythology from the philological method.</p> +<p>The method of philological mythology is thus discredited by the disputes +of its adherents. The system may be called orthodox, but it is +an orthodoxy which alters with every new scholar who enters the sacred +enclosure. Even were there more harmony, the analysis of names +could throw little light on myths. In stories the names may well +be, and often demonstrably are, the latest, not the original, feature. +Tales, at first told of ‘Somebody,’ get new names attached +to them, and obtain a new local habitation, wherever they wander. +‘One of the leading personages to be met in the traditions of +the world is really no more than—Somebody. There is nothing +this wondrous creature cannot achieve; one only restriction binds him +at all—that the name he assumes shall have some sort of congruity +with the office he undertakes, <i>and even from this he oftentimes breaks +loose</i>.’ <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a> +We may be pretty sure that the adventures of Jason, Perseus, Œdipous, +were originally told only of ‘Somebody.’ The names +are later additions, and vary in various lands. A glance at the +essay on ‘Cupid and Psyche’ will show that a history like +theirs is known, where neither they nor their counterparts in the Veda, +Urvasi and Pururavas, were ever heard of; while the incidents of the +Jason legend are familiar where no Greek word was ever spoken. +Finally, the names in common use among savages are usually derived from +natural phenomena, often from clouds, sky, sun, dawn. If, then, +a name in a myth can be proved to mean cloud, sky, sun, or what not +(and usually one set of scholars find clouds, where others see the dawn), +we must not instantly infer that the myth is a nature-myth. Though, +doubtless, the heroes in it were never real people, the names are as +much common names of real people in the savage state, as Smith and Brown +are names of civilised men.</p> +<p>For all these reasons, but chiefly because of the fact that stories +are usually anonymous at first, that names are added later, and that +stories naturally crystallise round any famous name, heroic, divine, +or human, the process of analysis of names is most precarious and untrustworthy. +A story is told of Zeus: Zeus means sky, and the story is interpreted +by scholars as a sky myth. The modern interpreter forgets, first, +that to the myth-maker sky did not at all mean the same thing as it +means to him. Sky meant, not an airy, infinite, radiant vault, +but a person, and, most likely, a savage person. Secondly, the +interpreter forgets that the tale (say the tale of Zeus, Demeter, and +the mutilated Ram) may have been originally anonymous, and only later +attributed to Zeus, as unclaimed jests are attributed to Sheridan or +Talleyrand. Consequently no heavenly phenomena will be the basis +and explanation of the story. If one thing in mythology be certain, +it is that myths are always changing masters, that the old tales are +always being told with new names. Where, for example, is the value +of a philological analysis of the name of Jason? As will be seen +in the essay ‘A Far-travelled Tale,’ the analysis of the +name of Jason is fanciful, precarious, disputed, while the essence of +his myth is current in Samoa, Finland, North America, Madagascar, and +other lands, where the name was never heard, and where the characters +in the story have other names or are anonymous.</p> +<p>For these reasons, and others too many to be adduced here, I have +ventured to differ from the current opinion that myths must be interpreted +chiefly by philological analysis of names. The system adopted +here is explained in the first essay, called ‘The Method of Folklore.’ +The name, Folklore, is not a good one, but ‘comparative mythology’ +is usually claimed exclusively by the philological interpreters.</p> +<p>The second essay, ‘The Bull-Roarer,’ is intended to show +that certain peculiarities in the Greek mysteries occur also in the +mysteries of savages, and that on Greek soil they are survivals of savagery.</p> +<p>‘The Myth of Cronus’ tries to prove that the first part +of the legend is a savage nature-myth, surviving in Greek religion, +while the sequel is a set of ideas common to savages.</p> +<p>‘Cupid and Psyche’ traces another Aryan myth among savage +races, and attempts to show that the myth may have had its origin in +a rule of barbarous etiquette.</p> +<p>‘A Far-travelled Tale’ examines a part of the Jason myth. +This myth appears neither to be an explanation of natural phenomena +(like part of the Myth of Cronus), nor based on a widespread custom +(like Cupid and Psyche.) The question is asked whether the story +may have been diffused by slow filtration from race to race all over +the globe, as there seems no reason why it should have been invented +separately (as a myth explanatory of natural phenomena or of customs +might be) in many different places.</p> +<p>‘Apollo and the Mouse’ suggests hypothetically, as a +possible explanation of the tie between the God and the Beast, that +Apollo-worship superseded, but did not eradicate, Totemism. The +suggestion is little more than a conjecture.</p> +<p>‘Star Myths’ points out that Greek myths of stars are +a survival from the savage stage of fancy in which such stories are +natural.</p> +<p>‘Moly and Mandragora’ is a study of the Greek, the modern, +and the Hottentot folklore of magical herbs, with a criticism of a scholarly +and philological hypothesis, according to which Moly is the dog-star, +and Circe the moon.</p> +<p>‘The Kalevala’ is an account of the Finnish national +poem; of all poems that in which the popular, as opposed to the artistic, +spirit is strongest. The Kalevala is thus a link between <i>Märchen</i> +and <i>Volkslieder</i> on one side, and epic poetry on the other.</p> +<p>‘The Divining Rod’ is a study of a European and civilised +superstition, which is singular in its comparative lack of copious savage +analogues.</p> +<p>‘Hottentot Mythology’ is a criticism of the philological +method, applied to savage myth.</p> +<p>‘Fetichism and the Infinite,’ is a review of Mr. Max +Müller’s theory that a sense of the Infinite is the germ +of religion, and that Fetichism is secondary, and a corruption. +This essay also contains a defence of the <i>evidence</i> on which the +anthropological method relies.</p> +<p>The remaining essays are studies of the ‘History of the Family,’ +and of ‘Savage Art.’</p> +<p>The essay on ‘Savage Art’ is reprinted, by the kind permission +of Messrs. Cassell & Co., from two numbers (April and May, 1882) +of the <i>Magazine of Art</i>. I have to thank the editors and +publishers of the <i>Contemporary Review</i>, the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, +and <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, for leave to republish ‘The +Early History of the Family,’ ‘The Divining Rod,’ +and ‘Star Myths,’ and ‘The Kalevala.’ +A few sentences in ‘The Bull-Roarer,’ and ‘Hottentot +Mythology,’ appeared in essays in the <i>Saturday Review</i>, +and some lines of ‘The Method of Folklore’ in the <i>Guardian</i>. +To the editors of those journals also I owe thanks for their courteous +permission to make this use of my old articles.</p> +<p>To Mr. E. B. Tylor and Mr. W. R. S. Ralston I must express my gratitude +for the kindness with which they have always helped me in all difficulties.</p> +<p>I must apologise for the controversial matter in the volume. +Controversy is always a thing to be avoided, but, in this particular +case, when a system opposed to the prevalent method has to be advocated, +controversy is unavoidable. My respect for the learning of my +distinguished adversaries is none the less great because I am not convinced +by their logic, and because my doubts are excited by their differences.</p> +<p>Perhaps, it should be added, that these essays are, so to speak, +only flint-flakes from a neolithic workshop. This little book +merely skirmishes (to change the metaphor) in front of a much more methodical +attempt to vindicate the anthropological interpretation of myths. +But lack of leisure and other causes make it probable that my ‘Key +to All Mythologies’ will go the way of Mr. Casaubon’s treatise.</p> +<h2>THE METHOD OF FOLKLORE.</h2> +<p>After the heavy rain of a thunderstorm has washed the soil, it sometimes +happens that a child, or a rustic, finds a wedge-shaped piece of metal +or a few triangular flints in a field or near a road. There was +no such piece of metal, there were no such flints, lying there yesterday, +and the finder is puzzled about the origin of the objects on which he +has lighted. He carries them home, and the village wisdom determines +that the wedge-shaped piece of metal is a ‘thunderbolt,’ +or that the bits of flint are ‘elf-shots,’ the heads of +fairy arrows. Such things are still treasured in remote nooks +of England, and the ‘thunderbolt’ is applied to cure certain +maladies by its touch.</p> +<p>As for the fairy arrows, we know that even in ancient Etruria they +were looked on as magical, for we sometimes see their points set, as +amulets, in the gold of Etruscan necklaces. In Perugia the arrowheads +are still sold as charms. All educated people, of course, have +long been aware that the metal wedge is a celt, or ancient bronze axe-head, +and that it was not fairies, but the forgotten peoples of this island +who used the arrows with the tips of flint. Thunder is only so +far connected with them that the heavy rains loosen the surface soil, +and lay bare its long hidden secrets.</p> +<p>There is a science, Archæology, which collects and compares +the material relics of old races, the axes and arrow-heads. There +is a form of study, Folklore, which collects and compares the similar +but immaterial relics of old races, the surviving superstitions and +stories, the ideas which are in our time but not of it. Properly +speaking, folklore is only concerned with the legends, customs, beliefs, +of the Folk, of the people, of the classes which have least been altered +by education, which have shared least in progress. But the student +of folklore soon finds that these unprogressive classes retain many +of the beliefs and ways of savages, just as the Hebridean people use +spindle-whorls of stone, and bake clay pots without the aid of the wheel, +like modern South Sea Islanders, or like their own prehistoric ancestors. +<a name="citation11a"></a><a href="#footnote11a">{11a}</a> The +student of folklore is thus led to examine the usages, myths, and ideas +of savages, which are still retained, in rude enough shape, by the European +peasantry. Lastly, he observes that a few similar customs and +ideas survive in the most conservative elements of the life of educated +peoples, in ritual, ceremonial, and religious traditions and myths. +Though such remains are rare in England, we may note the custom of leading +the dead soldier’s horse behind his master to the grave, a relic +of days when the horse would have been sacrificed. <a name="citation11b"></a><a href="#footnote11b">{11b}</a> +We may observe the persistence of the ceremony by which the monarch, +at his coronation, takes his seat on the sacred stone of Scone, probably +an ancient fetich stone. Not to speak, here, of our own religious +traditions, the old vein of savage rite and belief is found very near +the surface of ancient Greek religion. It needs but some stress +of circumstance, something answering to the storm shower that reveals +the flint arrow-heads, to bring savage ritual to the surface of classical +religion. In sore need, a human victim was only too likely to +be demanded; while a feast-day, or a mystery, set the Greeks dancing +serpent-dances or bear-dances like Red Indians, or swimming with sacred +pigs, or leaping about in imitation of wolves, or holding a dog-feast, +and offering dog’s flesh to the gods. <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a> +Thus the student of folklore soon finds that he must enlarge his field, +and examine, not only popular European story and practice, but savage +ways and ideas, and the myths and usages of the educated classes in +civilised races. In this extended sense the term ‘folklore’ +will frequently be used in the following essays. The idea of the +writer is that mythology cannot fruitfully be studied apart from folklore, +while some knowledge of anthropology is required in both sciences.</p> +<p>The science of Folklore, if we may call it a science, finds everywhere, +close to the surface of civilised life, the remains of ideas as old +as the stone elf-shots, older than the celt of bronze. In proverbs +and riddles, and nursery tales and superstitions, we detect the relics +of a stage of thought, which is dying out in Europe, but which still +exists in many parts of the world. Now, just as the flint arrow-heads +are scattered everywhere, in all the continents and isles, and everywhere +are much alike, and bear no very definite marks of the special influence +of race, so it is with the habits and legends investigated by the student +of folklore. The stone arrow-head buried in a Scottish cairn is +like those which were interred with Algonquin chiefs. The flints +found in Egyptian soil, or beside the tumulus on the plain of Marathon, +nearly resemble the stones which tip the reed arrow of the modern Samoyed. +Perhaps only a skilled experience could discern, in a heap of such arrow-heads, +the specimens which are found in America or Africa from those which +are unearthed in Europe. Even in the products of more advanced +industry, we see early pottery, for example, so closely alike everywhere +that, in the British Museum, Mexican vases have, ere now, been mixed +up on the same shelf with archaic vessels from Greece. In the +same way, if a superstition or a riddle were offered to a student of +folklore, he would have much difficulty in guessing its <i>provenance</i>, +and naming the race from which it was brought. Suppose you tell +a folklorist that, in a certain country, when anyone sneezes, people +say ‘Good luck to you,’ the student cannot say <i>à +priori</i> what country you refer to, what race you have in your thoughts. +It may be Florida, as Florida was when first discovered; it may be Zululand, +or West Africa, or ancient Rome, or Homeric Greece, or Palestine. +In all these, and many other regions, the sneeze was welcomed as an +auspicious omen. The little superstition is as widely distributed +as the flint arrow-heads. Just as the object and use of the arrow-heads +became intelligible when we found similar weapons in actual use among +savages, so the salutation to the sneezer becomes intelligible when +we learn that the savage has a good reason for it. He thinks the +sneeze expels an evil spirit. Proverbs, again, and riddles are +as universally scattered, and the Wolufs puzzle over the same <i>devinettes</i> +as the Scotch schoolboy or the Breton peasant. Thus, for instance, +the Wolufs of Senegal ask each other, ‘What flies for ever, and +rests never?’—Answer, ‘The Wind.’ ‘Who +are the comrades that always fight, and never hurt each other?’—‘The +Teeth.’ In France, as we read in the ‘Recueil de Calembours,’ +the people ask, ‘What runs faster than a horse, crosses water, +and is not wet?’—Answer, ‘The Sun.’ The +Samoans put the riddle, ‘A man who stands between two ravenous +fishes?’—Answer, ‘The tongue between the teeth.’ +Again, ‘There are twenty brothers, each with a hat on his head?’—Answer, +‘Fingers and toes, with nails for hats.’ This is like +the French ‘<i>un père a douze fils</i>?’—‘<i>l’an</i>.’ +A comparison of M. Rolland’s ‘Devinettes’ with the +Woluf conundrums of Boilat, the Samoan examples in Turner’s’ +Samoa,’ and the Scotch enigmas collected by Chambers, will show +the identity of peasant and savage humour.</p> +<p>A few examples, less generally known, may be given to prove that +the beliefs of folklore are not peculiar to any one race or stock of +men. The first case is remarkable: it occurs in Mexico and Ceylon—nor +are we aware that it is found elsewhere. In <i>Macmillan’s +Magazine</i> <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a> +is published a paper by Mrs. Edwards, called ‘The Mystery of the +Pezazi.’ The events described in this narrative occurred +on August 28, 1876, in a bungalow some thirty miles from Badiella. +The narrator occupied a new house on an estate called Allagalla. +Her native servants soon asserted that the place was haunted by a Pezazi. +The English visitors saw and heard nothing extraordinary till a certain +night: an abridged account of what happened then may be given in the +words of Mrs. Edwards:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Wrapped in dreams, I lay on the night in question tranquilly +sleeping, but gradually roused to a perception that discordant sounds +disturbed the serenity of my slumber. Loth to stir, I still dozed +on, the sounds, however, becoming, as it seemed, more determined to +make themselves heard; and I awoke to the consciousness that they proceeded +from a belt of adjacent jungle, and resembled the noise that would be +produced by some person felling timber.</p> +<p>Shutting my ears to the disturbance, I made no sign, until, with +an expression of impatience, E--- suddenly started up, when I laid a +detaining grasp upon his arm, murmuring that there was no need to think +of rising at present—it must be quite early, and the kitchen cooly +was doubtless cutting fire-wood in good time. E--- responded, +in a tone of slight contempt, that no one could be cutting fire-wood +at that hour, and the sounds were more suggestive of felling jungle; +and he then inquired how long I had been listening to them. Now +thoroughly aroused, I replied that I had heard the sounds for some time, +at first confusing them with my dreams, but soon sufficiently awakening +to the fact that they were no mere phantoms of my imagination, but a +reality. During our conversation the noises became more distinct +and loud; blow after blow resounded, as of the axe descending upon the +tree, followed by the crash of the falling timber. Renewed blows +announced the repetition of the operations on another tree, and continued +till several were devastated.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is unnecessary to tell more of the tale. In spite of minute +examinations and close search, no solution of the mystery of the noises, +on this or any other occasion, was ever found. The natives, of +course, attributed the disturbance to the <i>Pezazi</i>, or goblin. +No one, perhaps, has asserted that the Aztecs were connected by ties +of race with the people of Ceylon. Yet, when the Spaniards conquered +Mexico, and when Sahagun (one of the earliest missionaries) collected +the legends of the people, he found them, like the Cingalese, strong +believers in the mystic tree-felling. We translate Sahagun’s +account of the ‘midnight axe’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>When so any man heareth the sound of strokes in the night, +as if one were felling trees, he reckons it an evil boding. And +this sound they call youaltepuztli (youalli, night; and tepuztli, copper), +which signifies ‘the midnight hatchet.’ This noise +cometh about the time of the first sleep, when all men slumber soundly, +and the night is still. The sound of strokes smitten was first +noted by the temple-servants, called tlamacazque, at the hour when they +go in the night to make their offering of reeds or of boughs of pine, +for so was their custom, and this penance they did on the neighbouring +hills, and that when the night was far spent. Whenever they heard +such a sound as one makes when he splits wood with an axe (a noise that +may be heard afar off), they drew thence an omen of evil, and were afraid, +and said that the sounds were part of the witchery of Tezeatlipoca, +that often thus dismayeth men who journey in the night. Now, when +tidings of these things came to a certain brave man, one exercised in +war, he drew near, being guided by the sound, till he came to the very +cause of the hubbub. And when he came upon it, with difficulty +he caught it, for the thing was hard to catch: natheless at last he +overtook that which ran before him; and behold, it was a man without +a heart, and, on either side of the chest, two holes that opened and +shut, and so made the noise. Then the man put his hand within +the breast of the figure and grasped the breast and shook it hard, demanding +some grace or gift.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As a rule, the grace demanded was power to make captives in war. +The curious coincidence of the ‘midnight axe,’ occurring +in lands so remote as Ceylon and Mexico, and the singular attestation +by an English lady of the actual existence of the disturbance, makes +this <i>youaltepuztli</i> one of the quaintest things in the province +of the folklorist. But, whatever the cause of the noise, or of +the beliefs connected with the noise, may be, no one would explain them +as the result of community of <i>race</i> between Cingalese and Aztecs. +Nor would this explanation be offered to account for the Aztec and English +belief that the creaking of furniture is an omen of death in a house. +Obviously, these opinions are the expression of a common state of superstitious +fancy, not the signs of an original community of origin.</p> +<p>Let us take another piece of folklore. All North-country English +folk know the <i>Kernababy</i>. The custom of the ‘Kernababy’ +is commonly observed in England, or, at all events, in Scotland, where +the writer has seen many a kernababy. The last gleanings of the +last field are bound up in a rude imitation of the human shape, and +dressed in some tag-rags of finery. The usage has fallen into +the conservative hands of children, but of old ‘the Maiden’ +was a regular image of the harvest goddess, which, with a sickle and +sheaves in her arms, attended by a crowd of reapers, and accompanied +with music, followed the last carts home to the farm. <a name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18">{18}</a> +It is odd enough that the ‘Maiden’ should exactly translate +Κορη, the old Sicilian name of the daughter of +Demeter. ‘The Maiden’ has dwindled, then, among us +to the rudimentary kernababy; but ancient Peru had her own Maiden, her +Harvest Goddess. Here it is easy to trace the natural idea at +the basis of the superstitious practice which links the shores of the +Pacific with our own northern coast. Just as a portion of the +yule-log and of the Christmas bread were kept all the year through, +a kind of nest-egg of plenteous food and fire, so the kernababy, English +or Peruvian, is an earnest that corn will not fail all through the year, +till next harvest comes. For this reason the kernababy used to +be treasured from autumn’s end to autumn’s end, though now +it commonly disappears very soon after the harvest home. It is +thus that Acosta describes, in Grimston’s old translation (1604), +the Peruvian kernababy and the Peruvian harvest home:—</p> +<blockquote><p>This feast is made comming from the chacra or farme unto +the house, saying certaine songs, and praying that the Mays (maize) +may long continue, the which they call Mama cora.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What a chance this word offers to etymologists of the old school: +how promptly they would recognise, in <i>mama</i> mother—μητηρ, +and in <i>cora</i>—κορη, the Mother and +the Maiden, the feast of Demeter and Persephone! However, the +days of that old school of antiquarianism are numbered. To return +to the Peruvian harvest home:—</p> +<blockquote><p>They take a certaine portion of the most fruitefull of +the Mays that growes in their farmes, the which they put in a certaine +granary which they do calle Pirua, with certaine ceremonies, watching +three nightes; they put this Mays in the richest garments they have, +and, being thus wrapped and dressed, they worship this Pirua, and hold +it in great veneration, saying it is the Mother of the Mays of their +inheritances, and that by this means the Mays augments and is preserved. +In this moneth they make a particular sacrifice, and the witches demand +of this Pirua, ‘if it hath strength sufficient to continue until +the next yeare,’ and if it answers ‘no,’ then they +carry this Mays to the farme to burne, whence they brought it, according +to every man’s power, then they make another Pirua, with the same +ceremonies, saying that they renue it, to the ende that the seede of +the Mays may not perish.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The idea that the maize can speak need not surprise us; the Mexican +held much the same belief, according to Sahagun:—</p> +<blockquote><p>It was thought that if some grains of maize fell on the +ground, he who saw them lying there was bound to lift them, wherein, +if he failed, he harmed the maize, which plained itself of him to God, +saying, ‘Lord, punish this man, who saw me fallen and raised me +not again; punish him with famine, that he may learn not to hold me +in dishonour.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Well, in all this affair of the Scotch kernababy, and the Peruvian +<i>Mama cora</i>, we need no explanation beyond the common simple ideas +of human nature. We are not obliged to hold, either that the Peruvians +and Scotch are akin by blood, nor that, at some forgotten time, they +met each other, and borrowed each other’s superstitions. +Again, when we find Odysseus sacrificing a black sheep to the dead, +<a name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20">{20}</a> and when we +read that the Ovahereroes in South Africa also appease with a black +sheep the spirits of the departed, we do not feel it necessary to hint +that the Ovahereroes are of Greek descent, or have borrowed their ritual +from the Greeks. The connection between the colour black, and +mourning for the dead, is natural and almost universal.</p> +<p>Examples like these might be adduced in any number. We might +show how, in magic, negroes of Barbadoes make clay effigies of their +enemies, and pierce them, just as Greeks did in Plato’s time, +or the men of Accad in remotest antiquity. We might remark the +Australian black putting sharp bits of quartz in the tracks of an enemy +who has gone by, that the enemy may be lamed; and we might point to +Boris Godunof forbidding the same practice among the Russians. +We might watch Scotch, and Australians, and Jews, and French, and Aztecs +spreading dust round the body of a dead man, that the footprints of +his ghost, or of other ghosts, may be detected next morning. We +might point to a similar device in a modern novel, where the presence +of a ghost is suspected, as proof of the similar workings of the Australian +mind and of the mind of Mrs. Riddell. We shall later turn to ancient +Greece, and show how the serpent-dances, the habit of smearing the body +with clay, and other odd rites of the mysteries, were common to Hellenic +religion, and to the religion of African, Australian, and American tribes.</p> +<p>Now, with regard to all these strange usages, what is the method +of folklore? The method is, when an apparently irrational and +anomalous custom is found in any country, to look for a country where +a similar practice is found, and where the practice is no longer irrational +and anomalous, but in harmony with the manners and ideas of the people +among whom it prevails. That Greeks should dance about in their +mysteries with harmless serpents in their hands looks quite unintelligible. +When a wild tribe of Red Indians does the same thing, as a trial of +courage, with real rattlesnakes, we understand the Red Man’s motives, +and may conjecture that similar motives once existed among the ancestors +of the Greeks. Our method, then, is to compare the seemingly meaningless +customs or manners of civilised races with the similar customs and manners +which exist among the uncivilised and still retain their meaning. +It is not necessary for comparison of this sort that the uncivilised +and the civilised race should be of the same stock, nor need we prove +that they were ever in contact with each other. Similar conditions +of mind produce similar practices, apart from identity of race, or borrowing +of ideas and manners.</p> +<p>Let us return to the example of the flint arrowheads. Everywhere +neolithic arrow-heads are pretty much alike. The cause of the +resemblance is no more than this, that men, with the same needs, the +same materials, and the same rude instruments, everywhere produced the +same kind of arrow-head. No hypothesis of interchange of ideas +nor of community of race is needed to explain the resemblance of form +in the missiles. Very early pottery in any region is, for the +same causes, like very early pottery in any other region. The +same sort of similarity was explained by the same resemblances in human +nature, when we touched on the identity of magical practices and of +superstitious beliefs. This method is fairly well established +and orthodox when we deal with usages and superstitious beliefs; but +may we apply the same method when we deal with myths?</p> +<p>Here a difficulty occurs. Mythologists, as a rule, are averse +to the method of folklore. They think it scientific to compare +only the myths of races which speak languages of the same family, and +of races which have, in historic times, been actually in proved contact +with each other. Thus, most mythologists hold it correct to compare +Greek, Slavonic, Celtic, and Indian stories, because Greeks, Slavs, +Celts, and Hindoos all speak languages of the same family. Again, +they hold it correct to compare Chaldæan and Greek myths, because +the Greeks and the Chaldæans were brought into contact through +the Phœnicians, and by other intermediaries, such as the Hittites. +But the same mythologists will vow that it is unscientific to compare +a Maori or a Hottentot or an Eskimo myth with an Aryan story, because +Maoris and Eskimo and Hottentots do not speak languages akin to that +of Greece, nor can we show that the ancestors of Greeks, Maoris, Hottentots, +and Eskimo were ever in contact with each other in historical times.</p> +<p>Now the peculiarity of the method of folklore is that it will venture +to compare (with due caution and due examination of evidence) the myths +of the most widely severed races. Holding that myth is a product +of the early human fancy, working on the most rudimentary knowledge +of the outer world, the student of folklore thinks that differences +of race do not much affect the early mythopœic faculty. +He will not be surprised if Greeks and Australian blacks are in the +same tale.</p> +<p>In each case, he holds, all the circumstances of the case must be +examined and considered. For instance, when the Australians tell +a myth about the Pleiades very like the Greek myth of the Pleiades, +we must ask a number of questions. Is the Australian version authentic? +Can the people who told it have heard it from a European? If these +questions are answered so as to make it apparent that the Australian +Pleiad myth is of genuine native origin, we need not fly to the conclusion +that the Australians are a lost and forlorn branch of the Aryan race. +Two other hypotheses present themselves. First, the human species +is of unknown antiquity. In the moderate allowance of 250,000 +years, there is time for stories to have wandered all round the world, +as the Aggry beads of Ashanti have probably crossed the continent from +Egypt, as the Asiatic jade (if Asiatic it be) has arrived in Swiss lake-dwellings, +as an African trade-cowry is said to have been found in a Cornish barrow, +as an Indian Ocean shell has been discovered in a prehistoric bone-cave +in Poland. This slow filtration of tales is not absolutely out +of the question. Two causes would especially help to transmit +myths. The first is slavery and slave-stealing, the second is +the habit of capturing brides from alien stocks, and the law which forbids +marriage with a woman of a man’s own family. Slaves and +captured brides would bring their native legends among alien peoples.</p> +<p>But there is another possible way of explaining the resemblance (granting +that it is proved) of the Greek and Australian Pleiad myth. The +object of both myths is to account for the grouping and other phenomena +of the constellations. May not similar explanatory stories have +occurred to the ancestors of the Australians, and to the ancestors of +the Greeks, however remote their home, while they were still in the +savage condition? The best way to investigate this point is to +collect all known savage and civilised stellar myths, and see what points +they have in common. If they all agree in character, though the +Greek tales are full of grace, while those of the Australians or Brazilians +are rude enough, we may plausibly account for the similarity of myths, +as we accounted for the similarity of flint arrow-heads. The myths, +like the arrow-heads, resemble each other because they were originally +framed to meet the same needs out of the same material. In the +case of the arrow-heads, the need was for something hard, heavy, and +sharp—the material was flint. In the case of the myths, +the need was to explain certain phenomena—the material (so to +speak) was an early state of the human mind, to which all objects seemed +equally endowed with human personality, and to which no metamorphosis +appeared impossible.</p> +<p>In the following essays, then, the myths and customs of various peoples +will be compared, even when these peoples talk languages of alien families, +and have never (as far as history shows us) been in actual contact. +Our method throughout will be to place the usage, or myth, which is +unintelligible when found among a civilised race, beside the similar +myth which is intelligible enough when it is found among savages. +A mean term will be found in the folklore preserved by the non-progressive +classes in a progressive people. This folklore represents, in +the midst of a civilised race, the savage ideas out of which civilisation +has been evolved. The conclusion will usually be that the fact +which puzzles us by its presence in civilisation is a relic surviving +from the time when the ancestors of a civilised race were in the state +of savagery. By this method it is not necessary that ‘some +sort of genealogy should be established’ between the Australian +and the Greek narrators of a similar myth, nor between the Greek and +Australian possessors of a similar usage. The hypothesis will +be that the myth, or usage, is common to both races, not because of +original community of stock, not because of contact and borrowing, but +because the ancestors of the Greeks passed through the savage intellectual +condition in which we find the Australians.</p> +<p>The questions may be asked, Has race nothing, then, to do with myth? +Do peoples never consciously borrow myths from each other? The +answer is, that race has a great deal to do with the development of +myth, if it be race which confers on a people its national genius, and +its capacity of becoming civilised. If race does this, then race +affects, in the most powerful manner, the ultimate development of myth. +No one is likely to confound a Homeric myth with a myth from the Edda, +nor either with a myth from a Brahmana, though in all three cases the +substance, the original set of ideas, may be much the same. In +all three you have anthropomorphic gods, capable of assuming animal +shapes, tricky, capricious, limited in many undivine ways, yet endowed +with magical powers. So far the mythical gods of Homer, of the +Edda, of any of the Brahmanas, are on a level with each other, and not +much above the gods of savage mythology. This stuff of myth is +<i>quod semper</i>, <i>quod ubique</i>, <i>quod ab omnibus</i>, and +is the original gift of the savage intellect. But the final treatment, +the ultimate literary form of the myth, varies in each race. Homeric +gods, like Red Indian, Thlinkeet, or Australian gods, can assume the +shapes of birds. But when we read, in Homer, of the arming of +Athene, the hunting of Artemis, the vision of golden Aphrodite, the +apparition of Hermes, like a young man when the flower of youth is loveliest, +then we recognise the effect of race upon myth, the effect of the Greek +genius at work on rude material. Between the Olympians and a Thlinkeet +god there is all the difference that exists between the Demeter of Cnidos +and an image from Easter Island. Again, the Scandinavian gods, +when their tricks are laid aside, when Odin is neither assuming the +shape of worm nor of raven, have a martial dignity, a noble enduring +spirit of their own. Race comes out in that, as it does in the +endless sacrifices, soma drinking, magical austerities, and puerile +follies of Vedic and Brahmanic gods, the deities of a people fallen +early into its sacerdotage and priestly second childhood. Thus +race declares itself in the ultimate literary form and character of +mythology, while the common savage basis and stuff of myths may be clearly +discerned in the horned, and cannibal, and shape-shifting, and adulterous +gods of Greece, of India, of the North. They all show their common +savage origin, when the poet neglects Freya’s command and tells +of what the gods did ‘in the morning of Time.’</p> +<p>As to borrowing, we have already shown that in prehistoric times +there must have been much transmission of myth. The migrations +of peoples, the traffic in slaves, the law of exogamy, which always +keeps bringing alien women into the families—all these things +favoured the migration of myth. But the process lies behind history: +we can only guess at it, we can seldom trace a popular legend on its +travels. In the case of the cultivated ancient peoples, we know +that they themselves believed they had borrowed their religions from +each other. When the Greeks first found the Egyptians practising +mysteries like their own, they leaped to the conclusion that their own +rites had been imported from Egypt. We, who know that both Greek +and Egyptian rites had many points in common with those of Mandans, +Zunis, Bushmen, Australians—people quite unconnected with Egypt—feel +less confident about the hypothesis of borrowing. We may, indeed, +regard Adonis, and Zeus Bagæus, and Melicertes, as importations +from Phœnicia. In later times, too, the Greeks, and still +more the Romans, extended a free hospitality to alien gods and legends, +to Serapis, Isis, the wilder Dionysiac revels, and so forth. But +this habit of borrowing was regarded with disfavour by pious conservatives, +and was probably, in the width of its hospitality at least, an innovation. +As Tiele remarks, we cannot derive Dionysus from the Assyrian <i>Daian +nisi</i>, ‘judge of men,’ a name of the solar god Samas, +without ascertaining that the wine-god exercised judicial functions, +and was a god of the sun. These derivations, ‘shocking to +common sense,’ are to be distrusted as part of the intoxication +of new learning. Some Assyrian scholars actually derive <i>Hades</i> +from <i>Bit Edi</i> or <i>Bit Hadi</i>—‘though, unluckily,’ +says Tiele, ‘there is no such word in the Assyrian text.’ +On the whole topic Tiele’s essay <a name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28">{28}</a> +deserves to be consulted. Granting, then, that elements in the +worship of Dionysus, Aphrodite, and other gods, may have been imported +with the strange Ægypto-Assyrian vases and jewels of the Sidonians, +we still find the same basis of rude savage ideas. We may push +back a god from Greece to Phœnicia, from Phœnicia to Accadia, +but, at the end of the end, we reach a legend full of myths like those +which Bushmen tell by the camp-fire, Eskimo in their dark huts, and +Australians in the shade of the <i>gunyeh</i>—myths cruel, puerile, +obscene, like the fancies of the savage myth-makers from which they +sprang.</p> +<h2>THE BULL-ROARER.<br /> +A Study of the Mysteries.</h2> +<p>As the belated traveller makes his way through the monotonous plains +of Australia, through the Bush, with its level expanses and clumps of +grey-blue gum trees, he occasionally hears a singular sound. Beginning +low, with a kind of sharp tone thrilling through a whirring noise, it +grows louder and louder, till it becomes a sort of fluttering windy +roar. If the traveller be a new comer, he is probably puzzled +to the last degree. If he be an Englishman, country-bred, he says +to himself, ‘Why, that is the bull-roarer.’ If he +knows the colony and the ways of the natives, he knows that the blacks +are celebrating their tribal mysteries. The roaring noise is made +to warn all women to keep out of the way. Just as Pentheus was +killed (with the approval of Theocritus) because he profaned the rites +of the women-worshippers of Dionysus, so, among the Australian blacks, +men must, at their peril, keep out of the way of female, and women out +of the way of male, celebrations.</p> +<p>The instrument which produces the sounds that warn women to remain +afar is a toy familiar to English country lads. They call it the +bull-roarer. The common bull-roarer is an inexpensive toy which +anyone can make. I do not, however, recommend it to families, +for two reasons. In the first place, it produces a most horrible +and unexampled din, which endears it to the very young, but renders +it detested by persons of mature age. In the second place, the +character of the toy is such that it will almost infallibly break all +that is fragile in the house where it is used, and will probably put +out the eyes of some of the inhabitants. Having thus, I trust, +said enough to prevent all good boys from inflicting bull-roarers on +their parents, pastors, and masters, I proceed (in the interests of +science) to show how the toy is made. Nothing can be less elaborate. +You take a piece of the commonest wooden board, say the lid of a packing-case, +about a sixth of an inch in thickness, and about eight inches long and +three broad, and you sharpen the ends. When finished, the toy +may be about the shape of a large bay-leaf, or a ‘fish’ +used as a counter (that is how the New Zealanders make it), or the sides +may be left plain in the centre, and only sharpened towards the extremities, +as in an Australian example lent me by Mr. Tylor. Then tie a strong +piece of string, about thirty inches long, to one end of the piece of +wood and the bull-roarer (the Australian natives call it <i>turndun</i>, +and the Greeks called it ρομβος) +is complete. Now twist the end of the string tightly about your +finger, and whirl the bull-roarer rapidly round and round. For +a few moments nothing will happen. In a very interesting lecture +delivered at the Royal Institution, Mr. Tylor once exhibited a bull-roarer. +At first it did nothing particular when it was whirled round, and the +audience began to fear that the experiment was like those chemical ones +often exhibited at institutes in the country, which contribute at most +a disagreeable odour to the education of the populace. But when +the bull-roarer warmed to its work, it justified its name, producing +what may best be described as a mighty rushing noise, as if some supernatural +being ‘fluttered and buzzed his wings with fearful roar.’ +Grown-up people, of course, are satisfied with a very brief experience +of this din, but boys have always known the bull-roarer in England as +one of the most efficient modes of making the hideous and unearthly +noises in which it is the privilege of youth to delight.</p> +<p>The bull-roarer has, of all toys, the widest diffusion, and the most +extraordinary history. To study the bull-roarer is to take a lesson +in folklore. The instrument is found among the most widely severed +peoples, savage and civilised, and is used in the celebration of savage +and civilised mysteries. There are students who would found on +this a hypothesis that the various races that use the bull-roarer all +descend from the same stock. But the bull roarer is introduced +here for the very purpose of showing that similar minds, working with +simple means towards similar ends, might evolve the bull-roarer and +its mystic uses anywhere. There is no need for a hypothesis of +common origin, or of borrowing, to account for this widely diffused +sacred object.</p> +<p>The bull-roarer has been, and is, a sacred and magical instrument +in many and widely separated lands. It is found, always as a sacred +instrument, employed in religious mysteries, in New Mexico, in Australia, +in New Zealand, in ancient Greece, and in Africa; while, as we have +seen, it is a peasant-boy’s plaything in England. A number +of questions are naturally suggested by the bull-roarer. Is it +a thing invented once for all, and carried abroad over the world by +wandering races, or handed on from one people and tribe to another? +Or is the bull-roarer a toy that might be accidentally hit on in any +country where men can sharpen wood and twist the sinews of animals into +string? Was the thing originally a toy, and is its religious and +mystical nature later; or was it originally one of the properties of +the priest, or medicine-man, which in England has dwindled to a plaything? +Lastly, was this mystical instrument at first employed in the rites +of a civilised people like the Greeks, and was it in some way borrowed +or inherited by South Africans, Australians, and New Mexicans? +Or is it a mere savage invention, surviving (like certain other features +of the Greek mysteries) from a distant stage of savagery? Our +answer to all these questions is that in all probability the presence +of the ρομβος, or bull-roarer, in +Greek mysteries was a survival from the time when Greeks were in the +social condition of Australians.</p> +<p>In the first place, the bull-roarer is associated with mysteries +and initiations. Now mysteries and initiations are things that +tend to dwindle and to lose their characteristic features as civilisation +advances. The rites of baptism and confirmation are not secret +and hidden; they are common to both sexes, they are publicly performed, +and religion and morality of the purest sort blend in these ceremonies. +There are no other initiations or mysteries that civilised modern man +is expected necessarily to pass through. On the other hand, looking +widely at human history, we find mystic rites and initiations numerous, +stringent, severe, and magical in character, in proportion to the lack +of civilisation in those who practise them. The less the civilisation, +the more mysterious and the more cruel are the rites. The more +cruel the rites, the less is the civilisation. The red-hot poker +with which Mr. Bouncer terrified Mr. Verdant Green at the sham masonic +rites would have been quite in place, a natural instrument of probationary +torture, in the Freemasonry of Australians, Mandans, or Hottentots. +In the mysteries of Demeter or Bacchus, in the mysteries of a civilised +people, the red-hot poker, or any other instrument of torture, would +have been out of place. But in the Greek mysteries, just as in +those of South Africans, Red Indians, and Australians, the disgusting +practice of bedaubing the neophyte with dirt and clay was preserved. +We have nothing quite like that in modern initiations. Except +at Sparta, Greeks dropped the tortures inflicted on boys and girls in +the initiations superintended by the cruel Artemis. <a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33">{33}</a> +But Greek mysteries retained the daubing with mud and the use of the +bull-roarer. On the whole, then, and on a general view of the +subject, we prefer to think that the bull-roarer in Greece was a survival +from savage mysteries, not that the bull-roarer in New Mexico, New Zealand, +Australia, and South Africa is a relic of civilisation.</p> +<p>Let us next observe a remarkable peculiarity of the <i>turndun</i>, +or Australian bull-roarer. The bull-roarer in England is a toy. +In Australia, according to Howitt and Fison, <a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34">{34}</a> +the bull-roarer is regarded with religious awe. ‘When, on +lately meeting with two of the surviving Kurnai, I spoke to them of +the turndun, they first looked cautiously round them to see that no +one else was looking, and then answered me in undertones.’ +The chief peculiarity in connection with the turndun is that women may +never look upon it. The Chepara tribe, who call it <i>bribbun</i>, +have a custom that, ‘if seen by a woman, or shown by a man to +a woman, the punishment to both is <i>death</i>.’</p> +<p>Among the Kurnai, the sacred mystery of the turndun is preserved +by a legend, which gives a supernatural sanction to secrecy. When +boys go through the mystic ceremony of initiation they are shown turnduns, +or bull-roarers, and made to listen to their hideous din. They +are then told that, if ever a woman is allowed to see a turndun, the +earth will open, and water will cover the globe. The old men point +spears at the boy’s eyes, saying: ‘If you tell this to any +woman you will die, you will see the ground broken up and like the sea; +if you tell this to any woman, or to any child, you will be killed!’ +As in Athens, in Syria, and among the Mandans, the deluge-tradition +of Australia is connected with the mysteries. In Gippsland there +is a tradition of the deluge. ‘Some children of the Kurnai +in playing about found a turndun, which they took home to the camp and +showed the women. Immediately the earth crumbled away, and it +was all water, and the Kurnai were drowned.’</p> +<p>In consequence of all this mummery the Australian women attach great +sacredness to the very name of the turndun. They are much less +instructed in their own theology than the men of the tribe. One +woman believed she had heard Pundjel, the chief supernatural being, +descend in a mighty rushing noise, that is, in the sound of the turndun, +when boys were being ‘made men,’ or initiated. <a name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35">{35}</a> +On turnduns the Australian sorcerers can fly up to heaven. Turnduns +carved with imitations of water-flowers are used by medicine-men in +rain-making. New Zealand also has her bull-roarers; some of them, +carved in relief, are in the Christy Museum, and one is engraved here. +I have no direct evidence as to the use of these Maori bull-roarers +in the Maori mysteries. Their employment, however, may perhaps +be provisionally inferred.</p> +<p>One can readily believe that the New Zealand bull-roarer may be whirled +by any man who is repeating a <i>Karakia</i>, or ‘charm to raise +the wind’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Loud wind,<br /> +Lasting wind,<br /> +Violent whistling wind,<br /> +Dig up the calm reposing sky,<br /> + Come, come.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In New Zealand <a name="citation36a"></a><a href="#footnote36a">{36a}</a> +‘the natives regarded the wind as an indication of the presence +of their god,’ a superstition not peculiar to Maori religion. +The ‘cold wind’ felt blowing over the hands at spiritualistic +<i>séances</i> is also regarded (by psychical researchers) as +an indication of the presence of supernatural beings. The windy +roaring noise made by the bull-roarer might readily be considered by +savages, either as an invitation to a god who should present himself +in storm, or as a proof of his being at hand. We have seen that +this view was actually taken by an Australian woman. The hymn +called ‘breath,’ or <i>haha</i>, a hymn to the mystic wind, +is pronounced by Maori priests at the moment of the initiation of young +men in the tribal mysteries. It is a mere conjecture, and possibly +enough capable of disproof, but we have a suspicion that the use of +the <i>mystica vannus Iacchi</i> was a mode of raising a sacred wind +analogous to that employed by whirlers of the turndun. <a name="citation36b"></a><a href="#footnote36b">{36b}</a></p> +<p>Servius, the ancient commentator on Virgil, mentions, among other +opinions, this—that the <i>vannus</i> was a sieve, and that it +symbolised the purifying effect of the mysteries. But it is clear +that Servius was only guessing; and he offers other explanations, among +them that the <i>vannus</i> was a crate to hold offerings, <i>primitias +frugum.</i></p> +<p>We have studied the bull-roarer in Australia, we have caught a glimpse +of it in England. Its existence on the American continent is proved +by letters from New Mexico, and by a passage in Mr. Frank Cushing’s +‘Adventures in Zuni.’ <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37">{37}</a> +In Zuni, too, among a semi-civilised Indian tribe, or rather a tribe +which has left the savage for the barbaric condition, we find the bull-roarer. +Here, too, the instrument—a ‘slat,’ Mr. Gushing calls +it—is used as a call to the ceremonial observance of the tribal +ritual. The Zunis have various ‘orders of a more or less +sacred and sacerdotal character.’ Mr. Cushing writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>These orders were engaged in their annual ceremonials, +of which little was told or shown me; but, at the end of four days, +I heard one morning a deep whirring noise. Running out, I saw +a procession of three priests of the bow, in plumed helmets and closely-fitting +cuirasses, both of thick buckskin—gorgeous and solemn with sacred +embroideries and war-paint, begirt with bows, arrows, and war-clubs, +and each distinguished by his badge of degree—coming down one +of the narrow streets. The principal priest carried in his arms +a wooden idol, ferocious in aspect, yet beautiful with its decorations +of shell, turquoise, and brilliant paint. It was nearly hidden +by symbolic slats and prayer-sticks most elaborately plumed. He +was preceded by a guardian with drawn bow and arrows, while another +followed, twirling the sounding slat, which had attracted alike my attention +and that of hundreds of the Indians, who hurriedly flocked to the roofs +of the adjacent houses, or lined the street, bowing their heads in adoration, +and scattering sacred prayer-meal on the god and his attendant priests. +Slowly they wound their way down the hill, across the river, and off +toward the mountain of Thunder. Soon an identical procession followed +and took its way toward the western hills. I watched them long +until they disappeared, and a few hours afterward there arose from the +top of ‘Thunder Mountain’ a dense column of smoke, simultaneously +with another from the more distant western mesa of ‘U-ha-na-mi,’ +or ‘Mount of the Beloved.’</p> +<p>Then they told me that for four days I must neither touch nor eat +flesh or oil of any kind, and for ten days neither throw any refuse +from my doors, nor permit a spark to leave my house, for ‘This +was the season of the year when the “grandmother of men” +(fire) was precious.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here then, in Zuni, we have the bull-roarer again, and once more +we find it employed as a summons to the mysteries. We do not learn, +however, that women in Zuni are forbidden to look upon the bull-roarer. +Finally, the South African evidence, which is supplied by letters from +a correspondent of Mr. Tylor’s, proves that in South Africa, too, +the bull-roarer is employed to call the men to the celebration of secret +functions. A minute description of the instrument, and of its +magical power to raise a wind, is given in Theal’s ‘Kaffir +Folklore,’ p. 209. The bull-roarer has not been made a subject +of particular research; very probably later investigations will find +it in other parts of the modern world besides America, Africa, New Zealand, +and Australia. I have myself been fortunate enough to encounter +the bull-roarer on the soil of ancient Greece and in connection with +the Dionysiac mysteries. Clemens of Alexandria, and Arnobius, +an early Christian father who follows Clemens, describe certain toys +of the child Dionysus which were used in the mysteries. Among +these are <i>turbines</i>, κωνοι, and ρομβοι. +The ordinary dictionaries interpret all these as whipping-tops, adding +that ρομβος is sometimes ‘a +magic wheel.’ The ancient scholiast on Clemens, however, +writes: ‘The κωνος is a little piece +of wood, to which a string is fastened, and in the mysteries it is whirled +round to make a roaring noise.’ <a name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39">{39}</a> +Here, in short, we have a brief but complete description of the bull-roarer +of the Australian <i>turndun</i>. No single point is omitted. +The κωνος, like the <i>turndun</i>, is +a small object of wood, it is tied to a string, when whirled round it +produces a roaring noise, and it is used at initiations. This +is not the end of the matter.</p> +<p>In the part of the Dionysiac mysteries at which the toys of the child +Dionysus were exhibited, and during which (as it seems) the κωνος, +or bull-roarer, was whirred, the performers daubed themselves all over +with clay. This we learn from a passage in which Demosthenes describes +the youth of his hated adversary, Æschines. The mother of +Æschines, he says, was a kind of ‘wise woman,’ and +dabbler in mysteries. Æschines used to aid her by bedaubing +the initiate over with clay and bran. <a name="citation40a"></a><a href="#footnote40a">{40a}</a> +The word αποματτων, here +used by Demosthenes, is explained by Harpocration as the ritual term +for daubing the initiated. A story was told, as usual, to explain +this rite. It was said that, when the Titans attacked Dionysus +and tore him to pieces, they painted themselves first with clay, or +gypsum, that they might not be recognised. Nonnus shows, in several +places, that down to his time the celebrants of the Bacchic mysteries +retained this dirty trick. Precisely the same trick prevails in +the mysteries of savage peoples. Mr. Winwood Reade <a name="citation40b"></a><a href="#footnote40b">{40b}</a> +reports the evidence of Mongilomba. When initiated, Mongilomba +was ‘severely flogged in the Fetich House’ (as young Spartans +were flogged before the animated image of Artemis), and then he was +‘plastered over with goat-dung.’ Among the natives +of Victoria, <a name="citation40c"></a><a href="#footnote40c">{40c}</a> +the ‘body of the initiated is bedaubed with clay, mud, charcoal +powder, and filth of every kind.’ The girls are plastered +with charcoal powder and white clay, answering to the Greek gypsum. +Similar daubings were performed at the mysteries by the Mandans, as +described by Catlin; and the Zunis made raids on Mr. Cushing’s +black paint and Chinese ink for like purposes. On the Congo, Mr. +Johnson found precisely the same ritual in the initiations. Here, +then, not to multiply examples, we discover two singular features in +common between Greek and savage mysteries. Both Greeks and savages +employ the bull-roarer, both bedaub the initiated with dirt or with +white paint or chalk. As to the meaning of the latter very un-Aryan +practice, one has no idea. It is only certain that war parties +of Australian blacks bedaub themselves with white clay to alarm their +enemies in night attacks. The Phocians, according to Herodotus +(viii. 27), adopted the same ‘aisy stratagem,’ as Captain +Costigan has it. Tellies, the medicine-man (μαντις), +chalked some sixty Phocians, whom he sent to make a night attack on +the Thessalians. The sentinels of the latter were seized with +supernatural horror, and fled, ‘and after the sentinels went the +army.’ In the same way, in a night attack among the Australian +Kurnai, <a name="citation41a"></a><a href="#footnote41a">{41a}</a> ‘they +all rapidly painted themselves with pipe-clay: red ochre is no use, +it cannot frighten an enemy.’ If, then, Greeks in the historic +period kept up Australian tactics, it is probable that the ancient mysteries +of Greece might retain the habit of daubing the initiated which occurs +in savage rites.</p> +<p>‘Come now,’ as Herodotus would say, ‘I will show +once more that the mysteries of the Greeks resemble those of Bushmen.’ +In Lucian’s Treatise on Dancing, <a name="citation41b"></a><a href="#footnote41b">{41b}</a> +we read, ‘I pass over the fact that you cannot find a single ancient +mystery in which there is not dancing. . . . To prove this I will not +mention the secret acts of worship, on account of the uninitiated. +But this much all men know, that most people say of those who reveal +the mysteries, that they “dance them out.”’ +Here Liddell and Scott write, rather weakly, ‘to dance out, let +out, betray, probably of some dance which burlesqued these ceremonies.’ +It is extremely improbable that, in an age when it was still forbidden +to reveal the ορyια, or secret rites, those rites +would be mocked in popular burlesques. Lucian obviously intends +to say that the matter of the mysteries was set forth in <i>ballets +d’action</i>. Now this is exactly the case in the surviving +mysteries of the Bushmen. Shortly after the rebellion of Langalibalele’s +tribe, Mr. Orpen, the chief magistrate in St. John’s Territory, +made the acquaintance of Qing, one of the last of an all but exterminated +tribe. Qing ‘had never seen a white man, except fighting,’ +when he became Mr. Orpen’s guide. He gave a good deal of +information about the myths of his people, but refused to answer certain +questions. ‘You are now asking the secrets that are not +spoken of.’ Mr. Orpen asked, ‘Do you know the secrets?’ +Qing replied, ‘No, only the initiated men of that dance know these +things.’ To ‘dance’ this or that means, ‘to +be acquainted with this or that mystery;’ the dances were originally +taught by Cagn, the mantis, or grasshopper god. In many mysteries, +Qing, as a young man, was not initiated. He could not ‘dance +them out.’ <a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42">{42}</a></p> +<p>There are thus undeniably close resemblances between the Greek mysteries +and those of the lowest contemporary races.</p> +<p>As to the bull-roarer, its recurrence among Greeks, Zunis, Kamilaroi, +Maoris, and South African races, would be regarded, by some students, +as a proof that all these tribes had a common origin, or had borrowed +the instrument from each other. But this theory is quite unnecessary. +The bull-roarer is a very simple invention. Anyone might find +out that a bit of sharpened wood, tied to a string, makes, when whirred, +a roaring noise. Supposing that discovery made, it is soon turned +to practical use. All tribes have their mysteries. All want +a signal to summon the right persons together and warn the wrong persons +to keep out of the way. The church bell does as much for us, so +did the shaken <i>seistron</i> for the Egyptians. People with +neither bells nor <i>seistra</i> find the bull-roarer, with its mysterious +sound, serve their turn. The hiding of the instrument from women +is natural enough. It merely makes the alarm and absence of the +curious sex doubly sure. The stories of supernatural consequences +to follow if a woman sees the turndun lend a sanction. This is +not a random theory, without basis. In Brazil, the natives have +no bull-roarer, but they have mysteries, and the presence of the women +at the mysteries of the men is a terrible impiety. To warn away +the women, the Brazilians make loud ‘devil-music’ on what +are called ‘jurupari pipes.’ Now, just as in Australia, +<i>the women may not see the jurupari pipes on pain of death</i>. +When the sound of the jurupari pipes is heard, as when the turndun is +heard in Australia, every woman flees and hides herself. The women +are always executed if they see the pipes. Mr. Alfred Wallace +bought a pair of these pipes, but he had to embark them at a distance +from the village where they were procured. The seller was afraid +that some unknown misfortune would occur if the women of his village +set eyes on the juruparis. <a name="citation44"></a><a href="#footnote44">{44}</a></p> +<p>The conclusion from all these facts seems obvious. The bull-roarer +is an instrument easily invented by savages, and easily adopted into +the ritual of savage mysteries. If we find the bull-roarer used +in the mysteries of the most civilised of ancient peoples, the most +probable explanation is, that the Greeks retained both the mysteries, +the bull-roarer, the habit of bedaubing the initiate, the torturing +of boys, the sacred obscenities, the antics with serpents, the dances, +and the like, from the time when their ancestors were in the savage +condition. That more refined and religious ideas were afterwards +introduced into the mysteries seems certain, but the rites were, in +many cases, simply savage. Unintelligible (except as survivals) +when found among Hellenes, they become intelligible enough among savages, +because they correspond to the intellectual condition and magical fancies +of the lower barbarism. The same sort of comparison, the same +kind of explanation, will account, as we shall see, for the savage myths +as well as for the savage customs which survived among the Greeks.</p> +<h2>THE MYTH OF CRONUS.</h2> +<p>In a Maori pah, when a little boy behaves rudely to his parents, +he is sometimes warned that he is ‘as bad as cruel Tutenganahau.’ +If he asks who Tutenganahau was, he is told the following story:—</p> +<p>‘In the beginning, the Heaven, Rangi, and the Earth, Papa, +were the father and mother of all things. “In these days +the Heaven lay upon the Earth, and all was darkness. They had +never been separated.” Heaven and Earth had children, who +grew up and lived in this thick night, and they were unhappy because +they could not see. Between the bodies of their parents they were +imprisoned, and there was no light. The names of the children +were Tumatuenga, Tane Mahuta, Tutenganahau, and some others. So +they all consulted as to what should be done with their parents, Rangi +and Papa. “Shall we slay them, or shall we separate them?” +“Go to,” said Tumatuenga, “let us slay them.” +“No,” cried Tane Mahuta, “let us rather separate them. +Let one go upwards, and become a stranger to us; let the other remain +below, and be a parent to us.” Only Tawhiri Matea (the wind) +had pity on his own father and mother. Then the fruit-gods, and +the war-god, and the sea-god (for all the children of Papa and Rangi +were gods) tried to rend their parents asunder. Last rose the +forest-god, cruel Tutenganahau. He severed the sinews which united +Heaven and Earth, Rangi and Papa. Then he pushed hard with his +head and feet. Then wailed Heaven and exclaimed Earth, “Wherefore +this murder? Why this great sin? Why destroy us? Why +separate us?” But Tane pushed and pushed: Rangi was driven +far away into the air. “<i>They became visible</i>, <i>who +had hitherto been concealed between the hollows of their parents’ +breasts</i>.” Only the storm-god differed from his brethren: +he arose and followed his father, Rangi, and abode with him in the open +spaces of the sky.’</p> +<p>This is the Maori story of the severing of the wedded Heaven and +Earth. The cutting of them asunder was the work of Tutenganahau +and his brethren, and the conduct of Tutenganahau is still held up as +an example of filial impiety. <a name="citation46a"></a><a href="#footnote46a">{46a}</a> +The story is preserved in sacred hymns of very great antiquity, and +many of the myths are common to the other peoples of the Pacific. <a name="citation46b"></a><a href="#footnote46b">{46b}</a></p> +<p>Now let us turn from New Zealand to Athens, as she was in the days +of Pericles. Socrates is sitting in the porch of the King Archon, +when Euthyphro comes up and enters into conversation with the philosopher. +After some talk, Euthyphro says, ‘You will think me mad when I +tell you whom I am prosecuting and pursuing!’ ‘Why, +has the fugitive wings?’ asks Socrates. ‘Nay, he is +not very volatile at his time of life!’ ‘Who is he?’ +‘My father.’ ‘Good heavens! you don’t +mean that. What is he accused of?’ ‘Murder, +Socrates.’ Then Euthyphro explains the case, which quaintly +illustrates Greek civilisation. Euthyphro’s father had an +agricultural labourer at Naxos. One day this man, in a drunken +passion, killed a slave. Euthyphro’s father seized the labourer, +bound him, threw him into a ditch, ‘and then sent to Athens to +ask a diviner what should be done with him.’ Before the +answer of the diviner arrived, the labourer literally ‘died in +a ditch’ of hunger and cold. For this offence, Euthyphro +was prosecuting his own father. Socrates shows that he disapproves, +and Euthyphro thus defends the piety of his own conduct: ‘The +impious, whoever he may be, ought not to go unpunished. For do +not men regard Zeus as the best and most righteous of gods? Yet +even they admit that Zeus bound his own father Cronus, because he wickedly +devoured his sons; and that Cronus, too, had punished his own father, +Uranus, for a similar reason, in a nameless manner. And yet when +<i>I</i> proceed against <i>my</i> father, people are angry with me. +This is their inconsistent way of talking, when the gods are concerned, +and when I am concerned.’</p> +<p>Here Socrates breaks in. He ‘cannot away with these stories +about the gods,’ and so he has just been accused of impiety, the +charge for which he died. Socrates cannot believe that a god, +Cronus, mutilated his father Uranus, but Euthyphro believes the whole +affair: ‘I can tell you many other things about the gods which +would quite amaze you.’ <a name="citation48"></a><a href="#footnote48">{48}</a></p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>We have here a typical example of the way in which mythology puzzled +the early philosophers of Greece. Socrates was anxious to be pious, +and to respect the most ancient traditions of the gods. Yet at +the very outset of sacred history he was met by tales of gods who mutilated +and bound their own parents. Not only were such tales hateful +to him, but they were of positively evil example to people like Euthyphro. +The problem remained, how did the fathers of the Athenians ever come +to tell such myths?</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Let us now examine the myth of Cronus, and the explanations which +have been given by scholars. Near the beginning of things, according +to Hesiod (whose cosmogony was accepted in Greece), Earth gave birth +to Heaven. Later, Heaven, Uranus, became the husband of Gæa, +Earth. Just as Rangi and Papa, in New Zealand, had many children, +so had Uranus and Gæa. As in New Zealand, some of these +children were gods of the various elements. Among them were Oceanus, +the deep, and Hyperion, the sun—as among the children of Earth +and Heaven, in New Zealand, were the Wind and the Sea. The youngest +child of the Greek Heaven and Earth was ‘Cronus of crooked counsel, +who ever hated his mighty sire.’ Now even as the children +of the Maori Heaven and Earth were ‘concealed between the hollows +of their parents’ breasts,’ so the Greek Heaven used to +‘hide his children from the light in the hollows of Earth.’ +Both Earth and her children resented this, and, as in New Zealand, the +children conspired against Heaven, taking Earth, however, into their +counsels. Thereupon Earth produced iron, and bade her children +avenge their wrongs. <a name="citation49a"></a><a href="#footnote49a">{49a}</a> +Now fear fell on all of them, except Cronus, who, like Tutenganahau, +was all for action. Cronus determined to end the embraces of Heaven +and Earth. But, while the Maori myth conceives of Heaven and Earth +as of two beings which have never been separated before, Hesiod makes +Heaven amorously approach his wife from a distance. Then Cronus +stretched out his hand, armed with a sickle of iron, or steel, and mutilated +Uranus. Thus were Heaven and Earth practically divorced. +But as in the Maori myth one of the children of Heaven clave to his +sire, so, in Greek, Oceanus remained faithful to his father. <a name="citation49b"></a><a href="#footnote49b">{49b}</a></p> +<p>This is the first portion of the Myth of Cronus. Can it be +denied that the story is well illustrated and explained by the New Zealand +parallel, the myth of the cruelty of Tutenganahau? By means of +this comparison, the meaning of the myth is made clear enough. +Just as the New Zealanders had conceived of Heaven and Earth as at one +time united, to the prejudice of their children, so the ancestors of +the Greeks had believed in an ancient union of Heaven and Earth. +Both by Greeks and Maoris, Heaven and Earth were thought of as living +persons, with human parts and passions. Their union was prejudicial +to their children, and so the children violently separated the parents. +This conduct is regarded as impious, and as an awful example to be avoided, +in Maori pahs. In Naxos, on the other hand, Euthyphro deemed that +the conduct of Cronus deserved imitation. If ever the Maoris had +reached a high civilisation, they would probably have been revolted, +like Socrates, by the myth which survived from their period of savagery. +Mr. Tylor well says, <a name="citation50a"></a><a href="#footnote50a">{50a}</a> +‘Just as the adzes of polished jade, and the cloaks of tied flax-fibre, +which these New Zealanders were using but yesterday, are older in their +place in history than the bronze battle-axes and linen mummy-cloths +of ancient Egypt, so the Maori poet’s shaping of nature into nature-myth +belongs to a stage of intellectual history which was passing away in +Greece five-and-twenty centuries ago. The myth-maker’s fancy +of Heaven and Earth as father and mother of all things naturally suggested +the legend that they in old days abode together, but have since been +torn asunder.’</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>That this view of Heaven and Earth is natural to early minds, Mr. +Tylor proves by the presence of the myth of the union and violent divorce +of the pair in China. <a name="citation50b"></a><a href="#footnote50b">{50b}</a> +Puang-ku is the Chinese Cronus, or Tutenganahau. In India, <a name="citation50c"></a><a href="#footnote50c">{50c}</a> +Dyaus and Prithivi, Heaven and Earth, were once united, and were severed +by Indra, their own child.</p> +<p>This, then, is our interpretation of the exploit of Cronus. +It is an old surviving nature-myth of the severance of Heaven and Earth, +a myth found in China, India, New Zealand, as well as in Greece. +Of course it is not pretended that Chinese and Maoris borrowed from +Indians and Greeks, or came originally of the same stock. Similar +phenomena, presenting themselves to be explained by human minds in a +similar stage of fancy and of ignorance, will account for the parallel +myths.</p> +<p>The second part of the myth of Cronus was, like the first, a stumbling-block +to the orthodox in Greece. Of the second part we offer no explanation +beyond the fact that the incidents in the myth are almost universally +found among savages, and that, therefore, in Greece they are probably +survivals from savagery. The sequel of the myth appears to account +for nothing, as the first part accounts for the severance of Heaven +and Earth. In the sequel a world-wide <i>Märchen</i>, or +tale, seems to have been attached to Cronus, or attracted into the cycle +of which he is centre, without any particular reason, beyond the law +which makes detached myths crystallise round any celebrated name. +To look further is, perhaps, <i>chercher raison où il n’y +en a pas.</i></p> +<p>The conclusion of the story of Cronus runs thus:—He wedded +his sister, Rhea, and begat children—Demeter, Hera, Hades, Poseidon, +and, lastly, Zeus. ‘And mighty Cronus swallowed down each +of them, each that came to their mother’s knees from her holy +womb, with this intent, that none other of the proud children of Uranus +should hold kingly sway among the Immortals.’ Cronus showed +a ruling father’s usual jealousy of his heirs. It was a +case of Friedrich Wilhelm and Friedrich. But Cronus (acting in +a way natural in a story perhaps first invented by cannibals) swallowed +his children instead of merely imprisoning them. Heaven and Earth +had warned him to beware of his heirs, and he could think of no safer +plan than that which he adopted. When Rhea was about to become +the mother of Zeus, she fled to Crete. Here Zeus was born, and +when Cronus (in pursuit of his usual policy) asked for the baby, he +was presented with a stone wrapped up in swaddling bands. After +swallowing the stone, Cronus was easy in his mind; but Zeus grew up, +administered a dose to his father, and compelled him to disgorge. +‘The stone came forth first, as he had swallowed it last.’ +<a name="citation52a"></a><a href="#footnote52a">{52a}</a> +The other children also emerged, all alive and well. Zeus fixed +the stone at Delphi, where, long after the Christian era, Pausanias +saw it. <a name="citation52b"></a><a href="#footnote52b">{52b}</a> +It was not a large stone, Pausanias tells us, and the Delphians used +to anoint it with oil and wrap it up in wool on feast-days. All +Greek temples had their fetich-stones, and each stone had its legend. +This was the story of the Delphian stone, and of the fetichism which +survived the early years of Christianity. A very pretty story +it is. Savages more frequently smear their fetich-stones with +red paint than daub them with oil, but the latter, as we learn from +Theophrastus’s account of the ‘superstitious man,’ +was the Greek ritual.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>This anecdote about Cronus was the stumbling-block of the orthodox +Greek, the jest of the sceptic, and the butt of the early Christian +controversialists. Found among Bushmen or Australians the narrative +might seem rather wild, but it astonishes us still more when it occurs +in the holy legends of Greece. Our explanation of its presence +there is simple enough. Like the erratic blocks in a modern plain, +like the flint-heads in a meadow, the story is a relic of a very distant +past. The glacial age left the boulders on the plain, the savage +tribes of long ago left the arrowheads, the period of savage fancy left +the story of Cronus and the rites of the fetich-stone. Similar +rites are still notoriously practised in the South Sea Islands, in Siberia, +in India and Africa and Melanesia, by savages. And by savages +similar tales are still told.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>We cannot go much lower than the Bushmen, and among Bushman divine +myths is room for the ‘swallowing trick’ attributed to Cronus +by Hesiod. The chief divine character in Bushman myth is the Mantis +insect. His adopted daughter is the child of Kwai Hemm, a supernatural +character, ‘the all-devourer.’ The Mantis gets his +adopted daughter to call the swallower to his aid; but Kwai Hemm swallows +the Mantis, the god-insect. As Zeus made his own wife change herself +into an insect, for the convenience of swallowing her, there is not +much difference between Bushman and early Greek mythology. Kwai +Hemm is killed by a stratagem, and all the animals whom he has got outside +of, in a long and voracious career, troop forth from him alive and well, +like the swallowed gods from the maw of Cronus. <a name="citation54a"></a><a href="#footnote54a">{54a}</a> +Now, story for story, the Bushman version is much less offensive than +that of Hesiod. But the Bushman story is just the sort of story +we expect from Bushmen, whereas the Hesiodic story is not at all the +kind of tale we look for from Greeks. The explanation is, that +the Greeks had advanced out of a savage state of mind and society, but +had retained their old myths, myths evolved in the savage stage, and +in harmony with that condition of fancy. Among the Kaffirs <a name="citation54b"></a><a href="#footnote54b">{54b}</a> +we find the same ‘swallow-myth.’ The Igongqongqo swallows +all and sundry; a woman cuts the swallower with a knife, and ‘people +came out, and cattle, and dogs.’ In Australia, a god is +swallowed. As in the myth preserved by Aristophanes in the ‘Birds,’ +the Australians believe that birds were the original gods, and the eagle, +especially, is a great creative power. The Moon was a mischievous +being, who walked about the world, doing what evil he could. One +day he swallowed the eagle-god. The wives of the eagle came up, +and the Moon asked them where he might find a well. They pointed +out a well, and, as he drank, they hit the Moon with a stone tomahawk, +and out flew the eagle. <a name="citation54c"></a><a href="#footnote54c">{54c}</a> +This is oddly like Grimm’s tale of ‘The Wolf and the Kids.’ +The wolf swallowed the kids, their mother cut a hole in the wolf, let +out the kids, stuffed the wolf with stones, and sewed him up again. +The wolf went to the well to drink, the weight of the stones pulled +him in, and he was drowned. Similar stories are common among the +Red Indians, and Mr. Im Thurn has found them in Guiana. How savages +all over the world got the idea that men and beasts could be swallowed +and disgorged alive, and why they fashioned the idea into a divine myth, +it is hard to say. Mr. Tylor, in ‘Primitive Culture,’ +<a name="citation55a"></a><a href="#footnote55a">{55a}</a> adds many +examples of the narrative. The Basutos have it; it occurs some +five times in Callaway’s ‘Zulu Nursery Tales.’ +In Greenland the Eskimo have a shape of the incident, and we have all +heard of the escape of Jonah.</p> +<p>It has been suggested that night, covering up the world, gave the +first idea of the swallowing myth. Now in some of the stories +the night is obviously conceived of as a big beast which swallows all +things. The notion that night is an animal is entirely in harmony +with savage metaphysics. In the opinion of the savage speculator, +all things are men and animals. ‘Ils se persuadent que non +seulement les hommes et les autres animaux, mais aussi que toutes les +autres choses sont animées,’ says one of the old Jesuit +missionaries in Canada. <a name="citation55b"></a><a href="#footnote55b">{55b}</a> +‘The wind was formerly a person; he became a bird,’ say +the Bushmen.</p> +<p><i>G’ oö ka</i>! <i>Kui</i> (a very respectable Bushman, +whose name seems a little hard to pronounce), once saw the wind-person +at Haarfontein. Savages, then, are persuaded that night, sky, +cloud, fire, and so forth, are only the <i>schein</i>, or sensuous appearance, +of things that, in essence, are men or animals. A good example +is the bringing of Night to Vanua Lava, by Qat, the ‘culture-hero’ +of Melanesia. At first it was always day, and people tired of +it. Qat heard that Night was at the Torres Islands, and he set +forth to get some. Qong (Night) received Qat well, blackened his +eyebrows, showed him Sleep, and sent him off with fowls to bring Dawn +after the arrival of Night should make Dawn a necessary. Next +day Qat’s brothers saw the sun crawl away west, and presently +Night came creeping up from the sea. ‘What is this?’ +cried the brothers. ‘It is Night,’ said Qat; ‘sit +down, and when you feel something in your eyes, lie down and keep quiet.’ +So they went to sleep. ‘When Night had lasted long enough, +Qat took a piece of red obsidian, and cut the darkness, and the Dawn +came out.’ <a name="citation56"></a><a href="#footnote56">{56}</a></p> +<p>Night is more or less personal in this tale, and solid enough to +be cut, so as to let the Dawn out. This savage conception of night, +as the swallower and disgorger, might start the notion of other swallowing +and disgorging beings. Again the Bushmen, and other savage peoples, +account for certain celestial phenomena by saying that ‘a big +star has swallowed his daughter, and spit her out again.’ +While natural phenomena, explained on savage principles, might give +the data of the swallow-myth, we must not conclude that all beings to +whom the story is attached are, therefore, the Night. On this +principle Cronus would be the Night, and so would the wolf in Grimm. +For our purposes it is enough that the feat of Cronus is a feat congenial +to the savage fancy and repugnant to the civilised Greeks who found +themselves in possession of the myth. Beyond this, and beyond +the inference that the Cronus myth was first evolved by people to whom +it seemed quite natural, that is, by savages, we do not pretend to go +in our interpretation.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>To end our examination of the Myth of Cronus, we may compare the +solutions offered by scholars. As a rule, these solutions are +based on the philological analysis of the names in the story. +It will be seen that very various and absolutely inconsistent etymologies +and meanings of Cronus are suggested by philologists of the highest +authority. These contradictions are, unfortunately, rather the +rule than the exception in the etymological interpretation of myths.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The opinion of Mr. Max Müller has always a right to the first +hearing from English inquirers. Mr. Müller, naturally, examines +first the name of the god whose legend he is investigating. He +writes: ‘There is no such being as Kronos in Sanskrit. Kronos +did not exist till long after Zeus in Greece. Zeus was called +by the Greeks the son of Time (Κρονος). +This is a very simple and very common form of mythological expression. +It meant originally, not that time was the origin or source of Zeus, +but Κρονιων or Κρονιδης +was used in the sense of “connected with time, representing time, +existing through all time.” Derivatives in -ιων +and -ιδης took, in later times, the more exclusive +meaning of patronymics. . . . When this (the meaning of Κρονιδης +as equivalent to Ancient of Days) ceased to be understood, . . . people +asked themselves the question, Why is Ζευς +called Κρονιδης? And +the natural and almost inevitable answer was, Because he is the son, +the offspring of a more ancient god, Κρονος. +This may be a very old myth in Greece; but the misunderstanding which +gave rise to it could have happened in Greece only. We cannot +expect, therefore, a god Κρονος +in the Veda.’ To expect Greek in the Veda would certainly +be sanguine. ‘When this myth of Κρονος +had once been started, it would roll on irresistibly. If Ζευς +had once a father called Κρονος, +Κρονος must have a wife.’ +It is added, as confirmation, that ‘the name of Κρονιδης +belongs originally to Zeus only, and not to his later’ (in Hesiod +elder) ‘brothers, Poseidon and Hades.’ <a name="citation58a"></a><a href="#footnote58a">{58a}</a></p> +<p>Mr. Müller says, in his famous essay on ‘Comparative Mythology’ +<a name="citation58b"></a><a href="#footnote58b">{58b}</a>: ‘How +can we imagine that a few generations before that time’ (the age +of Solon) ‘the highest notions of the Godhead among the Greeks +were adequately expressed by the story of Uranos maimed by Kronos,—of +Kronos eating his children, swallowing a stone, and vomiting out alive +his whole progeny. Among the lowest tribes of Africa and America, +we hardly find anything more hideous and revolting.’ We +have found a good deal of the sort in Africa and America, where it seems +not out of place.</p> +<p>One objection to Mr. Müller’s theory is, that it makes +the mystery no clearer. When Greeks were so advanced in Hellenism +that their own early language had become obsolete and obscure, they +invented the god Κρονος, to account +for the patronymic (as they deemed it) Κρονιδης, +son of Κρονος. But why did +they tell such savage and revolting stories about the god they had invented? +Mr. Müller only says the myth ‘would roll on irresistibly.’ +But why did the rolling myth gather such very strange moss? That +is the problem; and, while Mr. Müller’s hypothesis accounts +for the existence of a god called Κρονος, +it does not even attempt to show how full-blown Greeks came to believe +such hideous stories about the god.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>This theory, therefore, is of no practical service. The theory +of Adalbert Kuhn, one of the most famous of Sanskrit scholars, and author +of ‘Die Herabkunft des Feuers,’ is directly opposed to the +ideas of Mr. Müller. In Cronus, Mr. Müller recognises +a god who could only have come into being among Greeks, when the Greeks +had begun to forget the original meaning of ‘derivatives in -ιων +and -ιδης.’ Kuhn, on the other hand, +derives Κρονος from the same root +as the Sanskrit <i>Krāna</i>. <a name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59">{59}</a> +<i>Krāna</i> means, it appears, <i>der für sich schaffende</i>, +he who creates for himself, and Cronus is compared to the Indian Pragapati, +about whom even more abominable stories are told than the myths which +circulate to the prejudice of Cronus. According to Kuhn, the ‘swallow-myth’ +means that Cronus, the lord of light and dark powers, swallows the divinities +of light. But in place of Zeus (that is, according to Kuhn, of +the daylight sky) he swallows a stone, that is, the sun. When +he disgorges the stone (the sun), he also disgorges the gods of light +whom he had swallowed.</p> +<p>I confess that I cannot understand these distinctions between the +father and lord of light and dark (Cronus) and the beings he swallowed. +Nor do I find it easy to believe that myth-making man took all those +distinctions, or held those views of the Creator. However, the +chief thing to note is that Mr. Müller’s etymology and Kuhn’s +etymology of Cronus can hardly both be true, which, as their systems +both depend on etymological analysis, is somewhat discomfiting.</p> +<p>The next etymological theory is the daring speculation of Mr. Brown. +In ‘The Great Dionysiak Myth’ <a name="citation60a"></a><a href="#footnote60a">{60a}</a> +Mr. Brown writes: ‘I regard Kronos as the equivalent of Karnos, +Karnaios, Karnaivis, the Horned God; Assyrian, KaRNu; Hebrew, KeReN, +horn; Hellenic, KRoNos, or KaRNos.’ Mr. Brown seems to think +that Cronus is ‘the ripening power of harvest,’ and also +‘a wily savage god,’ in which opinion one quite agrees with +him. Why the name of Cronus should mean ‘horned,’ +when he is never represented with horns, it is hard to say. But +among the various foreign gods in whom the Greeks recognised their own +Cronus, one Hea, ‘regarded by Berosos as Kronos,’ seems +to have been ‘horn-wearing.’ <a name="citation60b"></a><a href="#footnote60b">{60b}</a> +Horns are lacking in Seb and Il, if not in Baal Hamon, though Mr. Brown +would like to behorn them.</p> +<p>Let us now turn to Preller. <a name="citation61a"></a><a href="#footnote61a">{61a}</a> +According to Preller, Κρονος is +connected with κραινω, to fulfil, to bring +to completion. The harvest month, the month of ripening and fulfilment, +was called <i>κρονιων</i> in some +parts of Greece, and the jolly harvest-feast, with its memory of Saturn’s +golden days, was named κρονια. +The sickle of Cronus, the sickle of harvest-time, works in well with +this explanation, and we have a kind of pun in Homer which points in +the direction of Preller’s derivation from κραινω:—</p> +<blockquote><p>ουδ αρα πω +οι επεκραιαινε +Κρονιων</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and in Sophocles (‘Tr.’ 126)—</p> +<blockquote><p>ο παντα κραινων +βασιλευς Κρονιδας.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Preller illustrates the mutilation of Uranus by the Maori tale of +Tutenganahau. The child-swallowing he connects with Punic and +Phœnician influence, and Semitic sacrifices of men and children. +Porphyry <a name="citation61b"></a><a href="#footnote61b">{61b}</a> +speaks of human sacrifices to Cronus in Rhodes, and the Greeks recognised +Cronus in the Carthaginian god to whom children were offered up.</p> +<p>Hartung <a name="citation61c"></a><a href="#footnote61c">{61c}</a> +takes Cronus, when he mutilates Uranus, to be the fire of the sun, scorching +the sky of spring. This, again, is somewhat out of accord with +Schwartz’s idea, that Cronus is the storm-god, the cloud-swallowing +deity, his sickle the rainbow, and the blood of Uranus the lightning. +<a name="citation61d"></a><a href="#footnote61d">{61d}</a> According +to Prof. Sayce, again, <a name="citation62a"></a><a href="#footnote62a">{62a}</a> +the blood-drops of Uranus are rain-drops. Cronus is the sun-god, +piercing the dark cloud, which is just the reverse of Schwartz’s +idea. Prof. Sayce sees points in common between the legend of +Moloch, or of Baal under the name of Moloch, and the myth of Cronus. +But Moloch, he thinks, is not a god of Phœnician origin, but a +deity borrowed from ‘the primitive Accadian population of Babylonia.’ +Mr. Isaac Taylor, again, explains Cronus as the sky which swallows and +reproduces the stars. The story of the sickle may be derived from +the crescent moon, the ‘silver sickle,’ or from a crescent-shaped +piece of meteoric iron—for, in this theory, the fetich-stone of +Delphi is a piece of that substance.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>It will be observed that any one of these theories, if accepted, +is much more ‘minute in detail’ than our humble suggestion. +He who adopts any one of them, knows all about it. He knows that +Cronus is a purely Greek god, or that he is connected with the Sanskrit +<i>Krāna</i>, which Tiele, <a name="citation62b"></a><a href="#footnote62b">{62b}</a> +unhappily, says is ‘a very dubious word.’ Or the mythologist +may be quite confident that Cronus is neither Greek nor, in any sense, +Sanskrit, but Phœnician. A not less adequate interpretation +assigns him ultimately to Accadia. While the inquirer who can +choose a system and stick to it knows the exact nationality of Cronus, +he is also well acquainted with his character as a nature-god. +He may be Time, or perhaps he is the Summer Heat, and a horned god; +or he is the harvest-god, or the god of storm and darkness, or the midnight +sky,—the choice is wide; or he is the lord of dark and light, +and his children are the stars, the clouds, the summer months, the light-powers, +or what you will. The mythologist has only to make his selection.</p> +<p>The system according to which we tried to interpret the myth is less +<i>ondoyant et divers</i>. We do not even pretend to explain everything. +We do not guess at the meaning and root of the word Cronus. We +only find parallels to the myth among savages, whose mental condition +is fertile in such legends. And we only infer that the myth of +Cronus was originally evolved by persons also in the savage intellectual +condition. The survival we explain as, in a previous essay, we +explained the survival of the bull-roarer by the conservatism of the +religious instinct.</p> +<h2>CUPID, PSYCHE, AND THE ‘SUN-FROG.’</h2> +<p>‘Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen,’ says +the old woman in Apuleius, beginning the tale of Cupid and Psyche with +that ancient formula which has been dear to so many generations of children. +In one shape or other the tale of Cupid and Psyche, of the woman who +is forbidden to see or to name her husband, of the man with the vanished +fairy bride, is known in most lands, ‘even among barbarians.’ +According to the story the mystic prohibition is always broken: the +hidden face is beheld; light is brought into the darkness; the forbidden +name is uttered; the bride is touched with the tabooed metal, iron, +and the union is ended. Sometimes the pair are re-united, after +long searchings and wanderings; sometimes they are severed for ever. +Such are the central situations in tales like that of Cupid and Psyche.</p> +<p>In the attempt to discover how the ideas on which this myth is based +came into existence, we may choose one of two methods. We may +confine our investigations to the Aryan peoples, among whom the story +occurs both in the form of myth and of household tale. Again, +we may look for the shapes of the legend which hide, like Peau d’Ane +in disguise, among the rude kraals and wigwams, and in the strange and +scanty garb of savages. If among savages we find both narratives +like Cupid and Psyche, and also customs and laws out of which the myth +might have arisen, we may provisionally conclude that similar customs +once existed among the civilised races who possess the tale, and that +from these sprang the early forms of the myth.</p> +<p>In accordance with the method hitherto adopted, we shall prefer the +second plan, and pursue our quest beyond the limits of the Aryan peoples.</p> +<p>The oldest literary shape of the tale of Psyche and her lover is +found in the Rig Veda (x. 95). The characters of a singular and +cynical dialogue in that poem are named Urvasi and Pururavas. +The former is an Apsaras, a kind of fairy or sylph, the mistress (and +a <i>folle maîtresse</i>, too) of Pururavas, a mortal man. <a name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65">{65}</a> +In the poem Urvasi remarks that when she dwelt among men she ‘ate +once a day a small piece of butter, and therewith well satisfied went +away.’ This slightly reminds one of the common idea that +the living may not eat in the land of the dead, and of Persephone’s +tasting the pomegranate in Hades.</p> +<p>Of the dialogue in the Rig Veda it may be said, in the words of Mr. +Toots, that ‘the language is coarse and the meaning is obscure.’ +We only gather that Urvasi, though she admits her sensual content in +the society of Pururavas, is leaving him ‘like the first of the +dawns’; that she ‘goes home again, hard to be caught, like +the winds.’ She gives her lover some hope, however—that +the gods promise immortality even to him, ‘the kinsman of Death’ +as he is. ‘Let thine offspring worship the gods with an +oblation; in Heaven shalt thou too have joy of the festival.’</p> +<p>In the Rig Veda, then, we dimly discern a parting between a mortal +man and an immortal bride, and a promise of reconciliation.</p> +<p>The story, of which this Vedic poem is a partial dramatisation, is +given in the Brahmana of the Yajur Veda. Mr. Max Müller has +translated the passage. <a name="citation66a"></a><a href="#footnote66a">{66a}</a> +According to the Brahmana, ‘Urvasi, a kind of fairy, fell in love +with Pururavas, and when she met him she said: Embrace me three times +a day, but never against my will, and let me never see you without your +royal garments, <i>for this is the manner of women</i>.’ <a name="citation66b"></a><a href="#footnote66b">{66b}</a> +The Gandharvas, a spiritual race, kinsmen of Urvasi, thought she had +lingered too long among men. They therefore plotted some way of +parting her from Pururavas. Her covenant with her lord declared +that she was never to see him naked. If that compact were broken +she would be compelled to leave him. To make Pururavas break this +compact the Gandharvas stole a lamb from beside Urvasi’s bed: +Pururavas sprang up to rescue the lamb, and, in a flash of lightning, +Urvasi saw him naked, contrary to the <i>manner of women</i>. +She vanished. He sought her long, and at last came to a lake where +she and her fairy friends were playing <i>in the shape of birds</i>. +Urvasi saw Pururavas, revealed herself to him, and, according to the +Brahmana, part of the strange Vedic dialogue was now spoken. Urvasi +promised to meet him on the last night of the year: a son was to be +the result of the interview. Next day, her kinsfolk, the Gandharvas, +offered Pururavas the wish of his heart. He wished to be one of +them. They then initiated him into the mode of kindling a certain +sacred fire, after which he became immortal and dwelt among the Gandharvas.</p> +<p>It is highly characteristic of the Indian mind that the story should +be thus worked into connection with ritual. In the same way the +Bhagavata Purana has a long, silly, and rather obscene narrative about +the sacrifice offered by Pururavas, and the new kind of sacred fire. +Much the same ritual tale is found in the Vishnu Purana (iv. 6, 19).</p> +<p>Before attempting to offer our own theory of the legend, we must +examine the explanations presented by scholars. The philological +method of dealing with myths is well known. The hypothesis is +that the names in a myth are ‘stubborn things,’ and that, +as the whole narrative has probably arisen from forgetfulness of the +meaning of language, the secret of a myth must be sought in analysis +of the proper names of the persons. On this principle Mr. Max +Müller interprets the myth of Urvasi and Pururavas, their loves, +separation, and reunion. Mr. Müller says that the story ‘expresses +the identity of the morning dawn and the evening twilight.’ <a name="citation68"></a><a href="#footnote68">{68}</a> +To prove this, the names are analysed. It is Mr. Müller’s +object to show that though, even in the Veda, Urvasi and Pururavas are +names of persons, they were originally ‘appellations’; and +that Urvasi meant ‘dawn,’ and Pururavas ‘sun.’ +Mr. Müller’s opinion as to the etymological sense of the +names would be thought decisive, naturally, by lay readers, if an opposite +opinion were not held by that other great philologist and comparative +mythologist, Adalbert Kuhn. Admitting that ‘the etymology +of Urvasi is difficult,’ Mr. Müller derives it from ‘<i>uru</i>, +wide (<i>ευρυ</i>), and a root <i>as</i> += to pervade.’ Now the dawn is ‘widely pervading,’ +and has, in Sanskrit, the epithet urû<i>k</i>î, ‘far-going.’ +Mr. Müller next assumes that ‘Eurykyde,’ ‘Eurynome,’ +‘Eurydike,’ and other heroic Greek female names, are ‘names +of the dawn’; but this, it must be said, is merely an assumption +of his school. The main point of the argument is that Urvasi means +‘far-going,’ and that ‘the far and wide splendour +of dawn’ is often spoken of in the Veda. ‘However, +the best proof that Urvasi was the dawn is the legend told of her and +of her love to Pururavas, a story that is true only of the sun and the +dawn’ (i. 407).</p> +<p>We shall presently see that a similar story is told of persons in +whom the dawn can scarcely be recognised, so that ‘the best proof’ +is not very good.</p> +<p>The name of Pururavas, again, is ‘an appropriate name for a +solar hero.’ . . . Pururavas meant the same as Πολυδευκης, +‘endowed with much light,’ for, though <i>rava</i> is generally +used of sound, yet the root <i>ru</i>, which means originally ‘to +cry,’ is also applied to colour, in the sense of a loud or crying +colour, that is, red. <a name="citation69a"></a><a href="#footnote69a">{69a}</a> +Violet also, according to Sir G. W. Cox, <a name="citation69b"></a><a href="#footnote69b">{69b}</a> +is a loud or crying colour. ‘The word (ιος), +as applied to colour, is traced by Professor Max Müller to the +root <i>i</i>, as denoting a “crying hue,” that is, a loud +colour.’ It is interesting to learn that our Aryan fathers +spoke of ‘loud colours,’ and were so sensitive as to think +violet ‘loud.’ Besides, Pururavas calls himself Vasistha, +which, as we know, is a name of the sun; and if he is called Aido, the +son of Ida, the same name is elsewhere given <a name="citation69c"></a><a href="#footnote69c">{69c}</a> +to Agni, the fire. ‘The conclusion of the argument is that +antiquity spoke of the naked sun, and of the chaste dawn hiding her +face when she had seen her husband. Yet she says she will come +again. And after the sun has travelled through the world in search +of his beloved, when he comes to the threshold of Death and is going +to end his solitary life, she appears again, in the gloaming, the same +as the dawn, as Eos in Homer, begins and ends the day, and she carries +him away to the golden seats of the Immortals.’ <a name="citation69d"></a><a href="#footnote69d">{69d}</a></p> +<p>Kuhn objects to all this explanation, partly on what we think the +inadequate ground that there is no necessary connection between the +story of Urvasi (thus interpreted) and the ritual of sacred fire-lighting. +Connections of that sort were easily invented at random by the compilers +of the Brahmanas in their existing form. Coming to the analysis +of names, Kuhn finds in Urvasi ‘a weakening of Urvankî (<i>uru</i> ++ <i>anc</i>), like <i>yuvaça</i> from <i>yuvanka</i>, Latin +<i>juvencus</i> . . . the accent is of no decisive weight.’ +Kuhn will not be convinced that Pururavas is the sun, and is unmoved +by the ingenious theory of ‘a crying colour,’ denoted by +his name, and the inference, supported by such words as <i>rufus</i>, +that crying colours are red, and therefore appropriate names of the +red sun. The connection between Pururavas and Agni, fire, is what +appeals to Kuhn—and, in short, where Mr. Müller sees a myth +of sun and dawn, Kuhn recognises a fire-myth. Roth, again (whose +own name means <i>red</i>), far from thinking that Urvasi is ‘the +chaste dawn,’ interprets her name as <i>die geile</i>, that is, +‘lecherous, lascivious, lewd, wanton, obscene’; while Pururavas, +as ‘the Roarer,’ suggests ‘the Bull in rut.’ +In accordance with these views Roth explains the myth in a fashion of +his own. <a name="citation70a"></a><a href="#footnote70a">{70a}</a></p> +<p>Here, then, as Kuhn says, ‘we have three essentially different +modes of interpreting the myth,’ <a name="citation70b"></a><a href="#footnote70b">{70b}</a> +all three founded on philological analysis of the names in the story. +No better example could be given to illustrate the weakness of the philological +method. In the first place, that method relies on names as the +primitive relics and germs of the tale, although the tale may occur +where the names have never been heard, and though the names are, presumably, +late additions to a story in which the characters were originally anonymous. +Again, the most illustrious etymologists differ absolutely about the +true sense of the names. Kuhn sees fire everywhere, and fire-myths; +Mr. Müller sees dawn and dawn-myths; Schwartz sees storm and storm-myths, +and so on. As the orthodox teachers are thus at variance, so that +there is no safety in orthodoxy, we may attempt to use our heterodox +method.</p> +<p>None of the three scholars whose views we have glanced at—neither +Roth, Kuhn, nor Mr. Müller—lays stress on the saying of Urvasi, +‘never let me see you without your royal garments, <i>for this +is the custom of women</i>.’ <a name="citation71"></a><a href="#footnote71">{71}</a> +To our mind, these words contain the gist of the myth. There must +have been, at some time, a custom which forbade women to see their husbands +without their garments, or the words have no meaning. If any custom +of this kind existed, a story might well be evolved to give a sanction +to the law. ‘You must never see your husband naked: think +what happened to Urvasi—she vanished clean away!’ +This is the kind of warning which might be given. If the customary +prohibition had grown obsolete, the punishment might well be assigned +to a being of another, a spiritual, race, in which old human ideas lingered, +as the neolithic dread of iron lingers in the Welsh fairies.</p> +<p>Our method will be, to prove the existence of singular rules of etiquette, +corresponding to the etiquette accidentally infringed by Pururavas. +We shall then investigate stories of the same character as that of Urvasi +and Pururavas, in which the infringement of the etiquette is chastised. +It will be seen that, in most cases, the bride is of a peculiar and +perhaps supernatural race. Finally, the tale of Urvasi will be +taken up again, will be shown to conform in character to the other stories +examined, and will be explained as a myth told to illustrate, or sanction, +a nuptial etiquette.</p> +<p>The lives of savages are bound by the most closely-woven fetters +of custom. The simplest acts are ‘tabooed,’ a strict +code regulates all intercourse. Married life, especially, moves +in the strangest fetters. There will be nothing remarkable in +the wide distribution of a myth turning on nuptial etiquette, if this +law of nuptial etiquette proves to be also widely distributed. +That it is widely distributed we now propose to demonstrate by examples.</p> +<p>The custom of the African people of the kingdom of Futa is, or was, +even stricter than the Vedic <i>custom of women</i>—‘wives +never permit their husbands to see them unveiled for three years after +their marriage.’ <a name="citation72"></a><a href="#footnote72">{72}</a></p> +<p>In his ‘Travels to Timbuctoo’ (i. 94), Caillié +says that the bridegroom ‘is not allowed to see his intended during +the day.’ He has a tabooed hut apart, and ‘if he is +obliged to come out he covers his face.’ He ‘remains +with his wife only till daybreak’—like Cupid—and flees, +like Cupid, before the light. Among the Australians the chief +deity, if deity such a being can be called, Pundjel, ‘has a wife +whose face he has never seen,’ probably in compliance with some +primæval etiquette or taboo. <a name="citation73a"></a><a href="#footnote73a">{73a}</a></p> +<p>Among the Yorubas ‘conventional modesty forbids a woman to +speak to her husband, or even to see him, if it can be avoided.’ +<a name="citation73b"></a><a href="#footnote73b">{73b}</a> Of +the Iroquois Lafitau says: ‘Ils n’osent aller dans les cabanes +particulières où habitent leurs épouses que durant +l’obscurité de la nuit.’ <a name="citation73c"></a><a href="#footnote73c">{73c}</a> +The Circassian women live on distant terms with their lords till they +become mothers. <a name="citation73d"></a><a href="#footnote73d">{73d}</a> +Similar examples of reserve are reported to be customary among the Fijians.</p> +<p>In backward parts of Europe a strange custom forbids the bride to +speak to her lord, as if in memory of a time when husband and wife were +always of alien tribes, and, as among the Caribs, spoke different languages.</p> +<p>In the Bulgarian ‘Volkslied,’ the Sun marries Grozdanka, +a mortal girl. Her mother addresses her thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Grozdanka, mother’s treasure mine,<br /> +For nine long years I nourished thee,<br /> +For nine months see thou do not speak<br /> +To thy first love that marries thee.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>M. Dozon, who has collected the Bulgarian songs, says that this custom +of prolonged silence on the part of the bride is very common in Bulgaria, +though it is beginning to yield to a sense of the ludicrous. <a name="citation74a"></a><a href="#footnote74a">{74a}</a> +In Sparta and in Crete, as is well known, the bridegroom was long the +victim of a somewhat similar taboo, and was only permitted to seek the +company of his wife secretly, and in the dark, like the Iroquois described +by Lafitau.</p> +<p>Herodotus tells us (i. 146) that some of the old Ionian colonists +‘brought no women with them, but took wives of the women of the +Carians, whose fathers they had slain. Therefore the women made +a law for themselves, and handed it down to their daughters, that they +should never sit at meat with their husbands, and <i>that none should +ever call her husband by his name</i>.’ In precisely the +same way, in Zululand the wife may not mention her husband’s name, +just as in the Welsh fairy tale the husband may not even know the name +of his fairy bride, on pain of losing her for ever. These ideas +about names, and freakish ways of avoiding the use of names, mark the +childhood of languages, according to Mr. Max Müller, <a name="citation74b"></a><a href="#footnote74b">{74b}</a> +and, therefore, the childhood of Society. The Kaffirs call this +etiquette ‘Hlonipa.’ It applies to women as well as +men. A Kaffir bride is not called by her own name in her husband’s +village, but is spoken of as ‘mother of so and so,’ even +before she has borne a child. The universal superstition about +names is at the bottom of this custom. The Aleutian Islanders, +according to Dall, are quite distressed when obliged to speak to their +wives in the presence of others. The Fijians did not know where +to look when missionaries hinted that a man might live under the same +roof as his wife. <a name="citation75a"></a><a href="#footnote75a">{75a}</a> +Among the Turkomans, for six months, a year, or two years, a husband +is only allowed to visit his wife by stealth.</p> +<p>The number of these instances could probably be increased by a little +research. Our argument is that the widely distributed myths in +which a husband or a wife transgresses some ‘custom’—sees +the other’s face or body, or utters the forbidden name—might +well have arisen as tales illustrating the punishment of breaking the +rule. By a very curious coincidence, a Breton sailor’s tale +of the ‘Cupid and Psyche’ class is confessedly founded on +the existence of the rule of nuptial etiquette. <a name="citation75b"></a><a href="#footnote75b">{75b}</a></p> +<p>In this story the son of a Boulogne pilot marries the daughter of +the King of Naz—wherever that may be. In Naz a man is never +allowed to see the face of his wife till she has borne him a child—a +modification of the Futa rule. The inquisitive French husband +unveils his wife, and, like Psyche in Apuleius, drops wax from a candle +on her cheek. When the pair return to Naz, the king of that country +discovers the offence of the husband, and, by the aid of his magicians, +transforms the Frenchman into a monster. Here we have the old +formula—the infringement of a ‘taboo,’ and the magical +punishment—adapted to the ideas of Breton peasantry. The +essential point of the story, for our purpose, is that the veiling of +the bride is ‘the custom of women,’ in the mysterious land +of Naz. ‘C’est l’usage du pays: les maris ne +voient leurs femmes sans voile que lorsqu’elles sont devenues +mères.’ Now our theory of the myth of Urvasi is simply +this: ‘the custom of women,’ which Pururavas transgresses, +is probably a traditional Aryan law of nuptial etiquette, <i>l’usage +du pays</i>, once prevalent among the people of India.</p> +<p>If our view be correct, then several rules of etiquette, and not +one alone, will be illustrated in the stories which we suppose the rules +to have suggested. In the case of Urvasi and Pururavas, the rule +was, not to see the husband naked. In ‘Cupid and Psyche,’ +the husband was not to be looked upon at all. In the well-known +myth of Mélusine, the bride is not to be seen naked. Mélusine +tells her lover that she will only abide with him <i>dum ipsam nudam +non viderit</i>. <a name="citation76a"></a><a href="#footnote76a">{76a}</a> +The same taboo occurs in a Dutch <i>Märchen</i>. <a name="citation76b"></a><a href="#footnote76b">{76b}</a></p> +<p>We have now to examine a singular form of the myth, in which the +strange bride is not a fairy, or spiritual being, but an animal. +In this class of story the husband is usually forbidden to perform some +act which will recall to the bride the associations of her old animal +existence. The converse of the tale is the well-known legend of +the Forsaken Merman. The king of the sea permits his human wife +to go to church. The ancient sacred associations are revived, +and the woman returns no more.</p> +<blockquote><p>She will not come though you call all day<br /> +Come away, come away.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, in the tales of the animal bride, it is her associations with +her former life among the beasts that are not to be revived, and when +they are reawakened by the commission of some act which she has forbidden, +or the neglect of some precaution which she has enjoined, she, like +Urvasi, disappears.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The best known example of this variant of the tale is the story of +Bheki, in Sanskrit. Mr. Max Müller has interpreted the myth +in accordance with his own method. <a name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77">{77}</a> +His difficulty is to account for the belief that a king might marry +a frog. Our ancestors, he remarks, ‘were not idiots,’ +how then could they tell such a story? We might reply that our +ancestors, if we go far enough back, were savages, and that such stories +are the staple of savage myth. Mr. Müller, however, holds +that an accidental corruption of language reduced Aryan fancy to the +savage level. He explains the corruption thus: ‘We find, +in Sanskrit, that Bheki, the frog, was a beautiful girl, and that one +day, when sitting near a well, she was discovered by a king, who asked +her to be his wife. She consented, <i>on condition that he should +never show her a drop of water</i>. One day, being tired, she +asked the king for water; the king forgot his promise, brought water, +and Bheki disappeared.’ This myth, Mr. Müller holds, +‘began with a short saying, such as that “Bheki, the sun, +will die at the sight of water,” as we should say that the sun +will set, when it approaches the water from which it rose in the morning.’ +But how did the sun come to be called Bheki, ‘the frog’? +Mr. Müller supposes that this name was given to the sun by some +poet or fisherman. He gives no evidence for the following statement: +‘It can be shown that “frog” was used as a name for +the sun. Now at sunrise and sunset, when the sun was squatting +on the water, it was called the “frog.”’ At +what historical period the Sanskrit-speaking race was settled in seats +where the sun rose and set in water, we do not know, and ‘chapter +and verse’ are needed for the statement that ‘frog’ +was actually a name of the sun. Mr. Müller’s argument, +however, is that the sun was called ‘the frog,’ that people +forgot that the frog and sun were identical, and that Frog, or Bheki, +was mistaken for the name of a girl to whom was applied the old saw +about dying at sight of water. ‘And so,’ says Mr. +Müller, ‘the change from sun to frog, and from frog to man, +which was at first due to the mere spell of language, would in our nursery +tales be ascribed to miraculous charms more familiar to a later age.’ +As a matter of fact, magical metamorphoses are infinitely more familiar +to the lowest savages than to people in a ‘later age.’ +Magic, as Castren observes, ‘belongs to the lowest known stages +of civilisation.’ Mr. Müller’s theory, however, +is this—that a Sanskrit-speaking people, living where the sun +rose out of and set in some ocean, called the sun, as he touched the +water, Bheki, the frog, and said he would die at the sight of water. +They ceased to call the sun the frog, or Bheki, but kept the saying, +‘Bheki will die at sight of water.’ Not knowing who +or what Bheki might be, they took her for a frog, who also was a pretty +wench. Lastly, they made the story of Bheki’s distinguished +wedding and mysterious disappearance. For this interpretation, +historical and linguistic evidence is not offered. When did a +Sanskrit-speaking race live beside a great sea? How do we know +that ‘frog’ was used as a name for ‘sun’?</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>We have already given our explanation. To the savage intellect, +man and beast are on a level, and all savage myth makes men descended +from beasts; while stories of the loves of gods in bestial shape, or +the unions of men and animals, incessantly occur. ‘Unnatural’ +as these notions seem to us, no ideas are more familiar to savages, +and none recur more frequently in Indo-Aryan, Scandinavian, and Greek +mythology. An extant tribe in North-West America still claims +descent from a frog. The wedding of Bheki and the king is a survival, +in Sanskrit, of a tale of this kind. Lastly, Bheki disappears, +when her associations with her old amphibious life are revived in the +manner she had expressly forbidden.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Our interpretation may be supported by an Ojibway parallel. +A hunter named Otter-heart, camping near a beaver lodge, found a pretty +girl loitering round his fire. She keeps his wigwam in order, +and ‘lays his blanket near the deerskin she had laid for herself. +“Good,” he muttered, “this is my wife.”’ +She refuses to eat the beavers he has shot, but at night he hears a +noise, ‘<i>krch</i>, <i>krch</i>, as if beavers were gnawing wood.’ +He sees, by the glimmer of the fire, his wife nibbling birch twigs. +In fact, the good little wife is a beaver, as the pretty Indian girl +was a frog. The pair lived happily till spring came and the snow +melted and the streams ran full. Then his wife implored the hunter +to build her a bridge over every stream and river, that she might cross +dry-footed. ‘For,’ she said, ‘if my feet touch +water, this would at once cause thee great sorrow.’ The +hunter did as she bade him, but left unbridged one tiny runnel. +The wife stumbled into the water, and, as soon as her foot was wet, +she immediately resumed her old shape as a beaver, her son became a +beaverling, and the brooklet, changing to a roaring river, bore them +to the lake. Once the hunter saw his wife again among her beast +kin. ‘To thee I sacrificed all,’ she said, ‘and +I only asked thee to help me dry-footed over the waters. Thou +didst cruelly neglect this. Now I must remain for ever with my +people.’</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>This tale was told to Kohl by ‘an old insignificant squaw among +the Ojibways.’ <a name="citation80a"></a><a href="#footnote80a">{80a}</a> +Here we have a precise parallel to the tale of Bheki, the frog-bride, +and here the reason of the prohibition to touch water is made perfectly +unmistakable. The touch magically revived the bride’s old +animal life with the beavers. Or was the Indian name for beaver +(<i>temaksé</i>) once a name for the sun? <a name="citation80b"></a><a href="#footnote80b">{80b}</a></p> +<p>A curious variant of this widely distributed <i>Märchen</i> +of the animal bride is found in the mythical genealogy of the Raja of +Chutia Nagpur, a chief of the Naga, or snake race. It is said +that Raja Janameja prepared a <i>yajnya</i>, or great malevolently magical +incantation, to destroy all the people of the serpent race. To +prevent this annihilation, the supernatural being, Pundarika Nag, took +a human form, and became the husband of the beautiful Parvati, daughter +of a Brahman. But Pundarika Nag, being a serpent by nature, could +not divest himself, even in human shape, of his forked tongue and venomed +breath. And, just as Urvasi could not abide with her mortal lover, +after he transgressed the prohibition to appear before her naked, so +Pundarika Nag was compelled by fate to leave his bride, if she asked +him any questions about his disagreeable peculiarities. She did, +at last, ask questions, in circumstances which made Pundarika believe +that he was bound to answer her. Now the curse came upon him, +he plunged into a pool, like the beaver, and vanished. His wife +became the mother of the serpent Rajas of Chutia Nagpur. Pundarika +Nag, in his proper form as a great hooded snake, guarded his first-born +child. The crest of the house is a hooded snake with human face. +<a name="citation81a"></a><a href="#footnote81a">{81a}</a></p> +<p>Here, then, we have many examples of the disappearance of the bride +or bridegroom in consequence of infringement of various mystic rules. +Sometimes the beloved one is seen when he or she should not be seen. +Sometimes, as in a Maori story, the bride vanishes, merely because she +is in a bad temper. <a name="citation81b"></a><a href="#footnote81b">{81b}</a> +Among the Red Men, as in Sanskrit, the taboo on water is broken, with +the usual results. Now for an example in which the rule against +using <i>names</i> is infringed. <a name="citation82a"></a><a href="#footnote82a">{82a}</a></p> +<p>This formula constantly occurs in the Welsh fairy tales published +by Professor Rhys. <a name="citation82b"></a><a href="#footnote82b">{82b}</a> +Thus the heir of Corwrion fell in love with a fairy: ‘They were +married on the distinct understanding that the husband was not to know +her name, . . . and was not to strike her with iron, on pain of her +leaving him at once.’ Unluckily the man once tossed her +a bridle, the iron bit touched the wife, and ‘she at once flew +through the air, and plunged headlong into Corwrion Lake.’</p> +<p>A number of tales turning on the same incident are published in ‘Cymmrodor,’ +v. I. In these we have either the taboo on the name, or the taboo +on the touch of iron. In a widely diffused superstition iron ‘drives +away devils and ghosts,’ according to the Scholiast on the eleventh +book of the ‘Odyssey,’ and the Oriental Djinn also flee +from iron. <a name="citation82c"></a><a href="#footnote82c">{82c}</a> +Just as water is fatal to the Aryan frog-bride and to the Red Indian +beaver-wife, restoring them to their old animal forms, so the magic +touch of iron breaks love between the Welshman and his fairy mistress, +the representative of the stone age.</p> +<p>In many tales of fairy-brides, they are won by a kind of force. +The lover in the familiar Welsh and German <i>Märchen</i> sees +the swan-maidens throw off their swan plumage and dance naked.. +He steals the feather-garb of one of them, and so compels her to his +love. Finally, she leaves him, in anger, or because he has broken +some taboo. Far from being peculiar to Aryan mythology, this legend +occurs, as Mr. Farrer has shown, <a name="citation83a"></a><a href="#footnote83a">{83a}</a> +in Algonquin and Bornoese tradition. The Red Indian story told +by Schoolcraft in his ‘Algic Researches’ is most like the +Aryan version, but has some native peculiarities. Wampee was a +great hunter, who, on the lonely prairie, once heard strains of music. +Looking up he saw a speck in the sky: the speck drew nearer and nearer, +and proved to be a basket containing twelve heavenly maidens. +They reached the earth and began to dance, inflaming the heart of Wampee +with love. But Wampee could not draw near the fairy girls in his +proper form without alarming them. Like Zeus in his love adventures, +Wampee exercised the medicine-man’s power of metamorphosing himself. +He assumed the form of a mouse, approached unobserved, and caught one +of the dancing maidens. After living with Wampee for some time +she wearied of earth, and, by virtue of a ‘mystic chain of verse,’ +she ascended again to her heavenly home.</p> +<p>Now is there any reason to believe that this incident was once part +of the myth of Pururavas and Urvasi? Was the fairy-love, Urvasi, +originally caught and held by Pururavas among her naked and struggling +companions? Though this does not appear to have been much noticed, +it seems to follow from a speech of Pururavas in the Vedic dialogue +<a name="citation83b"></a><a href="#footnote83b">{83b}</a> (x. 95, 8, +9). Mr. Max Müller translates thus: ‘When I, the mortal, +threw my arms round those flighty immortals, they trembled away from +me like a trembling doe, like horses that kick against the cart.’ +<a name="citation84a"></a><a href="#footnote84a">{84a}</a> Ludwig’s +rendering suits our view—that Pururavas is telling how he first +caught Urvasi—still better: ‘When I, the mortal, held converse +with the immortals who had laid aside their raiment, like slippery serpents +they glided from me, like horses yoked to the car.’ These +words would well express the adventure of a lover among the naked flying +swan-maidens, an adventure familiar to the Red Men as to Persian legends +of the Peris.</p> +<p>To end our comparison of myths like the tale of ‘Cupid and +Psyche,’ we find an example among the Zulus. Here <a name="citation84b"></a><a href="#footnote84b">{84b}</a> +the mystic lover came in when all was dark, and felt the damsel’s +face. After certain rites, ‘in the morning he went away, +he speaking continually, the girl not seeing him. During all those +days he would not allow the girl (<i>sic</i>), when she said she would +light a fire. Finally, after a magical ceremony, he said, “Light +the fire!” and stood before her revealed, a shining shape.’ +This has a curious resemblance to the myth of Cupid and Psyche; but +a more curious detail remains. In the Zulu story of Ukcombekcansini, +the friends of a bride break a taboo and kill a tabooed animal. +Instantly, like Urvasi and her companions in the Yajur Veda, the bride +and her maidens disappear <i>and are turned into birds</i>! <a name="citation84c"></a><a href="#footnote84c">{84c}</a> +They are afterwards surprised in human shape, and the bride is restored +to her lover.</p> +<p>Here we conclude, having traced parallels to Cupid and Psyche in +many non-Aryan lands. Our theory of the myth does not rest on +etymology. We have seen that the most renowned scholars, Max Müller, +Kuhn, Roth, all analyse the names Urvasi and Pururavas in different +ways, and extract different interpretations. We have found the +story where these names were probably never heard of. We interpret +it as a tale of the intercourse between mortal men and immortal maids, +or between men and metamorphosed animals, as in India and North America. +We explain the separation of the lovers as the result of breaking a +taboo, or law of etiquette, binding among men and women, as well as +between men and fairies.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The taboos are, to see the beloved unveiled, to utter his or her +name, to touch her with a metal ‘terrible to ghosts and spirits,’ +or to do some action which will revive the associations of a former +life. We have shown that rules of nuptial etiquette resembling +these in character do exist, and have existed, even among Greeks—as +where the Milesian, like the Zulu, women made a law not to utter their +husbands’ names. Finally, we think it a reasonable hypothesis +that tales on the pattern of ‘Cupid and Psyche’ might have +been evolved wherever a curious nuptial taboo required to be sanctioned, +or explained, by a myth. On this hypothesis, the stories may have +been separately invented in different lands; but there is also a chance +that they have been transmitted from people to people in the unknown +past of our scattered and wandering race. This theory seems at +least as probable as the hypothesis that the meaning of an Aryan proverbial +statement about sun and dawn was forgotten, and was altered unconsciously +into a tale which is found among various non-Aryan tribes. That +hypothesis again, learned and ingenious as it is, has the misfortune +to be opposed by other scholarly hypotheses not less ingenious and learned.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>As for the sun-frog, we may hope that he has sunk for ever beneath +the western wave.</p> +<h2>A FAR-TRAVELLED TALE.</h2> +<p>A modern novelist has boasted that her books are read ‘from +Tobolsk to Tangiers.’ This is a wide circulation, but the +widest circulation in the world has probably been achieved by a story +whose author, unlike Ouida, will never be known to fame. The tale +which we are about to examine is, perhaps, of all myths the most widely +diffused, yet there is no ready way of accounting for its extraordinary +popularity. Any true ‘nature-myth,’ any myth which +accounts for the processes of nature or the aspects of natural phenomena, +may conceivably have been invented separately, wherever men in an early +state of thought observed the same facts, and attempted to explain them +by telling a story. Thus we have seen that the earlier part of +the Myth of Cronus is a nature-myth, setting forth the cause of the +separation of Heaven and Earth. Star-myths again, are everywhere +similar, because men who believed all nature to be animated and personal, +accounted for the grouping of constellations in accordance with these +crude beliefs. <a name="citation87"></a><a href="#footnote87">{87}</a> +Once more, if a story like that of ‘Cupid and Psyche’ be +found among the most diverse races, the distribution becomes intelligible +if the myth was invented to illustrate or enforce a widely prevalent +custom. But in the following story no such explanation is even +provisionally acceptable.</p> +<p>The gist of the tale (which has many different ‘openings,’ +and conclusions in different places) may be stated thus: A young man +is brought to the home of a hostile animal, a giant, cannibal, wizard, +or a malevolent king. He is put by his unfriendly host to various +severe trials, in which it is hoped that he will perish. In each +trial he is assisted by the daughter of his host. After achieving +the adventures, he elopes with the girl, and is pursued by her father. +The runaway pair throw various common objects behind them, which are +changed into magical obstacles and check the pursuit of the father. +The myth has various endings, usually happy, in various places. +Another form of the narrative is known, in which the visitors to the +home of the hostile being are, not wooers of his daughter, but brothers +of his wife. <a name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88">{88}</a> +The incidents of the flight, in this variant, are still of the same +character. Finally, when the flight is that of a brother from +his sister’s malevolent ghost, in Hades (Japan), or of two sisters +from a cannibal mother or step-mother (Zulu and Samoyed), the events +of the flight and the magical aids to escape remain little altered. +We shall afterwards see that attempts have been made to interpret one +of these narratives as a nature-myth; but the attempts seem unsuccessful. +We are therefore at a loss to account for the wide diffusion of this +tale, unless it has been transmitted slowly from people to people, in +the immense unknown prehistoric past of the human race.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Before comparing the various forms of the myth in its first shape—that +which tells of the mortal lover and the giant’s or wizard’s +daughter—let us give the Scottish version of the story. +This version was written down for me, many years ago, by an aged lady +in Morayshire. I published it in the ‘Revue Celtique’; +but it is probably new to story-comparers, in its broad Scotch variant.</p> +<h3>NICHT NOUGHT NOTHING.</h3> +<blockquote><p>There once lived a king and a queen. They were +long married and had no bairns; but at last the queen had a bairn, when +the king was away in far countries. The queen would not christen +the bairn till the king came back, and she said, ‘We will just +call him Nicht Nought Nothing until his father comes home.’ +But it was long before he came home, and the boy had grown a nice little +laddie. At length the king was on his way back; but he had a big +river to cross, and there was a spate, and he could not get over the +water. But a giant came up to him, and said, ‘If you will +give me Nicht Nought Nothing, I will carry you over the water on my +back.’ The king had never heard that his son was called +Nicht Nought Nothing, and so he promised him. When the king got +home again, he was very happy to see his wife again, and his young son. +She told him that she had not given the child any name but Nicht Nought +Nothing, until he should come home again himself. The poor king +was in a terrible case. He said, ‘What have I done? +I promised to give the giant who carried me over the river on his back, +Nicht Nought Nothing.’ The king and the queen were sad and +sorry, but they said, ‘When the giant comes we will give him the +hen-wife’s bairn; he will never know the difference.’ +The next day the giant came to claim the king’s promise, and he +sent for the hen-wife’s bairn; and the giant went away with the +bairn on his back. He travelled till he came to a big stone, and +there he sat down to rest. He said,</p> +<p>‘Hidge, Hodge, on my back, what time of day is it?’ +The poor little bairn said, ‘It is the time that my mother, the +hen-wife, takes up the eggs for the queen’s breakfast.’</p> +<p>The giant was very angry, and dashed the bairn on the stone and killed +it.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>The same adventure is repeated with the gardener’s son.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>Then the giant went back to the king’s house, and said he would +destroy them all if they did not give him Nicht Nought Nothing this +time. They had to do it; and when he came to the big stone, the +giant said, ‘What time of day is it?’ Nicht Nought +Nothing said, ‘It is the time that my father the king will be +sitting down to supper.’ The giant said, ‘I’ve +got the richt ane noo;’ and took Nicht Nought Nothing to his own +house and brought him up till he was a man.</p> +<p>The giant had a bonny dochter, and she and the lad grew very fond +of each other. The giant said one day to Nicht Nought Nothing, +‘I’ve work for you to-morrow. There is a stable seven +miles long and seven miles broad, and it has not been cleaned for seven +years, and you must clean it to-morrow, or I will have you for my supper.’</p> +<p>The giant’s dochter went out next morning with the lad’s +breakfast, and found him in a terrible state, for aye as he cleaned +out a bit, it aye fell in again. The giant’s dochter said +she would help him, and she cried a’ the beasts of the field, +and a’ the fowls o’ the air, and in a minute they a’ +came, and carried awa’ everything that was in the stable and made +a’ clean before the giant came home. He said, ‘Shame +for the wit that helped you; but I have a worse job for you to-morrow.’ +Then he told Nicht Nought Nothing that there was a loch seven miles +long, and seven miles deep, and seven miles broad, and he must drain +it the next day, or else he would have him for his supper. Nicht +Nought Nothing began early next morning and tried to lave the water +with his pail, but the loch was never getting any less, and he did no +ken what to do; but the giant’s dochter called on all the fish +in the sea to come and drink the water, and very soon they drank it +dry. When the giant saw the work done he was in a rage, and said, +‘I’ve a worse job for you to-morrow; there is a tree seven +miles high, and no branch on it, till you get to the top, and there +is a nest, and you must bring down the eggs without breaking one, or +else I will have you for my supper.’ At first the giant’s +dochter did not know how to help Nicht Nought Nothing; but she cut off +first her fingers and then her toes, and made steps of them, and he +clomb the tree, and got all the eggs safe till he came to the bottom, +and then one was broken. The giant’s dochter advised him +to run away, and she would follow him. So he travelled till he +came to a king’s palace, and the king and queen took him in and +were very kind to him. The giant’s dochter left her father’s +house, and he pursued her and was drowned. Then she came to the +king’s palace where Nicht Nought Nothing was. And she went +up into a tree to watch for him. The gardener’s dochter, +going to draw water in the well, saw the shadow of the lady in the water, +and thought it was herself, and said, ‘If I’m so bonny, +if I’m so brave, do you send me to draw water?’ The +gardener’s wife went out, and she said the same thing. Then +the gardener went himself, and brought the lady from the tree, and led +her in. And he told her that a stranger was to marry the king’s +dochter, and showed her the man: and it was Nicht Nought Nothing asleep +in a chair. And she saw him, and cried to him, ‘Waken, waken, +and speak to me!’ But he would not waken, and syne she cried,</p> +<p>‘I cleaned the stable, I laved the loch, and I clamb the tree,<br /> + And all for the love of thee,<br /> + And thou wilt not waken and speak to +me.’</p> +<p>The king and the queen heard this, and came to the bonny young lady, +and she said,</p> +<p>‘I canna get Nicht Nought Nothing to speak to me for all that +I can do.’</p> +<p>Then were they greatly astonished when she spoke of Nicht Nought +Nothing, and asked where he was, and she said, ‘He that sits there +in the chair.’ Then they ran to him and kissed him and called +him their own dear son, and he wakened, and told them all that the giant’s +dochter had done for him, and of all her kindness. Then they took +her in their arms and kissed her, and said she should now be their dochter, +for their son should marry her.</p> +<p>And they lived happy all their days.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In this variant of the story, which we may use as our text, it is +to be noticed that a <i>lacuna</i> exists. The narrative of the +flight omits to mention that the runaways threw things behind them which +became obstacles in the giant’s way. One of these objects +probably turned into a lake, in which the giant was drowned. <a name="citation92"></a><a href="#footnote92">{92}</a> +A common incident is the throwing behind of a comb, which changes into +a thicket. The formula of leaving obstacles behind occurs in the +Indian collection, the ‘Kathasarit sagara’ (vii. xxxix.). +The ‘Battle of the Birds,’ in Campbell’s ‘Tales +of the West Highlands,’ is a very copious Gaelic variant. +Russian parallels are ‘Vasilissa the Wise and the Water King,’ +and ‘The King Bear.’ <a name="citation93a"></a><a href="#footnote93a">{93a}</a> +The incident of the flight and the magical obstacles is found in Japanese +mythology. <a name="citation93b"></a><a href="#footnote93b">{93b}</a> +The ‘ugly woman of Hades’ is sent to pursue the hero. +He casts down his black head-dress, and it is instantly turned into +grapes; he fled while she was eating them. Again, ‘he cast +down his multitudinous and close-toothed comb, and it instantly turned +into bamboo sprouts.’ In the Gaelic version, the pursuer +is detained by talkative objects which the pursued leave at home, and +this marvel recurs in Zululand, and is found among the Bushmen. +The Zulu versions are numerous. <a name="citation93c"></a><a href="#footnote93c">{93c}</a> +Oddly enough, in the last variant, the girl performs no magic feat, +but merely throws sesamum on the ground to delay the cannibals, for +cannibals are very fond of sesamum. <a name="citation93d"></a><a href="#footnote93d">{93d}</a></p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Here, then, we have the remarkable details of the flight, in Zulu, +Gaelic, Norse, Malagasy, <a name="citation93e"></a><a href="#footnote93e">{93e}</a> +Russian, Italian, Japanese. Of all incidents in the myth, the +incidents of the flight are most widely known. But the whole connected +series of events—the coming of the wooer; the love of the hostile +being’s daughter; the tasks imposed on the wooer; the aid rendered +by the daughter; the flight of the pair; the defeat or destruction of +the hostile being—all these, or most of these, are extant, in +due sequence, among the following races. The Greeks have the tale, +the people of Madagascar have it, the Lowland Scotch, the Celts, the +Russians, the Italians, the Algonquins, the Finns, and the Samoans have +it. Now if the story were confined to the Aryan race, we might +account for its diffusion, by supposing it to be the common heritage +of the Indo-European peoples, carried everywhere with them in their +wanderings. But when the tale is found in Madagascar, North America, +Samoa, and among the Finns, while many scattered incidents occur in +even more widely severed races, such as Zulus, Bushmen, Japanese, Eskimo, +Samoyeds, the Aryan hypothesis becomes inadequate.</p> +<p>To show how closely, all things considered, the Aryan and non-Aryan +possessors of the tale agree, let us first examine the myth of Jason.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The earliest literary reference to the myth of Jason is in the ‘Iliad’ +(vii. 467, xxiii. 747). Here we read of Euneos, a son whom Hypsipyle +bore to Jason in Lemnos. Already, even in the ‘Iliad,’ +the legend of Argo’s voyage has been fitted into certain well-known +geographical localities. A reference in the ‘Odyssey’ +(xii. 72) has a more antique ring: we are told that of all barques Argo +alone escaped the jaws of the Rocks Wandering, which clashed together +and destroyed ships. Argo escaped, it is said, ‘because +Jason was dear to Hera.’ It is plain, from various fragmentary +notices, that Hesiod was familiar with several of the adventures in +the legend of Jason. In the ‘Theogony’ (993-998) Hesiod +mentions the essential facts of the legend: how Jason carried off from +Æetes his daughter, ‘after achieving the adventures, many +and grievous,’ which were laid upon him. At what period +the home of Æetes was placed in Colchis, it is not easy to determine. +Mimnermus, a contemporary of Solon, makes the home of Æetes lie +‘on the brink of ocean,’ a very vague description. <a name="citation95"></a><a href="#footnote95">{95}</a> +Pindar, on the other hand, in the splendid Fourth Pythian Ode, already +knows Colchis as the scene of the loves and flight of Jason and Medea.</p> +<p>* * * *</p> +<p>‘Long were it for me to go by the beaten track,’ says +Pindar, ‘and I know a certain short path.’ Like Pindar, +we may abridge the tale of Jason. He seeks the golden fleece in +Colchis: Æetes offers it to him as a prize for success in certain +labours. By the aid of Medea, the daughter of Æetes, the +wizard-king, Jason tames the fire-breathing oxen, yokes them to the +plough, and drives a furrow. By Medea’s help he conquers +the children of the teeth of the dragon, subdues the snake that guards +the fleece of gold, and escapes, but is pursued by Æetes. +To detain Æetes, Medea throws behind the mangled remains of her +own brother, Apsyrtos, and the Colchians pursue no further than the +scene of this bloody deed. The savagery of this act survives even +in the work of a poet so late as Apollonius Rhodius (iv. 477), where +we read how Jason performed a rite of savage magic, mutilating the body +of Apsyrtos in a manner which was believed to appease the avenging ghost +of the slain. ‘Thrice he tasted the blood, thrice spat it +out between his teeth,’ a passage which the Scholiast says contains +the description of an archaic custom popular among murderers.</p> +<p>Beyond Tomi, where a popular etymology fixed the ‘cutting up’ +of Apsyrtos, we need not follow the fortunes of Jason and Medea. +We have already seen the wooer come to the hostile being, win his daughter’s +love, achieve the adventures by her aid, and flee in her company, delaying, +by a horrible device, the advance of the pursuers. To these incidents +in the tale we confine our attention.</p> +<p>Many explanations of the Jason myth have been given by Scholars who +thought they recognised elemental phenomena in the characters. +As usual these explanations differ widely. Whenever a myth has +to be interpreted, it is certain that one set of Scholars will discover +the sun and the dawn, where another set will see the thunder-cloud and +lightning. The moon is thrown in at pleasure. Sir G. W. +Cox determines <a name="citation96"></a><a href="#footnote96">{96}</a> +‘that the name Jason (Iasôn) must be classed with the many +others, Iasion, Iamus, Iolaus, Iaso, belonging to the same root.’ +Well, what is the root? Apparently the root is ‘the root +<i>i</i>, as denoting a crying colour, that is, a loud colour’ +(ii. 81). Seemingly (i. 229) violet is a loud colour, and, wherever +you have the root <i>i</i>, you have ‘the violet-tinted morning +from which the sun is born.’ Medea is ‘the daughter +of the sun,’ and most likely, in her ‘beneficent aspect,’ +is the dawn. But (ii. 81, note) <i>ios</i> has another meaning, +‘which, as a spear, represents the far-darting ray of the sun’; +so that, in one way or another, Jason is connected with the violet-tinted +morning or with the sun’s rays. This is the gist of the +theory of Sir George Cox.</p> +<p>Preller <a name="citation97a"></a><a href="#footnote97a">{97a}</a> +is another Scholar, with another set of etymologies. Jason is +derived, he thinks, from ιαομαι, to +heal, because Jason studied medicine under the Centaur Chiron. +This is the view of the Scholiast on Apollonius Rhodius (i. 554). +Jason, to Preller’s mind, is a form of Asclepius, ‘a spirit +of the spring with its soft suns and fertile rains.’ Medea +is the moon. Medea, on the other hand, is a lightning goddess, +in the opinion of Schwartz. <a name="citation97b"></a><a href="#footnote97b">{97b}</a> +No philological reason is offered. Meanwhile, in Sir George Cox’s +system, the equivalent of Medea, ‘in her beneficent aspect,’ +is the dawn.</p> +<p>We must suppose, it seems, that either the soft spring rains and +the moon, or the dawn and the sun, or the lightning and the thunder-cloud, +in one arrangement or another, irresistibly suggested, to early Aryan +minds, the picture of a wooer, arriving in a hostile home, winning a +maiden’s love, achieving adventures by her aid, fleeing with her +from her angry father and delaying his pursuit by various devices. +Why the spring, the moon, the lightning, the dawn—any of them +or all of them—should have suggested such a tale, let Scholars +determine when they have reconciled their own differences. It +is more to our purpose to follow the myth among Samoans, Algonquins, +and Finns. None of these races speak an Aryan language, and none +can have been beguiled into telling the same sort of tale by a disease +of Aryan speech.</p> +<p>Samoa, where we find our story, is the name of a group of volcanic +islands in Central Polynesia. They are about 3,000 miles from +Sidney, were first observed by Europeans in 1722, and are as far removed +as most spots from direct Aryan influences. Our position is, however, +that in the shiftings and migrations of peoples, the Jason tale has +somehow been swept, like a piece of drift-wood, on to the coasts of +Samoa. In the islands, the tale has an epical form, and is chanted +in a poem of twenty-six stanzas. There is something Greek in the +free and happy life of the Samoans—something Greek, too, in this +myth of theirs. There was once a youth, Siati, famous for his +singing, a young Thamyris of Samoa. But as, according to Homer, +‘the Muses met Thamyris the Thracian, and made an end of his singing, +for he boasted and said that he would vanquish even the Muses if he +sang against them,’ so did the Samoan god of song envy Siati. +The god and the mortal sang a match: the daughter of the god was to +be the mortal’s prize if he proved victorious. Siati won, +and he set off, riding on a shark, as Arion rode the dolphin, to seek +the home of the defeated deity. At length he reached the shores +divine, and thither strayed Puapae, daughter of the god, looking for +her comb which she had lost. ‘Siati,’ said she, ‘how +camest thou hither?’ ‘I am come to seek the song-god, +and to wed his daughter.’ ‘My father,’ said +the maiden, ‘is more a god than a man; eat nothing he hands you, +never sit on a high seat, lest death follow.’ So they were +united in marriage. But the god, like Æetes, was wroth, +and began to set Siati upon perilous tasks: ‘Build me a house, +and let it be finished this very day, else death and the oven await +thee.’ <a name="citation99a"></a><a href="#footnote99a">{99a}</a></p> +<p>Siati wept, but the god’s daughter had the house built by the +evening. The other adventures were to fight a fierce dog, and +to find a ring lost at sea. Just as the Scotch giant’s daughter +cut off her fingers to help her lover, so the Samoan god’s daughter +bade Siati cut her body into pieces and cast her into the sea. +There she became a fish, and recovered the ring. They set off +to the god’s house, but met him pursuing them, with the help of +his other daughter. ‘Puapae and Siati threw down the comb, +and it became a bush of thorns in the way to intercept the god and Puanli,’ +the other daughter. Next they threw down a bottle of earth which +became a mountain; ‘and then followed their bottle of water, and +that became a sea, and drowned the god and Puanli.’ <a name="citation99b"></a><a href="#footnote99b">{99b}</a></p> +<p>This old Samoan song contains nearly the closest savage parallel +to the various household tales which find their heroic and artistic +shape in the Jason saga. Still more surprising in its resemblances +is the Malagasy version of the narrative. In the Malagasy story, +the conclusion is almost identical with the winding up of the Scotch +fairy tale. The girl hides in a tree; her face, seen reflected +in a well, is mistaken by women for their own faces, and the recognition +follows in due course. <a name="citation99c"></a><a href="#footnote99c">{99c}</a></p> +<p>Like most Red Indian versions of popular tales, the Algonquin form +of the Jason saga is strongly marked with the peculiarities of the race. +The story is recognisable, and that is all.</p> +<p>The opening, as usual, differs from other openings. Two children +are deserted in the wilderness, and grow up to manhood. One of +them loses an arrow in the water; the elder brother, Panigwun, wades +after it. A magical canoe flies past: an old magician, who is +alone in the canoe, seizes Panigwun and carries him off. The canoe +fleets along, like the barques of the Phæacians, at the will of +the magician, and reaches the isle where, like the Samoan god of song, +he dwells with his two daughters. ‘Here, my daughter,’ +said he, ‘is a young man for your husband.’ But the +daughter knew that the proposed husband was but another victim of the +old man’s magic arts. By the daughter’s advice, Panigwun +escaped in the magic barque, consoled his brother, and returned to the +island. Next day the magician, Mishosha, set the young man to +hard tasks and perilous adventures. He was to gather gulls’ +eggs; but the gulls attacked him in dense crowds. By an incantation +he subdued the birds, and made them carry him home to the island. +Next day he was sent to gather pebbles, that he might be attacked and +eaten by the king of the fishes. Once more the young man, like +the Finnish Ilmarinen in Pohjola, subdued the mighty fish, and went +back triumphant. The third adventure, as in ‘Nicht Nought +Nothing,’ was to climb a tree of extraordinary height in search +of a bird’s nest. Here, again, the youth succeeded, and +finally conspired with the daughters to slay the old magician. +Lastly the boy turned the magician into a sycamore tree, and won his +daughter. The other daughter was given to the brother who had +no share in the perils. <a name="citation101"></a><a href="#footnote101">{101}</a> +Here we miss the incident of the flight; and the magician’s daughter, +though in love with the hero, does not aid him to perform the feats. +Perhaps an Algonquin brave would scorn the assistance of a girl. +In the ‘Kalevala,’ the old hero, Wäinämöinen, +and his friend Ilmarinen, set off to the mysterious and hostile land +of Pohjola to win a bride. The maiden of Pohjola loses her heart +to Ilmarinen, and, by her aid, he bridles the wolf and bear, ploughs +a field of adders with a plough of gold, and conquers the gigantic pike +that swims in the Styx of Finnish mythology. After this point +the story is interrupted by a long sequel of popular bridal songs, and, +in the wandering course of the rather aimless epic, the flight and its +incidents have been forgotten, or are neglected. These incidents +recur, however, in the thread of somewhat different plots. We +have seen that they are found in Japan, among the Eskimo, among the +Bushmen, the Samoyeds, and the Zulus, as well as in Hungarian, Magyar, +Celtic, and other European household tales.</p> +<p>The conclusion appears to be that the central part of the Jason myth +is incapable of being explained, either as a nature-myth, or as a myth +founded on a disease of language. So many languages could not +take the same malady in the same way; nor can we imagine any series +of natural phenomena that would inevitably suggest this tale to so many +diverse races.</p> +<p>We must suppose, therefore, either that all wits jumped and invented +the same romantic series of situations by accident, or that all men +spread from one centre, where the story was known, or that the story, +once invented, has drifted all round the world. If the last theory +be approved of, the tale will be like the Indian Ocean shell found lately +in the Polish bone-cave, <a name="citation102a"></a><a href="#footnote102a">{102a}</a> +or like the Egyptian beads discovered in the soil of Dahomey. +The story will have been carried hither and thither, in the remotest +times, to the remotest shores, by traders, by slaves, by captives in +war, or by women torn from their own tribe and forcibly settled as wives +among alien peoples.</p> +<p>Stories of this kind are everywhere the natural property of mothers +and grandmothers. When we remember how widely diffused is the +law of exogamy, which forbids marriage between a man and woman of the +same stock, we are impressed by the number of alien elements which must +have been introduced with alien wives. Where husband and wife, +as often happened, spoke different languages, the woman would inevitably +bring the hearthside tales of her childhood among a people of strange +speech. By all these agencies, working through dateless time, +we may account for the diffusion, if we cannot explain the origin, of +tales like the central arrangement of incidents in the career of Jason. +<a name="citation102b"></a><a href="#footnote102b">{102b}</a></p> +<h2>APOLLO AND THE MOUSE.</h2> +<p>Why is Apollo, especially the Apollo of the Troad, he who showered +the darts of pestilence among the Greeks, so constantly associated with +a mouse? The very name, Smintheus, by which his favourite priest +calls on him in the ‘Iliad’ (i. 39), might be rendered ‘Mouse +Apollo,’ or ‘Apollo, Lord of Mice.’ As we shall +see later, mice lived beneath the altar, and were fed in the holy of +holies of the god, and an image of a mouse was placed beside or upon +his sacred tripod. The ancients were puzzled by these things, +and, as will be shown, accounted for them by ‘mouse-stories,’ +Σμινθιακοι λοyοι, +so styled by Eustathius, the mediæval interpreter of Homer. +Following our usual method, let us ask whether similar phenomena occur +elsewhere, in countries where they are intelligible. Did insignificant +animals elsewhere receive worship: were their effigies elsewhere placed +in the temples of a purer creed? We find answers in the history +of Peruvian religion.</p> +<p>After the Spanish conquest of Peru, one of the European adventurers, +Don Garcilasso de la Vega, married an Inca princess. Their son, +also named Garcilasso, was born about 1540. His famous book, ‘Commentarias +Reales,’ contains the most authentic account of the old Peruvian +beliefs. Garcilasso was learned in all the learning of the Europeans, +and, as an Inca on the mother’s side, had claims on the loyalty +of the defeated race. He set himself diligently to collect both +their priestly and popular traditions, and his account of them is the +more trustworthy as it coincides with what we know to have been true +in lands with which Garcilasso had little acquaintance.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>To Garcilasso’s mind, Peruvian religion seems to be divided +into two periods—the age before, and the age which followed the +accession of the Incas, and their establishment of sun-worship as the +creed of the State. In the earlier period, the pre-Inca period, +he tells us ‘an Indian was not accounted honourable unless he +was descended from a fountain, river, or lake, or even from the sea, +or from a wild animal, such as a bear, lion, tiger, eagle, or the bird +they call <i>cuntur</i> (condor), or some other bird of prey.’ +<a name="citation104a"></a><a href="#footnote104a">{104a}</a> +To these worshipful creatures ‘men offered what they usually saw +them eat’ (i. 53). But men were not content to adore large +and dangerous animals. ‘There was not an animal, how vile +and filthy soever, that they did not worship as a god,’ including +‘lizards, toads, and frogs.’ In the midst of these +superstitions the Incas appeared. Just as the tribes claimed descent +from animals, great or small, so the Incas drew <i>their</i> pedigree +from the sun, which they adored like the <i>gens</i> of the Aurelii +in Rome. <a name="citation104b"></a><a href="#footnote104b">{104b}</a> +Thus every Indian had his <i>pacarissa</i>, or, as the North American +Indians say, <i>totem</i>, <a name="citation105a"></a><a href="#footnote105a">{105a}</a> +a natural object from which he claimed descent, and which, in a certain +degree, he worshipped. Though sun-worship became the established +religion, worship of the animal <i>pacarissas</i> was still tolerated. +The sun-temples also contained <i>huacas</i>, or images, of the beasts +which the Indians had venerated. <a name="citation105b"></a><a href="#footnote105b">{105b}</a> +In the great temple of Pachacamac, the most spiritual and abstract god +of Peruvian faith, ‘they worshipped a she-fox and an emerald. +The devil also appeared to them, and spoke in the form of a tiger, very +fierce.’ <a name="citation105c"></a><a href="#footnote105c">{105c}</a> +This toleration of an older and cruder, in subordination to a purer, +faith is a very common feature in religious evolution. In Catholic +countries, to this day, we may watch, in Holy Week, the Adonis feast +described by Theocritus, <a name="citation105d"></a><a href="#footnote105d">{105d}</a> +and the procession and entombment of the old god of spring.</p> +<p>‘The Incas had the good policy to collect all the tribal animal +gods into their temples in and round Cuzco, in which the two leading +gods were the Master of Life, and the Sun.’ Did a process +of this sort ever occur in Greek religion, and were older animal gods +ever collected into the temples of such deities as Apollo?</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>While a great deal of scattered evidence about many animals consecrated +to Greek gods points in this direction, it will be enough, for the present, +to examine the case of the Sacred Mice. Among races which are +still in the totemistic stage, which still claim descent from animals +and from other objects, a peculiar marriage law generally exists, or +can be shown to have existed. No man may marry a woman who is +descended from the same ancestral animal, and who bears the same totem-name, +and carries the same badge or family crest, as himself. A man +descended from the Crane, and whose family name is Crane, cannot marry +a woman whose family name is Crane. He must marry a woman of the +Wolf, or Turtle, or Swan, or other name, and her children keep her family +title, not his. Thus, if a Crane man marries a Swan woman, the +children are Swans, and none of them may marry a Swan; they must marry +Turtles, Wolves, or what not, and <i>their</i> children, again, are +Turtles, or Wolves. Thus there is necessarily an eternal come +and go of all the animal names known in a district. As civilisation +advances these rules grow obsolete. People take their names from +the father, as among ourselves. Finally the dwellers in a given +district, having become united into a local tribe, are apt to drop the +various animal titles and to adopt, as the name of the whole tribe, +the name of the chief, or of the predominating family. Let us +imagine a district of some twenty miles in which there are Crane, Wolf, +Turtle, and Swan families. Long residence together, and common +interests, have welded them into a local tribe. The chief is of +the Wolf family, and the tribe, sinking family differences and family +names, calls itself ‘the Wolves.’ Such tribes were +probably, in the beginning, the inhabitants of the various Egyptian +towns which severally worshipped the wolf, or the sheep, or the crocodile, +and abstained religiously (except on certain sacrificial occasions) +from the flesh of the animal that gave them its name. <a name="citation107"></a><a href="#footnote107">{107}</a></p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>It has taken us long to reach the Sacred Mice of Greek religion, +but we are now in a position to approach their august divinity. +We have seen that the sun-worship superseded, without abolishing, the +tribal <i>pacarissas</i> in Peru, and that the <i>huacas</i>, or images, +of the sacred animals were admitted under the roof of the temple of +the Sun. Now it is recognised that the temples of the Sminthian +Apollo contained images of sacred mice among other animals, and our +argument is that here, perhaps, we have another example of the Peruvian +religious evolution. Just as, in Peru, the tribes adored ‘vile +and filthy’ animals, just as the solar worship of the Incas subordinated +these, just as the <i>huacas</i> of the beasts remained in the temples +of the Peruvian Sun; so, we believe, the tribes along the Mediterranean +coasts had, at some very remote prehistoric period, their animal <i>pacarissas</i>; +these were subordinated to the religion (to some extent solar) of Apollo; +and the <i>huacas</i>, or animal idols, survived in Apollo’s temples.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>If this theory be correct, we shall probably find the mouse, for +example, revered as a sacred animal in many places. This would +necessarily follow, if the marriage customs which we have described +ever prevailed on Greek soil, and scattered the mouse-name far and wide. +<a name="citation108a"></a><a href="#footnote108a">{108a}</a> +Traces of the Mouse families, and of adoration, if adoration there was +of the mouse, would linger on in the following shapes:—(1) Places +would be named from mice, and mice would be actually held sacred in +themselves. (2) The mouse-name would be given locally to the god +who superseded the mouse. (3) The figure of the mouse would be +associated with the god, and used as a badge, or a kind of crest, or +local mark, in places where the mouse has been a venerated animal. +(4) Finally, myths would be told to account for the sacredness of a +creature so undignified.</p> +<p>Let us take these considerations in their order:—</p> +<p>(1) If there were local mice tribes, deriving their name from the +worshipful mouse, certain towns settled by these tribes would retain +a reverence for mice.</p> +<p>In Chrysa, a town of the Troad, according to Heraclides Ponticus, +mice were held sacred, the local name for mouse being σμινθος. +Many places bore this mouse-name, according to Strabo. <a name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b">{108b}</a> +This is precisely what would have occurred had the Mouse totem, and +the Mouse stock, been widely distributed. <a name="citation108c"></a><a href="#footnote108c">{108c}</a> +The Scholiast <a name="citation109a"></a><a href="#footnote109a">{109a}</a> +mentions Sminthus as a place in the Troad. Strabo speaks of two +places deriving their name from Sminthus, or mouse, near the Sminthian +temple, and others near Larissa. In Rhodes and Lindus, the mouse +place-name recurs, ‘and in many other districts’ (Και +αλλοθι δε πολλαχοθι). +Strabo (x. 486) names Caressus, and Poeessa, in Ceos, among the other +places which had Sminthian temples, and, presumably, were once centres +of tribes named after the mouse.</p> +<p>Here, then, are a number of localities in which the Mouse Apollo +was adored, and where the old mouse-name lingered. That the mice +were actually held sacred in their proper persons we learn from Ælian. +‘The dwellers in Hamaxitus of the Troad worship mice,’ says +Ælian. ‘In the temple of Apollo Smintheus, mice are +nourished, and food is offered to them, at the public expense, and white +mice dwell beneath the altar.’ <a name="citation109b"></a><a href="#footnote109b">{109b}</a> +In the same way we found that the Peruvians fed their sacred beasts +on what they usually saw them eat.</p> +<p>(2) The second point in our argument has already been sufficiently +demonstrated. The mouse-name ‘Smintheus’ was given +to Apollo in all the places mentioned by Strabo, ‘and many others.’</p> +<p>(3) The figure of the mouse will be associated with the god, and +used as a badge, or crest, or local mark, in places where the mouse +has been a venerated animal.</p> +<p>The passage already quoted from Ælian informs us that there +stood ‘an effigy of the mouse beside the tripod of Apollo.’ +In Chrysa, according to Strabo (xiii. 604), the statue of Apollo Smintheus +had a mouse beneath his foot. The mouse on the tripod of Apollo +is represented on a bas-relief illustrating the plague, and the offerings +of the Greeks to Apollo Smintheus, as described in the first book of +the ‘Iliad.’ <a name="citation110a"></a><a href="#footnote110a">{110a}</a></p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The mouse is a not uncommon local badge or crest in Greece. +The animals whose figures are stamped on coins, like the Athenian owl, +are the most ancient marks of cities. It is a plausible conjecture +that, just as the Iroquois when they signed treaties with the Europeans +used their totems—bear, wolf, and turtle—as seals, <a name="citation110b"></a><a href="#footnote110b">{110b}</a> +so the animals on archaic Greek city coins represented crests or badges +which, at some far more remote period, had been totems.</p> +<p>The Argives, according to Pollux, <a name="citation110c"></a><a href="#footnote110c">{110c}</a> +stamped the mouse on their coins. <a name="citation110d"></a><a href="#footnote110d">{110d}</a> +As there was a temple of Apollo Smintheus in Tenedos, we naturally hear +of a mouse on the coins of the island. <a name="citation111a"></a><a href="#footnote111a">{111a}</a> +Golzio has published one of these mouse coins. The people of Metapontum +stamped their money with a mouse gnawing an ear of corn. The people +of Cumæ employed a mouse dormant. Paoli fancied that certain +mice on Roman medals might be connected with the family of <i>Mus</i>, +but this is rather guesswork. <a name="citation111b"></a><a href="#footnote111b">{111b}</a></p> +<p>We have now shown traces, at least, of various ways in which an early +tribal religion of the mouse—the mouse <i>pacarissa</i>, as the +Peruvians said—may have been perpetuated. When we consider +that the superseding of the mouse by Apollo must have occurred, if it +did occur, long before Homer, we may rather wonder that the mouse left +his mark on Greek religion so long. We have seen mice revered, +a god with a mouse-name, the mouse-name recurring in many places, the +<i>huaca</i>, or idol, of the mouse preserved in the temples of the +god, and the mouse-badge used in several widely severed localities. +It remains (4) to examine the myths about mice. These, in our +opinion, were probably told to account for the presence of the <i>huaca</i> +of the mouse in temples, and for the occurrence of the animal in religion, +and his connection with Apollo.</p> +<p>A singular mouse-myth, narrated by Herodotus, is worth examining +for reasons which will appear later, though the events are said to have +happened on Egyptian soil. <a name="citation111c"></a><a href="#footnote111c">{111c}</a> +According to Herodotus, one Sethos, a priest of Hephæstus (Ptah), +was king of Egypt. He had disgraced the military class, and he +found himself without an army when Sennacherib invaded his country. +Sethos fell asleep in the temple, and the god, appearing to him in a +vision, told him that divine succour would come to the Egyptians. <a name="citation112a"></a><a href="#footnote112a">{112a}</a> +In the night before the battle, field-mice gnawed the quivers and shield-handles +of the foe, who fled on finding themselves thus disarmed. ‘And +now,’ says Herodotus, ‘there standeth a stone image of this +king in the temple of Hephæstus, and in the hand of the image +a mouse, and there is this inscription, “Let whoso looketh on +me be pious.”’</p> +<p>Prof. Sayce <a name="citation112b"></a><a href="#footnote112b">{112b}</a> +holds that there was no such person as Sethos, but that the legend ‘is +evidently Egyptian, not Greek, and the name of Sennacherib, as well +as the fact of the Assyrian attack, is correct.’ The legend +also, though Egyptian, is ‘an echo of the biblical account of +the destruction of the Assyrian army,’ an account which omits +the mice. ‘As to the mice, here,’ says Prof. Sayce, +‘we have to do again with the Greek dragomen (<i>sic</i>). +The story of Sethos was attached to the statue of some deity which was +supposed to hold a mouse in its hand.’ It must have been +easy to verify this supposition; but Mr. Sayce adds, ‘mice were +not sacred in Egypt, nor were they used as symbols, or found on the +monuments.’ To this remark we may suggest some exceptions. +Apparently this one mouse <i>was</i> found on the monuments. Wilkinson +(iii. 264) says mice do occur in the sculptures, but they were not sacred. +Rats, however, were certainly sacred, and as little distinction is taken, +in myth, between rats and mice as between rabbits and hares. The +rat was sacred to Ra, the Sun-god, and (like all totems) was not to +be eaten. <a name="citation113a"></a><a href="#footnote113a">{113a}</a> +This association of the rat and the Sun cannot but remind us of Apollo +and his mouse. According to Strabo, a certain city of Egypt did +worship the shrew-mouse. The Athribitæ, or dwellers in Crocodilopolis, +are the people to whom he attributes this cult, which he mentions (xvii. +813) among the other local animal-worships of Egypt. <a name="citation113b"></a><a href="#footnote113b">{113b}</a> +Several porcelain examples of the field-mouse sacred to Horus (commonly +called Apollo by the Greeks) may be seen in the British Museum.</p> +<p>That rats and field-mice were sacred in Egypt, then, we may believe +on the evidence of the Ritual, of Strabo, and of many relics of Egyptian +art. Herodotus, moreover, is credited when he says that the statue +‘had a mouse on its hand.’ Elsewhere, it is certain +that the story of mice gnawing the bowstrings occurs frequently as an +explanation of mouse-worship. One of the Trojan ‘mouse-stories’ +ran—That emigrants had set out in prehistoric times from Crete. +The oracle advised them to settle ‘wherever they were attacked +by the children of the soil.’ At Hamaxitus in the Troad, +they were assailed in the night by mice, which ate all that was edible +of their armour and bowstrings. The colonists made up their mind +that these mice were ‘the children of the soil,’ settled +there, and adored the mouse Apollo. <a name="citation114a"></a><a href="#footnote114a">{114a}</a> +A myth of this sort may either be a story invented to explain the mouse-name; +or a Mouse tribe, like the Red Indian Wolves, or Crows, may actually +have been settled on the spot, and may even have resisted invasion. +<a name="citation114b"></a><a href="#footnote114b">{114b}</a> +Another myth of the Troad accounted for the worship of the mouse Apollo +on the hypothesis that he had once freed the land from mice, like the +Pied Piper of Hamelin, whose pipe (still serviceable) is said to have +been found in his grave by men who were digging a mine. <a name="citation114c"></a><a href="#footnote114c">{114c}</a></p> +<p>Stories like these, stories attributing some great deliverance to +the mouse, or some deliverance from mice to the god, would naturally +spring up among people puzzled by their own worship of the mouse-god +or of the mouse. We have explained the religious character of +mice as the relics of a past age in which the mouse had been a totem +and mouse family names had been widely diffused. That there are, +and have been, mice totems and mouse family names among Semitic stocks +round the Mediterranean is proved by Prof. Robertson Smith: <a name="citation115a"></a><a href="#footnote115a">{115a}</a> +‘Achbor, the mouse, is an Edomite name, apparently a stock name, +as the jerboa and another mouse-name are among the Arabs. The +same name occurs in Judah.’ Where totemism exists, the members +of each stock either do not eat the ancestral animal at all, or only +eat him on rare sacrificial occasions. The totem of a hostile +stock may be eaten by way of insult. In the case of the mouse, +Isaiah seems to refer to one or other of these practices (lxvi.): ‘They +that sanctify themselves, and purify themselves in the gardens behind +one tree in the midst, eating swine’s flesh, and the abomination, +and the <i>mouse</i>, shall be consumed together, saith the Lord.’ +This is like the Egyptian prohibition to eat ‘the abominable’ +(that is, tabooed or forbidden) ‘Rat of Ra.’ If the +unclean animals of Israel were originally the totems of each clan, then +the mouse was a totem, <a name="citation115b"></a><a href="#footnote115b">{115b}</a> +for the chosen people were forbidden to eat ‘the weasel, and the +mouse, and the tortoise after his kind.’ That unclean beasts, +beasts not to be eaten, were originally totems, Prof. Robertson Smith +infers from Ezekiel (viii. 10, 11), where ‘we find seventy of +the elders of Israel—that is, the heads of houses—worshipping +in a chamber which had on its walls the figures of all manner of unclean’ +(tabooed) ‘creeping things, and quadrupeds, <i>even all the idols +of the House of Israel</i>.’ Some have too hastily concluded +that the mouse was a sacred animal among the neighbouring Philistines. +After the Philistines had captured the Ark and set it in the house of +Dagon, the people were smitten with disease. They therefore, in +accordance with a well-known savage magical practice, made five golden +representations of the diseased part, and five golden mice, as ‘a +trespass offering to the Lord of Israel,’ and so restored the +Ark. <a name="citation116"></a><a href="#footnote116">{116}</a> +Such votive offerings are common still in Catholic countries, and the +mice of gold by no means prove that the Philistines had ever worshipped +mice.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Turning to India from the Mediterranean basin, and the Aryan, Semitic, +and Egyptian tribes on its coasts, we find that the mouse was the sacred +animal of Rudra. ‘The mouse, Rudra, is thy beast,’ +says the Yajur Veda, as rendered by Grohmann in his ‘Apollo Smintheus.’ +Grohmann recognises in Rudra a deity with most of the characteristics +of Apollo. In later Indian mythology, the mouse is an attribute +of Ganeça, who, like Apollo Smintheus, is represented in art +with his foot upon a mouse.</p> +<p>Such are the chief appearances of the mouse in ancient religion. +If he really was a Semitic totem, it may, perhaps, be argued that his +prevalence in connection with Apollo is the result of a Semitic leaven +in Hellenism. Hellenic invaders may have found Semitic mouse-tribes +at home, and incorporated the alien stock deity with their own Apollo-worship. +In that case the mouse, while still originally a totem, would not be +an Aryan totem. But probably the myths and rites of the mouse, +and their diffusion, are more plausibly explained on our theory than +on that of De Gubernatis: ‘The Pagan sun-god crushes under his +foot the Mouse of Night. When the cat’s away, the mice may +play; the shadows of night dance when the moon is absent.’ <a name="citation117a"></a><a href="#footnote117a">{117a}</a> +This is one of the quaintest pieces of mythological logic. Obviously, +when the cat (the moon) is away, the mice (the shadows) <i>cannot</i> +play: there is no light to produce a shadow. As usually chances, +the scholars who try to resolve all the features of myth into physical +phenomena do not agree among themselves about the mouse. While +the mouse is the night, according to M. de Gubernatis, in Grohmann’s +opinion the mouse is the lightning. He argues that the lightning +was originally regarded by the Aryan race as the ‘flashing tooth +of a beast,’ especially of a mouse. Afterwards men came +to identify the beast with his teeth, and, behold, the lightning and +the mouse are convertible mythical terms! Now it is perfectly +true that savages regard many elemental phenomena, from eclipses to +the rainbow, as the result of the action of animals. The rainbow +is a serpent; <a name="citation117b"></a><a href="#footnote117b">{117b}</a> +thunder is caused by the thunder-bird, who has actually been shot in +Dacotah, and who is familiar to the Zulus; while rain is the milk of +a heavenly cow—an idea recurring in the ‘Zend Avesta.’ +But it does not follow because savages believe in these meteorological +beasts that all the beasts in myth were originally meteorological. +Man raised a serpent to the skies, perhaps, but his interest in the +animal began on earth, not in the clouds. It is excessively improbable, +and quite unproved, that any race ever regarded lightning as the flashes +of a mouse’s teeth. The hypothesis is a <i>jeu d’esprit</i>, +like the opposite hypothesis about the mouse of Night. In these, +and all the other current theories of the Sminthian Apollo, the widely +diffused worship of ordinary mice, and such small deer, has been either +wholly neglected, or explained by the first theory of symbolism that +occurred to the conjecture of a civilised observer. The facts +of savage animal-worship, and their relations to totemism, seem still +unknown to or unappreciated by scholars, with the exception of Mr. Sayce, +who recognises totemism as the origin of the zoomorphic element in Egyptian +religion.</p> +<p>Our explanation, whether adequate or not, is not founded on an isolated +case. If Apollo superseded and absorbed the worship of the mouse, +he did no less for the wolf, the ram, the dolphin, and several other +animals whose images were associated with his own. The Greek religion +was more refined and anthropomorphic than that of Egypt. In Egypt +the animals were still adored, and the images of the gods had bestial +heads. In Greece only a few gods, and chiefly in very archaic +statues, had bestial heads; but beside the other deities the sculptor +set the owl, eagle, wolf, serpent, tortoise, mouse, or whatever creature +was the local favourite of the deity. <a name="citation118a"></a><a href="#footnote118a">{118a}</a> +Probably the deity had, in the majority of cases, superseded the animal +and succeeded to his honours. But the conservative religious sentiment +retained the beast within the courts and in the suit and service of +the anthropomorphic god. <a name="citation118b"></a><a href="#footnote118b">{118b}</a></p> +<p>The process by which the god ousted the beasts may perhaps be observed +in Samoa. There (as Dr. Turner tells us in his ‘Samoa’) +each family has its own sacred animal, which it may not eat. If +this law be transgressed, the malefactor is supernaturally punished +in a variety of ways. But, while each family has thus its totem, +four or five different families recognise, in owl, crab, lizard, and +so on, incarnations of the same god, say of Tongo. If Tongo had +a temple among these families, we can readily believe that images of +the various beasts in which he was incarnate would be kept within the +consecrated walls. Savage ideas like these, if they were ever +entertained in Greece, would account for the holy animals of the different +deities. But it is obvious that the phenomena which we have been +studying may be otherwise explained. It may be said that the Sminthian +Apollo was only revered as the enemy and opponent of mice. St. +Gertrude (whose heart was eaten by mice) has the same <i>rôle</i> +in France. <a name="citation119"></a><a href="#footnote119">{119}</a> +The worship of Apollo, and the badge of the mouse, would, on this principle, +be diffused by colonies from some centre of the faith. The images +of mice in Apollo’s temples would be nothing more than votive +offerings. Thus, in the church of a Saxon town, the verger shows +a silver mouse dedicated to Our Lady. ‘This is the greatest +of our treasures,’ says the verger. ‘Our town was +overrun with mice till the ladies of the city offered this mouse of +silver. Instantly all the mice disappeared.’ ‘And +are you such fools as to believe that the creatures went away because +a silver mouse was dedicated?’ asked a Prussian officer. +‘No,’ replied the verger, rather neatly; ‘or long +ago we should have offered a silver Prussian.’</p> +<h2>STAR MYTHS.</h2> +<p>Artemus Ward used to say that, while there were many things in the +science of astronomy hard to be understood, there was one fact which +entirely puzzled him. He could partly perceive how we ‘weigh +the sun,’ and ascertain the component elements of the heavenly +bodies, by the aid of <i>spectrum</i> analysis. ‘But what +beats me about the stars,’ he observed plaintively, ‘is +how we come to know their names.’ This question, or rather +the somewhat similar question, ‘How did the constellations come +by their very peculiar names?’ has puzzled Professor Pritchard +and other astronomers more serious than Artemus Ward. Why is a +group of stars called the <i>Bear</i>, or the <i>Swan</i>, or the <i>Twins</i>, +or named after the <i>Pleiades</i>, the fair daughters of the Giant +Atlas? <a name="citation121"></a><a href="#footnote121">{121}</a> +These are difficulties that meet even children when they examine a ‘celestial +globe.’ There they find the figure of a bear, traced out +with lines in the intervals between the stars of the constellations, +while a very imposing giant is so drawn that Orion’s belt just +fits his waist. But when he comes to look at the heavens, the +infant speculator sees no sort of likeness to a bear in the stars, nor +anything at all resembling a giant in the neighbourhood of Orion. +The most eccentric modern fancy which can detect what shapes it will +in clouds, is unable to find any likeness to human or animal forms in +the stars, and yet we call a great many of the stars by the names of +men and beasts and gods. Some resemblance to terrestrial things, +it is true, everyone can behold in the heavens. <i>Corona</i>, +for example, is like a crown, or, as the Australian black fellows know, +it is like a boomerang, and we can understand why they give it the name +of that curious curved missile. The <i>Milky Way</i>, again, does +resemble a path in the sky; our English ancestors called it <i>Watling +Street</i>—the path of the Watlings, mythical giants—and +Bushmen in Africa and Red Men in North America name it the ‘ashen +path,’ or ‘the path of souls.’ The ashes of +the path, of course, are supposed to be hot and glowing, not dead and +black like the ash-paths of modern running-grounds. Other and +more recent names for certain constellations are also intelligible. +In Homer’s time the Greeks had two names for the <i>Great Bear</i>; +they called it the <i>Bear</i>, or the <i>Wain</i>: and a certain fanciful +likeness to a wain may be made out, though no resemblance to a bear +is manifest. In the United States the same constellation is popularly +styled the <i>Dipper</i>, and every one may observe the likeness to +a dipper or toddy-ladle.</p> +<p>But these resemblances take us only a little way towards appellations. +We know that we derive many of the names straight from the Greek; but +whence did the Greeks get them? Some, it is said, from the Chaldæans; +but whence did they reach the Chaldæans? To this we shall +return later, but, as to early Greek star-lore, Goguet, the author of +‘L’Origine des Lois,’ a rather learned but too speculative +work of the last century, makes the following characteristic remarks: +‘The Greeks received their astronomy from Prometheus. This +prince, as far as history teaches us, made his observations on Mount +Caucasus.’ That was the eighteenth century’s method +of interpreting mythology. The myth preserved in the ‘Prometheus +Bound’ of Æschylus tells us that Zeus crucified the Titan +on Mount Caucasus. The French philosopher, rejecting the supernatural +elements of the tale, makes up his mind that Prometheus was a prince +of a scientific bent, and that he established his observatory on the +frosty Caucasus. But, even admitting this, why did Prometheus +give the stars animal names? Goguet easily explains this by a +hypothetical account of the manners of primitive men. ‘The +earliest peoples,’ he says, ‘must have used writing for +purposes of astronomical science. They would be content to design +the constellations of which they wished to speak by the hieroglyphical +symbols of their names; hence the constellations have insensibly taken +the names of the chief symbols.’ Thus, a drawing of a bear +or a swan was the hieroglyphic of the name of a star, or group of stars. +But whence came the name which was represented by the hieroglyphic? +That is precisely what our author forgets to tell us. But he remarks +that the meaning of the hieroglyphic came to be forgotten, and ‘the +symbols gave rise to all the ridiculous tales about the heavenly signs.’ +This explanation is attained by the process of reasoning in a vicious +circle from hypothetical premises ascertained to be false. All +the known savages of the world, even those which have scarcely the elements +of picture-writing, call the constellations by the names of men and +animals, and all tell ‘ridiculous tales’ to account for +the names.</p> +<p>As the star-stories told by the Greeks, the ancient Egyptians, and +other civilised people of the old world, exactly correspond in character, +and sometimes even in incident, with the star-stories of modern savages, +we have the choice of three hypotheses to explain this curious coincidence. +Perhaps the star-stories, about nymphs changed into bears, and bears +changed into stars, were invented by the civilised races of old, and +gradually found their way amongst people like the Eskimo, and the Australians, +and Bushmen. Or it may be insisted that the ancestors of Australians, +Eskimo, and Bushmen were once civilised, like the Greeks and Egyptians, +and invented star-stories, still remembered by their degenerate descendants. +These are the two forms of the explanation which will be advanced by +persons who believe that the star-stories were originally the fruit +of the civilised imagination. The third theory would be, that +the ‘ridiculous tales’ about the stars were originally the +work of the savage imagination, and that the Greeks, Chaldæans, +and Egyptians, when they became civilised, retained the old myths that +their ancestors had invented when they were savages. In favour +of this theory it may be said, briefly, that there is no proof that +the fathers of Australians, Eskimo, and Bushmen had ever been civilised, +while there is a great deal of evidence to suggest that the fathers +of the Greeks had once been savages. <a name="citation125"></a><a href="#footnote125">{125}</a> +And, if we incline to the theory that the star-myths are the creation +of savage fancy, we at once learn why they are, in all parts of the +world, so much alike. Just as the flint and bone weapons of rude +races resemble each other much more than they resemble the metal weapons +and the artillery of advanced peoples, so the mental products, the fairy +tales, and myths of rude races have everywhere a strong family resemblance. +They are produced by men in similar mental conditions of ignorance, +curiosity, and credulous fancy, and they are intended to supply the +same needs, partly of amusing narrative, partly of crude explanation +of familiar phenomena.</p> +<p>Now it is time to prove the truth of our assertion that the star-stories +of savage and of civilised races closely resemble each other. +Let us begin with that well-known group the <i>Pleiades</i>. The +peculiarity of the <i>Pleiades</i> is that the group consists of seven +stars, of which one is so dim that it seems entirely to disappear, and +many persons can only detect its presence through a telescope. +The Greeks had a myth to account for the vanishing of the lost Pleiad. +The tale is given in the ‘Catasterismoi’ (stories of metamorphoses +into stars) attributed to Eratosthenes. This work was probably +written after our era; but the author derived his information from older +treatises now lost. According to the Greek myth, then, the seven +stars of the Pleiad were seven maidens, daughters of the Giant Atlas. +Six of them had gods for lovers; Poseidon admired two of them, Zeus +three, and Ares one; but the seventh had only an earthly wooer, and +when all of them were changed into stars, the maiden with the mortal +lover hid her light for shame.</p> +<p>Now let us compare the Australian story. According to Mr. Dawson +(‘Australian Aborigines’), a writer who understands the +natives well, ‘their knowledge of the heavenly bodies greatly +exceeds that of most white people,’ and ‘is taught by men +selected for their intelligence and information. The knowledge +is important to the aborigines on their night journeys;’ so we +may be sure that the natives are careful observers of the heavens, and +are likely to be conservative of their astronomical myths. The +‘Lost Pleiad’ has not escaped them, and this is how they +account for her disappearance. The <i>Pirt Kopan noot</i> tribe +have a tradition that the <i>Pleiades</i> were a queen and her six attendants. +Long ago the <i>Crow</i> (our <i>Canopus</i>) fell in love with the +queen, who refused to be his wife. The <i>Crow</i> found that +the queen and her six maidens, like other Australian <i>gins</i>, were +in the habit of hunting for white edible grubs in the bark of trees. +The Crow at once changed himself into a grub (just as Jupiter and Indra +used to change into swans, horses, ants, or what not) and hid in the +bark of a tree. The six maidens sought to pick him out with their +wooden hooks, but he broke the points of all the hooks. Then came +the queen, with her pretty bone hook; he let himself be drawn out, took +the shape of a giant, and ran away with her. Ever since there +have only been six stars, the six maidens, in the <i>Pleiad</i>. +This story is well known, by the strictest inquiry, to be current among +the blacks of the West District and in South Australia.</p> +<p>Mr. Tylor, whose opinion is entitled to the highest respect, thinks +that this may be a European myth, told by some settler to a black in +the Greek form, and then spread about among the natives. He complains +that the story of the loss of the <i>brightest</i> star does not fit +the facts of the case.</p> +<p>We do not know, and how can the Australians know, that the lost star +was once the brightest? It appears to me that the Australians, +remarking the disappearances of a star, might very naturally suppose +that the <i>Crow</i> had selected for his wife that one which had been +the most brilliant of the cluster. Besides, the wide distribution +of the tale among the natives, and the very great change in the nature +of the incidents, seem to point to a native origin. Though the +main conception—the loss of one out of seven maidens—is +identical in Greek and in <i>Murri</i>, the manner of the disappearance +is eminently Hellenic in the one case, eminently savage in the other. +However this may be, nothing of course is proved by a single example. +Let us next examine the stars <i>Castor</i> and <i>Pollux</i>. +Both in Greece and in Australia these are said once to have been two +young men. In the ‘Catasterismoi,’ already spoken +of, we read: ‘The <i>Twins</i>, or <i>Dioscouroi</i>.—They +were nurtured in Lacedæmon, and were famous for their brotherly +love, wherefore, Zeus, desiring to make their memory immortal, placed +them both among the stars.’ In Australia, according to Mr. +Brough Smyth (‘Aborigines of Victoria’), <i>Turree</i> (<i>Castor</i>) +and <i>Wanjel</i> (<i>Pollux</i>) are two young men who pursue <i>Purra</i> +and kill him at the commencement of the great heat. <i>Coonar +toorung</i> (the mirage) is the smoke of the fire by which they roast +him. In Greece it was not Castor and Pollux, but <i>Orion</i> +who was the great hunter placed among the stars. Among the Bushmen +of South Africa, <i>Castor</i> and <i>Pollux</i> are not young men, +but young women, the wives of the Eland, the great native antelope. +In Greek star-stories the <i>Great Bear</i> keeps watch, Homer says, +on the hunter Orion for fear of a sudden attack. But how did the +Bear get its name in Greece? According to Hesiod, the oldest Greek +poet after Homer, the Bear was once a lady, daughter of Lycaon, King +of Arcadia. She was a nymph of the train of chaste Artemis, but +yielded to the love of Zeus, and became the ancestress of all the Arcadians +(that is, <i>Bear-folk</i>). In her bestial form she was just +about to be slain by her own son when Zeus rescued her by raising her +to the stars. Here we must notice first, that the Arcadians, like +Australians, Red Indians, Bushmen, and many other wild races, and like +the Bedouins, believed themselves to be descended from an animal. +That the early Egyptians did the same is not improbable; for names of +animals are found among the ancestors in the very oldest genealogical +papyrus, <a name="citation128"></a><a href="#footnote128">{128}</a> +as in the genealogies of the old English kings. Next the Arcadians +transferred the ancestral bear to the heavens, and, in doing this, they +resembled the Peruvians, of whom Acosta says: ‘They adored the +star <i>Urchuchilly</i>, feigning it to be a <i>Ram</i>, and worshipped +two others, and say that one of them is a <i>sheep</i>, and the other +a lamb . . . others worshipped the star called the <i>Tiger. They +were of opinion that there was not any beast or bird upon the earth</i>, +<i>whose shape or image did not shine in the heavens</i>.’</p> +<p>But to return to our bears. The Australians have, properly +speaking, no bears, though the animal called the native bear is looked +up to by the aborigines with superstitious regard. But among the +North American Indians, as the old missionaries Lafitau and Charlevoix +observed, ‘the four stars in front of our constellation are a +bear; those in the tail are hunters who pursue him; the small star apart +is the pot in which they mean to cook him.’</p> +<p>It may be held that the Red Men derived their bear from the European +settlers. But, as we have seen, an exact knowledge of the stars +has always been useful if not essential to savages; and we venture to +doubt whether they would confuse their nomenclature and sacred traditions +by borrowing terms from trappers and squatters. But, if this is +improbable, it seems almost impossible that all savage races should +have borrowed their whole conception of the heavenly bodies from the +myths of Greece. It is thus that Egede, a missionary of the last +century, describes the Eskimo philosophy of the stars: ‘The notions +that the Greenlanders have as to the origin of the heavenly lights—as +sun, moon, and stars—are very nonsensical; in that they pretend +they have formerly been as many of their own ancestors, who, on different +accounts, were lifted up to heaven, and became such glorious celestial +bodies.’ Again, he writes: ‘Their notions about the +stars are that some of them have been men, and others different sorts, +of animals and fishes.’ But every reader of Ovid knows that +this was the very mythical theory of the Greeks and Romans. The +Egyptians, again, worshipped Osiris, Isis, and the rest as <i>ancestors</i>, +and there are even modern scholars, like Mr. Loftie in his ‘Essay +of Scarabs,’ who hold Osiris to have been originally a real historical +person. But the Egyptian priests who showed Plutarch the grave +of Osiris, showed him, too, the stars into which Osiris, Isis, and Horus +had been metamorphosed. Here, then, we have Greeks, Egyptians, +and Eskimo, all agreed about the origin of the heavenly lights, all +of opinion that ‘they have formerly been as many of their own +ancestors.’</p> +<p>The Australian general theory is: ‘Of the good men and women, +after the deluge, Pundjel (a kind of Zeus, or rather a sort of Prometheus +of Australian mythology) made stars. Sorcerers (<i>Biraark</i>) +can tell which stars were once good men and women.’ Here +the sorcerers have the same knowledge as the Egyptian priests. +Again, just as among the Arcadians, ‘the progenitors of the existing +tribes, whether birds, or beasts, or men, were set in the sky, and made +to shine as stars.’ <a name="citation130"></a><a href="#footnote130">{130}</a></p> +<p>We have already given some Australian examples in the stories of +the <i>Pleiades</i>, and of <i>Castor</i> and <i>Pollux</i>. We +may add the case of the <i>Eagle</i>. In Greece the <i>Eagle</i> +was the bird of Zeus, who carried off Ganymede to be the cup-bearer +of Olympus. Among the Australians this same constellation is called +<i>Totyarguil</i>; he was a man who, when bathing, was killed by a fabulous +animal, a kind of kelpie; as Orion, in Greece, was killed by the <i>Scorpion</i>. +Like Orion, he was placed among the stars. The Australians have +a constellation named <i>Eagle</i>, but he is our <i>Sinus</i>, or <i>Dog-star.</i></p> +<p>The Indians of the Amazon are in one tale with the Australians and +Eskimo. ‘Dr. Silva de Coutinho informs me,’ says Professor +Hartt, <a name="citation131"></a><a href="#footnote131">{131}</a> ‘that +the Indians of the Amazonas not only give names to many of the heavenly +bodies, but also tell stories about them. The two stars that form +the shoulders of Orion are said to be an old man and a boy in a canoe, +chasing <i>a peixe boi</i>, by which name is designated a dark spot +in the sky near the above constellation.’ The Indians also +know monkey-stars, crane-stars, and palm-tree stars.</p> +<p>The Bushmen, almost the lowest tribe of South Africa, have the same +star-lore and much the same myths as the Greeks, Australians, Egyptians, +and Eskimo. According to Dr. Bleek, ‘stars, and even the +sun and moon, were once mortals on earth, or even animals or inorganic +substances, which happened to get translated to the skies. The +sun was once a man, whose arm-pit radiated a limited amount of light +round his house. Some children threw him into the sky, and there +he shines.’ The Homeric hymn to Helios, in the same way, +as Mr. Max Müller observes, ‘looks on the sun as a half-god, +almost a hero, who had once lived on earth.’ The pointers +of the Southern Cross were ‘two men who were lions,’ just +as Callisto, in Arcadia, was a woman who was a bear. It is not +at all rare in those queer philosophies, as in that of the Scandinavians, +to find that the sun or moon has been a man or woman. In Australian +fable the moon was a man, the sun a woman of indifferent character, +who appears at dawn in a coat of red kangaroo skins, the present of +an admirer. In an old Mexican text the moon was a man, across +whose face a god threw a rabbit, thus making the marks in the moon. +<a name="citation132a"></a><a href="#footnote132a">{132a}</a></p> +<p>Many separate races seem to recognise the figure of a hare, where +we see ‘the Man in the Moon.’ In a Buddhist legend, +an exemplary and altruistic hare was translated to the moon. ‘To +the common people in India the spots on the moon look like a hare, and +Chandras, the god of the moon, carries a hare: hence the moon is called +<i>sasin</i> or <i>sasanka</i>, hare-mark. The Mongolians also +see in these shadows the figure of a hare.’ <a name="citation132b"></a><a href="#footnote132b">{132b}</a> +Among the Eskimo, the moon is a girl, who always flees from her cruel +brother, the sun, because he disfigured her face. Elsewhere the +sun is the girl, beloved by her own brother, the moon; she blackens +her face to avert his affection. On the Rio Branco, and among +the Tomunda, the moon is a girl who loved her brother and visited him +in the dark. He detected her wicked passion by drawing his blackened +hand over her face. The marks betrayed her, and, as the spots +on the moon, remain to this day. <a name="citation133"></a><a href="#footnote133">{133}</a></p> +<p>Among the New Zealanders and North American Indians the sun is a +great beast, whom the hunters trapped and thrashed with cudgels. +His blood is used in some New Zealand incantations; and, according to +an Egyptian myth, was kneaded into clay at the making of man. +But there is no end to similar sun-myths, in all of which the sun is +regarded as a man, or even as a beast.</p> +<p>To return to the stars—</p> +<p>The Red Indians, as Schoolcraft says, ‘hold many of the planets +to be transformed adventurers.’ The Iowas ‘believed +stars to be a sort of living creatures.’ One of them came +down and talked to a hunter, and showed him where to find game. +The Gallinomeros of Central California, according to Mr. Bancroft, believe +that the sun and moon were made and lighted up by the Hawk and the Coyote, +who one day flew into each other’s faces in the dark, and were +determined to prevent such accidents in the future. But the very +oddest example of the survival of the notion that the stars are men +or women is found in the ‘Pax’ of Aristophanes. Trygæus +in that comedy has just made an expedition to heaven. A slave +meets him, and asks him, ‘Is not the story true, then, that we +become stars when we die?’ The answer is ‘Certainly;’ +and Trygæus points out the star into which Ios of Chios has just +been metamorphosed. Aristophanes is making fun of some popular +Greek superstition. But that very superstition meets us in New +Zealand. ‘Heroes,’ says Mr. Taylor, ‘were thought +to become stars of greater or less brightness, according to the number +of their victims slain in fight.’ The Aryan race is seldom +far behind, when there are ludicrous notions to be credited or savage +tales to be told. We have seen that Aristophanes, in Greece, knew +the Eskimo doctrine that stars are souls of the dead. The Persians +had the same belief, <a name="citation134a"></a><a href="#footnote134a">{134a}</a> +‘all the unnumbered stars were reckoned ghosts of men.’ +<a name="citation134b"></a><a href="#footnote134b">{134b}</a> +The German folklore clings to the same belief, ‘Stars are souls; +when a child dies God makes a new star.’ Kaegi quotes <a name="citation134c"></a><a href="#footnote134c">{134c}</a> +the same idea from the Veda, and from the Satapatha Brahmana the thoroughly +Australian notion that ‘good men become stars.’ For +a truly savage conception, it would be difficult, in South Africa or +on the Amazons, to beat the following story from the ‘Aitareya +Brahmana’ (iii. 33.) Pragapati, the Master of Life, conceived +an incestuous passion for his own daughter. Like Zeus, and Indra, +and the Australian wooer in the Pleiad tale, he concealed himself under +the shape of a beast, a roebuck, and approached his own daughter, who +had assumed the form of a doe. The gods, in anger at the awful +crime, made a monster to punish Pragapati. The monster sent an +arrow through the god’s body; he sprang into heaven, and, like +the Arcadian bear, this Aryan roebuck became a constellation. +He is among the stars of Orion, and his punisher, also now a star, is, +like the Greek Orion, a hunter. The daughter of Pragapati, the +doe, became another constellation, and the avenging arrow is also a +set of stars in the sky. What follows, about the origin of the +gods called Adityas, is really too savage to be quoted by a chaste mythologist.</p> +<p>It would be easy to multiply examples of this stage of thought among +Aryans and savages. But we have probably brought forward enough +for our purpose, and have expressly chosen instances from the most widely +separated peoples. These instances, it will perhaps be admitted, +suggest, if they do not prove, that the Greeks had received from tradition +precisely the same sort of legends about the heavenly bodies as are +current among Eskimo and Bushmen, New Zealanders and Iowas. As +much, indeed, might be inferred from our own astronomical nomenclature. +We now give to newly discovered stars names derived from distinguished +people, as <i>Georgium Sidus</i>, or <i>Herschel</i>; or, again, merely +technical appellatives, as <i>Alpha</i>, <i>Beta</i>, and the rest. +We should never think when ‘some new planet swims into our ken’ +of calling it <i>Kangaroo</i>, or <i>Rabbit</i>, or after the name of +some hero of romance, as <i>Rob Roy</i>, or <i>Count Fosco</i>. +But the names of stars which we inherit from Greek mythology—the +<i>Bear</i>, the <i>Pleiads</i>, <i>Castor</i> and <i>Pollux</i>, and +so forth—are such as no people in our mental condition would originally +think of bestowing. When Callimachus and the courtly astronomers +of Alexandria pretended that the golden locks of Berenice were raised +to the heavens, that was a mere piece of flattery constructed on the +inherited model of legends about the crown (<i>Corona</i>) of Ariadne. +It seems evident enough that the older Greek names of stars are derived +from a time when the ancestors of the Greeks were in the mental and +imaginative condition of Iowas, Kanekas, Bushmen, Murri, and New Zealanders. +All these, and all other savage peoples, believe in a kind of equality +and intercommunion among all things animate and inanimate. Stones +are supposed in the Pacific Islands to be male and female and to propagate +their species. Animals are believed to have human or superhuman +intelligence, and speech, if they choose to exercise the gift. +Stars are just on the same footing, and their movements are explained +by the same ready system of universal anthropomorphism. Stars, +fishes, gods, heroes, men, trees, clouds, and animals, all play their +equal part in the confused dramas of savage thought and savage mythology. +Even in practical life the change of a sorcerer into an animal is accepted +as a familiar phenomenon, and the power of soaring among the stars is +one on which the Australian Biraark, or the Eskimo Shaman, most plumes +himself. It is not wonderful that things which are held possible +in daily practice should be frequent features of mythology. Hence +the ready invention and belief of star-legends, which in their turn +fix the names of the heavenly bodies. Nothing more, except the +extreme tenacity of tradition and the inconvenience of changing a widely +accepted name, is needed to account for the human and animal names of +the stars. The Greeks received from the dateless past of savage +intellect the myths, and the names of the constellations, and we have +taken them, without inquiry, from the Greeks. Thus it happens +that our celestial globes are just as queer menageries as any globes +could be that were illustrated by Australians or American Indians, by +Bushmen or Peruvian aborigines, or Eskimo. It was savages, we +may be tolerably certain, who first handed to science the names of the +constellations, and provided Greece with the raw material of her astronomical +myths—as Bacon prettily says, that we listen to the harsh ideas +of earlier peoples ‘blown softly through the flutes of the Grecians.’</p> +<p>This position has been disputed by Mr. Brown, in a work rather komically +called ‘The Law of Kosmic Order.’ Mr. Brown’s +theory is that the early Accadians named the zodiacal signs after certain +myths and festivals connected with the months. Thus the crab is +a figure of ‘the darkness power’ which seized the Akkadian +solar hero, Dumuzi, and ‘which is constantly represented in monstrous +and drakontic form.’ The bull, again, is connected with +night and darkness, ‘in relation to the horned moon,’ and +is, for other reasons, ‘a nocturnal potency.’ Few +stars, to tell the truth, are diurnal potencies. Mr. Brown’s +explanations appear to me far-fetched and unconvincing. But, granting +that the zodiacal signs reached Greece from Chaldæa, Mr. Brown +will hardly maintain that Australians, Melanesians, Iowas, Amazon Indians, +Eskimo, and the rest, borrowed their human and animal stars from ‘Akkadia.’ +The belief in animal and human stars is practically universal among +savages who have not attained the ‘Akkadian’ degree of culture. +The belief, as Mr. Tylor has shown, <a name="citation137"></a><a href="#footnote137">{137}</a> +is a natural result of savage ideas. We therefore infer that the +‘Akkadians,’ too, probably fell back for star-names on what +they inherited from the savage past. If the Greeks borrowed certain +star-names from the Akkadians, they also, like the Aryans of India, +retained plenty of savage star-myths of their own, fables derived from +the earliest astronomical guesses of early thought.</p> +<p>The first moment in astronomical science arrives when the savage, +looking at a star, says, like the child in the nursery poem, ‘How +I wonder what you are!’ The next moment comes when the savage +has made his first rough practical observations of the movements of +the heavenly body. His third step is to explain these to himself. +Now science cannot offer any but a fanciful explanation beyond the sphere +of experience. The experience of the savage is limited to the +narrow world of his tribe, and of the beasts, birds, and fishes of his +district. His philosophy, therefore, accounts for all phenomena +on the supposition that the laws of the animate nature he observes are +working everywhere. But his observations, misguided by his crude +magical superstitions, have led him to believe in a state of equality +and kinship between men and animals, and even inorganic things. +He often worships the very beasts he slays; he addresses them as if +they understood him; he believes himself to be descended from the animals, +and of their kindred. These confused ideas he applies to the stars, +and recognises in them men like himself, or beasts like those with which +he conceives himself to be in such close human relations. There +is scarcely a bird or beast but the Red Indian or the Australian will +explain its peculiarities by a myth, like a page from Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses.’ +It was once a man or a woman, and has been changed to bird or beast +by a god or a magician. Men, again, have originally been beasts, +in his philosophy, and are descended from wolves, frogs or serpents, +or monkeys. The heavenly bodies are traced to precisely the same +sort of origin; and hence, we conclude, come their strange animal names, +and the strange myths about them which appear in all ancient poetry. +These names, in turn, have curiously affected human beliefs. Astrology +is based on the opinion that a man’s character and fate are determined +by the stars under which he is born. And the nature of these stars +is deduced from their names, so that the bear should have been found +in the horoscope of Dr. Johnson. When Giordano Bruno wrote his +satire against religion, the famous ‘Spaccio della bestia trionfante,’ +he proposed to banish not only the gods but the beasts from heaven. +He would call the stars, not the <i>Bear</i>, or the <i>Swan</i>, or +the <i>Pleiads</i>, but Truth, Mercy, Justice, and so forth, that men +might be born, not under bestial, but moral influences. But the +beasts have had too long possession of the stars to be easily dislodged, +and the tenure of the <i>Bear</i> and the <i>Swan</i> will probably +last as long as there is a science of Astronomy. Their names are +not likely again to delude a philosopher into the opinion of Aristotle +that the stars are animated.</p> +<p>This argument had been worked out to the writer’s satisfaction +when he chanced to light on Mr. Max Müller’s explanation +of the name of the <i>Great Bear</i>. We have explained that name +as only one out of countless similar appellations which men of every +race give to the stars. These names, again, we have accounted +for as the result of savage philosophy, which takes no great distinction +between man and the things in the world, and looks on stars, beasts, +birds, fishes, flowers, and trees as men and women in disguise. +Mr. Müller’s theory is based on philological considerations. +He thinks that the name of the <i>Great Bear</i> is the result of a +mistake as to the meaning of words. There was in Sanskrit, he +says, <a name="citation140"></a><a href="#footnote140">{140}</a> a root +<i>ark</i>, or <i>arch</i>, meaning ‘to be bright.’ +The stars are called <i>riksha</i>, that is, bright ones, in the Veda. +‘The constellations here called the Rikshas, in the sense of the +“bright ones,” would be homonymous in Sanskrit with the +Bears. Remember also that, apparently without rhyme or reason, +the same constellation is called by Greeks and Romans the Bear. . . +. There is not the shadow of a likeness with a bear. You +will now perceive the influence of words on thought, or the spontaneous +growth of mythology. The name <i>Riksha</i> was applied to the +bear in the sense of the bright fuscous animal, and in that sense it +became most popular in the later Sanskrit, and in Greek and Latin. +The same name, “in the sense of the bright ones,” had been +applied by the Vedic poets to the stars in general, and more particularly +to that constellation which in the northern parts of India was the most +prominent. The etymological meaning, “the bright stars,” +was forgotten; the popular meaning of Riksha (bear) was known to everyone. +And thus it happened that, when the Greeks had left their central home +and settled in Europe, they retained the name of Arktos for the same +unchanging stars; but, not knowing why those stars had originally received +that name, they ceased to speak of them as <i>arktoí</i>, or +many bears, and spoke of them as the Bear.’</p> +<p>This is a very good example of the philological way of explaining +a myth. If once we admit that <i>ark</i>, or <i>arch</i>, in the +sense of ‘bright’ and of ‘bear,’ existed, not +only in Sanskrit, but in the undivided Aryan tongue, and that the name +Riksha, bear, ‘became in that sense most popular in Greek and +Latin,’ this theory seems more than plausible. But the explanation +does not look so well if we examine, not only the Aryan, but all the +known myths and names of the Bear and the other stars. Professor +Sayce, a distinguished philologist, says we may not compare non-Aryan +with Aryan myths. We have ventured to do so, however, in this +paper, and have shown that the most widely severed races give the stars +animal names, of which the <i>Bear</i> is one example. Now, if +the philologists wish to persuade us that it was decaying and half-forgotten +language which caused men to give the names of animals to the stars, +they must prove their case on an immense collection of instances—on +Iowa, Kaneka, Murri, Maori, Brazilian, Peruvian, Mexican, Egyptian, +Eskimo, instances. It would be the most amazing coincidence in +the world if forgetfulness of the meaning of their own speech compelled +tribes of every tongue and race to recognise men and beasts, cranes, +cockatoos, serpents, monkeys, bears, and so forth, in the heavens. +How came the misunderstood words always to be misunderstood in the same +way? Does the philological explanation account for the enormous +majority of the phenomena? If it fails, we may at least doubt +whether it solves the one isolated case of the Great Bear among the +Greeks and Romans. It must be observed that the philological explanation +of Mr. Müller does not clear up the Arcadian story of their own +descent from a she-bear who is now a star. Yet similar stories +of the descent of tribes from animals are so widespread that it would +be difficult to name the race or the quarter of the globe where they +are not found. Are they all derived from misunderstood words meaning +‘bright’? These considerations appear to be a strong +argument for comparing not only Aryan, but all attainable myths. +We shall often find, if we take a wide view, that the philological explanation +which seemed plausible in a single case is hopelessly narrow when applied +to a large collection of parallel cases in languages of various families.</p> +<p>Finally, in dealing with star myths, we adhere to the hypothesis +of Mr. Tylor: ‘From savagery up to civilisation,’ Akkadian, +Greek, or English, ‘there may be traced in the mythology of the +stars a course of thought, changed, indeed, in application, yet never +broken in its evident connection from first to last. The savage +sees individual stars as animate beings, or combines star-groups into +living celestial creatures, or limbs of them, or objects connected with +them; while at the other extremity of the scale of civilisation the +modern astronomer keeps up just such ancient fancies, turning them to +account in useful survival, as a means of mapping out the celestial +globe.’</p> +<h2>MOLY AND MANDRAGORA.</h2> +<p>‘I have found out a new cure for rheumatism,’ said the +lady beside whom it was my privilege to sit at dinner. ‘You +carry a potato about in your pocket!’</p> +<p>Some one has written an amusing account of the behaviour of a man +who is finishing a book. He takes his ideas everywhere with him +and broods over them, even at dinner, in the pauses of conversation. +But here was a lady who kindly contributed to my studies and offered +me folklore and survivals in cultivated Kensington.</p> +<p>My mind had strayed from the potato cure to the New Zealand habit +of carrying a baked yam at night to frighten away ghosts, and to the +old English belief that a bit of bread kept in the pocket was sovereign +against evil spirits. Why should ghosts dread the food of mortals +when it is the custom of most races of mortals to feed ancestral ghosts? +The human mind works pretty rapidly, and all this had passed through +my brain while I replied, in tones of curiosity: ‘A potato!’</p> +<p>‘Yes; but it is not every potato that will do. I heard +of the cure in the country, and when we came up to town, and my husband +was complaining of rheumatism, I told one of the servants to get me +a potato for Mr. Johnson’s rheumatism. “Yes, ma’am,” +said the man; “but it must be a <i>stolen</i> potato.” +I had forgotten that. Well, one can’t ask one’s servants +to steal potatoes. It is easy in the country, where you can pick +one out of anybody’s field.’ ‘And what did you +do?’ I asked. ‘Oh, I drove to Covent Garden +and ordered a lot of fruit and flowers. While the man was not +looking, I stole a potato—a very little one. I don’t +think there was any harm in it.’ ‘And did Mr. Johnson +try the potato cure?’ ‘Yes, he carried it in his pocket, +and now he is quite well. I told the doctor, and he says he knows +of the cure, but he dares not recommend it.’</p> +<p>How oddly superstitions survive! The central idea of this modern +folly about the potato is that you must pilfer the root. Let us +work the idea of the healing or magical herb backwards, from Kensington +to European folklore, and thence to classical times, to Homer, and to +the Hottentots. Turning first to Germany, we note the beliefs, +not about the potato, but about another vegetable, the mandrake. +Of all roots, in German superstition, the Alraun, or mandrake, is the +most famous. The herb was conceived of, in the savage fashion, +as a living human person, a kind of old witch-wife. <a name="citation144"></a><a href="#footnote144">{144}</a></p> +<p>Again, the root has a human shape. ‘If a hereditary thief +who has preserved his chastity gets hung,’ the broad-leafed, yellow-flowered +mandrake grows up, in his likeness, beneath the gallows from which he +is suspended. The mandrake, like the moly, the magical herb of +the Odyssey, is ‘hard for men to dig.’ He who desires +to possess a mandrake must stop his ears with wax, so that he may not +hear the deathly yells which the plant utters as it is being dragged +out of the earth. Then before sunrise, on a Friday, the amateur +goes out with a dog, ‘all black,’ makes three crosses round +the mandrake, loosens the soil about the root, ties the root to the +dog’s tail, and offers the beast a piece of bread. The dog +runs at the bread, drags out the mandrake root, and falls dead, killed +by the horrible yell of the plant. The root is now taken up, washed +with wine, wrapped in silk, laid in a casket, bathed every Friday, ‘and +clothed in a little new white smock every new moon.’ The +mandrake acts, if thus considerately treated, as a kind of familiar +spirit. ‘Every piece of coin put to her over night is found +doubled in the morning.’ Gipsy folklore, and the folklore +of American children, keep this belief in doubling deposits. The +gipsies use the notion in what they call ‘The Great Trick.’ +Some foolish rustic makes up his money in a parcel which he gives to +the gipsy. The latter, after various ceremonies performed, returns +the parcel, which is to be buried. The money will be found doubled +by a certain date. Of course when the owner unburies the parcel +he finds nothing in it but brass buttons. In the same way, and +with pious confidence, the American boy buries a marble in a hollow +log, uttering the formula, ‘What hasn’t come here, <i>come</i>! +what’s here, <i>stay</i> here!’ and expects to find all +the marbles he has ever lost. <a name="citation145"></a><a href="#footnote145">{145}</a> +Let us follow the belief in magical roots into the old Pagan world.</p> +<p>The ancients knew mandragora and the superstitions connected with +it very well. Dioscorides mentions <i>mandragorus</i>, or <i>antimelon</i>, +or <i>dircæa</i>, or <i>Circæa</i>, and says the Egyptians +call it <i>apemoum</i>, and Pythagoras ‘anthropomorphon.’ +In digging the root, Pliny says, ‘there are some ceremonies observed, +first they that goe about this worke, look especially to this that the +wind be not in their face, but blow upon their backs. Then with +the point of a sword they draw three circles round about the plant, +which don, they dig it up afterwards with their face unto the west.’ +Pliny says nothing of the fetich qualities of the plant, as credited +in modern and mediæval Germany, but mentions ‘sufficient +it is with some bodies to cast them into sleep with the smel of mandrago.’ +This is like Shakespeare’s ‘poppy and mandragora, and all +the drowsy syrups of the world.’ Plato and Demosthenes <a name="citation146a"></a><a href="#footnote146a">{146a}</a> +also speak of mandragora as a soporific. It is more to the purpose +of magic that Columella mentions ‘the <i>half-human</i> mandragora.’ +Here we touch the origin of the mandrake superstitions. The roots +have a kind of fantastic resemblance to the human shape; Pliny describes +them as being ‘of a fleshy substance and tender.’ +Now it is one of the recognised principles in magic, that things like +each other, however superficially, affect each other in a mystic way, +and possess identical properties. Thus, in Melanesia, according +to Mr. Codrington, <a name="citation146b"></a><a href="#footnote146b">{146b}</a> +‘a stone in the shape of a pig, of a bread-fruit, of a yam, was +a most valuable find,’ because it made pigs prolific, and fertilised +bread-fruit trees and yam-plots. In Scotland, too, ‘stones +were called by the names of the limbs they resembled, as “eye-stane,” +“head-stane.” A patient washed the affected part of +his body, and rubbed it well with the stone corresponding.’ <a name="citation147a"></a><a href="#footnote147a">{147a}</a> +In precisely the same way, the mandrake root, being thought to resemble +the human body, was credited with human and superhuman powers. +Josephus mentions <a name="citation147b"></a><a href="#footnote147b">{147b}</a> +a plant ‘not easily caught, which slips away from them that wish +to gather it, and never stands still’ till certain repulsive rites +are performed. These rites cannot well be reported here, but they +are quite familiar to Red Indian and to Bushman magic. Another +way to dig the plant spoken of by Josephus is by aid of the dog, as +in the German superstition quoted from Grimm. Ælian also +recommends the use of the dog to pluck the herb aglaophotis, which shines +at night. <a name="citation147c"></a><a href="#footnote147c">{147c}</a> +When the dog has dragged up the root, and died of terror, his body is +to be buried on the spot with religious honours and secret sacred rites.</p> +<p>So much for mandragora, which, like the healing potato, has to be +acquired stealthily and with peril. Now let us examine the Homeric +herb moly. The plant is thus introduced by Homer: In the tenth +book of the ‘Odyssey,’ Circe has turned Odysseus’s +men into swine. He sets forth to rescue them, trusting only to +his sword. The god Hermes meets him, and offers him ‘a charmed +herb,’ ‘this herb of grace’ (φαρμακον +εσθλον) whereby he may subdue +the magic wiles of Circe.</p> +<p>The plant is described by Homer with some minuteness. ‘It +was black at the root, but the flower was like to milk. “Moly,” +the gods call it, but it is hard for mortal men to dig, howbeit with +the gods all things are possible.’ The etymologies given +of ‘moly’ are almost as numerous as the etymologists. +One derivation, from the old ‘Turanian’ tongue of Accadia, +will be examined later. The Scholiast offers the derivation ‘μωλυειν, +to make charms of no avail’; but this is exactly like Professor +Blackie’s etymological discovery that Erinys is derived from ερινυειν: +‘he might as well derive <i>critic</i> from <i>criticise</i>.’ +<a name="citation148"></a><a href="#footnote148">{148}</a> The +Scholiast adds that moly caused death to the person who dragged it out +of the ground. This identification of moly with mandrake is probably +based on Homer’s remark that moly is ‘hard to dig.’ +The black root and white flower of moly are quite unlike the yellow +flower and white fleshy root ascribed by Pliny to mandrake. Only +confusion is caused by regarding the two magical herbs as identical.</p> +<p>But why are any herbs or roots magical? While some scholars, +like De Gubernatis, seek an explanation in supposed myths about clouds +and stars, it is enough for our purpose to observe that herbs really +have medicinal properties, and that untutored people invariably confound +medicine with magic. A plant or root is thought to possess virtue, +not only when swallowed in powder or decoction, but when carried in +the hand. St. John’s wort and rowan berries, like the Homeric +moly, still ‘make evil charms of none avail;’</p> +<blockquote><p>Rowan, ash, and red threed<br /> +Keep the devils from their speed,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>says the Scotch rhyme. Any fanciful resemblance of leaf or +flower or root to a portion of the human body, any analogy based on +colour, will give a plant reputation for magical virtues. This +habit of mind survives from the savage condition. The Hottentots +are great herbalists. Like the Greeks, like the Germans, they +expect supernatural aid from plants and roots. Mr. Hahn, in his +‘Tsui Goam, the Supreme Being of the Khoi Khoi’ (p. 82), +gives the following examples:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Dapper, in his description of Africa, p. 621, tells us:—‘Some +of them wear round the neck roots, which they find far inland, in rivers, +and being on a journey they light them in a fire or chew them, if they +must sleep the night out in the field. They believe that these +roots keep off the wild animals. The roots they chew are spit +out around the spot where they encamp for the night; and in a similar +way if they set the roots alight, they blow the smoke and ashes about, +believing that the smell will keep the wild animals off.</p> +<p>I had often occasion to observe the practice of these superstitious +ceremonies, especially when we were in a part of the country where we +heard the roaring of the lions, or had the day previously met with the +footprints of the king of the beasts.</p> +<p>The Korannas also have these roots as safeguards with them. +If a Commando (a warlike expedition) goes out, every man will put such +roots in his pockets and in the pouch where he keeps his bullets, believing +that the arrows or bullets of the enemy have no effect, but that his +own bullets will surely kill the enemy. And also before they lie +down to sleep, they set these roots alight, and murmur, ‘My grandfather’s +root, bring sleep on the eyes of the lion and leopard and the hyena. +Make them blind, that they cannot find us, and cover their noses, that +they cannot smell us out.’ Also, if they have carried off +large booty, or stolen cattle of the enemy, they light these roots and +say: ‘We thank thee, our grandfather’s root, that thou hast +given us cattle to eat. Let the enemy sleep, and lead him on the +wrong track, that he may not follow us until we have safely escaped.’</p> +<p>Another sort of shrub is called ābib. Herdsmen, especially, +carry pieces of its wood as charms, and if cattle or sheep have gone +astray, they burn a piece of it in the fire, that the wild animals may +not destroy them. And they believe that the cattle remain safe +until they can be found the next morning.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Schweinfurth found the same belief in magic herbs and roots among +the Bongoes and Niam Niams in ‘The Heart of Africa.’ +The Bongoes believe, like the Homeric Greeks, that ‘certain roots +ward off the evil influences of spirits.’ Like the German +amateurs of the mandrake, they assert that ‘there is no other +resource for obtaining communication with spirits, except by means of +certain roots’ (i. 306).</p> +<p>Our position is that the English magical potato, the German mandrake, +the Greek moly, are all survivals from a condition of mind like that +in which the Hottentots still pray to roots.</p> +<p>Now that we have brought mandragora and moly into connection with +the ordinary magical superstitions of savage peoples, let us see what +is made of the subject by another method. Mr. R. Brown, the learned +and industrious author of ‘The Great Dionysiak Myth,’ has +investigated the traditions about the Homeric moly. He first <a name="citation151"></a><a href="#footnote151">{151}</a> +‘turns to Aryan philology.’ Many guesses at the etymology +of ‘moly’ have been made. Curtius suggests <i>mollis</i>, +<i>molvis</i>, μωλυ-ς, akin to μαλακος, +<i>‘</i>soft.’ This does not suit Mr. Brown, who, +to begin with, is persuaded that the herb is not a magical herb, <i>sans +phrase</i>, like those which the Hottentots use, but that the basis +of the myth ‘is simply the effect of night upon the world of day.’ +Now, as moly is a name in use among the gods, Mr. Brown thinks ‘we +may fairly examine the hypothesis of a foreign origin of the term.’ +Anyone who holds that certain Greek gods were borrowed from abroad, +may be allowed to believe that the gods used foreign words, and, as +Mr. Brown points out, there are foreign elements in various Homeric +names of imported articles, peoples, persons, and so forth. Where, +then, is a foreign word like moly, which might have reached Homer? +By a long process of research, Mr. Brown finds his word in ancient ‘Akkadian.’ +From Professor Sayce he borrows a reference to Apuleius Barbarus, about +whose life nothing is known, and whose date is vague. Apuleius +Barbarus may have lived about four centuries after our era, and <i>he</i> +says that ‘wild rue was called moly by the Cappadocians.’ +Rue, like rosemary, and indeed like most herbs, has its magical repute, +and if we supposed that Homer’s moly was rue, there would be some +interest in the knowledge. Rue was called ‘herb of grace’ +in English, holy water was sprinkled with it, and the name is a translation +of Homer’s φαρμακον εσθλον. +Perhaps rue was used in sprinkling, because in pre-Christian times rue +had, by itself, power against sprites and powers of evil. Our +ancestors may have thought it as well to combine the old charm of rue +and the new Christian potency of holy water. Thus there would +be a distinct analogy between Homeric moly and English ‘herb of +grace.’</p> +<p>‘Euphrasy and rue’ were employed to purge and purify +mortal eyes. Pliny is very learned about the magical virtues of +rue. Just as the stolen potato is sovran for rheumatism, so ‘rue +stolen thriveth the best.’ The Samoans think that their +most valued vegetables were stolen from heaven by a Samoan visitor. +<a name="citation152a"></a><a href="#footnote152a">{152a}</a> +It is remarkable that rue, according to Pliny, is killed by the touch +of a woman in the same way as, according to Josephus, the mandrake is +tamed. <a name="citation152b"></a><a href="#footnote152b">{152b}</a> +These passages prove that the classical peoples had the same extraordinary +superstitions about women as the Bushmen and Red Indians. Indeed +Pliny <a name="citation152c"></a><a href="#footnote152c">{152c}</a> +describes a magical manner of defending the crops from blight, by aid +of women, which is actually practised in America by the Red Men. <a name="citation152d"></a><a href="#footnote152d">{152d}</a></p> +<p>Here, then, are proofs enough that rue was magical outside of Cappadocia. +But this is not an argument on Mr. Brown’s lines. The Cappadocians +called rue ‘moly’; what language, he asks, was spoken by +the Cappadocians? Prof. Sayce (who knows so many tongues) says +that ‘we know next to nothing of the language of the Cappadocians, +or of the Moschi who lived in the same locality.’ But where +Prof. Sayce is, the Hittites, if we may say so respectfully, are not +very far off. In this case he thinks the Moschi (though he admits +we know next to nothing about it) ‘seem to have spoken a language +allied to that of the Cappadocians and Hittites.’ That is +to say, it is not impossible that the language of the Moschi, about +which next to nothing is known, may have been allied to that of the +Cappadocians, about which we know next to nothing. All that we +do know in this case is, that four hundred years after Christ the dwellers +in Cappadocia employed a word ‘moly,’ which had been Greek +for at least twelve hundred years. But Mr. Brown goes on to quote +that one of the languages of which we know next to nothing, Hittite, +was ‘probably allied to Proto-Armenian, and perhaps Lykian, and +was above all not Semitic.’ In any case ‘the cuneiform +mode of writing was used in Cappadocia at an early period.’ +As even Professor Sayce declines to give more than a tentative reading +of a Cappadocian cuneiform inscription, it seems highly rash to seek +in this direction for an interpretation of a Homeric word ‘moly,’ +used in Cappadocia very many centuries after the tablets were scratched. +But, on the evidence of the Babylonian character of the cuneiform writing +on Cappadocian tablets, Mr. Brown establishes a connection between the +people of Accadia (who probably introduced the cuneiform style) and +the people of Cappadocia. The connection amounts to this. +Twelve hundred years after Homer, the inhabitants of Cappadocia are +said to have called rue ‘moly.’ At some unknown period, +the Accadians appear to have influenced the art of writing in Cappadocia. +Apparently Mr. Brown thinks it not too rash to infer that the Cappadocian +use of the word ‘moly’ is not derived from the Greeks, but +from the Accadians. Now in Accadian, according to Mr. Brown, <i>mul</i> +means ‘star.’ ‘Hence <i>ulu</i> or <i>mulu</i> += μωλυ, the mysterious Homerik counter-charm +to the charms of Kirkê’ (p. 60). Mr. Brown’s +theory, therefore, is that moly originally meant ‘star.’ +Circe is the moon, Odysseus is the sun, and ‘what <i>watches over</i> +the solar hero at night when exposed to the hostile lunar power, but +the stars?’ especially the dog-star.</p> +<p>The truth is, that Homer’s moly, whatever plant he meant by +the name, is only one of the magical herbs in which most peoples believe +or have believed. Like the Scottish rowan, or like St. John’s +wort, it is potent against evil influences. People have their +own simple reasons for believing in these plants, and have not needed +to bring down their humble, early botany from the clouds and stars. +We have to imagine, on the other hand (if we follow Mr. Brown), that +in some unknown past the Cappadocians turned the Accadian word for a +star into a local name of a plant, that this word reached Homer, that +the supposed old Accadian myth of the star which watches over the solar +hero retained its vitality in Greek, and leaving the star clung to the +herb, that Homer used an ‘Akkado-Kappadokian’ myth, and +that, many ages after, the Accadian star-name in its perverted sense +of ‘rue’ survived in Cappadocia. This structure of +argument is based on tablets which even Prof. Sayce cannot read, and +on possibilities about the alliances of tongues concerning which we +‘know next to nothing.’ A method which leaves on one +side the common, natural, widely-diffused beliefs about the magic virtue +of herbs (beliefs which we have seen at work in Kensington and in Central +Africa), to hunt for moly among stars and undeciphered Kappadokian inscriptions, +seems a dubious method. We have examined it at full length because +it is a specimen of an erudite, but, as we think, a mistaken way in +folklore. M. Halévy’s warnings against the shifting +mythical theories based on sciences so new as the lore of Assyria and +‘Akkadia’ are by no means superfluous. ‘Akkadian’ +is rapidly become as ready a key to all locks as ‘Aryan’ +was a few years ago.</p> +<h2>‘KALEVALA’; OR, THE FINNISH NATIONAL EPIC.</h2> +<p>It is difficult to account for the fact that the scientific curiosity +which is just now so busy in examining all the monuments of the primitive +condition of our race, should, in England at least, have almost totally +neglected to popularise the ‘Kalevala,’ or national poem +of the Finns. Besides its fresh and simple beauty of style, its +worth as a storehouse of every kind of primitive folklore, being as +it is the production of an <i>Urvolk</i>, a nation that has undergone +no violent revolution in language or institutions—the ‘Kalevala’ +has the peculiar interest of occupying a position between the two kinds +of primitive poetry, the ballad and the epic. So much difficulty +has been introduced into the study of the first developments of song, +by confusing these distinct sorts of composition under the name of popular +poetry, that it may be well, in writing of a poem which occupies a middle +place between epic and ballad, to define what we mean by each.</p> +<p>The author of our old English ‘Art of Poesie’ begins +his work with a statement which may serve as a text: ‘Poesie,’ +says Puttenham, writing in 1589, ‘is more ancient than the <i>artificiall</i> +of the Greeks and Latines, coming by instinct of nature, and used by +the savage and uncivill, who were before all science and civilitie. +This is proved by certificate of merchants and travellers, who by late +navigations have surveyed the whole world, and discovered large countries, +and strange people, wild and savage, affirming that the American, the +Perusine, and the very canniball, do sing, and also say, their highest +and holiest matters in certain riming versicles.’ Puttenham +is here referring to that instinct of primitive men, which compels them +in all moments of high-wrought feeling, and on all solemn occasions, +to give utterance to a kind of chant. <a name="citation157a"></a><a href="#footnote157a">{157a}</a> +Such a chant is the song of Lamech, when he had ‘slain a man to +his wounding.’ So in the Norse sagas, Grettir and Gunnar +<i>sing</i> when they have anything particular to say; and so in the +<i>Märchen</i>—the primitive fairy tales of all nations—scraps +of verse are introduced where emphasis is wanted. This craving +for passionate expression takes a more formal shape in the lays which, +among all primitive peoples, as among the modern Greeks to-day, <a name="citation157b"></a><a href="#footnote157b">{157b}</a> +are sung at betrothals, funerals, and departures for distant lands. +These songs have been collected in Scotland by Scott and Motherwell; +their Danish counterparts have been translated by Mr. Prior. In +Greece, M. Fauriel and Dr. Ulrichs; in Provence, Damase Arbaud; in Italy, +M. Nigra; in Servia, Talvj; in France, Gérard de Nerval—have +done for their separate countries what Scott did for the Border. +Professor Child, of Harvard, is publishing a beautiful critical collection +of English <i>Volkslieder</i>, with all known variants from every country.</p> +<p>A comparison of the collections proves that among all European lands +the primitive ‘versicles’ of the people are identical in +tone, form, and incident. It is this kind of early expression +of a people’s life—careless, abrupt, brief, as was necessitated +by the fact that they were sung to the accompaniment of the dance—that +we call ballads. These are distinctly, and in every sense, popular +poems, and nothing can cause greater confusion than to apply the same +title, ‘popular,’ to early epic poetry. Ballads are +short; a long ballad, as Mr. Matthew Arnold has said, creeps and halts. +A true epic, on the other hand, is long, and its tone is grand, noble, +and sustained. Ballads are not artistic; while the form of the +epic, whether we take the hexameter or the rougher <i>laisse</i> of +the French <i>chansons de geste</i>, is full of conscious and admirable +art. Lastly, popular ballads deal with vague characters, acting +and living in vague places; while the characters of an epic are heroes +of definite station, <i>whose descendants are still in the land</i>, +whose home is a recognisable place, Ithaca, or Argos. Now, though +these two kinds of early poetry—the ballad, the song of the people; +the epic, the song of the chiefs of the people, of the ruling race—are +distinct in kind, it does not follow that they have no connection, that +the nobler may not have been developed out of the materials of the lower +form of expression. And the value of the ‘Kalevala’ +is partly this, that it combines the continuity and unison of the epic +with the simplicity and popularity of the ballad, and so forms a kind +of link in the history of the development of poetry. This may +become clearer as we proceed to explain the literary history of the +Finnish national poem.</p> +<p>Sixty years ago, it may be said, no one was aware that Finland possessed +a national poem at all. Her people—who claim affinity with +the Magyars of Hungary, but are possibly a back-wave of an earlier tide +of population—had remained untouched by foreign influences since +their conquest by Sweden, and their somewhat lax and wholesale conversion +to Christianity: events which took place gradually between the middle +of the twelfth and the end of the thirteenth centuries. Under +the rule of Sweden, the Finns were left to their quiet life and undisturbed +imaginings, among the forests and lakes of the region which they aptly +called Pohja, ‘the end of things’; while their educated +classes took no very keen interest in the native poetry and mythology +of their race. At length the annexation of Finland by Russia, +in 1809, awakened national feeling, and stimulated research into the +songs and customs which were the heirlooms of the people.</p> +<p>It was the policy of Russia to encourage, rather than to check, this +return on a distant past; and from the north of Norway to the slopes +of the Altai, ardent explorers sought out the fragments of unwritten +early poetry. These runes, or <i>Runots</i>, were chiefly sung +by old men called <i>Runoias</i>, to beguile the weariness of the long +dark winters. The custom was for two champions to engage in a +contest of memory, clasping each other’s hands, and reciting in +turn till he whose memory first gave in slackened his hold. The +‘Kalevala’ contains an instance of this practice, where +it is said that no one was so hardy as to clasp hands with Wäinämöinen, +who is at once the Orpheus and the Prometheus of Finnish mythology. +These Runoias, or rhapsodists, complain, of course, of the degeneracy +of human memory; they notice how any foreign influence, in religion +or politics, is destructive to the native songs of a race. <a name="citation160"></a><a href="#footnote160">{160}</a> +‘As for the lays of old time, a thousand have been scattered to +the wind, a thousand buried in the snow; . . . as for those which the +Munks (the Teutonic knights) swept away, and the prayer of the priest +overwhelmed, a thousand tongues were not able to recount them.’ +In spite of the losses thus caused, and in spite of the suspicious character +of the Finns, which often made the task of collection a dangerous one, +enough materials remained to furnish Dr. Lönnrot, the most noted +explorer, with thirty-five <i>Runots</i>, or cantos. These were +published in 1835, but later research produced the fifteen cantos which +make up the symmetrical fifty of the ‘Kalevala.’ In +the task of arranging and uniting these, Dr. Lönnrot played the +part traditionally ascribed to the commission of Pisistratus in relation +to the ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey.’ Dr. Lönnrot +is said to have handled with singular fidelity the materials which now +come before us as one poem, not absolutely without a certain unity and +continuous thread of narrative. It is this unity (so faint compared +with that of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey’) which +gives the ‘Kalevala’ a claim to the title of epic.</p> +<p>It cannot be doubted that, at whatever period the Homeric poems took +shape in Greece, they were believed to record the feats of the supposed +ancestors of existing families. Thus, for example, Pisistratus, +as a descendant of the Nelidæ, had an interest in securing certain +parts, at least, of the ‘Iliad’ and the ‘Odyssey’ +from oblivion. The same family pride embellished and preserved +the epic poetry of early France. There were in France but three +heroic houses, or <i>gestes</i>; and three corresponding cycles of <i>épopées</i>. +Now, in the ‘Kalevala,’ there is no trace of the influence +of family feeling; it was no one’s peculiar care and pride to +watch over the records of the fame of this or that hero. The poem +begins with a cosmogony as wild as any Indian dream of creation; and +the human characters who move in the story are shadowy inhabitants of +no very definite lands, whom no family claim as their forefathers. +The very want of this idea of family and aristocratic pride gives the +‘Kalevala’ a unique place among epics. It is emphatically +an epic of the people, of that class whose life contains no element +of progress, no break in continuity; which from age to age preserves, +in solitude and close communion with nature, the earliest beliefs of +grey antiquity. The Greek epic, on the other hand, has, as M. +Preller <a name="citation161"></a><a href="#footnote161">{161}</a> points +out, ‘nothing to do with natural man, but with an ideal world +of heroes, with sons of the gods, with consecrated kings, heroes, elders, +<i>a kind of specific race of men</i>. The people exist only as +subsidiary to the great houses, as a mere background against which stand +out the shining figures of heroes; as a race of beings fresh and rough +from the hands of nature, with whom, and with whose concerns, the great +houses and their bards have little concern.’ This feeling—so +universal in Greece, and in the feudal countries of mediæval Europe, +that there are two kinds of men, the golden and the brazen race, as +Plato would have called them—is absent, with all its results, +in the ‘Kalevala.’</p> +<p>Among the Finns we find no trace of an aristocracy; there is scarcely +a mention of kings, or priests; the heroes of the poem are really popular +heroes, fishers, smiths, husbandmen, ‘medicine-men,’ or +wizards; exaggerated shadows of the people, pursuing on a heroic scale, +not war, but the common daily business of primitive and peaceful men. +In recording their adventures, the ‘Kalevala,’ like the +shield of Achilles, reflects all the life of a race, the feasts, the +funerals, the rites of seed-time and harvest of marriage and death, +the hymn, and the magical incantation. Were this all, the epic +would only have the value of an exhaustive collection of the popular +ballads which, as we have seen, are a poetical record of the intenser +moments in the existence of unsophisticated tribes. But the ‘Kalevala’ +is distinguished from such a collection, by presenting the ballads as +they are produced by the events of a continuous narrative, and thus +it takes a distinct place between the aristocratic epics of Greece, +or of the Franks, and the scattered songs which have been collected +in Scotland, Sweden, Denmark, Greece, and Italy.</p> +<p>Besides the interest of its unique position as a popular epic, the +‘Kalevala’ is very valuable, both for its literary beauties +and for the confused mass of folklore which it contains.</p> +<p>Here old cosmogonies, attempts of man to represent to himself the +beginning of things, are mingled with the same wild imaginings as are +found everywhere in the shape of fairy-tales. We are hurried from +an account of the mystic egg of creation, to a hymn like that of the +Ambarval Brothers, to a strangely familiar scrap of a nursery story, +to an incident which we remember as occurring in almost identical words +in a Scotch ballad. We are among a people which endows everything +with human characters and life, which is in familiar relations with +birds, and beasts, and even with rocks and plants. Ravens and +wolves and fishes of the sea, sun, moon, and stars, are kindly or churlish; +drops of blood find speech, man and maid change to snake or swan and +resume their forms, ships have magic powers, like the ships of the Phæacians.</p> +<p>Then there is the oddest confusion of every stage of religious development: +we find a supreme God, delighting in righteousness; Ukko, the lord of +the vault of air, who stands apart from men, and sends his son, Wäinämöinen, +to be their teacher in music and agriculture.</p> +<p>Across this faith comes a religion of petrified abstractions like +those of the Roman Pantheon. There are gods of colour, a goddess +of weaving, a goddess of man’s blood, besides elemental spirits +of woods and waters, and the <i>manes</i> of the dead. Meanwhile, +the working faith of the people is the belief in magic—generally +a sign of the lower culture. It is supposed that the knowledge +of certain magic words gives power over the elemental bodies which obey +them; it is held that the will of a distant sorcerer can cross the lakes +and plains like the breath of a fantastic frost, with power to change +an enemy to ice or stone. Traces remain of the worship of animals: +there is a hymn to the bear; a dance like the bear-dance of the American +Indians; and another hymn tells of the birth and power of the serpent. +Across all, and closing all, comes a hostile account of the origin of +Christianity—the end of joy and music.</p> +<p>How primitive was the condition of the authors of this medley of +beliefs is best proved by the survival of the custom called exogamy. +<a name="citation164a"></a><a href="#footnote164a">{164a}</a> +This custom, which is not peculiar to the Finns, but is probably a universal +note of early society, prohibits marriage between members of the same +tribe. Consequently, the main action, such as it is, of the ‘Kalevala’ +turns on the efforts made by the men of Kaleva to obtain brides from +the hostile tribe of Pohja. <a name="citation164b"></a><a href="#footnote164b">{164b}</a></p> +<p>Further proof of ancient origin is to be found in what is the great +literary beauty of the poem—its pure spontaneity and simplicity. +It is the production of an intensely imaginative race, to which song +came as the most natural expression of joy and sorrow, terror or triumph—a +class which lay near to nature’s secret, and was not out of sympathy +with the wild kin of woods and waters.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘These songs,’ says the prelude, ‘were +found by the wayside, and gathered in the depths of the copses; blown +from the branches of the forest, and culled among the plumes of the +pine-trees. These lays came to me as I followed the flocks, in +a land of meadows honey-sweet, and of golden hills. . . . The +cold has spoken to me, and the rain has told me her runes; the winds +of heaven, the waves of the sea, have spoken and sung to me; the wild +birds have taught me, the music of many waters has been my master.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The metre in which the epic is chanted resembles, to an English ear, +that of Mr. Longfellow’s ‘Hiawatha’—there is +assonance rather than rhyme; and a very musical effect is produced by +the liquid character of the language, and by the frequent alliterations.</p> +<p>This rough outline of the main characteristics of the ‘Kalevala’ +we shall now try to fill up with an abstract of its contents. +The poem is longer than the ‘Iliad,’ and much of interest +must necessarily be omitted; but it is only through such an abstract +that any idea can be given of the sort of unity which does prevail amid +the most utter discrepancy.</p> +<p>In the first place, what is to be understood by the word ‘Kalevala’? +The affix <i>la</i> signifies ‘abode.’ Thus, ‘Tuonela’ +is ‘the abode of Tuoni,’ the god of the lower world; and +as ‘kaleva’ means ‘heroic,’ ‘magnificent,’ +‘Kalevala’ is ‘The Home of Heroes.’ The +poem is the record of the adventures of the people of Kalevala—of +their strife with the men of Pohjola, the place of the world’s +end. We may fancy two old Runoias, or singers, clasping hands +on one of the first nights of the Finnish winter, and beginning (what +probably has never been accomplished) the attempt to work through the +‘Kalevala’ before the return of summer. They commence +<i>ab ovo</i>, or, rather, before the egg. First is chanted the +birth of Wäinämöinen, the benefactor and teacher of men. +He is the son of Luonnotar, the daughter of Nature, who answers to the +first woman of the Iroquois cosmogony. Beneath the breath and +touch of wind and tide, she conceived a child; but nine ages of man +passed before his birth, while the mother floated on ‘the formless +and the multiform waters.’ Then Ukko, the supreme God, sent +an eagle, which laid her eggs in the maiden’s bosom, and from +these eggs grew earth and sky, sun and moon, star and cloud. Then +was Wäinämöinen born on the waters, and reached a barren +land, and gazed on the new heavens and the new earth. There he +sowed the grain that is the bread of man, chanting the hymn used at +seed-time, calling on the mother earth to make the green herb spring, +and on Ukko to send clouds and rain. So the corn sprang, and the +golden cuckoo—which in Finland plays the part of the popinjay +in Scotch ballads, or of the three golden birds in Greek folksongs—came +with his congratulations. In regard to the epithet ‘golden,’ +it may be observed that gold and silver, in the Finnish epic, are lavished +on the commonest objects of daily life.</p> +<p>This is a universal note of primitive poetry, and is not a peculiar +Finnish idiom, as M. Leouzon le Duc supposes; nor, as Mr. Tozer seems +to think, in his account of Romaic ballads, a trace of Oriental influence +among the modern Greeks. It is common to all the ballads of Europe, +as M. Ampère has pointed out, and may be observed in the ‘Chanson +de Roland,’ and in Homer.</p> +<p>While the corn ripened, Wäinämöinen rested from his +labours, and took the task of Orpheus. ‘He sang,’ +says the ‘Kalevala,’ of the origin of things, of the mysteries +hidden from babes, that none may attain to in this sad life, in the +hours of these perishable days. The fame of the Runoia’s +singing excited jealousy in the breast of one of the men around him, +of whose origin the ‘Kalevala’ gives no account. This +man, Joukahainen, provoked him to a trial of song, boasting, like Empedocles, +or like one of the old Celtic bards, that he had been all things. +‘When the earth was made I was there; when space was unrolled +I launched the sun on his way.’ Then was Wäinämöinen +wroth, and by the force of his enchantment he rooted Joukahainen to +the ground, and suffered him not to go free without promising him the +hand of his sister Aino. The mother was delighted; but the girl +wept that she must now cover her long locks, her curls, her glory, and +be the wife of ‘the old imperturbable Wäinämöinen.’ +It is in vain that her mother offers her dainty food and rich dresses; +she flees from home, and wanders till she meets three maidens bathing, +and joins them, and is drowned, singing a sad song: ‘Ah, never +may my sister come to bathe in the sea-water, for the drops of the sea +are the drops of my blood.’ This wild idea occurs in the +Romaic ballad, η κορη ταξιδευτρια, +where a drop of blood on the lips of the drowned girl tinges all the +waters of the world. To return to the fate of Aino. A swift +hare runs (as in the Zulu legend of the Origin of Death) with the tale +of sorrow to the maiden’s mother, and from the mother’s +tears flow rivers of water, and therein are isles with golden hills +where golden birds make melody. As for the old, the imperturbable +Runoia, he loses his claim to the latter title, he is filled with sorrow, +and searches through all the elements for his lost bride. At length +he catches a fish which is unknown to him, who, like Atlas, ‘knew +the depths of all the seas.’ The strange fish slips from +his hands, a ‘tress of hair, of drowned maiden’s hair,’ +floats for a moment on the foam, and too late he recognises that ‘there +was never salmon yet that shone so fair, above the nets at sea.’ +His lost bride has been within his reach, and now is doubly lost to +him. Suddenly the waves are cloven asunder, and the mother of +Nature and of Wäinämöinen appears, to comfort her son, +like Thetis from the deep. She bids him go and seek, in the land +of Pohjola, a bride alien to his race. After many a wild adventure, +Wäinämöinen reaches Pohjola and is kindly entreated by +Loutri, the mother of the maiden of the land. But he grows homesick, +and complains, almost in Dante’s words, of the bitter bread of +exile. Loutri will only grant him her daughter’s hand on +condition that he gives her a <i>sampo</i>. A sampo is a mysterious +engine that grinds meal, salt, and money. In fact, it is the mill +in the well-known fairy tale, ‘Why the Sea is Salt.’ <a name="citation169"></a><a href="#footnote169">{169}</a></p> +<p>Wäinämöinen cannot fashion this mill himself, he must +seek aid at home from Ilmarinen, the smith who forged ‘the iron +vault of hollow heaven.’ As the hero returns to Kalevala, +he meets the Lady of the Rainbow, seated on the arch of the sky, weaving +the golden thread. She promises to be his, if he will accomplish +certain tasks, and in the course of those he wounds himself with an +axe. The wound can only be healed by one who knows the mystic +words that hold the secret of the birth of iron. The legend of +this evil birth, how iron grew from the milk of a maiden, and was forged +by the primeval smith, Ilmarinen, to be the bane of warlike men, is +communicated by Wäinämöinen to an old magician. +The wizard then solemnly curses the iron, <i>as a living thing</i>, +and invokes the aid of the supreme God Ukko, thus bringing together +in one prayer the extremes of early religion. Then the hero is +healed, and gives thanks to the Creator, ‘in whose hands is the +end of a matter.’</p> +<p>Returning to Kalevala, Wäinämöinen sends Ilmarinen +to Pohjola to make the sampo, ‘a mill for corn one day, for salt +the next, for money the next.’ The fatal treasure is concealed +by Loutri, and is obviously to play the part of the fairy hoard in the +‘Nibelungen Lied.’</p> +<p>With the eleventh canto a new hero, Ahti, or Lemminkainen, and a +new cycle of adventures, is abruptly introduced. Lemminkainen +is a profligate wanderer, with as many loves as Hercules. The +fact that he is regarded as a form of the sea-god makes it strange that +his most noted achievement, the seduction of the whole female population +of his island, should correspond with a like feat of Krishna’s. +‘Sixteen thousand and one hundred,’ says the Vishnu Purana, +‘was the number of the maidens; and into so many forms did the +son of Madhu multiply himself, so that every one of the damsels thought +that he had wedded her in her single person.’ Krishna is +the sun, of course, and the maidens are the dew-drops; <a name="citation170"></a><a href="#footnote170">{170}</a> +it is to be hoped that Lemminkainen’s connection with sea-water +may save him from the solar hypothesis. His first regular marriage +is unhappy, and he is slain in trying to capture a bride from the people +of Pohjola. The black waters of the river of forgetfulness sweep +him away, and his comb, which he left with his mother, bursts out bleeding—a +frequent incident in Russian and other fairy tales. In many household +tales, the hero, before setting out on a journey, erects a stick which +will fall down when he is in distress, or death. The natives of +Australia use this form of divination in actual practice, tying round +the stick some of the hair of the person whose fate is to be ascertained. +Then, like Demeter seeking Persephonê, the mother questions all +the beings of the world, and their answers show a wonderful poetic sympathy +with the silent life of Nature. ‘The moon said, I have sorrows +enough of my own, without thinking of thy child. My lot is hard, +my days are evil. I am born to wander companionless in the night, +to shine in the season of frost, to watch through the endless winter, +to fade when summer comes as king.’ The sun is kinder, and +reveals the place of the hero’s body. The mother collects +the scattered limbs, the birds bring healing balm from the heights of +heaven, and after a hymn to the goddess of man’s blood, Lemminkainen +is made sound and well, as the scattered ‘fragments of no more +a man’ were united by the spell of Medea, like those of Osiris +by Isis, or of the fair countess by the demon blacksmith in the Russian +<i>Märchen</i>, or of the Carib hero mentioned by Mr. McLennan, +<a name="citation171"></a><a href="#footnote171">{171}</a> or of the +ox in the South African household tale.</p> +<p>With the sixteenth canto we return to Wäinämöinen, +who, like all epic heroes, visits the place of the dead, Tuonela. +The maidens who play the part of Charon are with difficulty induced +to ferry over a man bearing no mark of death by fire or sword or water. +Once among the dead, Wäinämöinen refuses—being +wiser than Psyche or Persephonê—to taste of drink. +This ‘taboo’ is found in Japanese, Melanesian, and Red Indian +accounts of the homes of the dead. Thus the hero is able to return +and behold the stars. Arrived in the upper world, he warns men +to ‘beware of perverting innocence, of leading astray the pure +of heart; they that do these things shall be punished eternally in the +depths of Tuoni. There is a place prepared for evil-doers, a bed +of stones burning, rocks of fire, worms and serpents.’ This +speech throws but little light on the question of how far a doctrine +of rewards and punishments enters into primitive ideas of a future state. +The ‘Kalevala,’ as we possess it, is necessarily, though +faintly, tinged with Christianity; and the peculiar vices which are +here threatened with punishment are not those which would have been +most likely to occur to the early heathen singers of this <i>runot.</i></p> +<p>Wäinämöinen and Ilmarinen now go together to Pohjola, +but the fickle maiden of the land prefers the young forger of the sampo +to his elder and imperturbable companion. Like a northern Medea, +or like the Master-maid in Dr. Dasent’s ‘Tales from the +Norse,’ or like the hero of the Algonquin tale and the Samoan +ballad, she aids her alien lover to accomplish the tasks assigned to +him. He ploughs with a plough of gold the adder-close, or field +of serpents; he bridles the wolf and the bear of the lower world, and +catches the pike that swim in the waters of forgetfulness. After +this, the parents cannot refuse their consent, the wedding-feast is +prepared, and all the world, except the <i>séduisant</i> Lemminkainen, +is bidden to the banquet. The narrative now brings in the ballads +that are sung at a Finnish marriage.</p> +<p>First, the son-in-law enters the house of the parents of the bride, +saying, ‘Peace abide with you in this illustrious hall.’ +The mother answers, ‘Peace be with you even in this lowly hut.’ +Then Wäinämöinen began to sing, and no man was so hardy +as to clasp hands and contend with him in song. Next follow the +songs of farewell, the mother telling the daughter of what she will +have to endure in a strange home: ‘Thy life was soft and delicate +in thy father’s house. Milk and butter were ready to thy +hand; thou wert as a flower of the field, as a strawberry of the wood; +all care was left to the pines of the forest, all wailing to the wind +in the woods of barren lands. But now thou goest to another home, +to an alien mother, to doors that grate strangely on their hinges.’ +‘My thoughts,’ the maiden replies, ‘are as a dark +night of autumn, as a cloudy day of winter; my heart is sadder than +the autumn night, more weary than the winter day.’ The maid +and the bridegroom are then lyrically instructed in their duties: the +girl is to be long-suffering, the husband to try five years’ gentle +treatment before he cuts a willow wand for his wife’s correction. +The bridal party sets out for home, a new feast is spread, and the bridegroom +congratulated on the courage he must have shown in stealing a girl from +a hostile tribe.</p> +<p>While all is merry, the mischievous Lemminkainen sets out, an unbidden +guest, for Pohjola. On his way he encounters a serpent, which +he slays by the song of serpent-charming. In this ‘mystic +chain of verse’ the serpent is not addressed as the gentle reptile, +god of southern peoples, but is spoken of with all hatred and loathing: +‘Black creeping thing of the low lands, monster flecked with the +colours of death, thou that hast on thy skin the stain of the sterile +soil, get thee forth from the path of a hero.’ After slaying +the serpent, Lemminkainen reaches Pohjola, kills one of his hosts, and +fixes his head on one of a thousand stakes for human skulls that stood +about the house, as they might round the hut of a Dyak in Borneo. +He then flees to the isle of Saari, whence he is driven for his heroic +profligacy, and by the hatred of the only girl whom he has <i>not</i> +wronged. This is a very pretty touch of human nature.</p> +<p>He now meditates a new incursion into Pohjola. The mother of +Pohjola (it is just worth noticing that the leadership assumed by this +woman points to a state of society when the family was scarcely formed) +calls to her aid ‘her child the Frost;’ but the frost is +put to shame by a hymn of the invader’s, a song against the Cold: +‘The serpent was his foster-mother, the serpent with her barren +breasts; the wind of the north rocked his cradle, and the ice-wind sang +him to sleep, in the midst of the wild marsh-land, where the wells of +the waters begin.’ It is a curious instance of the animism, +the vivid power of personifying all the beings and forces of nature, +which marks the ‘Kalevala,’ that the Cold speaks to Lemminkainen +in human voice, and seeks a reconciliation.</p> +<p>At this part of the epic there is an obvious lacuna. The story +goes to Kullervo, a luckless man, who serves as shepherd to Ilmarinen. +Thinking himself ill-treated by the heroic smith’s wife, the shepherd +changes his flock into bears and wolves, which devour their mistress. +Then he returns to his own home, where he learns that his sister has +been lost for many days, and is believed to be dead. Travelling +in search of her he meets a girl, loves her, and all unwittingly commits +an inexpiable offence. ‘Then,’ says the ‘Kalevala,’ +‘came up the new dawn, and the maiden spoke, saying, “What +is thy race, bold young man, and who is thy father?” Kullervo +said, “I am the wretched son of Kalerva; but tell me, what is +thy race, and who is thy father?” Then said the maiden, +“I am the wretched daughter of Kalerva. Ah! would God that +I had died, then might I have grown with the green grass, and blossomed +with the flowers, and never known this sorrow.” With this +she sprang into the midst of the foaming waves, and found peace in Tuoni, +and rest in the waters of forgetfulness.’ Then there was +no word for Kullervo, but the bitter moan of the brother in the terrible +Scotch ballad of the <i>Bonny Hind</i>, and no rest but in death by +his own sword, where grass grows never on his sister’s tomb.</p> +<p>The epic now draws to a close. Ilmarinen seeks a new wife in +Pohja, and endeavours with Wäinämöinen’s help to +recover the mystic sampo. On the voyage, the Runoia makes a harp +out of the bones of a monstrous fish, so strange a harp that none may +play it but himself. When he played, all four-footed things came +about him, and the white birds dropped down ‘like a storm of snow.’ +The maidens of the sun and the moon paused in their weaving, and the +golden thread fell from their hands. The Ancient One of the sea-water +listened, and the nymphs of the wells forgot to comb their loose locks +with the golden combs. All men and maidens and little children +wept, amid the silent joy of nature; nay, the great harper wept, and +<i>of his tears were pearls made.</i></p> +<p>In the war with Pohjola the heroes were victorious, but the sampo +was broken in the fight, and lost in the sea, and that, perhaps, is +‘why the sea is salt.’ Fragments were collected, however, +and Loutri, furious at the success of the heroes of Kalevala, sent against +them a bear, destructive as the boar of Calydon. But Wäinämöinen +despatched the monster, and the body was brought home with the bear-dance, +and the hymn of the bear. ‘Oh, Otso,’ cry the singers, +‘be not angry that we come near thee. The bear, the honey-footed +bear, was born in lands between sun and moon, and he died not by men’s +hands, but of his own will.’ The Finnish savants are probably +right, who find here a trace of the beast-worship which in many lands +has placed the bear among the number of the stars. Propitiation +of the bear is practised by Red Indians, by the Ainos of Japan, and +(in the case of the ‘native bear’) by Australians. +The Red Indians have a myth to prove that the bear is immortal, does +not die, but, after his apparent death, rises again in another body. +There is no trace, however, that the Finns claimed, like the Danes, +descent from the bear. The Lapps, a people of confused belief, +worshipped him along with Thor, Christ, the sun, and the serpent. <a name="citation176"></a><a href="#footnote176">{176}</a></p> +<p>But another cult, an alien creed, is approaching Kalevala. +There is no part of the epic more strange than the closing canto, which +tells in the wildest language, and through the most exaggerated forms +of savage imagination, the tale of the introduction of Christianity. +Marjatta was a maiden, ‘as pure as the dew is, as holy as stars +are that live without stain.’ As she fed her flocks, and +listened to the singing of the golden cuckoo, a berry fell into her +bosom. After many days she bore a child, and the people despised +and rejected her, and she was thrust forth, and her babe was born in +a stable, and cradled in the manger. Who should baptize the babe? +The god of the wilderness refused, and Wäinämöinen would +have had the young child slain. Then the infant rebuked the ancient +Demigod, who fled in anger to the sea, and with his magic song he built +a magic barque, and he sat therein, and took the helm in his hand. +The tide bore him out to sea, and he lifted his voice and sang: ‘Times +go by, and suns shall rise and set, and then shall men have need of +me, and shall look for the promise of my coming that I may make a new +sampo, and a new harp, and bring back sunlight and moonshine, and the +joy that is banished from the world.’ Then he crossed the +waters, and gained the limits of the sea, and the lower spaces of the +sky.</p> +<p>Here the strange poem ends at its strangest moment, with the cry, +which must have been uttered so often, but is heard here alone, of a +people reluctantly deserting the gods that it has fashioned in its own +likeness, for a faith that has not sprung from its needs or fears. +Yet it cherishes the hope that this tyranny shall pass over: ‘they +are gods, and behold they shall die, and the waves be upon them at last.’</p> +<p>As the ‘Kalevala,’ and as all relics of folklore, all +<i>Märchen</i> and ballads prove, the lower mythology—the +elemental beliefs of the people—do survive beneath a thin covering +of Christian conformity. There are, in fact, in religion, as in +society, two worlds, of which the one does not know how the other lives. +The class whose literature we inherit, under whose institutions we live, +at whose shrines we worship, has changed as outworn raiment its manners, +its gods, its laws; has looked before and after, has hoped and forgotten, +has advanced from the wilder and grosser to the purest faith. +Beneath the progressive class, and beneath the waves of this troublesome +world, there exists an order whose primitive form of human life has +been far less changeful, a class which has put on a mere semblance of +new faiths, while half-consciously retaining the remains of immemorial +cults.</p> +<p>Obviously, as M. Fauriel has pointed out in the case of the modern +Greeks, the life of such folk contains no element of progress, admits +no break in continuity. Conquering armies pass and leave them +still reaping the harvest of field and river; religions appear, and +they are baptized by thousands, but the lower beliefs and dreads that +the progressive class has outgrown remain unchanged.</p> +<p>Thus, to take the instance of modern Greece, the high gods of the +divine race of Achilles and Agamemnon are forgotten, but the descendants +of the Penestæ, the <i>villeins</i> of Thessaly, still dread the +beings of the popular creed, the Nereids, the Cyclopes, and the Lamia. +<a name="citation178"></a><a href="#footnote178">{178}</a></p> +<p>The last lesson we would attempt to gather from the ‘Kalevala’ +is this: that a comparison of the <i>thoroughly popular</i> beliefs +of all countries, the beliefs cherished by the non-literary classes +whose ballads and fairy tales have only recently been collected, would +probably reveal a general identity, concealed by diversity of name, +among the ‘lesser people of the skies,’ the elves, fairies, +Cyclopes, giants, nereids, brownies, lamiæ. It could then +be shown that some of these spirits survive among the lower beings of +the mythology of what the Germans call a <i>cultur-volk</i> like the +Greeks or Romans. It could also be proved that much of the narrative +element in the classic epics is to be found in a popular or childish +form in primitive fairy tales. The question would then come to +be, Have the higher mythologies been developed, by artistic poets, out +of the materials of a race which remained comparatively untouched by +culture; or are the lower spirits, and the more simple and puerile forms +of myth, degradations of the inventions of a cultivated class?</p> +<h2>THE DIVINING ROD.</h2> +<p>There is something remarkable, and not flattering to human sagacity, +in the periodical resurrection of superstitions. Houses, for example, +go on being ‘haunted’ in country districts, and no educated +man notices the circumstance. Then comes a case like that of the +Drummer of Tedworth, or the Cock Lane Ghost, and society is deeply moved, +philosophers plunge into controversy, and he who grubs among the dusty +tracts of the past finds a world of fugitive literature on forgotten +bogies. Chairs move untouched by human hands, and tables walk +about in lonely castles of Savoy, and no one marks them, till a day +comes when the furniture of some American cottage is similarly afflicted, +and then a shoddy new religion is based on the phenomenon. The +latest revival among old beliefs is faith in the divining rod. +‘Our liberal shepherds give it a <i>shorter</i> name,’ and +so do our conservative peasants, calling the ‘rod of Jacob’ +the ‘twig.’ To ‘work the twig’ is rural +English for the craft of Dousterswivel in the ‘Antiquary,’ +and perhaps from this comes our slang expression to ‘twig,’ +or divine, the hidden meaning of another. Recent correspondence +in the newspapers has proved that, whatever may be the truth about the +‘twig,’ belief in its powers is still very prevalent. +Respectable people are not ashamed to bear signed witness of its miraculous +powers of detecting springs of water and secret mines. It is habitually +used by the miners in the Mendips, as Mr. Woodward found ten years ago; +and forked hazel divining rods from the Mendips are a recognised part +of ethnological collections. There are two ways of investigating +the facts or fancies about the rod. One is to examine it in its +actual operation—a task of considerable labour, which will doubtless +be undertaken by the Society for Psychical Research; the other, and +easier, way is to study the appearances of the divining wand in history, +and that is what we propose to do in this article.</p> +<p>When a superstition or belief is widely spread in Europe, as the +faith in the divining rod certainly is (in Germany rods are hidden under +babies’ clothes when they are baptized), we naturally expect to +find traces of it in ancient times and among savages all over the modern +world. We have already examined, in ‘The Bull-Roarer,’ +a very similar example. We saw that there is a magical instrument—a +small fish-shaped piece of thin flat wood tied to a thong—which, +when whirled in the air, produces a strange noise, a compound of roar +and buzz. This instrument is sacred among the natives of Australia, +where it is used to call together the men, and to frighten away the +women from the religious mysteries of the males. The same instrument +is employed for similar purposes in New Mexico, and in South Africa +and New Zealand—parts of the world very widely distant from each +other, and inhabited by very diverse races. It has also been lately +discovered that the Greeks used this toy, which they called <i>ρομβος</i>, +in the Mysteries of Dionysus, and possibly it may be identical with +the <i>mystica vannus Iacchi</i> (Virgil, ‘Georgics,’ i. +166). The conclusion drawn by the ethnologist is that this object, +called <i>turndun</i> by the Australians, is a very early savage invention, +probably discovered and applied to religious purposes in various separate +centres, and retained from the age of savagery in the mystic rites of +Greeks and perhaps of Romans. Well, do we find anything analogous +in the case of the divining rod?</p> +<p>Future researches may increase our knowledge, but at present little +or nothing is known of the divining rod in classical ages, and not very +much (though that little is significant) among uncivilised races. +It is true that in all countries rods or wands, the Latin <i>virga</i>, +have a magical power. Virgil obtained his mediæval repute +as a wizard because his name was erroneously connected with <i>virgula</i>, +the magic wand. But we do not actually know that the ancient wand +of the enchantress Circe, in Homer, or the wand of Hermes, was used, +like the divining rod, to indicate the whereabouts of hidden wealth +or water. In the Homeric hymn to Hermes (line 529), Apollo thus +describes the <i>caduceus</i>, or wand of Hermes: ‘Thereafter +will I give thee a lovely wand of wealth and riches, a golden wand with +three leaves, which shall keep thee ever unharmed.’ In later +art this wand, or <i>caduceus</i>, is usually entwined with serpents; +but on one vase, at least, the wand of Hermes is simply the forked twig +of our rustic miners and water-finders. The same form is found +on an engraved Etruscan mirror. <a name="citation183"></a><a href="#footnote183">{183}</a></p> +<p>Now, was a wand of this form used in classical times to discover +hidden objects of value? That wands were used by Scythians and +Germans in various methods of casting lots is certain; but that is not +the same thing as the working of the twig. Cicero speaks of a +fabled wand by which wealth can be procured; but he says nothing of +the method of its use, and possibly was only thinking of the rod of +Hermes, as described in the Homeric hymn already quoted. There +was a Roman play, by Varro, called ‘Virgula Divina’; but +it is lost, and throws no light on the subject. A passage usually +quoted from Seneca has no more to do with the divining rod than with +the telephone. Pliny is a writer extremely fond of marvels; yet +when he describes the various modes of finding wells of water, he says +nothing about the divining wand. The isolated texts from Scripture +which are usually referred to clearly indicate wands of a different +sort, if we except Hosea iv. 12, the passage used as motto by the author +of ‘Lettres qui découvrent l’illusion des Philosophes +sur la Baguette’ (1696). This text is translated in our +Bible, ‘My people ask counsel at their stocks, <i>and their staff +declareth unto them</i>! Now, we have here no reference to the +search for wells and minerals, but to a form of divination for which +the modern twig has ceased to be applied. In rural England people +use the wand to find water, but not to give advice, or to detect thieves +or murderers; but, as we shall see, the rod has been very much used +for these purposes within the last three centuries.</p> +<p>This brings us to the moral powers of the twig; and here we find +some assistance in our inquiry from the practices of uncivilised races. +In 1719 John Bell was travelling across Asia; he fell in with a Russian +merchant, who told him of a custom common among the Mongols. The +Russian had lost certain pieces of cloth, which were stolen out of his +tent. The Kutuchtu Lama ordered the proper steps to be taken to +find out the thief. ‘One of the Lamas took a bench with +four feet, and after turning it in several directions, at last it pointed +directly to the tent where the stolen goods were concealed. The +Lama now mounted across the bench, and soon carried it, or, as was commonly +believed, it carried him, to the very tent, where he ordered the damask +to be produced. The demand was directly complied with; for it +is vain in such cases to offer any excuse.’ <a name="citation184a"></a><a href="#footnote184a">{184a}</a> +Here we have not a wand, indeed, but a wooden object which turned in +the direction, not of water or minerals, but of human guilt. A +better instance is given by the Rev. H. Rowley, in his account of the +Mauganja. <a name="citation184b"></a><a href="#footnote184b">{184b}</a> +A thief had stolen some corn. The medicine-man, or sorcerer, produced +two sticks, which he gave to four young men, two holding each stick. +The medicine-man danced and sang a magical incantation, while a zebra-tail +and a rattle were shaken over the holders of the sticks. ‘After +a while, the men with the sticks had spasmodic twitchings of the arms +and legs; these increased nearly to convulsions. . . . According +to the native idea, <i>it was the sticks which were possessed primarily</i>, +and through them the men, <i>who could hardly hold them</i>. The +sticks whirled and dragged the men round and round like mad, through +bush and thorny shrub, and over every obstacle; nothing stopped them; +their bodies were torn and bleeding. At last they came back to +the assembly, whirled round again, and rushed down the path to fall +panting and exhausted in the hut of one of a chief’s wives. +The sticks, rolling to her very feet, denounced her as a thief. +She denied it; but the medicine-man answered, “The spirit has +declared her guilty; the spirit never lies.”’ The +woman, however, was acquitted, after a proxy trial by ordeal: a cock, +used as her proxy, threw up the <i>muavi</i>, or ordeal-poison.</p> +<p>Here the points to be noted are, first, the violent movement of the +sticks, which the men could hardly hold; next, the physical agitation +of the men. The former point is illustrated by the confession +of a civil engineer writing in the ‘Times.’ This gentleman +had seen the rod successfully used for water; he was asked to try it +himself, and he determined that it should not twist in his hands ‘if +an ocean rolled under his feet.’ Twist it did, however, +in spite of all his efforts to hold it, when he came above a concealed +spring. Another example is quoted in the ‘Quarterly Review,’ +vol. xxii. p. 374. A narrator, in whom the editor had ‘implicit +confidence,’ mentions how, when a lady held the twig just over +a hidden well, ‘the twig turned so quick as to snap, breaking +near her fingers.’ There seems to be no indiscretion in +saying, as the statement has often been printed before, that the lady +spoken of in the ‘Quarterly Review’ was Lady Milbanke, mother +of the wife of Byron. Dr. Hutton, the geologist, is quoted as +a witness of her success in the search for water with the divining rod. +He says that, in an experiment at Woolwich, ‘the twigs twisted +themselves off below her fingers, which were considerably indented by +so forcibly holding the rods between them.’ <a name="citation186"></a><a href="#footnote186">{186}</a> +Next, the violent excitement of the four young men of the Mauganja is +paralleled by the physical experience of the lady quoted in the ‘Quarterly +Review.’ ‘A degree of agitation was visible in her +face when she first made the experiment; she says this agitation was +great’ when she began to practise the art, or whatever we are +to call it. Again, in ‘Lettres qui découvrent l’illusion’ +(p. 93), we read that Jacques Aymar (who discovered the Lyons murderer +in 1692) <i>se sent tout ému</i>—feels greatly agitated—when +he comes on that of which he is in search. On page 97 of the same +volume, the body of the man who holds the divining rod is described +as ‘violently agitated.’ When Aymar entered the room +where the murder, to be described later, was committed, ‘his pulse +rose as if he were in a burning fever, and the wand turned rapidly in +his hands’ (‘Lettres,’ p. 107). But the most +singular parallel to the performance of the African wizard must be quoted +from a curious pamphlet already referred to, a translation of the old +French ‘Verge de Jacob,’ written, annotated, and published +by a Mr. Thomas Welton. Mr. Welton seems to have been a believer +in mesmerism, animal magnetism, and similar doctrines, but the coincidence +of his story with that of the African sorcerer is none the less remarkable. +It is a coincidence which must almost certainly be ‘undesigned.’ +Mr. Welton’s wife was what modern occult philosophers call a ‘Sensitive.’ +In 1851, he wished her to try an experiment with the rod in a garden, +and sent a maid-servant to bring ‘a certain stick that stood behind +the parlour door. In great terror she brought it to the garden, +her hand firmly clutched on the stick, nor could she let it go . . . +’ The stick was given to Mrs. Welton, ‘and it drew +her with very considerable force to nearly the centre of the garden, +to a bed of poppies, where she stopped.’ Here water was +found, and the gardener, who had given up his lease as there was no +well in the garden, had the lease renewed.</p> +<p>We have thus evidence to show (and much more might be adduced) that +the belief in the divining rod, or in analogous instruments, is not +confined to the European races. The superstition, or whatever +we are to call it, produces the same effects of physical agitation, +and the use of the rod is accompanied with similar phenomena among Mongols, +English people, Frenchmen, and the natives of Central Africa. +The same coincidences are found in almost all superstitious practices, +and in the effects of these practices on believers. The Chinese +use a form of <i>planchette</i>, which is half a divining rod—a +branch of the peach tree; and ‘spiritualism’ is more than +three-quarters of the religion of most savage tribes, a Maori <i>séance</i> +being more impressive than anything the civilised Sludge can offer his +credulous patrons. From these facts different people draw different +inferences. Believers say that the wide distribution of their +favourite mysteries is a proof that ‘there is something in them.’ +The incredulous look on our modern ‘twigs’ and turning-tables +and ghost stories as mere ‘survivals’ from the stage of +savage culture, or want of culture, when the fancy of half-starved man +was active and his reason uncritical.</p> +<p>The great authority for the modern history of the divining rod is +a work published by M. Chevreuil, in Paris, in 1854. M. Chevreuil, +probably with truth, regarded the wand as much on a par with the turning-tables, +which, in 1854, attracted a good deal of attention. He studied +the topic historically, and his book, with a few accessible French tracts +and letters of the seventeenth century, must here be our guide. +A good deal of M. Chevreuil’s learning, it should be said, is +reproduced in Mr. Baring Gould’s ‘Curious Myths of the Middle +Ages,’ but the French author is much more exhaustive in his treatment +of the topic. M. Chevreuil could find no earlier book on the twig +than the ‘Testament du Frère Basil Valentin,’ a holy +man who flourished (the twig) about 1413; but whose treatise is possibly +apocryphal. According to Basil Valentin, the twig was regarded +with awe by ignorant labouring men, which is still true. Paracelsus, +though he has a reputation for magical daring, thought the use of the +twig ‘uncertain and unlawful’; and Agricola, in his ‘De +Re Metallica’ (1546) expresses a good deal of scepticism about +the use of the rod in mining. A traveller of 1554 found that the +wand was <i>not</i> used—and this seems to have surprised him—in +the mines of Macedonia. Most of the writers of the sixteenth century +accounted for the turning of the rod by ‘sympathy,’ which +was then as favourite an explanation of everything as evolution is to-day. +In 1630 the Baron de Beau Soleil of Bohemia (his name sounds rather +Bohemian) came to France with his wife, and made much use of the rod +in the search for water and minerals. The Baroness wrote a little +volume on the subject, afterwards reprinted in a great storehouse of +this lore, ‘La Physique Occulte,’ of Vallemont. Kircher, +a Jesuit, made experiments which came to nothing; but Gaspard Schott, +a learned writer, cautiously declined to say that the Devil was always +‘at the bottom of it’ when the rod turned successfully. +The problem of the rod was placed before our own Royal Society by Boyle, +in 1666, but the Society was not more successful here than in dealing +with the philosophical difficulty proposed by Charles II. In 1679 +De Saint Remain, deserting the old hypothesis of secret ‘sympathies,’ +explained the motion of the rod (supposing it to move) by the action +of <i>corpuscules</i>. From this time the question became the +playing ground of the Cartesian and other philosophers. The struggle +was between theories of ‘atoms,’ magnetism, ‘corpuscules,’ +electric effluvia, and so forth, on one side, and the immediate action +of devils or of conscious imposture, on the other. The controversy, +comparatively simple as long as the rod only indicated hidden water +or minerals, was complicated by the revival of the savage belief that +the wand could ‘smell out’ moral offences. As long +as the twig turned over material objects, you could imagine sympathies +and ‘effluvia’ at pleasure. But when the wand twirled +over the scene of a murder, or dragged the expert after the traces of +the culprit, fresh explanations were wanted. Le Brun wrote to +Malebranche on July 8, 1689, to tell him that the wand only turned over +what the holder had the <i>intention</i> of discovering. <a name="citation190"></a><a href="#footnote190">{190}</a> +If he were following a murderer, the wand good-naturedly refused to +distract him by turning over hidden water. On the other hand, +Vallemont says that when a peasant was using the wand to find water, +it turned over a spot in a wood where a murdered woman was buried, and +it conducted the peasant to the murderer’s house. These +events seem inconsistent with Le Brun’s theory of <i>intention</i>. +Malebranche replied, in effect, that he had only heard of the turning +of the wand over water and minerals; that it then turned (if turn it +did) by virtue of some such force as electricity; that, if such force +existed, the wand would turn over open water. But it does not +so turn; and, as physical causes are constant, it follows that the turning +of the rod cannot be the result of a physical cause. The only +other explanation is an intelligent cause—either the will of an +impostor, or the action of a spirit. Good spirits would not meddle +with such matters; therefore either the Devil or an impostor causes +the motion of the rod, if it <i>does</i> move at all. This logic +of Malebranche’s is not agreeable to believers in the twig; but +there the controversy stood, till, in 1692, Jacques Aymar, a peasant +of Dauphine, by the use of the twig discovered one of the Lyons murderers.</p> +<p>Though the story of this singular event is pretty well known, it +must here be briefly repeated. No affair can be better authenticated, +and our version is abridged from the ‘Relations’ of ‘Monsieur +le Procureur du Roi, Monsieur l’Abbé de la Garde, Monsieur +Panthot, Doyen des Médecins de Lyon, et Monsieur Aubert, Avocat +célèbre.’</p> +<p>On July 5, 1692, a vintner and his wife were found dead in the cellar +of their shop at Lyons. They had been killed by blows from a hedging-knife, +and their money had been stolen. The culprits could not be discovered, +and a neighbour took upon him to bring to Lyons a peasant out of Dauphiné, +named Jacques Aymar, a man noted for his skill with the divining rod. +The Lieutenant-Criminel and the Procureur du Roi took Aymar into the +cellar, furnishing him with a rod of the first wood that came to hand. +According to the Procureur du Roi, the rod did not move till Aymar reached +the very spot where the crime had been committed. His pulse then +rose, and the wand twisted rapidly. ‘Guided by the wand +or by some internal sensation,’ Aymar now pursued the track of +the assassins, entered the court of the Archbishop’s palace, left +the town by the bridge over the Rhone, and followed the right bank of +the river. He reached a gardener’s house, which he declared +the men had entered, and some children confessed that three men (<i>whom +they described</i>) had come into the house one Sunday morning. +Aymar followed the track up the river, pointed out all the places where +the men had landed, and, to make a long story short, stopped at last +at the door of the prison of Beaucaire. He was admitted, looked +at the prisoners, and picked out as the murderer a little hunchback +(had the children described a hunchback?) who had just been brought +in for a small theft. The hunchback was taken to Lyons, and he +was recognised, on the way, by the people at all the stages where he +had stopped. At Lyons he was examined in the usual manner, and +confessed that he had been an accomplice in the crime, and had guarded +the door. Aymar pursued the other culprits to the coast, followed +them by sea, landed where they had landed, and only desisted from his +search when they crossed the frontier. As for the hunchback, he +was broken on the wheel, being condemned on his own confession. +It does not appear that he was put to the torture to make him confess. +If this had been done his admissions would, of course, have been as +valueless as those of the victims in trials for witchcraft.</p> +<p>This is, in brief, the history of the famous Lyons murders. +It must be added that many experiments were made with Aymar in Paris, +and that they were all failures. He fell into every trap that +was set for him; detected thieves who were innocent, failed to detect +the guilty, and invented absurd excuses; alleging, for example, that +the rod would not indicate a murderer who had confessed, or who was +drunk when he committed his crime. These excuses seem to annihilate +the wild contemporary theory of Chauvin and others, that the body of +a murderer naturally exhales an invisible <i>matière meurtrière</i>—peculiar +indestructible atoms, which may be detected by the expert with the rod. +Something like the same theory, we believe, has been used to explain +the pretended phenomena of haunted houses. But the wildest philosophical +credulity is staggered by a <i>matière meurtrière</i> +which is disengaged by the body of a sober, but not by that of an intoxicated, +murderer, which survives tempests in the air, and endures for many years, +but is dissipated the moment the murderer confesses. Believers +in Aymar have conjectured that his real powers were destroyed by the +excitements of Paris, and that he took to imposture; but this is an +effort of too easy good-nature. When Vallemont defended Aymar +(1693) in the book called ‘La Physique Occulte,’ he declared +that Aymar was physically affected to an unpleasant extent by <i>matière +meurtrière</i>, but was not thus agitated when he used the rod +to discover minerals. We have seen that, if modern evidence can +be trusted, holders of the rod are occasionally much agitated even when +they are only in search of wells. The story gave rise to a prolonged +controversy, and the case remains a judicial puzzle, but little elucidated +by the confession of the hunchback, who may have been insane, or morbid, +or vexed by constant questioning till he was weary of his life. +He was only nineteen years of age.</p> +<p>The next use of the rod was very much like that of ‘tipping’ +and turning tables. Experts held it (as did Le Père Ménestrier, +1694), questions were asked, and the wand answered by turning in various +directions. By way of showing the inconsistency of all philosophies +of the wand, it may be said that one girl found that it turned over +concealed gold if she held gold in her hand, while another found that +it indicated the metal so long as she did <i>not</i> carry gold with +her in the quest. In the search for water, ecclesiastics were +particularly fond of using the rod. The Maréchal de Boufflers +dug many wells, and found no water, on the indications of a rod in the +hands of the Prieur de Dorenic, near Guise. In 1700 a curé, +near Toulouse, used the wand to answer questions, which, like <i>planchette</i>, +it often answered wrong. The great <i>sourcier</i>, or water-finder, +of the eighteenth century was one Bleton. He declared that the +rod was a mere index, and that physical sensations of the searcher communicated +themselves to the wand. This is the reverse of the African theory, +that the stick is inspired, while the men who hold it are only influenced +by the stick. On the whole, Bleton’s idea seems the less +absurd, but Bleton himself often failed when watched with scientific +care by the incredulous. Paramelle, who wrote on methods of discovering +wells, in 1856, came to the conclusion that the wand turns in the hands +of certain individuals of peculiar temperament, and that it is very +much a matter of chance whether there are, or are not, wells in the +places where it turns.</p> +<p>On the whole, the evidence for the turning of the wand is a shade +better than that for the magical turning of tables. If there are +no phenomena of this sort at all, it is remarkable that the belief in +them is so widely diffused. But if the phenomena are purely subjective, +owing to the conscious or unconscious action of nervous patients, then +they are precisely of the sort which the cunning medicine-man observes, +and makes his profit out of, even in the earliest stages of society. +Once introduced, these practices never die out among the conservative +and unprogressive class of peasants; and, every now and then, they attract +the curiosity of philosophers, or win the belief of the credulous among +the educated classes. Then comes, as we have lately seen, a revival +of ancient superstition. For it were as easy to pluck the comet +out of the sky by the tail, as to eradicate superstition from the mind +of man.</p> +<p>Perhaps one good word may be said for the divining rod. Considering +the chances it has enjoyed, the rod has done less mischief than might +have been expected. It might very well have become, in Europe, +as in Asia and Africa, a kind of ordeal, or method of searching for +and trying malefactors. Men like Jacques Aymar might have played, +on a larger scale, the part of Hopkins, the witch-finder. Aymar +was, indeed, employed by some young men to point out, by help of the +wand, the houses of ladies who had been more frail than faithful. +But at the end of the seventeenth century in France, this research was +not regarded with favour, and put the final touch on the discomfiture +of Aymar. So far as we know, the hunchback of Lyons was the only +victim of the ‘twig’ who ever suffered in civilised society. +It is true that, in rural England, the movements of a Bible, suspended +like a pendulum, have been thought to point out the guilty. But +even that evidence is not held good enough to go to a jury.</p> +<h2>HOTTENTOT MYTHOLOGY.</h2> +<p>‘What makes mythology mythological, in the true sense of the +word, is what is utterly unintelligible, absurd, strange, or miraculous.’ +So says Mr. Max Müller in the January number of the <i>Nineteenth +Century</i> for 1882. Men’s attention would never have been +surprised into the perpetual study and questioning of mythology if it +had been intelligible and dignified, and if its report had been in accordance +with the reason of civilised and cultivated races. What mythologists +wish to discover is the origin of the countless disgusting, amazing, +and incongruous legends which occur in the myths of all known peoples. +According to Mr. Müller—</p> +<blockquote><p>There are only two systems possible in which the irrational +element in mythology can be accounted for. One school takes the +irrational as a matter of fact; and if we read that Daphne fled before +Phœbus, and was changed into a laurel tree, that school would +say that there probably was a young lady called Aurora, like, for instance, +Aurora Königsmark; that a young man called Robin, or possibly a +man with red hair, pursued her, and that she hid behind a laurel tree +that happened to be there. This was the theory of Euhemeros, re-established +by the famous Abbé Bernier [Mr. Müller doubtless means Banier], +and not quite extinct even now. According to another school, the +irrational element in mythology is inevitable, and due to the influence +of language on thought, so that many of the legends of gods and heroes +may be rendered intelligible if only we can discover the original meaning +of their proper names. The followers of this school try to show +that Daphne, the laurel tree, was an old name for the dawn, and that +Phoibos was one of the many names of the sun, who pursued the dawn till +she vanished before his rays. Of these two schools, the former +has always appealed to the mythologies of savage nations, as showing +that gods and heroes were originally human beings, worshipped after +their death as ancestors and as gods, while the latter has confined +itself chiefly to an etymological analysis of mythological names in +Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit, and other languages, such as had been sufficiently +studied to admit of a scientific, grammatical, and etymological treatment.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is a long text for our remarks on Hottentot mythology; but it +is necessary to prove that there are not two schools only of mythologists: +that there are inquirers who neither follow the path of the Abbé +Banier, nor of the philologists, but a third way, unknown to, or ignored +by Mr. Müller. We certainly were quite unaware that Banier +and Euhemeros were very specially concerned, as Mr. Müller thinks, +with savage mythology; but it is by aid of savage myths that the school +unknown to Mr. Müller examines the myths of civilised peoples like +the Greeks. The disciples of Mr. Müller interpret all the +absurdities of Greek myth, the gods who are beasts on occasion, the +stars who were men, the men who become serpents or deer, the deities +who are cannibals and parricides and adulterers, as the result of the +influence of Aryan speech upon Aryan thought. Men, in Mr. Müller’s +opinion, had originally pure ideas about the gods, and expressed them +in language which we should call figurative. The figures remained, +when their meaning was lost; the names were then supposed to be gods, +the <i>nomina</i> became <i>numina</i>, and out of the inextricable +confusion of thought which followed, the belief in cannibal, bestial, +adulterous, and incestuous gods was evolved. That is Mr. Müller’s +hypothesis; with him the evolution, a result of a disease of language, +has been from early comparative purity to later religious abominations. +Opposed to him is what may be called the school of Mr. Herbert Spencer: +the modern Euhemerism, which recognises an element of historical truth +in myths, as if the characters had been real characters, and which, +in most gods, beholds ancestral ghosts raised to a higher power.</p> +<p>There remains a third system of mythical interpretation, though Mr. +Müller says only two methods are possible. The method, in +this third case, is to see whether the irrational features and elements +of civilised Greek myth occur also in the myths of savages who speak +languages quite unlike those from whose diseases Mr. Müller derives +the corruption of religion. If the same features recur, are they +as much in harmony with the mental habits of savages, such as Bushmen +and Hottentots, as they are out of accord with the mental habits of +civilised Greeks? If this question can be answered in the affirmative, +then it may be provisionally assumed that the irrational elements of +savage myth are the legacy of savage modes of thought, and have survived +in the religion of Greece from a time when the ancestors of the Greeks +were savages. But inquirers who use this method do not in the +least believe that either Greek or savage gods were, for the more part, +originally real men. Both Greeks and savages have worshipped the +ghosts of the dead. Both Greeks and savages assign to their gods +the miraculous powers of transformation and magic, which savages also +attribute to their conjurers or shamans. The mantle (if he had +a mantle) of the medicine-man has fallen on the god; but Zeus, or Indra, +was not once a real medicine-man. A number of factors combine +in the conception of Indra, or Zeus, as either god appears in Sanskrit +or Greek literature, of earlier or later date. Our school does +not hold anything so absurd as that Daphne was a real girl pursued by +a young man. But it has been observed that, among most savage +races, metamorphoses like that of Daphne not only exist in mythology, +but are believed to occur very frequently in actual life. Men +and women are supposed to be capable of turning into plants (as the +bamboo in Sarawak), into animals, and stones, and stars, and those metamorphoses +happen as contemporary events—for example, in Samoa. <a name="citation200"></a><a href="#footnote200">{200}</a></p> +<p>When Mr. Lane was living at Cairo, and translating the ‘Arabian +Nights,’ he found that the people still believed in metamorphosis. +Any day, just as in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ a man might find +himself turned by an enchanter into a pig or a horse. Similar +beliefs, not derived from language, supply the matter of the senseless +incidents in Greek myths.</p> +<p>Savage mythology is also full of metamorphoses. Therefore the +mythologists whose case we are stating, when they find identical metamorphoses +in the classical mythologies, conjecture that these were first invented +when the ancestors of the Aryans were in the imaginative condition in +which a score of rude races are to-day. This explanation they +apply to many other irrational elements in mythology. They do +not say, ‘Something like the events narrated in these stories +once occurred,’ nor ‘A disease of language caused the belief +in such events,’ but ‘These stories were invented when men +were capable of believing in their occurrence as a not unusual sort +of incident’</p> +<p>Philologists attempt to explain the metamorphoses as the result of +some oblivion and confusion of language. Apollo, they say, was +called the ‘wolf-god’ (Lukeios) by accident: his name really +meant the ‘god of light.’ A similar confusion made +the ‘seven shiners’ into the ‘seven bears.’ +<a name="citation201"></a><a href="#footnote201">{201}</a> These +explanations are distrusted, partly because the area to be covered by +them is so vast. There is scarcely a star, tree, or beast, but +it has been a man or woman once, if we believe civilised and savage +myth. Two or three possible examples of myths originating in forgetfulness +of the meaning of words, even if admitted, do not explain the incalculable +crowd of metamorphoses. We account for these by saying that, to +the savage mind, which draws no hard and fast line between man and nature, +all such things are possible; possible enough, at least, to be used +as incidents in story. Again, as has elsewhere been shown, the +laxity of philological reasoning is often quite extraordinary; while, +lastly, philologists of the highest repute flatly contradict each other +about the meaning of the names and roots on which they agree in founding +their theory. <a name="citation202a"></a><a href="#footnote202a">{202a}</a></p> +<p>By way of an example of the philological method as applied to savage +mythology, we choose a book in many ways admirable, Dr. Hahn’s +‘Tsuni Goam, the Supreme Being of the Khoi Khoi.’ <a name="citation202b"></a><a href="#footnote202b">{202b}</a> +This book is sometimes appealed to as a crushing argument against the +mythologists who adopt the method we have just explained. Let +us see if the blow be so very crushing. To put the case in a nutshell, +the Hottentots have commonly been described as a race which worshipped +a dead chief, or conjurer—Tsui Goab his name is, meaning Wounded +Knee, a not unlikely name for a savage. Dr. Hahn, on the other +hand, labours to show that the Hottentots originally worshipped no dead +chief, but (as a symbol of the Infinite) the Red Dawn. The meaning +of the name Red Dawn, he says, was lost; the words which meant Red Dawn +were erroneously supposed to mean Wounded Knee, and thus arose the adoration +and the myths of a dead chief, or wizard, Tsui Goab, Wounded Knee. +Clearly, if this can be proved, it is an excellent case for the philological +school, an admirable example of a myth produced by forgetfulness of +the meaning of words. Our own opinion is that, even if Tsui Goab +originally meant Red Dawn, the being, as now conceived of by his adorers, +is bedizened in the trappings of the dead medicine-man, and is worshipped +just as ghosts of the dead are worshipped. Thus, whatever his +origin, his myth is freely coloured by the savage fancy and by savage +ideas, and we ask no more than this colouring to explain the wildest +Greek myths. What truly ‘primitive’ religion was, +we make no pretence to know. We only say that, whether Greek religion +arose from a pure fountain or not, its stream had flowed through and +been tinged by the soil of savage thought, before it widens into our +view in historical times. But it will be shown that the logic +which connects Tsui Goab with the Red Dawn is far indeed from being +cogent.</p> +<p>Tsui Goab is thought by the Hottentots themselves to be a dead man, +and it is admitted that among the Hottentots dead men are adored. +‘Cairns are still objects of worship,’ <a name="citation203a"></a><a href="#footnote203a">{203a}</a> +and Tsui Goab lies beneath several cairns. Again, soothsayers +are believed in (p. 24), and Tsui Goab is regarded as a deceased soothsayer. +As early as 1655, a witness quoted by Hahn saw women worshipping at +one of the cairns of Heitsi Eibib, another supposed ancestral being. +Kolb, the old Dutch traveller, found that the Hottentots, like the Bushmen, +revered the mantis insect. This creature they called Gaunab. +They also had some moon myths, practised adoration of the moon, and +danced at dawn. Thunberg (1792) saw the cairn-worship, and, on +asking its meaning, was told that a Hottentot lay buried there. <a name="citation203b"></a><a href="#footnote203b">{203b}</a> +Thunberg also heard of the worship of the mantis, or grey grasshopper. +In 1803 Liechtenstein noted the cairn-worship, and was told that a renowned +Hottentot doctor of old times rested under the cairn. Appleyard’s +account of ‘the name God in Khoi Khoi, or Hottentot,’ deserves +quoting in full:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Hottentot: Tsoei’koap.<br /> +Namaqua: Tsoei’koap.<br /> +Koranna: Tshu’koab, and the author adds: ‘This is the word +from which the Kafirs have probably derived their u-Tixo, a term which +they have universally applied, like the Hottentots, to designate the +Divine Being, since the introduction of Christianity. Its derivation +is curious. It consists of two words, which together mean the +“wounded knee.” It is said to have been originally +applied to a doctor or sorcerer of considerable notoriety and skill +amongst the Hottentots or Namaquas some generations back, in consequence +of his having received some injury in his knee. Having been held +in high repute for extraordinary powers during life, he appeared to +be invoked even after death, as one who could still relieve and protect; +and hence, in process of time, he became nearest in idea to their first +conceptions of God.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Other missionaries make old Wounded Knee a good sort of being on +the whole, who fights Gaunab, a bad being. Dr. Moffat heard that +‘Tsui Kuap’ was ‘a notable warrior,’ who once +received a wound in the knee. Sir James Alexander <a name="citation204"></a><a href="#footnote204">{204}</a> +found that the Namaquas believed their ‘great father’ lay +below the cairns on which they flung boughs. This great father +was Heitsi Eibib, and, like other medicine-men, ‘he could take +many forms.’ Like Tsui Goab, he died several times and rose +again. Hahn gives (p. 61) a long account of the Wounded Knee from +an old chief, and a story of the battle between Tsui Goab, who ‘lives +in a beautiful heaven,’ and Gaunab, who ‘lives in a dark +heaven.’ As this chief had dwelt among missionaries very +long, we may perhaps discount his remarks on ‘heaven’ as +borrowed. Hahn thinks they refer to the red sky in which Tsui +Goab lived, and to the black sky which was the home of Gaunab. +The two characters in this crude religious dualism thus inhabit light +and darkness respectively.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>As far as we have gone, Tsui Goab, like Heitsi Eibib among the Namas, +is a dead sorcerer, whose graves are worshipped, while, with a common +inconsistency, he is also thought of as dwelling in the sky. Even +Christians often speak of the dead with similar inconsistency. +Tsui Goab’s worship is intelligible enough among a people so credulous +that they took Hahn himself for a conjurer (p. 81), and so given to +ancestor-worship that Hahn has seen them worship their own fathers’ +graves, and expect help from men recently dead (pp. 112, 113). +But, while the Khoi Khoi think that Tsui Goab was once a real man, we +need not share their Euhemerism. More probably, like Unkulunkulu +among the Zulus, Tsui Goab is an ideal, imaginary ancestral sorcerer +and god. No one man requires many graves, and Tsui Goab has more +than Osiris possessed in Egypt. <a name="citation205"></a><a href="#footnote205">{205}</a></p> +<p>If the Egyptians in some immeasurably distant past were once on the +level of Namas and Hottentots, they would worship Osiris at as many +barrows as Heitsi Eibib and Tsui Goab are adored. In later times +the numerous graves of one being would require explanation, and explanations +would be furnished by the myth that the body of Osiris was torn to pieces +and each fragment buried in a separate tomb.</p> +<p>Again, lame gods occur in Greek, Australian, and Brazilian creeds, +and the very coincidence of Tsui Goab’s lameness makes us sceptical +about his claims to be a real dead man. On the other hand, when +Hahn tells us that epical myths are now sung in the dances in honour +of warriors lately slain (p. 103), and that similar dances and songs +were performed in the past to honour Tsui Goab, this looks more as if +Tsui Goab had been an actual person. Against this we must set +(p. 105) the belief that Tsui Goab made the first man and woman, and +was the Prometheus of the Hottentots.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>So far Dr. Hahn has given us facts which entirely fit in with our +theory that an ancestor-worshipping people, believing in metamorphosis +and sorcery, adores a god who is supposed to be a deceased ancestral +sorcerer with the power of magic and metamorphosis. But now Dr. +Hahn offers his own explanation. According to the philological +method, he will ‘study the names of the persons, until we arrive +at the naked root and original meanings of the words.’ Starting +then with Tsui Goab, whom all evidence declares to be a dead lame conjurer +and warrior, Dr. Hahn avers that ‘Tsui Goab, originally Tsuni +Goam, was the name by which the Red Men called the Infinite.’ +As the Frenchman said of the derivation of <i>jour</i> from <i>dies</i>, +we may hint that the Infinite thus transformed into a lame Hottentot +‘bush-doctor’ is <i>diablement changé en route</i>. +To a dead lame sorcerer from the Infinite is a fall indeed. The +process of the decline is thus described. <i>Tsui Goab</i> is +composed of two roots, <i>tsu</i> and <i>goa. Goa</i> means ‘to +go on,’ ‘to come on.’ In Khoi Khoi <i>goa-b</i> +means ‘the coming on one,’ the dawn, and <i>goa-b</i> also +means ‘the knee.’ Dr. Hahn next writes (making a logical +leap of extraordinary width), ‘it is now obvious that, //<i>goab</i> +in Tsui Goab cannot be translated with knee,’—why not?—‘but +we have to adopt the other metaphorical meaning, the <i>approaching</i> +day, <i>i.e</i>. the dawn.’ Where is the necessity? +In ordinary philology, we should here demand a number of attested examples +of <i>goab</i>, in the sense of dawn, but in Khoi Khoi we cannot expect +such evidence, as there are probably no texts. Next, after arbitrarily +deciding that all Khoi Khois misunderstand their own tongue (for that +is what the rendering here of <i>goab</i> by ‘dawn’ comes +to), Dr. Hahn examines <i>tsu</i>, in <i>Tsui. Tsu</i> means ‘sore,’ +‘wounded,’ ‘painful,’ as in ‘wounded knee’—Tsui +Goab. This does not help Dr Hahn, for ‘wounded dawn’ +means nothing. But he reflects that a wound is red, <i>tsu</i> +means wounded: therefore <i>tsu</i> means red, therefore Tsui Goab is +the Red Dawn. Q.E.D.</p> +<p>This kind of reasoning is obviously fallacious. Dr. Hahn’s +point could only be made by bringing forward examples in which <i>tsu</i> +is employed to mean red in Khoi Khoi. Of this use of the word +<i>tsu</i> he does not give one single instance, though on this point +his argument depends. His etymology is not strengthened by the +fact that Tsui Goab has once been said to live in the red sky. +A red house is not necessarily tenanted by a red man. Still less +is the theory supported by the hymn which says Tsui Goab paints himself +with red ochre. Most idols, from those of the Samoyeds to the +Greek images of Dionysus, are and have been daubed with red. By +such reasoning is Tsui Goab proved to be the Red Dawn, while his gifts +of prophecy (which he shares with all soothsayers) are accounted for +as attributes of dawn, of the Vedic <i>Saranyu.</i></p> +<p>Turning from Tsui Goab to his old enemy Gaunab, we learn that his +name is derived from <i>//gau</i>, <i>‘</i>to destroy,’ +and, according to old Hottentot ideas, ‘no one was the destroyer +but the night’ (p. 126). There is no apparent reason why +the destroyer should be the night, and the night alone, any more than +why ‘a lame broken knee’ should be ‘red’ (p. +126). Besides (p. 85), Gaunab is elsewhere explained, not as the +night, but as the malevolent ghost which is thought to kill people who +die what we call a ‘natural’ death. Unburied men change +into this sort of vampire, just as Elpenor, in the Odyssey, threatens, +if unburied, to become mischievous. There is another Gaunab, the +mantis insect, which is worshipped by Hottentots and Bushmen (p. 92). +It appears that the two Gaunabs are differently pronounced. However +that may be, a race which worships an insect might well worship a dead +medicine-man.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The conclusion, then, to be drawn from an examination of Hottentot +mythology is merely this, that the ideas of a people will be reflected +in their myths. A people which worships the dead, believes in +sorcerers and in prophets, and in metamorphosis, will have for its god +(if he can be called a god) a being who is looked on as a dead prophet +and sorcerer. He will be worshipped with such rites as dead men +receive; he will be mixed up in such battles as living men wage, and +will be credited with the skill which living sorcerers claim. +All these things meet in the legend of Tsui Goab, the so-called ‘supreme +being’ of the Hottentots. His connection with the dawn is +not supported by convincing argument or evidence. The relation +of the dawn to the Infinite again rests on nothing but a theory of Mr. +Max Müller’s. <a name="citation209"></a><a href="#footnote209">{209}</a> +His adversary, though recognised as the night, is elsewhere admitted +to have been, originally, a common vampire. Finally, the Hottentots, +a people not much removed from savagery, have a mythology full of savage +and even disgusting elements. And this is just what we expect +from Hottentots. The puzzle is when we find myths as low as the +story of the incest of Heitsi Eibib among the Greeks. The reason +for this coincidence is that, in Dr. Hahn’s words, ‘the +same objects and the same phenomena in nature will give rise to the +same ideas, whether social or mythical, among different races of mankind,’ +especially when these races are in the same well-defined state of savage +fancy and savage credulity.</p> +<p>Dr. Hahn’s book has been regarded as a kind of triumph over +inquirers who believe that ancestor-worship enters into myth, and that +the purer element in myth is the later. But where is the triumph? +Even on Dr. Hahn’s own showing, ancestor-worship among the Hottentots +has swamped the adoration of the Infinite. It may be said that +Dr. Hahn has at least proved the adoration of the Infinite to be earlier +than ancestor-worship. But it has been shown that his attempt +to establish a middle stage, to demonstrate that the worshipped ancestor +was really the Red Dawn, is not logical nor convincing. Even if +that middle stage were established, it is a far cry from the worship +of Dawn (supposed by the Australians to be a woman of bad character +in a cloak of red’ possum-skin) to the adoration of the Infinite. +Our own argument has been successful if we have shown that there are +not only two possible schools of mythological interpretation—the +Euhemeristic, led by Mr. Spencer, and the Philological, led by Mr. Max +Müller. We have seen that it is possible to explain the legend +of Tsui Goab without either believing him to have been a real historical +person (as Mr. Spencer may perhaps believe), or his myth to have been +the result of a ‘disease of language’ as Mr. Müller +supposes. We have explained the legend and worship of a supposed +dead conjurer as natural to a race which believes in conjurers and worships +dead men. Whether he was merely an ideal ancestor and warrior, +or whether an actual man has been invested with what divine qualities +Tsui Goab enjoys, it is impossible to say; but, if he ever lived, he +has long been adorned with ideal qualities and virtues which he never +possessed. The conception of the powerful ancestral ghost has +been heightened and adorned with some novel attributes of power: the +conception of the Infinite has not been degraded, by forgetfulness of +language, to the estate of an ancestral ghost with a game leg.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>If this view be correct, myth is the result of thought, far more +than of a disease of language. The comparative importance of language +and thought was settled long ago, in our sense, by no less a person +than Pragapati, the Sanskrit Master of Life.</p> +<p>‘Now a dispute once took place between Mind and Speech, as +to which was the better of the two. Both Mind and Speech said, +“I am excellent!” Mind said, “Surely I am better +than thou, for thou dost not speak anything that is not understood by +me; and since thou art only an imitator of what is done by me and a +follower in my wake, I am surely better than thou!” Speech +said, “Surely I am better than thou, for what thou knowest I make +known, I communicate.” They went to appeal to Pragapati +for his decision. He (Pragapati) decided in favour of Mind, saying +(to Speech), “Mind is indeed better than thou, for thou art an +imitator of its deeds, and a follower in its wake; and inferior, surely, +is he who imitates his better’s deeds, and follows in his wake.”’</p> +<p>So saith the ‘Satapatha Brahmana.’ <a name="citation211"></a><a href="#footnote211">{211}</a></p> +<h2>FETICHISM AND THE INFINITE.</h2> +<p>What is the true place of Fetichism, to use a common but unscientific +term, in the history of religious evolution? Some theorists have +made fetichism, that is to say, the adoration of odds and ends (with +which they have confused the worship of animals, of mountains, and even +of the earth), the first moment in the development of worship. +Others, again, think that fetichism is ‘a corruption of religion, +in Africa, as elsewhere.’ The latter is the opinion of Mr +Max Müller, who has stated it in his ‘Hibbert Lectures,’ +on ‘The Origin and Growth of Religion, especially as illustrated +by the Religions of India.’ It seems probable that there +is a middle position between these two extremes. Students may +hold that we hardly know enough to justify us in talking about the <i>origin</i> +of religion, while at the same time they may believe that Fetichism +is one of the earliest traceable steps by which men climbed to higher +conceptions of the supernatural. Meanwhile Mr. Max Müller +supports his own theory, that fetichism is a ‘parasitical growth,’ +a ‘corruption’ of religion, by arguments mainly drawn from +historical study of savage creeds, and from the ancient religious documents +of India.</p> +<p>These documents are to English investigators ignorant of Sanskrit +‘a book sealed with seven seals.’ The Vedas are interpreted +in very different ways by different Oriental scholars. It does +not yet appear to be known whether a certain word in the Vedic funeral +service means ‘goat’ or ‘soul’! Mr. Max +Müller’s rendering is certain to have the first claim on +English readers, and therefore it is desirable to investigate the conclusions +which he draws from his Vedic studies. The ordinary anthropologist +must first, however, lodge a protest against the tendency to look for +<i>primitive</i> matter in the Vedas. They are the elaborate hymns +of a specially trained set of poets and philosophers, living in an age +almost of civilisation. They can therefore contain little testimony +as to what man, while still ‘primitive,’ thought about God, +the world, and the soul. One might as well look for the first +germs of religion, for <i>primitive</i> religion strictly so called, +in ‘Hymns Ancient and Modern’ as in the Vedas. It +is chiefly, however, by way of deductions from the Vedas, that Mr. Max +Müller arrives at ideas which may be briefly and broadly stated +thus: he inclines to derive religion from man’s sense of the Infinite, +as awakened by natural objects calculated to stir that sense. +Our position is, on the other hand, that the germs of the religious +sense in early man are developed, not so much by the vision of the Infinite, +as by the idea of Power. Early religions, in short, are selfish, +not disinterested. The worshipper is not contemplative, so much +as eager to gain something to his advantage. In fetiches, he ignorantly +recognises something that possesses power of an abnormal sort, and the +train of ideas which leads him to believe in and to treasure fetiches +is one among the earliest springs of religious belief.</p> +<p>Mr. Müller’s opinion is the very reverse: he believes +that a contemplative and disinterested emotion in the presence of the +Infinite, or of anything that suggests infinitude or is mistaken for +the Infinite, begets human religion, while of this religion fetichism +is a later corruption.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In treating of fetichism Mr. Müller is obliged to criticise +the system of De Brosses, who introduced this rather unfortunate term +to science, in an admirable work, ‘Le Culte des Dieux Fetiches’ +(1760). We call the work ‘admirable,’ because, considering +the contemporary state of knowledge and speculation, De Brosses’s +book is brilliant, original, and only now and then rash or confused. +Mr. Müller says that De Brosses ‘holds that all nations had +to begin with fetichism, to be followed afterwards by polytheism and +monotheism.’ This sentence would lead some readers to suppose +that De Brosses, in his speculations, was looking for the origin of +religion; but, in reality, his work is a mere attempt to explain a certain +element in ancient religion and mythology. De Brosses was well +aware that heathen religions were a complex mass, a concretion of many +materials. He admits the existence of regard for the spirits of +the dead as one factor, he gives Sabaeism a place as another. +But what chiefly puzzles him, and what he chiefly tries to explain, +is the worship of odds and ends of rubbish, and the adoration of animals, +mountains, trees, the sun, and so forth. When he masses all these +worships together, and proposes to call them all Fetichism (a term derived +from the Portuguese word for a talisman), De Brosses is distinctly unscientific. +But De Brosses is distinctly scientific when he attempts to explain +the animal-worship of Egypt, and the respect paid by Greeks and Romans +to shapeless stones, as survivals of older savage practices.</p> +<p>The position of De Brosses is this: Old mythology and religion are +a tissue of many threads. Sabaeism, adoration of the dead, mythopœic +fancy, have their part in the fabric. Among many African tribes, +a form of theism, Islamite or Christian, or self-developed, is superimposed +on a mass of earlier superstitions. Among these superstitions, +is the worship of animals and plants, and the cult of rough stones and +of odds and ends of matter. What is the origin of this element, +so prominent in the religion of Egypt, and present, if less conspicuous, +in the most ancient temples of Greece? It is the survival, answers +De Brosses, of ancient practices like those of untutored peoples, as +Brazilians, Samoyeds, Negroes, whom the Egyptians and Pelasgians once +resembled in lack of culture.</p> +<p>This, briefly stated, is the hypothesis of De Brosses. If he +had possessed our wider information, he would have known that, among +savage races, the worships of the stars, of the dead, and of plants +and animals, are interlaced by the strange metaphysical processes of +wild men. He would, perhaps, have kept the supernatural element +in magical stones, feathers, shells, and so on, apart from the triple +thread of Sabaeism, ghost-worship, and totemism, with its later development +into the regular worship of plants and animals. It must be recognised, +however, that De Brosses was perfectly well aware of the confused and +manifold character of early religion. He had a clear view of the +truth that what the religious instinct has once grasped, it does not, +as a rule, abandon, but subordinates or disguises, when it reaches higher +ideas. And he avers, again and again, that men laid hold of the +coarser and more material objects of worship, while they themselves +were coarse and dull, and that, as civilisation advanced, they, as a +rule, subordinated and disguised the ruder factors in their system. +Here it is that Mr. Max Müller differs from De Brosses. He +holds that the adoration of stones, feathers, shells, and (as I understand +him) the worship of animals are, even among the races of Africa, a corruption +of an earlier and purer religion, a ‘parasitical development’ +of religion.</p> +<p>However, Mr. Max Müller himself held ‘for a long time’ +what he calls ‘De Brosses’s theory of fetichism.’ +What made him throw the theory overboard? It was ‘the fact +that, while in the earliest accessible documents of religious thought +we look in vain for any very clear traces of fetichism, they become +more and more frequent everywhere in the later stages of religious development, +and are certainly more visible in the later corruptions of the Indian +religion, beginning with the Âtharva<i>n</i>a, than in the earliest +hymns of the Rig Veda.’ Now, by the earliest accessible +documents of religious thought, Professor Max Müller means the +hymns of the Rig Veda. These hymns are composed in the most elaborate +metre, by sages of old repute, who, I presume, occupied a position not +unlike that of the singers and seers of Israel. They lived in +an age of tolerably advanced cultivation. They had wide geographical +knowledge. They had settled government. They dwelt in States. +They had wealth of gold, of grain, and of domesticated animals. +Among the metals, they were acquainted with that which, in most countries, +has been the latest worked—they used iron poles in their chariots. +How then can the hymns of the most enlightened singers of a race thus +far developed be called ‘the earliest religious documents’? +Oldest they may be, the oldest that are accessible, but that is a very +different thing. How can we possibly argue that what is absent +in these hymns, is absent because it had not yet come into existence? +Is it not the very office of <i>pii vates et Phœbo digna locuti</i> +to purify religion, to cover up decently its rude shapes, as the unhewn +stone was concealed in the fane of Apollo of Delos? If the race +whose noblest and oldest extant hymns were pure, exhibits traces of +fetichism in its later documents, may not that as easily result from +a recrudescence as from a corruption? Professor Max Müller +has still, moreover, to explain how the process of corruption which +introduced the same fetichistic practices among Samoyeds, Brazilians, +Kaffirs, and the people of the Âtharva<i>n</i>a Veda came to be +everywhere identical in its results.</p> +<p>Here an argument often urged against the anthropological method may +be shortly disposed of. ‘You examine savages,’ people +say, ‘but how do you know that these savages were not once much +more cultivated; that their whole mode of life, religion and all, is +not debased and decadent from an earlier standard?’ Mr. +Müller glances at this argument, which, however, cannot serve his +purpose. Mr. Müller has recognised that savage, or ‘nomadic,’ +languages represent a much earlier state of language than anything that +we find, for example, in the oldest Hebrew or Sanskrit texts. +‘For this reason,’ he says, <a name="citation218"></a><a href="#footnote218">{218}</a> +‘the study of what I call <i>nomad</i> languages, as distinguished +from <i>State</i> languages, becomes so instructive. We see in +them what we can no longer expect to see even in the most ancient Sanskrit +or Hebrew. We watch the childhood of language with all its childish +freaks.’ Yes, adds the anthropologist, and for this reason +the study of savage religions, as distinguished from State religions, +becomes so instructive. We see in them what we can no longer expect +to see even in the most ancient Sanskrit or Hebrew faiths. We +watch the childhood of religion with all its childish freaks. +If this reasoning be sound when the Kaffir tongue is contrasted with +ancient Sanskrit, it should be sound when the Kaffir faith is compared +with the Vedic faith. By parity of reasoning, the religious beliefs +of peoples as much less advanced than the Kaffirs as the Kaffirs are +less advanced than the Vedic peoples, should be still nearer the infancy +of faith, still ‘nearer the beginning.’</p> +<p>We have been occupied, perhaps, too long with De Brosses and our +apology for De Brosses. Let us now examine, as shortly as possible, +Mr. Max Müller’s reasons for denying that fetichism is ‘a +primitive form of religion.’ The negative side of his argument +being thus disposed of, it will then be our business to consider (1) +his psychological theory of the subjective element in religion, and +(2) his account of the growth of Indian religion. The conclusion +of the essay will be concerned with demonstrating that Mr. Max Müller’s +system assigns little or no place to the superstitious beliefs without +which, in other countries than India, society could not have come into +organised existence.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In his polemic against Fetichism, it is not always very easy to see +against whom Mr. Müller is contending. It is one thing to +say that fetichism is a ‘primitive form of religion,’ and +quite another to say that it is ‘the very beginning of all religion.’ +Occasionally he attacks the ‘Comtian theory,’ which, I think, +is not now held by many people who study the history of man, and which +I am not concerned to defend. He says that the Portuguese navigators +who discovered among the negroes ‘no other trace of any religious +worship’ except what they called the worship of <i>feitiços</i>, +concluded that this was the whole of the religion of the negroes (p. +61). Mr. Müller then goes on to prove that ‘no religion +consists of fetichism only,’ choosing his examples of higher elements +in negro religion from the collections of Waitz. It is difficult +to see what bearing this has on his argument. De Brosses (p. 20) +shows that <i>he</i>, at least, was well aware that many negro tribes +have higher conceptions of the Deity than any which are implied in fetich-worship. +Even if no tribe in the world is exclusively devoted to fetiches, the +argument makes no progress. Perhaps no extant tribe is in the +way of using unpolished stone weapons and no others, but it does not +follow that unpolished stone weapons are not primitive. It is +just as easy to maintain that the purer ideas have, by this time, been +reached by aid of the stepping-stones of the grosser, as that the grosser +are the corruption of the purer. Mr. Max Müller constantly +asserts that the ‘human mind advanced by small and timid steps +from what is intelligible, to what is at first sight almost beyond comprehension’ +(p. 126). Among the objects which aided man to take these small +and timid steps, he reckons rivers and trees, which excited, he says, +religious awe. What he will not suppose is that the earliest small +and timid steps were not unaided by such objects as the fetichist treasures—stones, +shells, and so forth, which suggest no idea of infinity. Stocks +he will admit, but not, if he can help it, stones, of the sort that +negroes and Kanekas and other tribes use as fetiches. His reason +is, that he does not see how the scraps of the fetichist can appeal +to the feeling of the Infinite, which feeling is, in his theory, the +basis of religion.</p> +<p>After maintaining (what is readily granted) that negroes have a religion +composed of many elements, Mr. Müller tries to discredit the evidence +about the creeds of savages, and discourses on the many minute shades +of progress which exist among tribes too often lumped together as if +they were all in the same condition. Here he will have all scientific +students of savage life on his side. It remains true, however, +that certain elements of savage practice, fetichism being one of them, +are practically ubiquitous. Thus, when Mr. Müller speaks +of ‘the influence of public opinion’ in biassing the narrative +of travellers, we must not forget that the strongest evidence about +savage practice is derived from the ‘undesigned coincidence’ +of the testimonies of all sorts of men, in all ages, and all conditions +of public opinion. ‘Illiterate men, ignorant of the writings +of each other, bring the same reports from various quarters of the globe,’ +wrote Millar of Glasgow. When sailors, merchants, missionaries, +describe, as matters unprecedented and unheard of, such institutions +as polyandry, totemism, and so forth, the evidence is so strong, because +the witnesses are so astonished. They do not know that anyone +but themselves has ever noticed the curious facts before their eyes. +And when Mr. Müller tries to make the testimony about savage faith +still more untrustworthy, by talking of the ‘absence of recognised +authority among savages,’ do not let us forget that custom (νομος) +is a recognised authority, and that the punishment of death is inflicted +for transgression of certain rules. These rules, generally speaking, +are of a religious nature, and the religion to which they testify is +of the sort known (too vaguely) as ‘fetichistic.’ +Let us keep steadily before our minds, when people talk of lack of evidence, +that we have two of the strongest sorts of evidence in the world for +the kind of religion which least suits Mr. Müller’s argument—(1) +the undesigned coincidences of testimony, (2) the irrefutable witness +and sanction of elementary criminal law. Mr. Müller’s +own evidence is that much-disputed work, where ‘all men see what +they want to see, as in the clouds,’ and where many see systematised +fetichism—the Veda. <a name="citation222"></a><a href="#footnote222">{222}</a></p> +<p>The first step in Mr. Max Müller’s polemic was the assertion +that Fetichism is nowhere unmixed. We have seen that the fact +is capable of an interpretation that will suit either side. Stages +of culture overlap each other. The second step in his polemic +was the effort to damage the evidence. We have seen that we have +as good evidence as can be desired. In the third place he asks, +What are the antecedents of fetich-worship? He appears to conceive +himself to be arguing with persons (p. 127) who ‘have taken for +granted that every human being was miraculously endowed with the concept +of what forms the predicate of every fetich, call it power, spirit, +or god.’ If there are reasoners so feeble, they must be +left to the punishment inflicted by Mr. Müller. On the other +hand, students who regard the growth of the idea of power, which is +the predicate of every fetish, as a slow process, as the result of various +impressions and trains of early half-conscious reasoning, cannot be +disposed of by the charge that they think that ‘every human being +was miraculously endowed’ with any concept whatever. They, +at least, will agree with Mr. Max Müller that there are fetiches +and fetiches, that to one reverence is assigned for one reason, to another +for another. Unfortunately, it is less easy to admit that Mr. +Max Müller has been happy in his choice of ancient instances. +He writes (p. 99): ‘Sometimes a stock or a stone was worshipped +because it was a forsaken altar or an ancient place of judgment, sometimes +because it marked the place of a great battle or a murder, or the burial +of a king.’ Here he refers to Pausanias, book i. 28, 5, +and viii. 13, 3. <a name="citation223"></a><a href="#footnote223">{223}</a> +In both of these passages, Pausanias, it is true, mentions stones—in +the first passage stones on which men stood οσοι +δικας υπεχουσι +και οι διωκοντες, +in the second, barrows heaped up in honour of men who fell in battle. +In neither case, however, do I find anything to show that the stones +were worshipped. These stones, then, have no more to do with the +argument than the milestones which certainly exist on the Dover road, +but which are not the objects of superstitious reverence. No! +the fetich-stones of Greece were those which occupied the holy of holies +of the most ancient temples, the mysterious fanes within dark cedar +or cypress groves, to which men were hardly admitted. They were +the stones and blocks which bore the names of gods, Hera, or Apollo, +names perhaps given, as De Brosses says, to the old fetichistic objects +of worship, <i>after</i> the anthropomorphic gods entered Hellas. +This, at least is the natural conclusion from the fact that the Apollo +and Hera of untouched wood or stone were confessedly the <i>oldest</i>. +Religion, possessing an old fetich did not run the risk of breaking +the run of luck by discarding it, but wisely retained and renamed it. +Mr. Max Müller says that the unhewn lump may indicate a higher +power of abstraction than the worship paid to the work of Phidias; but +in that case all the savage adorers of rough stones <i>may</i> be in +a stage of more abstract thought than these contemporaries of Phidias +who had such very hard work to make Greek thought abstract.</p> +<p>Mr Müller founds a very curious argument on what he calls ‘the +ubiquity of fetichism.’ Like De Brosses, he compiles (from +Pausanias) a list of the rude stones worshipped by the early Greeks. +He mentions various examples of fetichistic superstitions in Rome. +He detects the fetichism of popular Catholicism, and of Russian orthodoxy +among the peasants. Here, he cries, in religions the history of +which is known to us, fetichism is secondary, ‘and why should +fetiches in Africa, where we do not know the earlier development of +religion, be considered as primary?’ What a singular argument! +According to Pausanias, this fetichism (if fetichism it is) <i>was</i> +primary, in Greece. The <i>oldest</i> temples, in their holiest +place, held the oldest fetich. In Rome, it is at least probable +that fetichism, as in Greece, was partly a survival, partly a new growth +from the primal root of human superstitions. As to Catholicism, +the records of Councils, the invectives of the Church, show us that, +from the beginning, the secondary religion in point of time, the religion +of the Church, laboured vainly to suppress, and had in part to tolerate, +the primary religion of childish superstitions. The documents +are before the world. As to the Russians, the history of their +conversion is pretty well known. Jaroslaf, or Vladimir, or some +other evangelist, had whole villages baptized in groups, and the pagan +peasants naturally kept up their primary semi-savage ways of thought +and worship, under the secondary varnish of orthodoxy. In all +Mr. Max Müller’s examples, then, fetichism turns out to be +<i>primary</i> in point of time; <i>secondary</i> only, as subordinate +to some later development of faith, or to some lately superimposed religion. +Accepting his statement that fetichism is ubiquitous, we have the most +powerful <i>a priori</i> argument that fetichism is primitive. +As religions become developed they are differentiated; it only fetichism +that you find the same everywhere. Thus the bow and arrow have +a wide range of distribution: the musket, one not so wide; the Martini-Henry +rifle, a still narrower range: it is the primitive stone weapons that +are ubiquitous, that are found in the soil of England, Egypt, America, +France, Greece, as in the hands of Dieyries and Admiralty Islanders. +And just as rough stone knives are earlier than iron ones (though the +same race often uses both), so fetichism is more primitive than higher +and purer faiths, though the same race often combines fetichism and +theism. No one will doubt the truth of this where weapons are +concerned; but Mr. Max Müller will not look at religion in this +way.</p> +<p>Mr. Max Müller’s remarks on ‘Zoolatry,’ as +De Brosses calls it, or animal-worship, require only the briefest comment. +De Brosses, very unluckily, confused zoolatry with other superstitions +under the head of Fetichism. This was unscientific; but is it +scientific of Mr. Max Müller to discuss animal-worship without +any reference to totemism? The worship of sacred animals is found, +in every part of the globe, to be part of the sanction of the most stringent +and important of all laws, the laws of marriage. It is an historical +truth that the society of Ashantees, Choctaws, Australians, is actually +constructed by the operation of laws which are under the sanction of +various sacred plants and animals. <a name="citation226"></a><a href="#footnote226">{226}</a> +There is scarcely a race so barbarous that these laws are not traceable +at work in its society, nor a people (especially an ancient people) +so cultivated that its laws and religion are not full of strange facts +most easily explained as relics of totemism. Now note that actual +living totemism is always combined with the rudest ideas of marriage, +with almost repulsive ideas about the family. Presumably, this +rudeness is earlier than culture, and therefore this form of animal-worship +is one of the earliest religions that we know. The almost limitless +distribution of the phenomena, their regular development, their gradual +disappearance, all point to the fact that they are all very early and +everywhere produced by similar causes.</p> +<p>Of all these facts, Mr. Max Müller only mentions one—that +many races have called themselves Snakes, and he thinks they might naturally +adopt the snake for ancestor, and finally for god. He quotes the +remark of Diodorus that ‘the snake may either have been made a +god because he was figured on the banners, or may have been figured +on the banners because he was a god’; to which De Brosses, with +his usual sense, rejoins—‘we represent saints on our banners +because we revere them; we do not revere them because we represent them +on our banners.’</p> +<p>In a discussion about origins, and about the corruption of religion, +it would have been well to account for institutions and beliefs almost +universally distributed. We know, what De Brosses did not, that +zoolatry is inextricably blent with laws and customs which surely must +be early, if not primitive, because they make the working faith of societies +in which male descent and the modern family are not yet established. +Anyone who wishes to show that this sort of society is a late corruption, +not an early stage in evolution towards better things, has a difficult +task before him, which, however, he must undertake, before he can prove +zoolatry to be a corruption of religion.</p> +<p>As to the worship of ancestral and embodied human spirits, which +(it has been so plausibly argued) is the first moment in religion, Mr. +Max Müller dismisses it, here, in eleven lines and a half. +An isolated but important allusion at the close of his lectures will +be noticed in its place.</p> +<p>The end of the polemic against the primitiveness of fetichism deals +with the question, ‘Whence comes the supernatural predicate of +the fetich?’ If a negro tells us his fetich is a god, whence +got he the idea of ‘god’? Many obvious answers occur. +Mr. Müller says, speaking of the Indians (p. 205): ‘The concept +of <i>gods</i> was no doubt growing up while men were assuming a more +and more definite attitude towards these semi-tangible and intangible +objects’—trees, rivers, hills, the sky, the sun, and so +on, which he thinks suggested and developed, by aid of a kind of awe, +the religious feeling of the infinite. We too would say that, +among people who adore fetiches and ghosts, the concept of gods no doubt +silently grew up, as men assumed a more and more definite attitude towards +the tangible and intangible objects they held sacred. Again, negroes +have had the idea of god imported among them by Christians and Islamites, +so that, even if they did not climb (as De Brosses grants that many +of them do) to purer religious ideas unaided, these ideas are now familiar +to them, and may well be used by them, when they have to explain a fetich +to a European. Mr. Max Müller explains the origin of religion +by a term (‘the Infinite ‘) which, he admits, the early +people would not have comprehended. The negro, if he tells a white +man that a fetich is a god, transposes terms in the same unscientific +way. Mr. Müller asks, ‘How do these people, when they +have picked up their stone or their shell, pick up, at the same time, +the concepts of a supernatural power, of spirit, of god, and of worship +paid to some unseen being?’ But who says that men picked +up these ideas <i>at the same time</i>? These ideas were evolved +by a long, slow, complicated process. It is not at all impossible +that the idea of a kind of ‘luck’ attached to this or that +object, was evolved by dint of meditating on a mere series of lucky +accidents. Such or such a man, having found such an object, succeeded +in hunting, fishing, or war. By degrees, similar objects might +be believed to command success. Thus burglars carry bits of coal +in their pockets, ‘for luck.’ This random way of connecting +causes and effects which have really no inter-relation, is a common +error of early reasoning. Mr. Max Müller says that ‘this +process of reasoning is far more in accordance with modern thought’; +if so, modern thought has little to be proud of. Herodotus, however, +describes the process of thought as consecrated by custom among the +Egyptians. But there are many other practical ways in which the +idea of supernatural power is attached to fetiches. Some fetich-stones +have a superficial resemblance to other objects, and thus (on the magical +system of reasoning) are thought to influence these objects. Others, +again, are pointed out as worthy of regard in dreams or by the ghosts +of the dead. <a name="citation230"></a><a href="#footnote230">{230}</a> +To hold these views of the origin of the supernatural predicate of fetiches +is not ‘to take for granted that every human being was miraculously +endowed with the concept of what forms the predicate of every fetich.’</p> +<p>Thus we need not be convinced by Mr. Max Müller that fetichism +(though it necessarily has its antecedents in the human mind) is ‘a +corruption of religion.’ It still appears to be one of the +most primitive steps towards the idea of the supernatural.</p> +<p>What, then, is the subjective element of religion in man? How +has he become capable of conceiving of the supernatural? What +outward objects first awoke that dormant faculty in his breast? +Mr. Max Müller answers, that man has ‘the faculty of apprehending +the infinite’—that by dint of this faculty he is capable +of religion, and that sensible objects, ‘tangible, semi-tangible, +intangible,’ first roused the faculty to religious activity, at +least among the natives of India. He means, however, by the ‘infinite’ +which savages apprehend, not our metaphysical conception of the infinite, +but the mere impression that there is ‘something beyond.’ +‘Every thing of which his senses cannot perceive a limit, is to +a primitive savage or to any man in an early stage of intellectual activity +<i>unlimited</i> or <i>infinite</i>? Thus, in all experience, +the idea of ‘a beyond’ is forced on men. If Mr. Max +Müller would adhere to this theory, then we should suppose him +to mean (what we hold to be more or less true) that savage religion, +like savage science, is merely a fanciful explanation of what lies beyond +the horizon of experience. For example, if the Australians mentioned +by Mr. Max Müller believe in a being who created the world, a being +whom they do not worship, and to whom they pay no regard (for, indeed, +he has become ‘decrepit’), their theory is scientific, not +religious. They have looked for the causes of things, and are +no more religious (in so doing) than Newton was when he worked out his +theory of gravitation. The term ‘infinite’ is wrongly +applied, because it is a term of advanced thought used in explanation +of the ideas of men who, Mr. Max Müller says, were incapable of +conceiving the meaning of such a concept. Again, it is wrongly +applied, because it has some modern religious associations, which are +covertly and fallaciously introduced to explain the supposed emotions +of early men. Thus, Mr. Müller says (p. 177)—he is +giving his account of the material things that awoke the religious faculty—‘the +mere sight of the torrent or the stream would have been enough to call +forth in the hearts of the early dwellers on the earth . . . a feeling +that they were surrounded on all sides by powers invisible, infinite, +or divine.’ Here, if I understand Mr. Müller, ‘infinite’ +is used in our modern sense. The question is, How did men ever +come to believe in powers infinite, invisible, divine? If Mr. +Müller’s words mean anything, they mean that a dormant feeling +that there were such existences lay in the breast of man, and was wakened +into active and conscious life, by the sight of a torrent or a stream. +How, to use Mr. Müller’s own manner, did these people, when +they saw a stream, have mentally, at the same time, ‘a feeling +of <i>infinite</i> powers?’ If this is not the expression +of a theory of ‘innate religion’ (a theory which Mr. Müller +disclaims), it is capable of being mistaken for that doctrine by even +a careful reader. The feeling of ‘powers infinite, invisible, +divine,’ <i>must</i> be in the heart, or the mere sight of a river +could not call it forth. How did the feeling get into the heart? +That is the question. The ordinary anthropologist distinguishes +a multitude of causes, a variety of processes, which shade into each +other and gradually produce the belief in powers invisible, infinite, +and divine. What tribe is unacquainted with dreams, visions, magic, +the apparitions of the dead? Add to these the slow action of thought, +the conjectural inferences, the guesses of crude metaphysics, the theories +of isolated men of religious and speculative genius. By all these +and other forces manifold, that emotion of awe in presence of the hills, +the stars, the sea, is developed. Mr. Max Müller cuts the +matter shorter. The early inhabitants of earth saw a river, and +the ‘mere sight’ of the torrent called forth the feelings +which (to us) seem to demand ages of the operation of causes disregarded +by Mr. Müller in his account of the origin of Indian religion.</p> +<p>The mainspring of Mr. Müller’s doctrine is his theory +about ‘apprehending the infinite.’ Early religion, +or at least that of India, was, in his view, the extension of an idea +of Vastness, a disinterested emotion of awe. <a name="citation233a"></a><a href="#footnote233a">{233a}</a> +Elsewhere, we think, early religion has been a development of ideas +of Force, an interested search, not for something wide and far and hard +to conceive, but for something practically <i>strong</i> for good and +evil. Mr. Müller (taking no count in this place of fetiches, +ghosts, dreams and magic) explains that the sense of ‘wonderment’ +was wakened by objects only semi-tangible, trees, which are <i>taller</i> +than we are, ‘whose roots are beyond our reach, and which have +a kind of life in them.’ ‘We are dealing with a quartenary, +it may be a tertiary troglodyte,’ says Mr. Müller. +If a tertiary troglodyte was like a modern Andaman Islander, a Kaneka, +a Dieyrie, would he stand and meditate in awe on the fact that a tree +was taller than he, or had ‘a kind of life,’ ‘an unknown +and unknowable, yet undeniable something’? <a name="citation233b"></a><a href="#footnote233b">{233b}</a> +Why, this is the sentiment of modern Germany, and perhaps of the Indian +sages of a cultivated period! A troglodyte would look for a ‘possum +in the tree, he would tap the trunk for honey, he would poke about in +the bark after grubs, or he would worship anything odd in the branches. +Is Mr. Müller not unconsciously transporting a kind of modern malady +of thought into the midst of people who wanted to find a dinner, and +who might worship a tree if it had a grotesque shape, that, for them, +had a magical meaning, or if <i>boilyas</i> lived in its boughs, but +whose practical way of dealing with the problem of its life was to burn +it round the stem, chop the charred wood with stone axes, and use the +bark, branches, and leaves as they happened to come handy?</p> +<p>Mr. Müller has a long list of semi-tangible objects ‘overwhelming +and overawing,’ like the tree. There are mountains, where +‘even a stout heart shivers before the real presence of the <i>infinite</i>’; +there are rivers, those instruments of so sudden a religious awakening; +there is earth. These supply the material for semi-deities. +Then come sky, stars, dawn, sun, and moon: ‘in these we have the +germs of what, hereafter, we shall have to call by the name of deities.’</p> +<p>Before we can transmute, with Mr. Müller, these objects of a +somewhat vague religious regard into a kind of gods, we have to adopt +Noiré’s philological theories, and study the effects of +auxiliary verbs on the development of personification and of religion. +Noiré’s philological theories are still, I presume, under +discussion. They are necessary, however, to Mr. Müller’s +doctrine of the development of the vague ‘sense of the infinite’ +(wakened by fine old trees, and high mountains) into <i>devas</i>, and +of <i>devas</i> (which means ‘shining ones’) into the Vedic +gods. Our troglodyte ancestors, and their sweet feeling for the +spiritual aspect of landscape, are thus brought into relation with the +Rishis of the Vedas, the sages and poets of a pleasing civilisation. +The reverence felt for such comparatively refined or remote things as +fire, the sun, wind, thunder, the dawn, furnished a series of stepping-stones +to the Vedic theology, if theology it can be called. It is impossible +to give each step in detail; the process must be studied in Mr. Müller’s +lectures. Nor can we discuss the later changes of faith. +As to the processes which produced the fetichistic ‘corruption’ +(that universal and everywhere identical form of decay), Mr. Müller +does not afford even a hint. He only says that, when the Indians +found that their old gods were mere names, ‘they built out of +the scattered bricks a new altar to the Unknown God’—a statement +which throws no light on the parasitical development of fetichism. +But his whole theory is deficient if, having called fetichism a <i>corruption</i>, +he does not show how corruption arose, how it operated, and how the +disease attacked all religions everywhere.</p> +<p>We have contested, step by step, many of Mr. Müller’s +propositions. If space permitted, it would be interesting to examine +the actual attitude of certain contemporary savages, Bushmen and others, +towards the sun. Contemporary savages may be degraded, they certainly +are not primitive, but their <i>legends</i>, at least, are the oldest +things they possess. The supernatural elements in their ideas +about the sun are curiously unlike those which, according to Mr. Müller, +entered into the development of Aryan religion.</p> +<p>The last remark which has to be made about Mr. Müller’s +scheme of the development of Aryan religion is that the religion, as +explained by him, does not apparently aid the growth of society, nor +work with it in any way. Let us look at a sub-barbaric society—say +that of Zululand, of New Zealand, of the Iroquois League, or at a savage +society like that of the Kanekas, or of those Australian tribes about +whom we have very many interesting and copious accounts. If we +begin with the Australians, we observe that society is based on certain +laws of marriage enforced by capital punishment. These laws of +marriage forbid the intermixing of persons belonging to the stock which +worships this or that animal, or plant. Now this rule, as already +observed, <i>made</i> the ‘gentile’ system (as Mr. Morgan +erroneously calls it) the system which gradually reduces tribal hostility, +by making tribes homogeneous. The same system (with the religious +sanction of a kind of zoolatry) is in force and has worked to the same +result, in Africa, Asia, America, and Australia, while a host of minute +facts make it a reasonable conclusion that it prevailed in Europe. +Among these facts certain peculiarities of Greek and Roman and Hindoo +marriage law, Greek, Latin, and English tribal names, and a crowd of +legends are the most prominent. <a name="citation236"></a><a href="#footnote236">{236}</a> +Mr. Max Müller’s doctrine of the development of Indian religion +(while admitting the existence of Snake or Naga tribes) takes no account +of the action of this universal zoolatry on religion and society.</p> +<p>After marriage and after tribal institutions, look at <i>rank</i>. +Is it not obvious that the religious elements (magic and necromancy) +left out of his reckoning by Mr. Müller are most powerful in developing +rank? Even among those democratic paupers, the Fuegians, ‘the +doctor-wizard of each party has much influence over his companions.’ +Among those other democrats, the Eskimo, a class of wizards, called +Angakuts, become ‘a kind of civil magistrates,’ because +they can cause fine weather, and can magically detect people who commit +offences. Thus the germs of rank, in these cases, are sown by +the magic which is fetichism in action. Try the Zulus: ‘the +heaven is the chief’s,’ he can call up clouds and storms, +hence the sanction of his authority. In New Zealand, every Rangatira +has a supernatural power. If he touches an article, no one else +dares to appropriate it, for fear of terrible supernatural consequences. +A head chief is ‘tapued an inch thick, and perfectly unapproachable.’ +Magical power abides in and emanates from him. By this superstition, +an aristocracy is formed, and property (the property, at least, of the +aristocracy) is secured. Among the Red Indians, as Schoolcraft +says, ‘priests and jugglers are the persons that make war and +have a voice in the sale of the land.’ Mr. E. W. Robertson +says much the same thing about early Scotland. If Odin was not +a god with the gifts of a medicine-man, and did not owe his chiefship +to his talent for dealing with magic, he is greatly maligned. +The Irish Brehons also sanctioned legal decisions by magical devices, +afterwards condemned by the Church. Among the Zulus, ‘the +<i>Itongo</i> (spirit) dwells with the great man; he who dreams is the +chief of the village.’ The chief alone can ‘read in +the vessel of divination.’ The Kaneka chiefs are medicine-men.</p> +<p>Here then, in widely distant regions, in early European, American, +Melanesian, African societies, we find those factors in religion which +the primitive Aryans are said to have dispensed with, helping to construct +society, rank, property. Is it necessary to add that the ancestral +spirits still ‘rule the present from the past,’ and demand +sacrifice, and speak to ‘him who dreams,’ who, therefore, +is a strong force in society, if not a chief? Mr. Herbert Spencer, +Mr. Tylor, M. Fustel de Coulanges, a dozen others, have made all this +matter of common notoriety. As Hearne the traveller says about +the Copper River Indians, ‘it is almost necessary that they who +rule them should profess something a little supernatural to enable them +to deal with the people.’ The few examples we have given +show how widely, and among what untutored races, the need is felt. +The rudimentary government of early peoples requires, and, by aid of +dreams, necromancy, ‘medicine’ (<i>i.e</i>. fetiches), <i>tapu</i>, +and so forth, obtains, a supernatural sanction.</p> +<p>Where is the supernatural sanction that consecrated the chiefs of +a race which woke to the sense of the existence of infinite beings, +in face of trees, rivers, the dawn, the sun, and had none of the so-called +late and corrupt fetichism that does such useful social work?</p> +<p>To the student of other early societies, Mr. Müller’s +theory of the growth of Aryan religion seems to leave society without +cement, and without the most necessary sanctions. One man is as +good as another, before a tree, a river, a hill. The savage organisers +of other societies found out fetiches and ghosts that were ‘respecters +of persons.’ Zoolatry is intertwisted with the earliest +and most widespread law of prohibited degrees. How did the Hindoos +dispense with the aid of these superstitions? Well, they did not +quite dispense with them. Mr. Max Müller remarks, almost +on his last page (376), that ‘in India also . . . the thoughts +and feelings about those whom death had separated from us for a time, +supplied some of the earliest and most important elements of religion.’ +If this was the case, surely the presence of those elements and their +influence should have been indicated along with the remarks about the +awfulness of trees and the suggestiveness of rivers. Is nothing +said about the spirits of the dead and their cult in the Vedas? +Much is said, of course. But, were it otherwise, then other elements +of savage religion may also have been neglected there, and it will be +impossible to argue that fetichism did not exist because it is not mentioned. +It will also be impossible to admit that the ‘Hibbert Lectures’ +give more than a one-sided account of the Origin of Indian Religion.</p> +<p>The perusal of Mr. Max Müller’s book deeply impresses +one with the necessity of studying early religions and early societies +simultaneously. If it be true that early Indian religion lacked +precisely those superstitions, so childish, so grotesque, and yet so +useful, which we find at work in contemporary tribes, and which we read +of in history, the discovery is even more remarkable and important than +the author of the ‘Hibbert Lectures’ seems to suppose. +It is scarcely necessary to repeat that the negative evidence of the +Vedas, the religious utterances of sages, made in a time of what we +might call ‘heroic culture,’ can never disprove the existence +of superstitions which, if current in the former experience of the race, +the hymnists, as Barth observes, would intentionally ignore. Our +object has been to defend the ‘primitiveness of fetichism.’ +By this we do not mean to express any opinion as to whether fetichism +(in the strictest sense of the word) was or was not earlier than totemism, +than the worship of the dead, or than the involuntary sense of awe and +terror with which certain vast phenomena may have affected the earliest +men. We only claim for the powerful and ubiquitous practices of +fetichism a place <i>among</i> the early elements of religion, and insist +that what is so universal has not yet been shown to be ‘a corruption’ +of something older and purer.</p> +<p>One remark of Mr. Max Müller’s fortifies these opinions. +If fetichism be indeed one of the earliest factors of faith in the supernatural; +if it be, in its rudest forms, most powerful in proportion to other +elements of faith among the least cultivated races (and <i>that</i> +Mr. Müller will probably allow)—among what class of cultivated +peoples will it longest hold its ground? Clearly, among the least +cultivated, among the fishermen, the shepherds of lonely districts, +the peasants of outlying lands—in short, among the <i>people</i>. +Neglected by sacred poets in the culminating period of purity in religion, +it will linger among the superstitions of the rustics. There is +no real break in the continuity of peasant life; the modern folklore +is (in many points) the savage ritual. Now Mr. Müller, when +he was minimising the existence of fetichism in the Rig Veda (the oldest +collection of hymns), admitted its existence in the Âtharva<i>n</i>a +(p. 60). <a name="citation241"></a><a href="#footnote241">{241}</a> +On p. 151, we read ‘the Atharva-veda-Sanhita is a later collection, +containing, besides a large number of Rig Veda verses, <i>some curious +relics of popular poetry connected with charms</i>, <i>imprecations</i>, +<i>and other superstitious usages</i>.’ The italics are +mine, and are meant to emphasise this fact:—When we leave the +sages, the Rishis, and look at what is <i>popular</i>, look at what +that class believed which of savage practice has everywhere retained +so much, we are at once among the charms and the fetiches! This +is precisely what one would have expected. If the history of religion +and of mythology is to be unravelled, we must examine what the unprogressive +classes in Europe have in common with Australians, and Bushmen, and +Andaman Islanders. It is the function of the people to retain +in folklore these elements of religion, which it is the high duty of +the sage and the poet to purify away in the fire of refining thought. +It is for this very reason that <i>ritual</i> has (though Mr. Max Müller +curiously says that it seems not to possess) an immense scientific interest. +Ritual holds on, with the tenacity of superstition, to all that has +ever been practised. Yet, when Mr. Müller wants to know about +<i>origins</i>, about actual ancient <i>practice</i>, he deliberately +turns to that ‘great collection of ancient poetry’ (the +Rig Veda) ‘which has no special reference to sacrificial acts,’ +not to the Brahmanas which are full of ritual.</p> +<p>To sum up briefly:—(1) Mr. Müller’s arguments against +the evidence for, and the primitiveness of, fetichism seem to demonstrate +the opposite of that which he intends them to prove. (2) His own +evidence for <i>primitive</i> practice is chosen from the documents +of a <i>cultivated</i> society. (3) His theory deprives that society +of the very influences which have elsewhere helped the Tribe, the Family, +Rank, and Priesthoods to grow up, and to form the backbone of social +existence.</p> +<h2>THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE FAMILY.</h2> +<p>What are the original forms of the human family? Did man begin +by being monogamous or polygamous, but, in either case, the master of +his own home and the assured central point of his family relations? +Or were the unions of the sexes originally shifting and precarious, +so that the wisest child was not expected to know his own father, and +family ties were reckoned through the mother alone? Again (setting +aside the question of what was ‘primitive’ and ‘original’), +did the needs and barbarous habits of early men lead to a scarcity of +women, and hence to polyandry (that is, the marriage of one woman to +several men), with the consequent uncertainty about male parentage? +Once more, admitting that these loose and strange relations of the sexes +do prevail, or have prevailed, among savages, is there any reason to +suppose that the stronger races, the Aryan and Semitic stocks, ever +passed through this stage of savage customs? These are the main +questions debated between what we may call the ‘historical’ +and the ‘anthropological’ students of ancient customs.</p> +<p>When Sir Henry Maine observed, in 1861, that it was difficult to +say what society of men had <i>not been</i>, originally, based on the +patriarchal family, he went, of course, outside the domain of history. +What occurred in the very origin of human society is a question perhaps +quite inscrutable. Certainly, history cannot furnish the answer. +Here the anthropologist and physiologist come in with their methods, +and even those, we think, can throw but an uncertain light on the very +‘origin’ of institutions, and on strictly primitive man.</p> +<p>For the purposes of this discussion, we shall here re-state the chief +points at issue between the adherents of Sir Henry Maine and of Mr. +M’Lennan, between historical and anthropological inquirers.</p> +<p>1. Did man <i>originally</i> live in the patriarchal family, +or did he live in more or less modified promiscuity, with uncertainty +of blood-ties, and especially of male parentage?</p> +<p>2. Did circumstances and customs at some time compel or induce +man (whatever his <i>original</i> condition) to resort to practices +which made paternity uncertain, and so caused kinship to be reckoned +through women?</p> +<p>3. Granting that some races have been thus reduced to matriarchal +forms of the family—that is, to forms in which the woman is the +permanent recognised centre—is there any reason to suppose that +the stronger peoples, like the Aryans and the Semites, ever passed through +a stage of culture in which female, not male, kinship was chiefly recognised, +probably as a result of polyandry, of many husbands to one wife?</p> +<p>On this third question, it will be necessary to produce much evidence +of very different sorts: evidence which, at best, can perhaps only warrant +an inference, or presumption, in favour of one or the other opinion. +For the moment, the impartial examination of testimony is more important +and practicable than the establishment of any theory.</p> +<p>(1.) Did man <i>originally</i> live in the patriarchal family, +the male being master of his female mate or mates, and of his children? +On this first point Sir Henry Maine, in his new volume, <a name="citation247a"></a><a href="#footnote247a">{247a}</a> +may be said to come as near proving his case as the nature and matter +of the question will permit. Bachofen, M’Lennan, and Morgan, +all started from a hypothetical state of more or less modified sexual +promiscuity. Bachofen’s evidence (which may be referred +to later) was based on a great mass of legends, myths, and travellers’ +tales, chiefly about early Aryan practices. He discovered <i>Hetärismus</i>, +as he called it, or promiscuity, among Lydians, Etruscans, Persians, +Thracians, Cyrenian nomads, Egyptians, Scythians, Troglodytes, Nasamones, +and so forth. Mr. M’Lennan’s view is, perhaps, less +absolutely stated than Sir Henry Maine supposes. M’Lennan +says <a name="citation247b"></a><a href="#footnote247b">{247b}</a> ‘that +there has been a stage in the development of the human races, when there +was no such appropriation of women to particular men; when, in short, +marriage, <i>as it exists among civilised nations</i>, was not practised. +Marriage, <i>in this sense</i>, was yet undreamt of.’ Mr. +M’Lennan adds (pp. 130, 131), ‘as among other gregarious +animals, the unions of the sexes were probably, in the earliest times, +loose, transitory, and, <i>in some degree</i>, promiscuous.’</p> +<p>Sir Henry Maine opposes to Mr. M’Lennan’s theory the +statement of Mr. Darwin: ‘From all we know of the passions of +all male quadrupeds, promiscuous intercourse in a state of Nature is +highly improbable.’ <a name="citation248"></a><a href="#footnote248">{248}</a> +On this first question, let us grant to Sir Henry Maine, to Mr. Darwin, +and to common sense that if the very earliest men were extremely animal +in character, their unions while they lasted were probably monogamous +or polygamous. The sexual jealousy of the male would secure that +result, as it does among many other animals. Let the first point, +then, be scored to Sir Henry Maine: let it be granted that if man was +created perfect, he lived in the monogamous family before the Fall: +and that, if he was evolved as an animal, the unchecked animal instincts +would make for monogamy or patriarchal polygamy in the strictly primitive +family.</p> +<p>(2.) Did circumstances and customs ever or anywhere compel +or induce man (whatever his original condition) to resort to practices +which made paternity uncertain, and so caused the absence of the patriarchal +family, kinship being reckoned through women? If this question +be answered in the affirmative, and if the sphere of action of the various +causes be made wide enough, it will not matter much to Mr. M’Lennan’s +theory whether the strictly primitive family was patriarchal or not. +If there occurred a fall from the primitive family, and if that fall +was extremely general, affecting even the Aryan race, Mr. M’Lennan’s +adherents will be amply satisfied. Their object is to show that +the family, even in the Aryan race, was developed through a stage of +loose savage connections. If that can be shown, they do not care +much about primitive man properly so called. Sir Henry Maine admits, +as a matter of fact, that among certain races, in certain districts, +circumstances have overridden the sexual jealousy which secures the +recognition of male parentage. Where women have been few, and +where poverty has been great, jealousy has been suppressed, even in +the Venice of the eighteenth century. Sir H. Maine says, ‘The +usage’ (that of polyandry—many husbands to a single wife) +‘seems to me one which circumstances overpowering morality and +decency might at any time call into existence. It is known to +have arisen in the native Indian army.’ The question now +is, what are the circumstances that overpower morality and decency, +and so produce polyandry, with its necessary consequences, when it is +a recognised institution—the absence of the patriarchal family, +and the recognition of kinship through women? Any circumstances +which cause great scarcity of women will conduce to those results. +Mr. M’Lennan’s opinion was, that the chief cause of scarcity +of women has been the custom of female infanticide—of killing +little girls as <i>bouches inutiles</i>. Sir Henry Maine admits +that ‘the cause assigned by M’Lennan is a <i>vera causa</i>—it +is capable of producing the effects.’ <a name="citation249"></a><a href="#footnote249">{249}</a> +Mr. M’Lennan collected a very large mass of testimony to prove +the wide existence of this cause of paucity of women. Till that +evidence is published, I can only say that it was sufficient, in Mr. +M’Lennan’s opinion, to demonstrate the wide prevalence of +the factor which is the mainspring of his whole system. <a name="citation250a"></a><a href="#footnote250a">{250a}</a> +How frightfully female infanticide has prevailed in India, everyone +may read in the official reports of Col. M’Pherson, and other +English authorities. Mr. Fison’s ‘Kamilaroi and Kurnai’ +contains some notable, though not to my mind convincing, arguments on +the other side. Sir Henry Maine adduces another cause of paucity +of women: the wanderings of our race, and expeditions across sea. <a name="citation250b"></a><a href="#footnote250b">{250b}</a> +This cause would not, however, be important enough to alter forms of +kinship, where the invaders (like the early English in Britain) found +a population which they could conquer and whose women they could appropriate.</p> +<p>Apart from any probable inferences that may be drawn from the presumed +practice of female infanticide, actual ascertained facts prove that +many races do not now live, or that recently they did not live, in the +patriarchal or modern family. They live, or did live, in polyandrous +associations. The Thibetans, the Nairs, the early inhabitants +of Britain (according to Cæsar), and many other races, <a name="citation251"></a><a href="#footnote251">{251}</a> +as well as the inhabitants of the Marquesas Islands, and the Iroquois +(according to Lafitau), practise, or have practised, polyandry.</p> +<p>We now approach the third and really important problem—(3.) +Is there any reason to suppose that the stronger peoples, like the Aryans +and the Semites, ever passed through a stage of culture in which female, +not male, kinship was chiefly recognised, probably as a result of polyandry?</p> +<p>Now the nature of the evidence which affords a presumption that Aryans +have all passed through Australian institutions such as polyandry, is +of extremely varied character. Much of it may undoubtedly be explained +away. But such strength as the evidence has (which we do not wish +to exaggerate) is derived from its convergence to one point—namely, +the anterior existence of polyandry and the matriarchal family among +Aryans before and after the dawn of real history.</p> +<p>For the sake of distinctness we may here number the heads of the +evidence bearing on this question. We have—</p> +<p>1. The evidence of inference from the form of capture in bridal +ceremonies.</p> +<p>2. The evidence from exogamy: the law which forbids marriage +between persons of the same family name.</p> +<p>3. The evidence from totemism—that is, the derivation +of the family name and crest or badge, from some natural object, plant +or animal. <a name="citation252"></a><a href="#footnote252">{252}</a> +Persons bearing the name may not intermarry, nor, as a rule, may they +eat the object from which they derive their family name and from which +they claim to be descended.</p> +<p>4. The evidence from the <i>gens</i> of Rome, or yενος +of ancient Greece, in connection with Totemism.</p> +<p>5. The evidence from myth and legend.</p> +<p>6. The evidence from direct historical statements as to the +prevalence of the matriarchal family, and inheritance through the maternal +line.</p> +<p>To take these various testimonies in their order, let us begin with</p> +<p>(1.) The form of capture in bridal ceremonies. That this +form survived in Sparta, Crete, in Hindoo law, in the traditions of +Ireland, in the popular rustic customs of Wales, is not denied.</p> +<p>If we hold, with Mr. M’Lennan, that scarcity of women (produced +by female infanticide or otherwise) is the cause of the habit of capturing +wives, we may see, in survivals of this ceremony of capture among Aryans, +a proof of early scarcity of women, and of probable polyandry. +But an opponent may argue, like Mr. J. A. Farrer in ‘Primitive +Manners,’ that the ceremony of capture is mainly a concession +to maiden modesty among early races. Here one may observe that +the girls of savage tribes are notoriously profligate and immodest about +illicit connections. Only honourable marriage brings a blush to +the cheek of these young persons. This is odd, but, in the present +state of the question, we cannot lean on the evidence of the ceremony +of capture. We cannot demonstrate that it is derived from a time +when paucity of women made capture of brides necessary. Thus ‘honours +are easy’ in this first deal.</p> +<p>(2.) The next indication is very curious, and requires much +more prolonged discussion. The custom of <i>Exogamy</i> was first +noted and named by Mr. M’Lennan. Exogamy is the prohibition +of marriage within the supposed blood-kinship, as denoted by the family +name. Such marriage, among many backward races, is reckoned incestuous, +and is punishable by death. Certain peculiarities in connection +with the family name have to be noted later. Now, Sir Henry Maine +admits that exogamy, as thus defined, exists among the Hindoos. +‘A Hindoo may not marry a woman belonging to the same <i>gotra</i>, +all members of the <i>gotra</i> being theoretically supposed to have +descended from the same ancestor.’ The same rule prevails +in China. ‘There are in China large bodies of related clansmen, +each generally bearing the same clan-name. They are exogamous; +no man will marry a woman having the same clan-name with himself.’ +It is admitted by Sir Henry Maine that this wide prohibition of marriage +was the early Aryan rule, while advancing civilisation has gradually +permitted marriage within limits once forbidden. The Greek Church +now (according to Mr. M’Lennan), and the Catholic Church in the +past, forbade intermarriages ‘as far as relationship could be +known.’ The Hindoo rule appears to go still farther, and +to prohibit marriage as far as the common <i>gotra</i> name seems merely +to indicate relationship.</p> +<p>As to the ancient Romans, Plutarch says: Formerly they did not marry +women connected with them by blood, any more than they now marry aunts +or sisters. It was long before they would even intermarry with +cousins.’ Plutarch also remarks that, in times past, Romans +did not marry συyyενιδας, +and if we may render this ‘women of the same <i>gens</i>,’ +the exogamous prohibition in Rome was as complete as among the Hindoos. +I do not quite gather from Sir Henry Maine’s account of the Slavonic +house communities (pp. 254, 255) whether they dislike <i>all</i> kindred +marriages, or only marriage within the ‘greater blood’—that +is, within the kinship on the male side. He says: ‘The South +Slavonians bring their wives into the group, in which they are socially +organised, from a considerable distance outside. . . . Every marriage +which requires an ecclesiastical dispensation is regarded as disreputable.’</p> +<p>On the whole, wide prohibitions of marriage are archaic: the widest +are savage; the narrowest are modern and civilised. Thus the Hindoo +prohibition is old, barbarous, and wide. ‘The barbarous +Aryan,’ says Sir Henry Maine, ‘is generally exogamous. +He has a most extensive table of prohibited degrees.’ Thus +exogamy seems to be a survival of barbarism. The question for +us is, Can we call exogamy a survival from a period when (owing to scarcity +of women and polyandry) clear ideas of kinship were impossible? +If this can be proved, exogamous Aryans either passed through polyandrous +institutions, or borrowed a savage custom derived from a period when +ideas of kinship were obscure.</p> +<p>If we only knew the origin of the prohibition to marry within the +family name all would be plain sailing. At present several theories +of the origin of exogamy are before the world. Mr. Morgan, the +author of ‘Ancient Society,’ inclines to trace the prohibition +to a great early physiological discovery, acted on by primitive men +by virtue of a <i>contrat social</i>. Early man discovered that +children of unsound constitutions were born of nearly related parents. +Mr. Morgan says: ‘Primitive men very early discovered the evils +of close interbreeding.’ Elsewhere Mr. Morgan writes: ‘Intermarriage +in the <i>gens</i> was prohibited, to secure the benefits of marrying +out with unrelated persons.’ This arrangement was ‘a +product of high intelligence,’ and Mr. Morgan calls it a ‘reform.’</p> +<p>Let us examine this very curious theory. First: Mr. Morgan +supposes early man to have made a discovery (the evils of the marriage +of near kin) which evades modern physiological science. Modern +science has not determined that the marriages of kinsfolk are pernicious. +Is it credible that savages should discover a fact which puzzles science? +It may be replied that modern care, nursing, and medical art save children +of near marriages from results which were pernicious to the children +of early man. Secondly: Mr. Morgan supposes that barbarous man +(so notoriously reckless of the morrow as he is), not only made the +discovery of the evils of interbreeding, but acted on it with promptitude +and self-denial. Thirdly: Mr. Morgan seems to require, for the +enforcement of the exogamous law, a <i>contrat social</i>. The +larger communities meet, and divide themselves into smaller groups, +within which wedlock is forbidden. This ‘social pact’ +is like a return to the ideas of Rousseau. Fourthly: The hypothesis +credits early men with knowledge and discrimination of near degrees +of kin, which they might well possess if they lived in patriarchal families. +But it represents that they did not act on their knowledge. Instead +of prohibiting marriage between parents and children, cousins, nephews +and aunts, uncles and nieces, they prohibited marriage within the limit +of the name of the kin. This is still the Hindoo rule, and, if +the Romans really might not at one time marry within the <i>gens</i>, +it was the Roman rule. Now observe, this rule fails to effect +the very purpose for which <i>ex hypothesi</i> it was instituted. +Where the family name goes by the male side, marriages between cousins +are permitted, as in India and China. These are the very marriages +which some theorists now denounce as pernicious. But, if the family +name goes by the female side, marriages between half-brothers and half-sisters +are permitted, as in ancient Athens and among the Hebrews of Abraham’s +time. Once more, the exogamous prohibition excludes, in China, +America, Africa, Australia, persons who are in no way akin (according +to our ideas) from intermarriage. Thus Mr. Doolittle writes: <a name="citation256"></a><a href="#footnote256">{256}</a> +‘Males and females of the same surname will never intermarry in +China. Cousins who have not the same ancestral surname may intermarry. +Though the ancestors of persons of the same surname have not known each +other for thousands of years, they may not intermarry.’ +The Hindoo <i>gotra</i> rule produces the same effects.</p> +<p>For all these reasons, and because of the improbability of the physiological +discovery, and of the moral ‘reform’ which enforced it; +and again, because the law is not of the sort which people acquainted +with near degrees of kinship would make; and once more, because the +law fails to effect its presumed purpose, while it does attain ends +at which it does not aim—we cannot accept Mr. Morgan’s suggestion +as to the origin of exogamy. Mr. M’Lennan did not live to +publish a subtle theory of the origin of exogamy, which he had elaborated. +In ‘Studies in Ancient History,’ he hazarded a conjecture +based on female infanticide:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘We believe the restrictions on marriage to be +connected with the practice in early times of female infanticide, which, +rendering women scarce, led at once to polyandry within the tribe, and +the capturing of women from without. . . . Hence the cruel custom +which, leaving the primitive human hordes with very few young women +of their own, occasionally with none, and in any case seriously disturbing +the balance of the sexes within the hordes, forces them to prey upon +one another for wives. Usage, induced by necessity, would in time +establish a prejudice among the tribes observing it, a prejudice strong +as a principle of religion—as every prejudice relating to marriage +is apt to be—against marrying women of their own stock.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. M’Lennan describes his own hypothesis as ‘a suggestion +thrown out at what it was worth.’ <a name="citation258"></a><a href="#footnote258">{258}</a> +In his later years, as we have said, he developed a very subtle and +ingenious theory of the origin of exogamy, still connecting it with +scarcity of women, but making use of various supposed stages and processes +in the development of the law. That speculation remains unpublished. +To myself, the suggestion given in ‘Studies in Ancient History’ +seems inadequate. I find it difficult to conceive that the frequent +habit of stealing women should indispose men to marry the native women +they had at hand. That this indisposition should grow into a positive +law, and the infringement of the law be regarded as a capital offence, +seems still more inconceivable. My own impression is, that exogamy +may be connected with some early superstition or idea of which we have +lost the touch, and which we can no longer explain.</p> +<p>Thus far, the consideration of exogamy has thrown no clear light +on the main question—the question whether the customs of civilised +races contain relics of female kinship. On Sir Henry Maine’s +theory of exogamy, that Aryan custom is unconnected with female kinship, +polyandry, and scarcity of women. On Mr. M’Lennan’s +theory, exogamy is the result of scarcity of women, and implies polyandry +and female kinship. But neither theory has seemed satisfactory. +Yet we need not despair of extracting some evidence from exogamy, and +that evidence, on the whole, is in favour of Mr. M’Lennan’s +general hypothesis. (1.) The exogamous prohibition must have first +come into force <i>when kinship was only reckoned on one side of the +family</i>. This is obvious, whether we suppose it to have arisen +in a society which reckoned by male or by female kinship. In the +former case, the law only prohibits marriage with persons of the father’s, +in the second case with persons of the mother’s, family name, +and these only it recognises as kindred. (2.) Our second point +is much more important. The exogamous prohibition must first have +come into force <i>when kinship was so little understood that it could +best be denoted by the family name</i>. This would be self-evident, +if we could suppose the prohibition to be intended to prevent marriages +of relations. Had the authors of the prohibition been acquainted +with the nature of near kinships, they would simply (as we do) have +forbidden marriage between persons in those degrees. The very +nature of the prohibition, on the other hand, shows that kinship was +understood in a manner all unlike our modern system. The limit +of kindred was everywhere the family name: a limit which excludes many +real kinsfolk and includes many who are not kinsfolk at all. In +Australia especially, and in America, India, and Africa, to a slighter +extent, that definition of kindred by the family name actually includes +alligators, smoke, paddy melons, rain, crayfish, sardines, and what +you please. <a name="citation259"></a><a href="#footnote259">{259}</a> +Will anyone assert, then, that people among whom the exogamous prohibition +arose were organised on the system of the patriarchal family, which +permits the nature of kinship to be readily understood at a glance? +Is it not plain that the exogamous prohibition (confessedly Aryan) must +have arisen in a stage of culture when ideas of kindred were confused, +included kinship with animals and plants, and were to us almost, if +not quite, unintelligible? It is even possible, as Mr. M’Lennan +says, <a name="citation260"></a><a href="#footnote260">{260}</a> ‘that +the prejudice against marrying women of the same group may have been +established <i>before the facts of blood relationship had made any deep +impression on the human mind</i>.’ How the exogamous prohibition +tends to confirm this view will next be set forth in our consideration +of <i>Totemism.</i></p> +<p><i>The Evidence from Totemism</i>.—Totemism is the name for +the custom by which a stock (scattered through many local tribes) claims +descent from and kindred with some plant, animal, or other natural object. +This object, of which the effigy is sometimes worn as a badge or crest, +members of the stock refuse to eat. As a general rule, marriage +is prohibited between members of the stock—between all, that is, +who claim descent from the same object and wear the same badge. +The exogamous limit, therefore, is denoted by the stock-name and crest, +and kinship is kinship in the wolf, bear, potato, or whatever other +object is recognised as the original ancestor. Finally, as a general +rule, the stock-name is derived through the mother, and where it is +derived through the father there are proofs that the custom is comparatively +modern. It will be acknowledged that this sort of kindred, which +is traced to a beast, bird, or tree, which is recognised in every person +bearing the same stock-name, which is counted through females, and which +governs marriage customs, is not the sort of kindred which would naturally +arise among people regulated on the patriarchal or monandrous family +system. Totemism, however, is a widespread institution prevailing +all over the north of the American continent, also in Peru (according +to Garcilasso de la Vega); in Guiana (the negroes have brought it from +the African Gold Coast, where it is in full force, as it also is among +the Bechuanas); in India among Hos, Garos, Kassos, and Oraons; in the +South Sea Islands, where it has left strong traces in Mangaia; in Siberia, +and especially in the great island continent of Australia. The +Semitic evidences for totemism (animal-worship, exogamy, descent claimed +through females) are given by Professor Robertson Smith, in the ‘Journal +of Philology,’ ix. 17, ‘Animal Worship and Animal Tribes +among the Arabs, and in the Old Testament.’ Many other examples +of totemism might be adduced (especially from Egypt), but we must restrict +ourselves to the following questions:—</p> +<p>(1.) What light is thrown on the original form of the family +by totemism? (2.) Where we find survivals of totemism among civilised +races, may we conclude that these races (through scarcity of women) +had once been organised on other than the patriarchal model?</p> +<p>As to the first question, we must remember that the origin and determining +causes of totemism are still unknown. Mr. M’Lennan’s +theory of the origin of totemism has never been published. It +may be said without indiscretion that Mr. M’Lennan thought totemism +arose at a period when ideas of kinship scarcely existed at all. +‘Men only thought of marking one off from another,’ as Garcilasso +de la Vega says: the totem was but a badge worn by all the persons who +found themselves existing in close relations; perhaps in the same cave +or set of caves. People united by contiguity, and by the blind +sentiment of kinship not yet brought into explicit consciousness, might +mark themselves by a badge, and might thence derive a name, and, later, +might invent a myth of their descent from the object which the badge +represented. I do not know whether it has been observed that the +totems are, as a rule, objects which may be easily drawn or tattooed, +and still more easily indicated in gesture-language. Some interesting +facts will be found in the ‘First Annual Report of the Bureau +of Ethnology,’ p. 458 (Washington, 1881). Here we read how +the ‘Crow’ tribe is indicated in sign-language by ‘the +hands held out on each side, striking the air in the manner of flying.’ +The Bunaks (another bird tribe) are indicated by an imitation of the +cry of the bird. In mentioning the Snakes, the hand imitates the +crawling motion of the serpent, and the fingers pointed up behind the +ear denote the Wolves. Plainly names of the totem sort are well +suited to the convenience of savages, who converse much in gesture-language. +Above all, the very nature of totemism shows that it took its present +shape at a time when men, animals, and plants were conceived of as physically +akin; when names were handed on through the female line; when exogamy +was the rule of marriage, and when the family theoretically included +all persons bearing the same family name, that is, all who claimed kindred +with the same plant, animal, or object, whether the persons are really +akin or not. These ideas and customs are not the ideas natural +to men organised in the patriarchal family.</p> +<p>The second question now arises: Can we infer from survivals of totemism +among Aryans that these Aryans had once been organised on the full totemistic +principle, probably with polyandry, and certainly with female descent? +Where totemism now exists in full force, there we find exogamy and derivation +of the family name through women, the latter custom indicating uncertainty +of male parentage in the past. Are we to believe that the same +institutions have existed wherever we find survivals of totemism? +If this be granted, and if the supposed survivals of totemism among +Aryans be accepted as genuine, then the Aryans have distinctly come +through a period of kinship reckoned through women, with all that such +an institution implies. For indications that the Aryans of Greece +and India have passed through the stage of totemism, the reader may +be referred to Mr. M’Lennan’s ‘Worship of Plants and +Animals’ (‘Fortnightly Review,’ 1869, 1870). +The evidence there adduced is not all of the same value, and the papers +are only a hasty rough sketch based on the first testimonies that came +to hand. Probably the most important ‘survival’ of +totemism in Greek legend is the body of stories about the amours of +Zeus in animal form. Various noble houses traced their origin +to Zeus or Apollo, who, as a bull, tortoise, serpent, swan, or ant, +had seduced the mother of the race. The mother of the Arcadians +became a she-bear, like the mother of the bear stock of the Iroquois. +As we know plenty of races all over the world who trace their descent +from serpents, tortoises, swans, and so forth, it is a fair hypothesis +that the ancestors of the Greeks once believed in the same fables. +In later times the swan, serpent, ant, or tortoise was explained as +an <i>avatar</i> of Zeus. The process by which an anthropomorphic +god or hero succeeds to the exploits of animals, of theriomorphic gods +and heroes, is the most common in mythology, and is illustrated by actual +practice in modern India. When the Brahmins convert a pig-worshipping +tribe of aboriginals, they tell their proselytes that the pig was an +avatar of Vishnu. The same process is found active where the Japanese +have influenced the savage Ainos, and persuaded them that their bear- +or dog-father was a manifestation of a deity. We know from Plutarch +(‘Theseus’) that, in addition to families claiming descent +from divine animals, one Athenian yενος, the +Ioxidæ, revered an ancestral plant, the asparagus. A vaguer +indication of totemism may perhaps be detected in the ancient theriomorphic +statues of Greek gods, as the Ram-Zeus and the Horse-headed Demeter, +and in the various animals and plants which were sacred to each god +and represented as his companions.</p> +<p>The hints of totemism among the ancient Irish are interesting. +One hero, Conaire, was the son of a bird, and before his birth his father +(the bird) told the woman (his mother) that the child must never eat +the flesh of fowls. ‘Thy son shall be named Conaire, and +that son shall not kill birds.’ <a name="citation265a"></a><a href="#footnote265a">{265a}</a> +The hero Cuchullain, being named after the dog, might not eat the flesh +of the dog, and came by his ruin after transgressing this totemistic +taboo. Races named after animals were common in ancient Ireland. +The red-deer and the wolves were tribes dwelling near Ossory, and Professor +Rhys, from the frequency of dog names, inclines to believe in a dog +totem in Erin. According to the ancient Irish ‘Wonders of +Eri,’ in the ‘Book of Glendaloch,’ ‘the descendants +of the wolf are in Ossory,’ and they could still transform themselves +into wolves. <a name="citation265b"></a><a href="#footnote265b">{265b}</a> +As to our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, there is little evidence beyond the +fact that the patronymic names of many of the early settlements of Billings, +Arlings, and the rest, are undeniably derived from animals and plants. +The manner in which those names are scattered locally is precisely like +what results in America, Africa, and Australia from the totemistic organisation. +<a name="citation265c"></a><a href="#footnote265c">{265c}</a> +In Italy the ancient custom by which animals were the leaders of the +<i>Ver sacrum</i> or armed migration is well known. The Piceni +had for their familiar animal or totem (if we may call it so) a woodpecker; +the Hirpini were like the ‘descendants of the wolf’ in Ossory, +and practised a wolf-dance in which they imitated the actions of the +animal.</p> +<p>Such is a summary of the evidence which shows that Aryans had once +been totemists, therefore savages, and therefore, again, had probably +been in a stage when women were scarce and each woman had many husbands.</p> +<p><i>Evidence from the Gens or yενος</i>.—There +is no more puzzling topic in the history of the ancient world than the +origin and nature of the community called by the Romans the <i>gens</i>, +and by the Greeks the yενος. To the +present writer it seems that no existing community of men, neither totem +kin, nor clan, nor house community, nor <i>gotra</i>, precisely answers +to the <i>gens</i> or the yενος. Our +information about these forms of society is slight and confused. +The most essential thing to notice for the moment is the fact that both +in Greece and Rome the yενος and <i>gens</i> +were extremely ancient, so ancient that the yενος +was decaying in Greece when history begins, while in Rome we can distinctly +see the rapid decadence and dissolution of the <i>gens</i>. In +the Laws of the Twelve Tables, the <i>gens</i> is a powerful and respected +corporation. In the time of Cicero the nature of the <i>gens</i> +is a matter but dimly understood. Tacitus begins to be confused +about the gentile nomenclature. In the Empire gentile law fades +away. In Greece, especially at Athens, the early political reforms +transferred power from the yενος to a purely +local organisation, the Deme. The Greek of historical times did +not announce his yενος in his name (as the +Romans always did), but gave his own name, that of his father, and that +of his deme. Thus we may infer that in Greek and Roman society +the yενος and <i>gens</i> were dying, not +growing, organisations. In very early times it is probable that +foreign <i>gentes</i> were adopted <i>en bloc</i> into the Roman Commonwealth. +Very probably, too, a great family, on entering the Roman bond, may +have assumed, by a fiction, the character and name of a <i>gens</i>. +But that Roman society in historical times, or that Greek society, could +evolve a new <i>gens</i> or yενος in a normal +natural way, seems excessively improbable.</p> +<p>Keeping in mind the antique and ‘obsolescent’ character +of the <i>gens</i> and yενος, let us examine +the theories of the origin of these associations. The Romans themselves +knew very little about the matter. Cicero quotes the dictum of +Scævola the Pontifex, according to which the <i>gens</i> consisted +of <i>all persons of the same gentile name</i> who were not in any way +disqualified. <a name="citation267"></a><a href="#footnote267">{267}</a> +Thus, in America, or Australia, or Africa, all persons bearing the same +totem name belong to that totem kin. Festus defines members of +a <i>gens</i> as persons of the same stock and same family name. +Varro says (in illustration of the relationships of words and cases) +‘Ab Æmilio homines orti Æmilii sunt gentiles.’ +The two former definitions answer to the conception of a totem kin, +which is united by its family name and belief in identity of origin. +Varro adds the element, in the Roman <i>gens</i>, of common descent +from one male ancestor. Such was the conception of the <i>gens</i> +in historical times. It was in its way an association of kinsfolk, +real or supposed. According to the Laws of the Twelve Tables the +gentiles inherited the property of an intestate man without agnates, +and had the custody of lunatics in the same circumstances. The +<i>gens</i> had its own <i>sacellum</i> or chapel, and its own <i>sacra</i> +or religious rites. The whole <i>gens</i> occasionally went into +mourning when one of its members was unfortunate. It would be +interesting if it could be shown that the <i>sacra</i> were usually +examples of ancestor-worship, but the faint indications on the subject +scarcely permit us to assert this.</p> +<p>On the whole, Sir Henry Maine strongly clings to the belief that +the <i>gens</i> commonly had ‘a real core of agnatic consanguinity +from the very first.’ But he justly recognises the principle +of imitation, which induces men to copy any fashionable institution. +Whatever the real origin of the <i>gens</i>, many <i>gentes</i> were +probably copies based on the fiction of common ancestry.</p> +<p>On Sir Henry Maine’s system, then, the <i>gens</i> rather proves +the constant existence of recognised male descents among the peoples +where it exists.</p> +<p>The opposite theory of the <i>gens</i> is that to which Mr. M’Lennan +inclined. ‘The composition and organisation of Greek and +Roman tribes and commonwealths cannot well be explained except on the +hypothesis that they resulted from the joint operation, in early times, +of exogamy, and the system of kinship through females only.’ <a name="citation268"></a><a href="#footnote268">{268}</a> +‘The <i>gens</i>’, he adds, ‘was composed of all the +persons in the tribe bearing the same name and accounted of the same +stock. Were the <i>gentes</i> really of different stocks, as their +names would imply and as the people believed? If so, how came +clans of different stocks to be united in the same tribe? . . . +How came a variety of such groups, of different stocks, to coalesce +in a local tribe?’ These questions, Mr. M’Lennan thought, +could not be answered on the patriarchal hypothesis. His own theory, +or rather his theory as understood by the present writer, may be stated +thus. In the earliest times there were homogeneous groups, which +became, totem kin. Let us say that, in a certain district, there +were groups called woodpeckers, wolves, bears, suns, swine, each with +its own little territory. These groups were exogamous, and derived +the name through the mother. Thus, in course of time, when sun +men married a wolf girl, and her children were wolves, there would be +wolves in the territory of the suns, and thus each stock would be scattered +through all the localities, just as we see in Australia and America. +Let us suppose that (as certainly is occurring in Australia and America) +paternal descent comes to be recognised in custom. This change +will not surprise Sir Henry Maine, who admits that a system of male +may alter, under stress of circumstances, to a system of female descents. +In course of time, and as knowledge and common sense advance, the old +superstition of descent from a woodpecker, a bear, a wolf, the sun, +or what not, becomes untenable. A human name is assumed by the +group which had called itself the woodpeckers or the wolves, or perhaps +by a local tribe in which several of these stocks are included. +Then a fictitious human ancestor is adopted, and perhaps even adored. +Thus the wolves might call themselves Claudii, from their chief’s +name, and, giving up belief in descent from a wolf, might look back +to a fancied ancestor named Claudius. The result of these changes +will be that an exogamous totem kin, with female descent, has become +a <i>gens</i>, with male kinship, and only the faintest trace of exogamy. +An example of somewhat similar processes must have occurred in the Highland +clans after the introduction of Christianity, when the chief’s +Christian name became the patronymic of the people who claimed kinship +with him and owned his sway.</p> +<p>Are there any traces at all of totemism in what we know of the Roman +<i>gentes</i>? Certainly the traces are very slight; perhaps they +are only visible to the eye of the intrepid anthropologist. I +give them for what they are worth, merely observing that they do tally, +as far as they go, with the totemistic theory. The reader interested +in the subject may consult the learned Streinnius’s ‘De +Gentibus Romanis,’ p. 104 (Aldus, Venice, 1591).</p> +<p>Among well-known savage totems none is more familiar than the sun. +Men claim descent from the sun, call themselves by his name, and wear +his effigy as a badge. <a name="citation270"></a><a href="#footnote270">{270}</a> +Were there suns in Rome? The Aurelian <i>gens</i> is thus described +on the authority of Festus Pompeius:—’The Aurelii were of +Sabine descent. The Aurelii were so named from the sun (<i>aurum</i>, +<i>urere</i>, the burning thing), because a place was set apart for +them in which to pay adoration to the sun.’ Here, at least, +is an odd coincidence. Among other gentile names, the Fabii, Cornelii, +Papirii, Pinarii, Cassii, are possibly connected with plants; while +wild etymology may associate Porcii, Aquilii, and Valerii with swine +and eagles. Pliny (‘H. N.’ xviii. 3) gives a fantastic +explanation of the vegetable names of Roman <i>gentes</i>. We +must remember that vegetable names are very common in American, Indian, +African, and Australian totem kin. Of sun names the Natchez and +the Incas of Peru are familiar examples. Turning from Rome to +Greece, we find the yενος less regarded and +more decadent than the <i>gens</i>. Yet, according to Grote (iii. +54) the <i>yενος</i> had—(l) <i>sacra</i>, +‘in honour of the same god, supposed to be the primitive ancestor.’ +(2) A common burial-place. (3) Certain rights of succession to +property. (4) Obligations of mutual help and defence. (5) +Mutual rights and obligations to intermarry in certain cases. +(6) Occasionally possession of common property.</p> +<p>Traces of the totem among the Greek yενη are, naturally, +few. Almost all the known yενη bore patronymics +derived from personal names. But it is not without significance +that the Attic demes often adopted the names of obsolescent yενη, +and that those names were, as Mr. Grote says, often ‘derived from +the plants and shrubs which grew in their neighbourhood.’ +We have already seen that at least one Attic yενος, +the Ioxidæ, revered the plant from which they derived their lineage. +One thing is certain, the totem names, and a common explanation of the +totem names in Australia, correspond with the names and Mr. Grote’s +explanation of the names of the Attic demes. ‘One origin +of family names,’ says Sir George Grey (ii. 228), ‘frequently +ascribed by the natives, is that they were derived from some vegetable +or animal being common in the district which the family inhabited.’ +Some writers attempt to show that the Attic yενος +was once exogamous and counted kin on the mother’s side, by quoting +the custom which permitted a man to marry his half-sister, the child +of his father but not of his mother. They infer that this permission +is a survival from the time when a man’s <i>father’s</i> +children were not reckoned as his kindred, and when kinship was counted +through mothers. Sir Henry Maine (p. 105) prefers M. Fustel De +Coulanges’ theory, that the marriage of half-brothers and sisters +on the father’s side was intended to save the portion of the girl +to the family estate. Proof of this may be adduced from examination +of all the recorded cases of such marriages in Athens. But the +reason thus suggested would have equally justified marriage between +brothers and sisters on both sides, and this was reckoned incest. +A well-known line in Aristophanes shows how intense was Athenian feeling +about the impiety of relations with a sister uterine.</p> +<p>On the whole, the evidence which we have adduced tends to establish +some links between the ancient yενος and <i>gens</i>, +and the totem kindreds of savages. The indications are not strong, +but they all point in one direction. Considering the high civilisation +of Rome and Greece at the very dawn of history—considering the +strong natural bent of these peoples toward refinement—it is almost +remarkable that even the slight testimonies we have been considering +should have survived.</p> +<p>(5.) On the evidence from myth and legend we propose to lay +little stress. But, as legends were not invented by anthropologists +to prove a point, it is odd that the traditions of Athens, as preserved +by Varro, speak of a time when names were derived from the mother, and +when promiscuity prevailed. Marriage itself was instituted by +Cecrops, the serpent, just as the lizard, in Australia, is credited +with this useful invention. <a name="citation273a"></a><a href="#footnote273a">{273a}</a> +Similar legends among non-Aryan races, Chinese and Egyptian, are very +common.</p> +<p>(6.) There remains the evidence of actual fact and custom among +Aryan peoples. The Lycians, according to Herodotus, ‘have +this peculiar custom, <i>wherein they resemble no other men</i>, they +derive their names from their mothers, and not from their fathers, and +through mothers reckon their kin.’ Status also was derived +through the mothers. <a name="citation273b"></a><a href="#footnote273b">{273b}</a> +The old writer’s opinion that the custom (so common in Australia, +America, and Africa) was unique, is itself a proof of his good faith. +Bachofen (p. 390) remarks that several Lycian inscriptions give the +names of mothers only. Polybius attributes (assigning a fantastic +reason) the same custom of counting kin through mothers to the Locrians. +<a name="citation273c"></a><a href="#footnote273c">{273c}</a> +The British and Irish custom of deriving descents through women is well +known, <a name="citation273d"></a><a href="#footnote273d">{273d}</a> +and a story is told to account for the practice. The pedigrees +of the British kings show that most did not succeed to their fathers, +and the various records of early Celtic morals go to prove that no other +system of kinship than the maternal would have possessed any value, +so uncertain was fatherhood. These are but hints of the prevalence +of institutions which survived among Teutonic races in the importance +attached to the relationship of a man’s sister’s son. +Though no longer his legal heir, the sister’s son was almost closer +than any other kinsman.</p> +<p>We have now summarised and indicated the nature of the evidence which, +on the whole, inclines us to the belief of Mr. M’Lennan rather +than of Sir Henry Maine. The point to which all the testimony +adduced converges, the explanation which most readily solves all the +difficulties, is the explanation of Mr. M’Lennan. The Aryan +races have very generally passed through the stage of scarcity of women, +polyandry, absence of recognised male kinship, and recognition of kinship +through women. What Sir Henry Maine admits as the exception, we +are inclined to regard as having, in a very remote past, been the rule. +No one kind of evidence—neither traces of marriage by capture, +of exogamy, of totemism, of tradition, of noted fact among Lycians and +Picts and Irish—would alone suffice to guide our opinion in this +direction. But the cumulative force of the testimony strikes us +as not inconsiderable, and it must be remembered that the testimony +has not yet been assiduously collected.</p> +<p>Let us end by showing how this discussion illustrates the method +of Folklore. We have found anomalies among Aryans. We have +seen the <i>gens</i> an odd, decaying institution. We have seen +Greek families claim descent from various animals, said to be Zeus in +disguise. We have found them tracing kinship and deriving names +from the mother. We have found stocks with animal and vegetable +names. We have found half-brothers and sisters marrying. +We have noted prohibition to marry anyone of the same family name. +All these institutions are odd, anomalous, decaying things among Aryans, +and the more civilised the Aryans the more they decay. All of +them are living, active things among savages, and, far from being anomalous, +are in precise harmony with savage notions of the world. Surely, +then, where they seem decaying and anomalous, as among Aryans, these +customs and laws are mouldering relics of ideas and practices natural +and inevitable among savages.</p> +<h2>THE ART OF SAVAGES. <a name="citation276"></a><a href="#footnote276">{276}</a></h2> +<p>‘Avoid Coleridge, he is <i>useless</i>,’ says Mr. Ruskin. +Why should the poetry of Coleridge be useful? The question may +interest the critic, but we are only concerned with Mr. Ruskin here, +for one reason. His disparagement of Coleridge as ‘useless’ +is a survival of the belief that art should be ‘useful.’ +This is the savage’s view of art. He imitates nature, in +dance, song, or in plastic art, for a definite practical purpose. +His dances are magical dances, his images are made for a magical purpose, +his songs are incantations. Thus the theory that art is a disinterested +expression of the imitative faculty is scarcely warranted by the little +we know of art’s beginnings. We shall adopt, provisionally, +the hypothesis that the earliest art with which we are acquainted is +that of savages contemporary or extinct. Some philosophers may +tell us that all known savages are only degraded descendants of early +civilised men who have, unluckily and inexplicably, left no relics of +their civilisation. But we shall argue on the opposite theory, +that the art of Australians, for example, is really earlier in kind, +more backward, nearer the rude beginnings of things, than the art of +people who have attained to some skill in pottery, like the New Caledonians. +These, again, are much more backward, in a state really much earlier, +than the old races of Mexico and Peru; while they, in turn, show but +a few traces of advance towards the art of Egypt; and the art of Egypt, +at least after the times of the Ancient Empire, is scarcely advancing +in the direction of the flawless art of Greece. We shall be able +to show how savage art, as of the Australians, develops into barbarous +art, as of the New Zealanders; while the arts of strange civilisations, +like those of Peru and Mexico, advance one step further; and how, again, +in the early art of Greece, in the Greek art of ages prior to Pericles, +there are remains of barbaric forms which are gradually softened into +beauty. But there are necessarily breaks and solutions of continuity +in the path of progress.</p> +<p>One of the oldest problems has already risen before us in connection +with the question stated—is art the gratification of the imitative +faculty? Now, among the lowest, the most untutored, the worst +equipped savages of contemporary races, art is rather decorative on +the whole than imitative. The patterns on Australian shields and +clubs, the scars which they raise on their own flesh by way of tattooing, +are very rarely imitations of any objects in nature. The Australians, +like the Red Indians, like many African and some aboriginal Indian races, +Peruvians, and others, distinguish their families by the names of various +plants and animals, from which each family boasts its descent. +Thus you have a family called Kangaroos, descended, as they fancy, from +the kangaroo; another from the cockatoo, another from the black snake, +and so forth. Now, in many quarters of the globe, this custom +and this superstition, combined with the imitative faculty in man, has +produced a form of art representing the objects from which the families +claim descent. This art is a sort of rude heraldry—probably +the origin of heraldry. Thus, if a Red Indian (say a Delaware) +is of the family of the Turtle, he blazons a turtle on his shield or +coat, probably tattoos or paints his breast with a figure of a turtle, +and always has a turtle, <i>reversed</i>, designed on the pillar above +his grave when he dies, just as, in our mediæval chronicles, the +leopards of an English king are reversed on his scutcheon opposite the +record of his death. But the Australians, to the best of my knowledge, +though they are much governed by belief in descent from animals, do +not usually blazon their crest on their flesh, nor on the trees near +the place where the dead are buried. They have not arrived at +this pitch of imitative art, though they have invented or inherited +a kind of runes which they notch on sticks, and in which they convey +to each other secret messages. The natives of the Upper Darling, +however, do carve their family crests on their shields. In place +of using imitative art, the Murri are said, I am not quite sure with +what truth, to indicate the distinction of families by arrangements +of patterns, lines and dots, tattooed on the breast and arms, and carved +on the bark of trees near places of burial. In any case, the absence +of the rude imitative art of heraldry among a race which possesses all +the social conditions that produce this art is a fact worth noticing, +and itself proves that the native art of one of the most backward races +we know is not essentially imitative.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/278b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 1. An Australian Shield" src="images/278s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Anyone who will look through a collection of Australian weapons and +utensils will be brought to this conclusion. The shields and the +clubs are elaborately worked, but almost always without any representation +of plants, animals, or the human figure. As a rule the decorations +take the simple shape of the ‘herring-bone’ pattern, or +such other patterns as can be produced without the aid of spirals, or +curves, or circles. There is a natural and necessary cause of +this choice of decoration. The Australians, working on hard wood, +with tools made of flint, or broken glass, or sharp shell, cannot easily +produce any curved lines. Everyone who, when a boy, carved his +name on the bark of a tree, remembers the difficulty he had with S and +G, while he got on easily with letters like M and A, which consist of +straight or inclined lines. The savage artist has the same difficulty +with his rude tools in producing anything like satisfactory curves or +spirals. We engrave above (Fig. 1) a shield on which an Australian +has succeeded, with obvious difficulty, in producing concentric ovals +of irregular shape. It may be that the artist would have produced +perfect circles if he could. His failure is exactly like that +of a youthful carver of inscriptions coming to grief over his G’s +and S’s. Here, however (Fig. 2), we have three shields which, +like the ancient Celtic pipkin (the tallest of the three figures in +Fig. 3), show the earliest known form of savage decorative art—the +forms which survive under the names of ‘chevron’ and ‘herring-bone.’ +These can be scratched on clay with the nails, or a sharp stick, and +this primeval way of decorating pottery made without the wheel survives, +with other relics of savage art, in the western isles of Scotland. +The Australian had not even learned to make rude clay pipkins, but he +decorated his shields as the old Celts and modern old Scotch women decorated +their clay pots, with the herring-bone arrangement of incised lines. +In the matter of colour the Australians prefer white clay and red ochre, +which they rub into the chinks in the woodwork of their shields. +When they are determined on an ambush, they paint themselves all over +with white, justly conceiving that their sudden apparition in this guise +will strike terror into the boldest hearts. But arrangements in +black and white of this sort scarcely deserve the name of even rudimentary +art.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/280b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 2. Shields" src="images/280s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/282b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 3. Savage Ornamentation" src="images/282s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The Australians sometimes introduce crude decorative attempts at +designing the human figure, as in the pointed shield opposite (Fig. +2, <i>a</i>), which, with the other Australian designs, are from Mr. +Brough Smyth’s ‘Aborigines of Victoria.’ But +these ambitious efforts usually end in failure. Though the Australians +chiefly confine themselves to decorative art, there are numbers of wall-paintings, +so to speak, in the caves of the country which prove that they, like +the Bushmen, could design the human figure in action when they pleased. +Their usual preference for the employment of patterns appears to me +to be the result of the nature of their materials. In modern art +our mechanical advantages and facilities are so great that we are always +carrying the method and manner of one art over the frontier of another. +Our poetry aims at producing the effects of music; our prose at producing +the effects of poetry. Our sculpture tries to vie with painting +in the representation of action, or with lace-making in the production +of reticulated surfaces, and so forth. But the savage, in his +art, has sense enough to confine himself to the sort of work for which +his materials are fitted. Set him in the bush with no implements +and materials but a bit of broken shell and a lump of hard wood, and +he confines himself to decorative scratches. Place the black in +the large cave which Pundjel, the Australian Zeus, inhabited when on +earth (as Zeus inhabited the cave in Crete), and give the black plenty +of red and white ochre and charcoal, and he will paint the human figure +in action on the rocky walls. Later, we will return to the cave-paintings +of the Australians and the Bushmen in South Africa. At present +we must trace purely decorative art a little further. But we must +remember that there was once a race apparently in much the same social +condition as the Australians, but far more advanced and ingenious in +art. The earliest men of the European Continent, about whom we +know much, the men whose bones and whose weapons are found beneath the +gravel-drift, the men who were contemporary with the rhinoceros, mammoth, +and cave-bear, were not further advanced in material civilisation than +the Australians. They used weapons of bone, of unpolished stone, +and probably of hard wood. But the remnants of their art, the +scraps of mammoth or reindeer bone in our museums, prove that they had +a most spirited style of sketching from the life. In a collection +of drawings on bone (probably designed with a flint or a shell), drawings +by palæolithic man, in the British Museum, I have only observed +one purely decorative attempt. Even in this the decoration resembles +an effort to use the outlines of foliage for ornamental purposes. +In almost all the other cases the palæolithic artist has not decorated +his bits of bone in the usual savage manner, but has treated his bone +as an artist treats his sketch-book, and has scratched outlines of beasts +and fishes with his sharp shell as an artist uses his point. These +ancient bones, in short, are the sketch-books of European savages, whose +untaught skill was far greater than that of the Australians, or even +of the Eskimo. When brought into contact with Europeans, the Australian +and Eskimo very quickly, even without regular teaching, learn to draw +with some spirit and skill. In the Australian stele, or grave-pillar, +which we have engraved (Fig. 4), the shapeless figures below the men +and animals are the dead, and the <i>boilyas</i> or ghosts. Observe +the patterns in the interstices. The artist had lived with Europeans. +In their original conditions, however, the Australians have not attained +to such free, artist-like, and unhampered use of their rude materials +as the mysterious European artists who drew the mammoth that walked +abroad amongst them.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/283b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 4. An Australian Stele" src="images/283s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>We have engraved one solitary Australian attempt at drawing curved +lines. The New Zealanders, a race far more highly endowed, and, +when Europeans arrived amongst them, already far more civilised than +the Australians, had, like the Australians, no metal implements. +But their stone weapons were harder and keener, and with these they +engraved the various spirals and coils on hard wood, of which we give +examples here. It is sometimes said that New Zealand culture and +art have filtered from some Asiatic source, and that in the coils and +spirals designed, as in our engravings, on the face of the Maori chief, +or on his wooden furniture, there may be found debased Asiatic influences. +<a name="citation286"></a><a href="#footnote286">{286}</a> This +is one of the questions which we can hardly deal with here. Perhaps +its solution requires more of knowledge, anthropological and linguistic, +than is at present within the reach of any student. Assuredly +the races of the earth have wandered far, and have been wonderfully +intermixed, and have left the traces of their passage here and there +on sculptured stones, and in the keeping of the ghosts that haunt ancient +grave-steads. But when two pieces of artistic work, one civilised, +one savage, resemble each other, it is always dangerous to suppose that +the resemblance bears witness to relationship or contact between the +races, or to influences imported by one from the other. New Zealand +work may be Asiatic in origin, and debased by the effect of centuries +of lower civilisation and ruder implements. Or Asiatic ornament +may be a form of art improved out of ruder forms, like those to which +the New Zealanders have already attained. One is sometimes almost +tempted to regard the favourite Maori spiral as an imitation of the +form, not unlike that of a bishop’s crozier at the top, taken +by the great native ferns. Examples of resemblance, to be accounted +for by the development of a crude early idea, may be traced most easily +in the early pottery of Greece. No one says that the Greeks borrowed +from the civilised people of America. Only a few enthusiasts say +that the civilised peoples of America, especially the Peruvians, are +Aryan by race. Yet the remains of Peruvian palaces are often by +no means dissimilar in style from the ‘Pelasgic’ and ‘Cyclopean’ +buildings of gigantic stones which remain on such ancient Hellenic sites +as Argos and Mycenæ. The probability is that men living +in similar social conditions, and using similar implements, have unconsciously +and unintentionally arrived at like results.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/285b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig 5. a, A Maori Design; b, Tattoo on a Maori’s face" src="images/285s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Few people who are interested in the question can afford to visit +Peru and Mycenæ and study the architecture for themselves. +But anyone who is interested in the strange identity of the human mind +everywhere, and in the necessary forms of early art, can go to the British +Museum and examine the American and early Greek pottery. Compare +the Greek key pattern and the wave pattern on Greek and Mexican vases, +and compare the bird-faces, or human faces very like those of birds, +with the similar faces on the clay pots which Dr. Schliemann dug up +at Troy. The latter are engraved in his book on Troy. Compare +the so-called ‘cuttle-fish’ from a Peruvian jar with the +same figure on the early Greek vases, most of which are to be found +in the last of the classical vase-rooms upstairs. Once more, compare +the little clay ‘whorls’ of the Mexican and Peruvian room +with those which Dr. Schliemann found so numerous at Hissarlik. +The conviction becomes irresistible that all these objects, in shape, +in purpose, in character of decoration, are the same, because the mind +and the materials of men, in their early stages of civilisation especially, +are the same everywhere. You might introduce old Greek bits of +clay-work, figures or vases, into a Peruvian collection, or might foist +Mexican objects among the clay treasures of Hissarlik, and the wisest +archæologist would be deceived. The Greek fret pattern especially +seems to be one of the earliest that men learnt to draw. The <i>svastika</i>, +as it is called, the cross with lines at right angles to each limb, +is found everywhere—in India, Greece, Scotland, Peru—as +a natural bit of ornament. The allegorising fancy of the Indians +gave it a mystic meaning, and the learned have built I know not what +worlds of religious theories on this ‘pre-Christian cross,’ +which is probably a piece of hasty decorative work, with no original +mystic meaning at all. <a name="citation289"></a><a href="#footnote289">{289}</a> +Ornaments of this sort were transferred from wood or bone to clay, almost +as soon as people learned that early art, the potter’s, to which +the Australians have not attained, though it was familiar to the not +distant people of New Caledonia. The style of spirals and curves, +again, once acquired (as it was by the New Zealanders), became the favourite +of some races, especially of the Celtic. Any one who will study +either the ornaments of Mycenæ, or those of any old Scotch or +Irish collection, will readily recognise in that art the development +of a system of ornament like that of the Maoris. Classical Greece, +on the other hand, followed more in the track of the ancient system +of straight and slanted lines, and we do not find in the later Greek +art that love of interlacing coils and spirals which is so remarkable +among the Celts, and which is very manifest in the ornaments of the +Mycænean hoards—that is, perhaps, of the ancient Greek heroic +age. The causes of these differences in the development of ornament, +the causes that made Celtic genius follow one track, and pursue to its +æsthetic limits one early <i>motif</i>, while classical art went +on a severer line, it is, perhaps, impossible at present to ascertain. +But it is plain enough that later art has done little more than develop +ideas of ornament already familiar to untutored races.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/287b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 6. From a Maori’s Face" src="images/287s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It has been shown that the art which aims at decoration is better +adapted to both the purposes and materials of savages than the art which +aims at representation. As a rule, the materials of the lower +savages are their own bodies (which they naturally desire to make beautiful +for ever by tattooing), and the hard substances of which they fashion +their tools and weapons. These hard substances, when worked on +with cutting instruments of stone or shell, are most easily adorned +with straight cut lines, and spirals are therefore found to be, on the +whole, a comparatively late form of ornament.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/290b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 7. Bushman Dog" src="images/290s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>We have now to discuss the efforts of the savage to represent. +Here, again, we have to consider the purpose which animates him, and +the materials which are at his service. His pictures have a practical +purpose, and do not spring from what we are apt, perhaps too hastily, +to consider the innate love of imitation for its own sake. In +modern art, in modern times, no doubt the desire to imitate nature, +by painting or sculpture, has become almost an innate impulse, an in-born +instinct. But there must be some ‘reason why’ for +this; and it does not seem at all unlikely that we inherit the love, +the disinterested love, of imitative art from very remote ancestors, +whose habits of imitation had a direct, interested, and practical purpose. +The member of Parliament who mimics the crowing of a cock during debate, +or the street boy who beguiles his leisure by barking like a dog, has +a disinterested pleasure in the exercise of his skill; but advanced +thinkers seem pretty well agreed that the first men who imitated the +voices of dogs, and cocks, and other animals, did not do so merely for +fun, but with the practical purpose of indicating to their companions +the approach of these creatures. Such were the rude beginnings +of human language: and whether that theory be correct or not, there +are certainly practical reasons which impel the savage to attempt imitative +art. I doubt if there are many savage races which do not use representative +art for the purposes of writing—that is, to communicate information +to persons whom they cannot reach by the voice, and to assist the memory, +which, in a savage, is perhaps not very strong. To take examples. +A savage man meets a savage maid. She does not speak his language, +nor he hers. How are they to know whether, according to the marriage +laws of their race, they are lawful mates for each other? This +important question is settled by an inspection of their tattooed marks. +If a Thlinkeet man of the Swan stock meets an Iroquois maid of the Swan +stock they cannot speak to each other, and the ‘gesture language’ +is cumbrous. But if both are tattooed with the swan, then the +man knows that this daughter of the swan is not for him. He could +no more marry her than Helen of Troy could have married Castor, the +tamer of horses. Both are children of the Swan, as were Helen +and Castor, and must regard each other as brother and sister. +The case of the Thlinkeet man and the Iroquois maid is extremely unlikely +to occur; but I give it as an example of the practical use among savages, +of representative art.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/293b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 8. Red Indian Picture-Writing - The Legend of Manabozho" src="images/293s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Among the uses of art for conveying intelligence we notice that even +the Australians have what the Greeks would have called the σκυταλη, +a staff on which inscriptions, legible to the Aborigines, are engraven. +I believe, however, that the Australian σκυταλη +is not usually marked with picture-writing, but with notches—even +more difficult to decipher. As an example of Red Indian picture-writing +we publish a scroll from Kohl’s book on the natives of North America. +This rude work of art, though the reader may think little of it, is +really a document as important in its way as the Chaldæan clay +tablets inscribed with the record of the Deluge. The coarsely-drawn +figures recall, to the artist’s mind, much of the myth of Manabozho, +the Prometheus and the Deucalion, the Cain and the Noah of the dwellers +by the great lake. Manabozho was a great chief, who had two wives +that quarrelled. The two stumpy half-figures (4) represent the +wives; the mound between them is the displeasure of Manabozho. +Further on (5) you see him caught up between two trees—an unpleasant +fix, from which the wolves and squirrels refused to extricate him. +The kind of pyramid with a figure at top (8) is a mountain, on which +when the flood came, Manabozho placed his grandmother to be out of the +water’s way. The somewhat similar object is Manabozho himself, +on the top of his mountain. The animals you next behold (10) were +sent out by Manabozho to ascertain how the deluge was faring, and to +carry messages to his grandmother. This scroll was drawn, probably +on birch bark, by a Red Man of literary attainments, who gave it to +Kohl (in its lower right-hand corner (11) he has pictured the event), +that he might never forget the story of the Manabozhian deluge. +The Red Indians have always, as far as European knowledge goes, been +in the habit of using this picture-writing for the purpose of retaining +their legends, poems, and incantations. It is unnecessary to say +that the picture-writing of Mexico and the hieroglyphics of ancient +Egypt are derived from the same savage processes. I must observe +that the hasty indications of the figure used in picture-writing are +by no means to be regarded as measures of the Red Men’s skill +in art. They can draw much better than the artist who recorded +the Manabozhian legend, when they please.</p> +<p>In addition to picture-writing, Religion has fostered savage representative +art. If a man worships a lizard or a bear, he finds it convenient +to have an amulet or idol representing a bear or a lizard. If +one adores a lizard or a bear, one is likely to think that prayer and +acts of worship addressed to an image of the animal will please the +animal himself, and make him propitious. Thus the art of making +little portable figures of various worshipful beings is fostered, and +the craft of working in wood or ivory is born. As a rule, the +savage is satisfied with excessively rude representations of his gods. +Objects of this kind—rude hewn blocks of stone and wood—were +the most sacred effigies of the gods in Greece, and were kept in the +dimmest recesses of the temple. No Demeter wrought by the craft +of Phidias would have appeared so holy to the Phigalians as the strange +old figure of the goddess with the head of a mare. The earliest +Greek sacred sculptures that remain are scarcely, if at all, more advanced +in art than the idols of the naked Admiralty Islanders. But this +is anticipating; in the meantime it may be said that among the sources +of savage representative art are the need of something like writing, +and ideas suggested by nascent religion.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/295b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 9. Bushman Wall-Painting" src="images/295s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The singular wall-picture (Fig. 9) from a cave in South Africa, which +we copy from the ‘Cape Monthly Magazine,’ probably represents +a magical ceremony. Bushmen are tempting a great water animal—a +rhinoceros, or something of that sort—to run across the land, +for the purpose of producing rain. The connection of ideas is +scarcely apparent to civilised minds, but it is not more indistinct +than the connection between carrying a bit of the rope with which a +man has been hanged and success at cards—a common French superstition. +The Bushman cave-pictures, like those of Australia, are painted in black, +red, and white. Savages, like the Assyrians and the early Greeks, +and like children, draw animals much better than the human figure. +The Bushman dog in our little engraving (Fig. 7) is all alive—almost +as full of life as the dog which accompanies the centaur Chiron, in +that beautiful vase in the British Museum which represents the fostering +of Achilles. The Bushman wall-paintings, like those of Australia, +seem to prove that savage art is capable of considerable freedom, when +supplied with fitting materials. Men seem to draw better when +they have pigments and a flat surface of rock to work upon, than when +they are scratching on hard wood with a sharp edge of a broken shell. +Though the thing has little to do with art, it may be worth mentioning, +as a matter of curiosity, that the labyrinthine Australian caves are +decorated, here and there, with the mark of a red hand. The same +mysterious, or at least unexplained, red hand is impressed on the walls +of the ruined palaces and temples of Yucatan—the work of a vanished +people.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/297b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 10. Palælithic art" src="images/297s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>There is one singular fact in the history of savage art which reminds +us that savages, like civilised men, have various degrees of culture +and various artistic capacities. The oldest inhabitants of Europe +who have left any traces of their lives and handiwork must have been +savages. Their tools and weapons were not even formed of polished +stone, but of rough-hewn flint. The people who used tools of this +sort must necessarily have enjoyed but a scanty mechanical equipment, +and the life they lived in caves from which they had to drive the cave-bear, +and among snows where they stalked the reindeer and the mammoth, must +have been very rough. These earliest known Europeans, ‘palæolithic +men,’ as they called, from their use of the ancient unpolished +stone weapons, appear to have inhabited the countries now known as France +and England, before the great Age of Ice. This makes their date +one of incalculable antiquity; they are removed from us by a ‘dark +backward and abysm of time.’ The whole Age of Ice, the dateless +period of the polishers of stone weapons, the arrival of men using weapons +of bronze, the time which sufficed to change the climate and fauna and +flora of Western Europe, lie between us and palæolithic man. +Yet in him we must recognise a skill more akin to the spirit of modern +art than is found in any other savage race. Palæolithic +man, like other savages, decorated his weapons; but, as I have already +said, he did not usually decorate them in the common savage manner with +ornamental patterns. He scratched on bits of bone spirited representations +of all the animals whose remains are found mixed with his own. +He designed the large-headed horse of that period, and science inclines +to believe that he drew the breed correctly. His sketches of the +mammoth, the reindeer, the bear, and of many fishes, may be seen in +the British Museum, or engraved in such works as Professor Boyd Dawkins’s +‘Early Man in Britain.’ The object from which our +next illustration (Fig. 12) was engraved represents a deer, and was +a knife-handle. Eyes at all trained in art can readily observe +the wonderful spirit and freedom of these ancient sketches. They +are the rapid characteristic work of true artists who know instinctively +what to select and what to sacrifice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/299b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig 12. Palæolithic art - a knife-handle" src="images/299s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Some learned men, Mr. Boyd Dawkins among them, believe that the Eskimo, +that stunted hunting and fishing race of the Western Arctic circle, +are descendants of the palæolithic sketchers, and retain their +artistic qualities. Other inquirers, with Mr. Geikie and Dr. Wilson, +do not believe in this pedigree of the Eskimo. I speak not with +authority, but the submission of ignorance, and as one who has no right +to an opinion about these deep matters of geology and ethnology. +But to me, Mr. Geikie’s arguments appear distinctly the more convincing, +and I cannot think it demonstrated that the Eskimo are descended from +our old palæolithic artists. But if Mr. Boyd Dawkins is +right, if the Eskimo derive their lineage from the artists of the Dordogne, +then the Eskimo are sadly degenerated. In Mr. Dawkins’s +‘Early Man’ is an Eskimo drawing of a reindeer hunt, and +a palæolithic sketch of a reindeer; these (by permission of the +author and Messrs. Macmillan) we reproduce. Look at the vigour +and life of the ancient drawing—the feathering hair on the deer’s +breast, his head, his horns, the very grasses at his feet, are touched +with the graver of a true artist (Fig. 14). The design is like +a hasty memorandum of Leech’s. Then compare the stiff formality +of the modern Eskimo drawing (Fig. 13). It is rather like a record, +a piece of picture-writing, than a free sketch, a rapid representation +of what is most characteristic in nature. Clearly, if the Eskimo +come from palæolithic man, they are a degenerate race as far as +art is concerned. Yet, as may be seen in Dr. Rink’s books, +the Eskimo show considerable skill when they have become acquainted +with European methods and models, and they have at any rate a greater +natural gift for design than the Red Indians, of whose sacred art the +Thunderbird brooding over page 298 is a fair example. The Red +Men believe in big birds which produce thunder. Quahteaht, the +Adam of Vancouver’s Island, married one, and this (Fig. 11) is +she.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/298b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 11. Red Indian art - the Thunderbird" src="images/298s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/300b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 13. Eskimo Drawing - A Reindeer hunt" src="images/300s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/301b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 14. Palæolithic sketch - a reindeer" src="images/301s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>We have tried to show how savage decorative art supplied the first +ideas of patterns which were developed in various ways by the decorative +art of advancing civilisation. The same progress might be detected +in representative art. Books, like the guide-book to ancient Greece +which Pausanias wrote before the glory had quite departed, prove that +the Greek temples were museums in which the development of art might +be clearly traced. Furthest back in the series of images of gods +came things like that large stone which was given to Cronus when he +wished to swallow his infant child Zeus, and which he afterwards vomited +up with his living progeny. This fetich-stone was preserved at +Delphi. Next came wild bulks of beast-headed gods, like the horse-headed +Demeter of Phigalia, and it seems possible enough that there was an +Artemis with the head of a she-bear. Gradually the bestial characteristics +dropped, and there appeared such rude anthropomorphic images of Apollo—more +like South Sea idols than the archer prince—as are now preserved +in Athens. Next we have the stage of semi-savage realism, which +is represented by the metopes of Selinus in Sicily, now in the British +Museum, and by not a few gems and pieces of gold work. Greek temples +have fallen, and the statues of the gods exist only in scattered fragments. +But in the representative collection of casts belonging to the Cambridge +Archæological Museum, one may trace the career of Greek art backwards +from Phidias to the rude idol.</p> +<p>‘Savage realism’ is the result of a desire to represent +an object as it is known to be, and not as it appears. Thus Catlin, +among the Red Indians, found that the people refused to be drawn in +profile. They knew they had two eyes, and in profile they seemed +only to have one. Look at the Selinus marbles, and you will observe +that figures, of which the body is seen in profile, have the full face +turned to the spectator. Again, the savage knows that an animal +has two sides; both, he thinks, should be represented, but he cannot +foreshorten, and he finds the profile view easiest to draw. To +satisfy his need of realism he draws a beast’s head full-face, +and gives to the one head two bodies drawn in profile. Examples +of this are frequent in very archaic Greek gems and gold work, and Mr. +A. S. Murray suggests (as I understand him) that the attitude of the +two famous lions, which guarded vainly Agamemnon’s gate at Mycenæ, +is derived from the archaic double-bodied and single-headed beast of +savage realism. Very good examples of these oddities may be found +in the ‘Journal of the Hellenic Society,’ 1881, pl. xv. +Here are double-bodied and single headed birds, monsters, and sphinxes. +We engrave (Fig. 15) three Greek gems from the islands as examples of +savagery in early Greek art. In the oblong gem the archers are +rather below the Red Indian standard of design. The hunter figured +in the first gem is almost up to the Bushman mark. In his dress +ethnologists will recognise an arrangement now common among the natives +of New Caledonia. In the third gem the woman between two swans +may be Leda, or she may represent Leto in Delos. Observe the amazing +rudeness of the design, and note the modern waist and crinoline. +The artists who engraved these gems on hard stone had, of necessity, +much better tools than any savages possess, but their art was truly +savage. To discover how Greek art climbed in a couple of centuries +from this coarse and childish work to the grace of the Ægina marbles, +and thence to the absolute freedom and perfect unapproachable beauty +of the work of Phidias, is one of the most singular problems in the +history of art. Greece learned something, no doubt, from her early +knowledge of the arts the priests of Assyria and Egypt had elaborated +in the valleys of the Euphrates and the Nile. That might account +for a swift progress from savage to formal and hieratic art; but whence +sprang the inspiration which led her so swiftly on to art that is perfectly +free, natural, and god-like? It is a mystery of race, and of a +divine gift. ‘The heavenly gods have given it to mortals.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/303b.jpg"> +<img alt="Fig. 15. Archaic Greek Gems" src="images/303s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote3a"></a><a href="#citation3a">{3a}</a> Compare +De Cara: <i>Essame Critico</i>, xx. i.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3b"></a><a href="#citation3b">{3b}</a> <i>Revue +de l’Hist. des Rel</i>. ii. 136.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> <i>Sprachvergleichung +und Urgeschichte</i>, p. 431.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> <i>Prim. +Cult</i>. i. 394.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11a"></a><a href="#citation11a">{11a}</a> +A study of the contemporary stone age in Scotland will be found in Mitchell’s +<i>Past and Present.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote11b"></a><a href="#citation11b">{11b}</a> +About twenty years ago, the widow of an Irish farmer, in Derry, killed +her deceased husband’s horse. When remonstrated with by +her landlord, she said, ‘Would you have my man go about on foot +in the next world?’ She was quite in the savage intellectual +stage.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> At +the solemn festival suppers, ordained for the honour of the gods, they +forget not to serve up certain dishes of young whelp’s flesh. +(Pliny, <i>H. N</i>. xxix. 4.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> Nov. +1880.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18">{18}</a> ‘Ah, +once again may I plant the great fan on her corn-heap, while she stands +smiling by, Demeter of the threshing floor, with sheaves and poppies +in her hands’ (Theocritus, vii. 155-157).</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20">{20}</a> <i>Odyssey</i>, +xi. 32.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28">{28}</a> <i>Rev. +de l’Hist. des Rel</i>., vol. ii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33">{33}</a> Pausanias, +iii. 15. When the boys were being cruelly scourged, the priestess +of Artemis Orthia held an ancient barbaric wooden image of the goddess +in her hands. If the boys were spared, the image grew heavy; the +more they were tortured, the lighter grew the image. In Samoa +the image (shark’s teeth) of the god Taema is consulted before +battle. ‘If it felt heavy, that was a bad omen; if light, +the sign was good’—the god was pleased (Turner’s <i>Samoa</i>, +p. 55).</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/35b.jpg"> +<img alt="Bull-roarer" src="images/35s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34">{34}</a> <i>Kamilaroi +and Kurnai</i>, p. 268.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> Fison, +<i>Journal Anthrop. Soc</i>., Nov. 1883.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36a"></a><a href="#citation36a">{36a}</a> +Taylor’s <i>New Zealand</i>, p. 181.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36b"></a><a href="#citation36b">{36b}</a> +This is not the view of le Père Lafitau, a learned Jesuit missionary +in North America, who wrote (1724) a work on savage manners, compared +with the manners of heathen antiquity. Lafitau, who was greatly +struck with the resemblances between Greek and Iroquois or Carib initiations, +takes Servius’s other explanation of the <i>mystica vannus</i>, +‘an osier vessel containing rural offerings of first fruits.’ +This exactly answers, says Lafitau, to the Carib <i>Matoutou</i>, on +which they offer sacred cassava cakes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37">{37}</a> The +Century Magazine, May 1883.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39">{39}</a> Κωνος +ξυλαριον ου +εξηπται το σπαρτιον +και εν ταις τελεταις +εδονειτο ινα +ροιζη. Lobeck, <i>Aglaophamus</i> (i. +p. 700).</p> +<p><a name="footnote40a"></a><a href="#citation40a">{40a}</a> +<i>De Corona</i>, p. 313.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40b"></a><a href="#citation40b">{40b}</a> +<i>Savage Africa</i>. Captain Smith, the lover of Pocahontas, +mentions the custom in his work on Virginia, pp. 245-248.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40c"></a><a href="#citation40c">{40c}</a> +Brough Smyth, i. 60, using evidence of Howitt, Taplin, Thomas, and Wilhelmi.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41a"></a><a href="#citation41a">{41a}</a> +Kamilaroi and Kurnai, p. 214.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41b"></a><a href="#citation41b">{41b}</a> +Περι ορχησεως, +c. 15.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42">{42}</a> Cape +Monthly Magazine, July 1874.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44">{44}</a> Wallace, +<i>Travels on the Amazon</i>, p. 349.</p> +<p><a name="footnote46a"></a><a href="#citation46a">{46a}</a> +<i>New Zealand</i>, Taylor, pp. 119-121. <i>Die heilige Sage der +Polynesier</i>, Bastian, pp. 36-39.</p> +<p><a name="footnote46b"></a><a href="#citation46b">{46b}</a> +A crowd of similar myths, in one of which a serpent severs Heaven and +Earth, are printed in Turner’s <i>Samoa.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48">{48}</a> The +translation used is Jowett’s.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49a"></a><a href="#citation49a">{49a}</a> +<i>Theog</i>., 166.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49b"></a><a href="#citation49b">{49b}</a> +Apollodorus, i. 15.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50a"></a><a href="#citation50a">{50a}</a> +<i>Primitive Culture</i>, i. 325.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50b"></a><a href="#citation50b">{50b}</a> +Pauthier, <i>Livres sacrés de l’Orient</i>, p. 19.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50c"></a><a href="#citation50c">{50c}</a> +Muir’s <i>Sanskrit Texts</i>, v. 23. Aitareya Brahmana.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52a"></a><a href="#citation52a">{52a}</a> +Hesiod, <i>Theog</i>., 497.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52b"></a><a href="#citation52b">{52b}</a> +Paus. x. 24.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54a"></a><a href="#citation54a">{54a}</a> +Bleek, <i>Bushman Folklore</i>, pp. 6-8.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54b"></a><a href="#citation54b">{54b}</a> +Theal, <i>Kaffir Folklore</i>, pp. 161-167.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54c"></a><a href="#citation54c">{54c}</a> +Brough Smith, i. 432-433.</p> +<p><a name="footnote55a"></a><a href="#citation55a">{55a}</a> +i. 338.</p> +<p><a name="footnote55b"></a><a href="#citation55b">{55b}</a> +<i>Rel. de la Nouvelle-France</i> (1636), p. 114.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56"></a><a href="#citation56">{56}</a> Codrington, +in <i>Journal Anthrop. Inst</i>. Feb. 1881. There is a Breton +<i>Märchen</i> of a land where people had to ‘bring the Dawn’ +daily with carts and horses. A boy, whose sole property was a +cock, sold it to the people of this country for a large sum, and now +the cock brings the dawn, with a great saving of trouble and expense. +The <i>Märchen</i> is a survival of the state of mind of the Solomon +Islanders.</p> +<p><a name="footnote58a"></a><a href="#citation58a">{58a}</a> +<i>Selected Essays</i>, i. 460.</p> +<p><a name="footnote58b"></a><a href="#citation58b">{58b}</a> +<i>Ibid</i>. i. 311.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59">{59}</a> <i>Ueber +Entwicklungsstufen der Mythenbildung</i> (1874), p. 148.</p> +<p><a name="footnote60a"></a><a href="#citation60a">{60a}</a> +ii. 127.</p> +<p><a name="footnote60b"></a><a href="#citation60b">{60b}</a> +<i>G. D. M</i>., ii. 127, 129.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61a"></a><a href="#citation61a">{61a}</a> +<i>Gr. My</i>., i. 144.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61b"></a><a href="#citation61b">{61b}</a> +<i>De Abst</i>., ii. 202, 197.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61c"></a><a href="#citation61c">{61c}</a> +<i>Rel. und Myth</i>., ii. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61d"></a><a href="#citation61d">{61d}</a> +<i>Ursprung der Myth</i>., pp. 133, 135, 139, 149.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62a"></a><a href="#citation62a">{62a}</a> +<i>Contemporary Review</i>, Sept. 1883.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62b"></a><a href="#citation62b">{62b}</a> +<i>Rev. de l’Hist. rel</i>. i. 179.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65">{65}</a> That +Pururavas is regarded as a mortal man, in relations with some sort of +spiritual mistress, appears from the poem itself (v. 8, 9, 18). +The human character of Pururavas also appears in R. V. i. 31, 4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66a"></a><a href="#citation66a">{66a}</a> +<i>Selected Essays</i>, i. 408.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66b"></a><a href="#citation66b">{66b}</a> +The Apsaras is an ideally beautiful fairy woman, something ‘between +the high gods and the lower grotesque beings,’ with ‘lotus +eyes’ and other agreeable characteristics. A list of Apsaras +known by name is given in Meyer’s <i>Gandharven-Kentauren</i>, +p. 28. They are often regarded as cloud-maidens by mythologists.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68"></a><a href="#citation68">{68}</a> <i>Selected +Essays</i>, i. p. 405.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69a"></a><a href="#citation69a">{69a}</a> +Cf. <i>ruber</i>, <i>rufus</i>, O. H. G. <i>rôt</i>, <i>rudhira</i>, +<i>ερυθρος</i>; also Sanskrit, +<i>ravi</i>, sun.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69b"></a><a href="#citation69b">{69b}</a> +<i>Myth. Ar. Nat</i>., ii. 81.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69c"></a><a href="#citation69c">{69c}</a> +R. V. iii. 29, 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69d"></a><a href="#citation69d">{69d}</a> +The passage alluded to in Homer does not mean that dawn ‘ends’ +the day, but ‘when the fair-tressed Dawn brought the full light +of the third day’ (<i>Od</i>., v. 390).</p> +<p><a name="footnote70a"></a><a href="#citation70a">{70a}</a> +Liebrecht (<i>Zur Volkskunde</i>, 241) is reminded by Pururavas (in +Roth’s sense of <i>der Brüller</i>) of loud-thundering Zeus, +εριyδουπος<i>.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote70b"></a><a href="#citation70b">{70b}</a> +<i>Herabkunft des Fetters</i>, p. 86-89.</p> +<p><a name="footnote71"></a><a href="#citation71">{71}</a> Liebrecht +(<i>Zur Volkskunde</i>, p. 241) notices the reference to the ‘custom +of women.’ But he thinks the clause a mere makeshift, introduced +late to account for a prohibition of which the real meaning had been +forgotten. The improbability of this view is indicated by the +frequency of similar prohibitions in actual custom.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72">{72}</a> Astley, +<i>Collection of Voyages</i>, ii. 24. This is given by Bluet and +Moore on the evidence of one Job Ben Solomon, a native of Bunda in Futa. +‘Though Job had a daughter by his last wife, yet he never saw +her without her veil, as having been married to her only two years.’ +Excellently as this prohibition suits my theory, yet I confess I do +not like Job’s security.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73a"></a><a href="#citation73a">{73a}</a> +Brough Smyth, i. 423.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73b"></a><a href="#citation73b">{73b}</a> +Bowen, <i>Central Africa</i>, p. 303.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73c"></a><a href="#citation73c">{73c}</a> +Lafitau, i. 576.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73d"></a><a href="#citation73d">{73d}</a> +Lubbock, <i>Origin of Civilisation</i> (1875), p. 75.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74a"></a><a href="#citation74a">{74a}</a> +<i>Chansons Pop. Bulg</i>., p. 172.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74b"></a><a href="#citation74b">{74b}</a> +<i>Lectures on Language</i>, Second Series, p. 41.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75a"></a><a href="#citation75a">{75a}</a> +J. A. Farrer, <i>Primitive Manners</i>, p. 202, quoting Seemann.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75b"></a><a href="#citation75b">{75b}</a> +Sébillot, <i>Contes Pop. de la Haute-Bretagne</i>, p. 183.</p> +<p><a name="footnote76a"></a><a href="#citation76a">{76a}</a> +Gervase of Tilbury.</p> +<p><a name="footnote76b"></a><a href="#citation76b">{76b}</a> +Kuhn, <i>Herabkunft</i>, p. 92.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77">{77}</a> <i>Chips</i>, +ii. 251.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80a"></a><a href="#citation80a">{80a}</a> +<i>Kitchi Gami</i>, p. 105.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80b"></a><a href="#citation80b">{80b}</a> +The sun-frog occurs seven times in Sir G. W: Cox’s <i>Mythology +of the Aryan Peoples</i>, and is used as an example to prove that animals +in myth are usually the sun, like Bheki, ‘the sun-frog.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote81a"></a><a href="#citation81a">{81a}</a> +Dalton’s <i>Ethnol. of Bengal</i>, pp. 165, 166.</p> +<p><a name="footnote81b"></a><a href="#citation81b">{81b}</a> +Taylor, <i>New Zealand</i>, p. 143.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82a"></a><a href="#citation82a">{82a}</a> +Liebrecht gives a Hindoo example, <i>Zur Volkskunde</i>, p. 239.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82b"></a><a href="#citation82b">{82b}</a> +<i>Cymmrodor</i>, iv. pt. 2.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82c"></a><a href="#citation82c">{82c}</a> +<i>Prim. Cult</i>., i. 140.</p> +<p><a name="footnote83a"></a><a href="#citation83a">{83a}</a> +Primitive Manners, p. 256.</p> +<p><a name="footnote83b"></a><a href="#citation83b">{83b}</a> +See Meyer,<i> Gandharven-Kentauren</i>, Benfey, <i>Pantsch</i>., i. +263.</p> +<p><a name="footnote84a"></a><a href="#citation84a">{84a}</a> +<i>Selected Essays</i>, i. 411.</p> +<p><a name="footnote84b"></a><a href="#citation84b">{84b}</a> +<i>Callaway</i>, p. 63.</p> +<p><a name="footnote84c"></a><a href="#citation84c">{84c}</a> +<i>Ibid</i>., p. 119.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87"></a><a href="#citation87">{87}</a> <i>Primitive +Culture</i>, i. 357: ‘The savage sees individual stars as animate +beings, or combines star-groups into living celestial creatures, or +limbs of them, or objects connected with them.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88">{88}</a> This +formula occurs among Bushmen and Eskimo (Bleek and Rink).</p> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92">{92}</a> The +events of the flight are recorded correctly in the Gaelic variant ‘The +Battle of the Birds.’ (Campbell, <i>Tales of the West Highlands</i>, +vol. i. p. 25.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote93a"></a><a href="#citation93a">{93a}</a> +Ralston, <i>Russian Folk Tales</i>, 132; Köhler, <i>Orient und +Occident</i>, ii. 107, 114.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93b"></a><a href="#citation93b">{93b}</a> +<i>Ko ti ki</i>, p. 36.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93c"></a><a href="#citation93c">{93c}</a> +Callaway, pp. 51, 53, 64, 145, 228.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93d"></a><a href="#citation93d">{93d}</a> +See also ‘Petrosinella’ in the <i>Pentamerone</i>, and ‘The +Mastermaid’ in Dasent’s <i>Tales from the Norse.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote93e"></a><a href="#citation93e">{93e}</a> +<i>Folk-Lore Journal</i>, August 1883.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95">{95}</a> <i>Poetæ +Minores Gr</i>. ii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96"></a><a href="#citation96">{96}</a> <i>Mythol. +Ar</i>., ii. 150.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97a"></a><a href="#citation97a">{97a}</a> +<i>Gr. My</i>., ii. 318.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97b"></a><a href="#citation97b">{97b}</a> +<i>Sonne</i>, <i>Mond und Sterne</i>, pp. 213, 229.</p> +<p><a name="footnote99a"></a><a href="#citation99a">{99a}</a> +This proves that the tale belongs to the pre-Christian cannibal age.</p> +<p><a name="footnote99b"></a><a href="#citation99b">{99b}</a> +Turner’s <i>Samoa</i>, p. 102. In this tale only the names +of the daughters are translated; they mean ‘white fish’ +and ‘dark fish.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote99c"></a><a href="#citation99c">{99c}</a> +<i>Folk-Lore Journal</i>, August 1883.</p> +<p><a name="footnote101"></a><a href="#citation101">{101}</a> +Schoolcraft, <i>Algic Researches</i>, ii. 94-104.</p> +<p><a name="footnote102a"></a><a href="#citation102a">{102a}</a> +<i>Nature</i>, March 14, 1884.</p> +<p><a name="footnote102b"></a><a href="#citation102b">{102b}</a> +The earlier part of the Jason cycle is analysed in the author’s +preface to Grimm’s <i>Märchen</i> (Bell & Sons).</p> +<p><a name="footnote104a"></a><a href="#citation104a">{104a}</a> +<i>Comm. Real</i>. i. 75.</p> +<p><a name="footnote104b"></a><a href="#citation104b">{104b}</a> +See Early History of the Family, infra.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105a"></a><a href="#citation105a">{105a}</a> +The names <i>Totem</i> and <i>Totemism</i> have been in use at least +since 1792, among writers on the North American tribes. Prof. +Max Müller (<i>Academy</i>, Jan. 1884) says the word should be, +not <i>Totem</i>, but <i>Ote</i> or <i>Otem</i>. Long, an interpreter +among the Indians, introduced the word <i>Totamism</i> in 1792.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105b"></a><a href="#citation105b">{105b}</a> +Christoval de Moluna (1570), p. 5.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105c"></a><a href="#citation105c">{105c}</a> +Cieza de Leon, p. 183.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105d"></a><a href="#citation105d">{105d}</a> +<i>Idyll</i> xv.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107">{107}</a> +Sayce, <i>Herodotos</i>, p. 344; Herodotus, ii. 42; Wilkinson’s +<i>Ancient Egyptians</i> (1878, ii. 475, note 2); Plutarch, <i>De Is. +et Os</i>., 71, 72; Athenæus, vii. 299; Strabo, xvii. 813.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a">{108a}</a> +The Mouse, according to Dalton, is still a totem among the Oraons of +Bengal. A man of the Mouse ‘motherhood,’ as the totem +kindred is locally styled, may not eat mice (esteemed a delicacy), nor +marry a girl who is a Mouse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b">{108b}</a> +xiii. 604. Casaub. 1620.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108c"></a><a href="#citation108c">{108c}</a> +There were Sminthiac feasts at Rhodes, Gela, Lesbos, and Crete (De Witte, +<i>Revue Numismatique</i>, N.S. iii. 3-11).</p> +<p><a name="footnote109a"></a><a href="#citation109a">{109a}</a> +<i>Iliad</i>, i. 39.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109b"></a><a href="#citation109b">{109b}</a> +Ælian, <i>H. A</i>. xii. 5.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110a"></a><a href="#citation110a">{110a}</a> +The bas-relief is published in Paoli’s <i>Della Religione de’ +Gentili</i>, Naples, 1771, p. 9; also by Fabretti, <i>Ad Cal. Oper. +de Colum. Trajan</i>. p. 315. Paoli’s book was written after +the discovery in Neapolitan territory of a small bronze image, hieratic +in character, representing a man with a mouse on his hand. Paoli’s +engraving of this work of art, unluckily, does not enable us to determine +its date or <i>provenance</i>. The book is a mine of mouse-lore.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110b"></a><a href="#citation110b">{110b}</a> +Colden, <i>History of the Five Nations</i>, p. 15 (1727).</p> +<p><a name="footnote110c"></a><a href="#citation110c">{110c}</a> +<i>Onomast</i>., ix. 6, segm. 84, p. 1066.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110d"></a><a href="#citation110d">{110d}</a> +De Witte says Pollux was mistaken here. In the <i>Revue Numismatique</i>, +N.S. iii., De Witte publishes coins of Alexandria, the more ancient +Hamaxitus, in the Troad. The Sminthian Apollo is represented with +his bow, and the mouse on his hand. Other coins show the god with +the mouse at his foot, or show us the lyre of Apollo supported by mice. +A bronze coin in the British Museum gives Apollo with the mouse beside +his foot.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111a"></a><a href="#citation111a">{111a}</a> +<i>Spanheim</i>, ad Fl. Joseph., vi. I, p. 312.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111b"></a><a href="#citation111b">{111b}</a> +<i>Della Rel</i>., p. 174.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111c"></a><a href="#citation111c">{111c}</a> +Herodotus, ii. 141.</p> +<p><a name="footnote112a"></a><a href="#citation112a">{112a}</a> +Liebrecht (<i>Zur Volkskunde</i>, p. 13, quoting <i>Journal Asiatique</i>, +1st series, 3, 307) finds the same myth in Chinese annals. It +is not a god, however, but the king of the rats, who appears to the +distressed monarch in his dream. Rats then gnaw the bowstrings +of his enemies. The invaders were Turks, the rescued prince a +king of Khotan. The king raised a temple, and offered sacrifice—to +the rats?</p> +<p><a name="footnote112b"></a><a href="#citation112b">{112b}</a> +<i>Herodotos</i>, p. 204.</p> +<p><a name="footnote113a"></a><a href="#citation113a">{113a}</a> +Wilkinson, iii. 294, quoting the <i>Ritual</i> xxxiii.: ‘Thou +devourest the abominable rat of Ra, or the sun.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote113b"></a><a href="#citation113b">{113b}</a> +Mr. Loftie has kindly shown me a green mouse containing the throne-name +of Thothmes III. The animals thus used as substitutes for scarabs +were also sacred, as the fish, rhinoceros, fly, all represented in Mr. +Loftie’s collection. See his <i>Essay of Scarabs</i>, p. +27. It may be admitted that, in a country where Cats were gods, +the religion of the Mouse must have been struggling and oppressed.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/113b.jpg"> +<img alt="Illustration" src="images/113s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><a name="footnote114a"></a><a href="#citation114a">{114a}</a> +Strabo, xiii. 604.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114b"></a><a href="#citation114b">{114b}</a> +Eustathius on <i>Iliad</i>, i. 39.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114c"></a><a href="#citation114c">{114c}</a> +A Strange and True Relation of the Prodigious Multitude of Mice, 1670.</p> +<p><a name="footnote115a"></a><a href="#citation115a">{115a}</a> +<i>Journal of Philol</i>., xvii. p. 96.</p> +<p><a name="footnote115b"></a><a href="#citation115b">{115b}</a> +Leviticus xi. 29.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116"></a><a href="#citation116">{116}</a> +Samuel i. 5, 6.</p> +<p><a name="footnote117a"></a><a href="#citation117a">{117a}</a> +<i>Zool. Myth</i>, ii. 68.</p> +<p><a name="footnote117b"></a><a href="#citation117b">{117b}</a> +<i>Mélusine</i>, N.S. i.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118a"></a><a href="#citation118a">{118a}</a> +<i>De Iside et Osiride</i>, lxxvi.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118b"></a><a href="#citation118b">{118b}</a> +This hypothesis does not maintain that totemism prevailed in Greece +during historic times. Though Plutarch mentions an Athenian yενος, +the Ioxidæ, which claimed descent from and revered asparagus, +it is probable that genuine totemism had died out of Greece many hundreds +of years before even Homer’s time. But this view is not +inconsistent with the existence of survivals in religion and ritual.</p> +<p><a name="footnote119"></a><a href="#citation119">{119}</a> +Rolland, <i>Faune populaire</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote121"></a><a href="#citation121">{121}</a> +The attempt is not to explain the origin of each separate name but only +of the general habit of giving animal or human names stars.</p> +<p><a name="footnote125"></a><a href="#citation125">{125}</a> +Mr. Herbert Spencer believes that the Australians were once more civilised +than at present. But there has never been found a trace of pottery +on the Australian continent, which says little for their civilisation +in the past.</p> +<p><a name="footnote128"></a><a href="#citation128">{128}</a> +Brugsch, <i>History of Egypt</i>, i. 32.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130">{130}</a> +Brough Smith.</p> +<p><a name="footnote131"></a><a href="#citation131">{131}</a> +Amazonian Tortoise Myths, p. 39.</p> +<p><a name="footnote132a"></a><a href="#citation132a">{132a}</a> +Sahagun, vii. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote132b"></a><a href="#citation132b">{132b}</a> +Grimm, <i>D</i>. <i>M</i>., Engl. transl., p. 716.</p> +<p><a name="footnote133"></a><a href="#citation133">{133}</a> +Hartt, <i>op. cit</i>., p. 40.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134a"></a><a href="#citation134a">{134a}</a> +Kaegi, <i>Der Rig Veda</i>, p. 217.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134b"></a><a href="#citation134b">{134b}</a> +<i>Mainjo-i-Khard</i>, 49, 22, ed. West.</p> +<p><a name="footnote134c"></a><a href="#citation134c">{134c}</a> +<i>Op. cit</i>. p. 98.</p> +<p><a name="footnote137"></a><a href="#citation137">{137}</a> +<i>Prim. Cult</i>., i. 357.</p> +<p><a name="footnote140"></a><a href="#citation140">{140}</a> +<i>Lectures on Language</i>, pp. 359, 362.</p> +<p><a name="footnote144"></a><a href="#citation144">{144}</a> +Grimm, <i>D. M</i>., Engl., Trans. p. 1202.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145"></a><a href="#citation145">{145}</a> +<i>Tom Sawyer</i>, p. 87.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146a"></a><a href="#citation146a">{146a}</a> +<i>Rep</i>. vi. 488. Dem. 10, 6.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146b"></a><a href="#citation146b">{146b}</a> +<i>Journal Anthrop. Inst</i>., Feb. 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147a"></a><a href="#citation147a">{147a}</a> +Gregor, <i>Folklore of North-east Counties</i>, p, 40.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147b"></a><a href="#citation147b">{147b}</a> +<i>Wars of Jews</i>, vii. 6, 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147c"></a><a href="#citation147c">{147c}</a> +<i>Var. Hist</i>., 14, 27.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148">{148}</a> +Max Müller, <i>Selected Essays</i>, ii. 622.</p> +<p><a name="footnote151"></a><a href="#citation151">{151}</a> +<i>Myth of Kirkê</i>, p. 80.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152a"></a><a href="#citation152a">{152a}</a> +Turner’s <i>Samoa.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote152b"></a><a href="#citation152b">{152b}</a> +Josephus, <i>loc. cit</i>. For this, and many other references, +I am indebted to Schwartz’s <i>Prähistorisch-änthropologische +Studien</i>. In most magic herbs the learned author recognises +thunder and lightning—a theory no less plausible than Mr. Brown’s.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152c"></a><a href="#citation152c">{152c}</a> +Lib. xxviii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote152d"></a><a href="#citation152d">{152d}</a> +Schoolcraft.</p> +<p><a name="footnote157a"></a><a href="#citation157a">{157a}</a> +Talvj, <i>Charakteristik der Volkslieder</i>, p. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote157b"></a><a href="#citation157b">{157b}</a> +Fauriel, <i>Chants de la Grèce moderne</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote160"></a><a href="#citation160">{160}</a> +Thus Scotland scarcely produced any ballads, properly speaking, after +the Reformation. The Kirk suppressed the dances to whose motion +the ballad was sung in Scotland, as in Greece, Provence, and France.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161">{161}</a> +L. Preller’s <i>Ausgewählte Aufsätze</i>. Greek +ideas on the origin of Man. It is curious that the myth of a gold, +a silver, and a copper race occurs in South America. See Brasseur +de Bourbourg’s <i>Notes on the Popol Vuh.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote164a"></a><a href="#citation164a">{164a}</a> +See essay on Early History of the Family.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164b"></a><a href="#citation164b">{164b}</a> +This constant struggle may be, and of course by one school of comparative +mythologists will be, represented as the strife between light and darkness, +the sun’s rays, and the clouds of night, and so on. M. Castren +has well pointed out that the struggle has really an historical meaning. +Even if the myth be an elementary one, its constructors must have been +in the exogamous stage of society.</p> +<p><a name="footnote169"></a><a href="#citation169">{169}</a> +Sampo <i>may</i> be derived from a Thibetan word, meaning ‘fountain +of good,’ or it may possibly be connected with the Swedish <i>Stamp</i>, +a hand-mill. The talisman is made of all the quaint odds and ends +that the Fetichist treasures: swan’s feathers, flocks of wool, +and so on.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170"></a><a href="#citation170">{170}</a> +Sir G. W. Cox’s Popular Romances of the Middle Ages, p. 19.</p> +<p><a name="footnote171"></a><a href="#citation171">{171}</a> +<i>Fortnightly Review</i>, 1869: ‘The Worship of Plants and Animals.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote176"></a><a href="#citation176">{176}</a> +Mr. McLennan in the <i>Fortnightly Review</i>, February 1870.</p> +<p><a name="footnote178"></a><a href="#citation178">{178}</a> +M. Schmidt, <i>Volksleben der Neugriechen</i>, finds comparatively few +traces of the worship of Zeus, and these mainly in proverbial expressions.</p> +<p><a name="footnote183"></a><a href="#citation183">{183}</a> +Preller, <i>Ausgewählte Aufsätze</i>, p. 154.</p> +<p><a name="footnote184a"></a><a href="#citation184a">{184a}</a> +Tylor, <i>Prim. Cult</i>., ii. 156. Pinkerton, vii. 357.</p> +<p><a name="footnote184b"></a><a href="#citation184b">{184b}</a> +Universities Mission to Central Africa, p. 217. Prim. Cult,, ii. +156, 157.</p> +<p><a name="footnote186"></a><a href="#citation186">{186}</a> +Quoted in ‘Jacob’s Rod’: London, n.d., a translation +of <i>La Verge de Jacob</i>, Lyon, 1693.</p> +<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190">{190}</a> +<i>Lettres sur la Baguette</i>, pp. 106-112.</p> +<p><a name="footnote200"></a><a href="#citation200">{200}</a> +Turner’s <i>Samoa</i>, pp, 77, 119.</p> +<p><a name="footnote201"></a><a href="#citation201">{201}</a> +Cox, <i>Mythol. of Aryan Races, passim</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote202a"></a><a href="#citation202a">{202a}</a> +See examples in ‘A Far-travelled Tale,’ ‘Cupid and +Psyche,’ and ‘The Myth of Cronus.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote202b"></a><a href="#citation202b">{202b}</a> +Trübner, 1881.</p> +<p><a name="footnote203a"></a><a href="#citation203a">{203a}</a> +Hahn, p. 23.</p> +<p><a name="footnote203b"></a><a href="#citation203b">{203b}</a> +Ibid., p. 45.</p> +<p><a name="footnote204"></a><a href="#citation204">{204}</a> +<i>Expedition</i>, i. 166.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205"></a><a href="#citation205">{205}</a> +Herodotus, ii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote209"></a><a href="#citation209">{209}</a> +See Fetichism and the Infinite.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211"></a><a href="#citation211">{211}</a> +Sacred Books of the East, xii. 130, 131,</p> +<p><a name="footnote218"></a><a href="#citation218">{218}</a> +<i>Lectures on Language</i>. Second series, p. 41.</p> +<p><a name="footnote222"></a><a href="#citation222">{222}</a> +A defence of the evidence for our knowledge of savage faiths, practices, +and ideas will be found in <i>Primitive Culture</i>, i. 9-11.</p> +<p><a name="footnote223"></a><a href="#citation223">{223}</a> +A third reference to Pausanias I have been unable to verify. There +are several references to Greek fetich-stones in Theophrastus’s +account of the Superstitious Man. A number of Greek sacred stones +named by Pausanias may be worth noticing. In Bœotia (ix. +16), the people believed that Alcmene, mother of Heracles, was changed +into a stone. The Thespians worshipped, under the name of Eros, +an unwrought stone, αyαλμα παλαιοτατον, +‘their most ancient sacred object’ (ix. 27). The people +of Orchomenos ‘paid extreme regard to certain stones,’ said +to have fallen from heaven, ‘or to certain figures made of stone +that descended from the sky’ (ix. 38). Near Chæronea, +Rhea was said to have deceived Cronus, by offering him, in place of +Zeus, a stone wrapped in swaddling bands. This stone, which Cronus +vomited forth after having swallowed it, was seen by Pausanias at Delphi +(ix. 41). By the roadside, near the city of the Panopeans, lay +the stones out of which Prometheus made men (x. 4). The stone +swallowed in place of Zeus by his father lay at the exit from the Delphian +temple, and was anointed (compare the action of Jacob, Gen. xxviii. +18) with oil every day. The Phocians worshipped thirty squared +stones, each named after a god (vii. xxii.). ‘<i>Among all +the Greeks rude stones were worshipped before the images of the gods</i>.’ +Among the Trœzenians a sacred stone lay in front of the temple, +whereon the Trœzenian elders sat, and purified Orestes from the +murder of his mother. In Attica there was a conical stone worshipped +as Apollo (i. xliv.). Near Argos was a stone called Zeus Cappotas, +on which Orestes was said to have sat down, and so recovered peace of +mind. Such are examples of the sacred stones, the oldest worshipful +objects, of Greece.</p> +<p><a name="footnote226"></a><a href="#citation226">{226}</a> +See essays on ‘Apollo and the Mouse’ and ‘The Early +History of the Family.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote230"></a><a href="#citation230">{230}</a> +Here I may mention a case illustrating the motives of the fetich-worshipper. +My friend, Mr. J. J. Atkinson, who has for many years studied the manners +of the people of New Caledonia, asked a native <i>why</i> he treasured +a certain fetich-stone. The man replied that, in one of the vigils +which are practised beside the corpses of deceased friends, he saw a +lizard. The lizard is a totem, a worshipful animal in New Caledonia. +The native put out his hand to touch it, when it disappeared and left +a stone in its place. This stone he therefore held sacred in the +highest degree. Here then a fetich-stone was indicated as such +by a spirit in form of a lizard.</p> +<p><a name="footnote233a"></a><a href="#citation233a">{233a}</a> +Much the same theory is propounded in Mr. Müller’s lectures +on ‘The Science of Religion.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote233b"></a><a href="#citation233b">{233b}</a> +The idea is expressed in a well known parody of Wordsworth, about the +tree which</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Will grow ten times as tall as me<br /> +And live ten times as long.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote236"></a><a href="#citation236">{236}</a> +See Essay on ‘The Early History of the Family.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote241"></a><a href="#citation241">{241}</a> +Bergaigne’s <i>La Religion Védique</i> may be consulted +for Vedic Fetichism.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247a"></a><a href="#citation247a">{247a}</a> +Early Law and Custom.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247b"></a><a href="#citation247b">{247b}</a> +Studies in Ancient History, p. 127.</p> +<p><a name="footnote248"></a><a href="#citation248">{248}</a> +<i>Descent of Man</i>, ii. 362.</p> +<p><a name="footnote249"></a><a href="#citation249">{249}</a> +Early Law and Custom, p. 210.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250a"></a><a href="#citation250a">{250a}</a> +Here I would like to point out that Mr. M’Lennan’s theory +was not so hard and fast as his manner (that of a very assured believer +in his own ideas) may lead some inquirers to suppose. Sir Henry +Maine writes, that both Mr. Morgan and Mr. M’Lennan ‘seem +to me to think that human society went everywhere through the same series +of changes, and Mr. M’Lennan, at any rate, expresses himself as +if all those stages could be clearly discriminated from one another, +and the close of one and the commencement of another announced with +the distinctness of the clock-bell telling the end of the hour.’ +On the other hand, I remember Mr. M’Lennan’s saying that, +in his opinion, ‘all manner of arrangements probably went on simultaneously +in different places.’ In <i>Studies in Ancient History</i>, +p. 127, he expressly guards against the tendency ‘to assume that +the progress of the various races of men from savagery has been a uniform +progress: that all the stages which any of them has gone through have +been passed in their order by all.’ Still more to the point +is his remark on polyandry among the very early Greeks and other Aryans; +‘it is quite consistent with my view that in all these quarters +(Persia, Sparta, Troy, Lycia, Attica, Crete, &c.) monandry, and +even the <i>patria potestas</i>, may have prevailed at points.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote250b"></a><a href="#citation250b">{250b}</a> +Early Law and Custom, p. 212.</p> +<p><a name="footnote251"></a><a href="#citation251">{251}</a> +Studies in Ancient History, pp. 140-147.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252"></a><a href="#citation252">{252}</a> +<i>Totem</i> is the word generally given by travellers and interpreters +for the family crests of the Red Indians. <i>Cf</i>. p. 105.</p> +<p><a name="footnote256"></a><a href="#citation256">{256}</a> +Domestic Manners of the Chinese, i. 99.</p> +<p><a name="footnote258"></a><a href="#citation258">{258}</a> +<i>Fortnightly Review</i>, June 1, 1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259"></a><a href="#citation259">{259}</a> +<i>Kamilaroi and Kurnai</i>. Natives call these objects their +kin, ‘of one flesh’ with them.</p> +<p><a name="footnote260"></a><a href="#citation260">{260}</a> +<i>Studies</i>, p. 11.</p> +<p><a name="footnote265a"></a><a href="#citation265a">{265a}</a> +O’Curry, <i>Manners of Ancient Irish</i>, l. ccclxx., quoting +Trin. Coll. Dublin MS.</p> +<p><a name="footnote265b"></a><a href="#citation265b">{265b}</a> +See also Elton’s <i>Origins of English History</i>, pp. 299-301.</p> +<p><a name="footnote265c"></a><a href="#citation265c">{265c}</a> +Kemble’s <i>Saxons in England</i>, p. 258. <i>Politics of +Aristotle</i>, Bolland and Lang, p. 99. <a name="citation265d"></a><a href="#footnote265d">{265d}</a></p> +<p><a name="footnote265d"></a><a href="#citation265d">{265d}</a> +Mr. Grant Allen kindly supplied me some time ago with a list of animal +and vegetable names preserved in the titles of ancient English village +settlements. Among them are: ash, birch, bear (as among the Iroquois), +oak, buck, fir, fern, sun, wolf, thorn, goat, horse, salmon (the trout +is a totem in America), swan (familiar in Australia), and others.</p> +<p><a name="footnote267"></a><a href="#citation267">{267}</a> +‘Gentiles sunt qui inter se eodem nomine sunt. Qui ab ingeniis +oriundi sunt. Quorum majorum nemo servitutem servivit. Qui +capite non sunt deminuti.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote268"></a><a href="#citation268">{268}</a> +Studies in Ancient History, p. 212.</p> +<p><a name="footnote270"></a><a href="#citation270">{270}</a> +<i>Fortnightly Review</i>, October 1869: ‘Archæologia Americana,’ +ii. 113.</p> +<p><a name="footnote273a"></a><a href="#citation273a">{273a}</a> +Suidas, 3102.</p> +<p><a name="footnote273b"></a><a href="#citation273b">{273b}</a> +Herod., i. 173.</p> +<p><a name="footnote273c"></a><a href="#citation273c">{273c}</a> +Cf. Bachofen, p. 309.</p> +<p><a name="footnote273d"></a><a href="#citation273d">{273d}</a> +Compare the <i>Irish Nennius</i>, p. 127.</p> +<p><a name="footnote276"></a><a href="#citation276">{276}</a> +The illustrations in this article are for the most part copied, by permission +of Messrs. Cassell & Co., from the <i>Magazine of Art</i>, in which +the essay appeared.</p> +<p><a name="footnote286"></a><a href="#citation286">{286}</a> +Part of the pattern (Fig. 5, <i>b</i>) recurs on the New Zealand Bull-roarer, +engraved in the essay on the Bull-roarer.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/35b.jpg"> +<img alt="Bull-roarer" src="images/35s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><a name="footnote289"></a><a href="#citation289">{289}</a> +See Schliemann’s <i>Troja</i>, wherein is much learning and fancy +about the Aryan Svastika.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUSTOM AND MYTH***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 14080-h.htm or 14080-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/0/8/14080 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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