U I

E DONATIONE

A. G. van HAMEL

PROFESSORIS

ORDINARII IN ACADEMIAnbsp;RHENO-TRAIECTINAnbsp;1923-1946

CAMBRIDGE

UNIVERSITY PRESS

LONDON: BENTLEY HOUSE

NEIY YORK, TORONTO, BOMBAY CALCUTTA, MADRAS: MACMILLANnbsp;TOKYO: MARUZEN COMPANY LTD

All rights reserved

RIJKSUNIVERSITEIT UTRECHT

1555 6867

-1 32? -f Ctgt;ô=/

THE

GROWTH OF LITERATURE

BY

H. MUNRO CHADWICK

AND

N. KERSHAW CHADWICK

VOLUME III

PART I

THE ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

PART II

THE ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA AND A NOTE ON THE ORAL LITERATURE OFnbsp;THE SEA DYAKS OF,NORTH BORNEO

PART III

NOTES ON THE ORAL LITERATURE OF SOME AFRICAN PEOPLES

PART IV

A GENERAL SURVEY

Instituut voor

Keltische taal—en letterkunde der Rijksuniversiteit te Utrecht

CAMBRIDGE

AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS

1940

THE GROWTH OF LITERATURE

By H. MUNRO CHADWICK amp; N. KERSHAW CHADWICK Volume 1. THE ANCIENT LITERATURES OF EUROPEnbsp;Volumen. RUSSIAN, YUGOSLAV, EARLY INDIANnbsp;EARLY HEBREWnbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’

Volume III. THE TATARS, POLYNESIA. THE SEA DYAKS

AFRICAN PEOPLES, and A GENERAL SURVEY

Instituut voor

Kr-îlische taal-en îsRerkunde dernbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Utreclit

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

To OUT dear friend

Dr a. C. HADDON

AND

to the memory of

JOHN ROSCOE

W. WYATT GILL, J. PERHAM

W. W. RADLOV

AND OF ALL THE

MISSIONARIES and TRAVELLERS

TO WHOSE WORK WE ARE INDEBTED

IN THIS VOLUME

CONTENTS

Part I. THE ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Chapter I. INTRODUCTION

IL HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

HI. THE HEROIC MILIEU. INDIVIDUALISM IN THE HEROIC

POEMS67

• IV. NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA .nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;81

• V. HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS IN HEROIC

POETRY AND SAGAII7

• VI. POETRY AND SAGA RELATING TO GODS AND SPIRITS,

AND MANTIC POETRYI3I

• VII. ANTIQUARIAN POETRY AND SAGA. GNOMIC ANDnbsp;DESCRIPTIVE LITERATURE. POETRY AND SAGAnbsp;RELATING TO UNSPECIFIED INDIVIDUALS .nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I40

VIIL THE TEXTS

IX. RECITATION AND COMPOSITION

X. THE SHAMAN .

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS .

Part IL THE ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

L INTRODUCTION229 IL SAGA AND POETRY RELATING TO THE MIGRATION

PERIOD AND TO LATER PERIODS .... nbsp;242

III. NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY RELATING TO LEGEN

DARY CHARACTERS OF THE PREHISTORIC AND LATER PERIODS27I

viii

Chapter'ÏN. SAGA AND poetry relating to divine beings,

AND MANTIC POETRYpage 306

• V. SAGA AND POETRY RELATING TO UNSPECIFIED IN

DIVIDUALS

• VI. DRAMATIC AND RITUAL POETRY ,nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.

• VII. ANTIQUARIAN, GNOMIC AND DESCRIPTIVE LITERA

TURE

• VIII. RECITATION AND COMPOSITION .nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.

• IX. THE TOHUNGA, KAULA, ETC

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

A NOTE ON THE ORAL LITERATURE OF

THE IBAN OR THE SEA DYAKS OF NORTH

BORNEO

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

Part III. NOTES ON THE ORAL LITERATURE OF

SOME AFRICAN PEOPLES

INTRODUCTION TO PART III

• 1. ABYSSINIA

LIST OF abbreviations: ABYSSINIA AND THE GALLA . nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;.

• 2. THE GALLA

• 3. THE NORTHERN BANTU

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

• 4. THE YORUBA

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

• 5. THE TUAREG

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

A NOTE ON ENGLISH BALLAD POETRY

The bliss that one enjoys in attaining heaven is scarcely equal to that whichnbsp;one derives from reading this work.

Mahabharata.

PREFACE

IN the Preface to the first volume we explained that the primary object of this work was to find an answer to the question whethernbsp;it is possible to trace the operation of any general principles innbsp;the growth of literature. And we expressed our intention of approachingnbsp;the question by a comparative study of the literary genres found innbsp;various countries and languages and in various periods of history.

At the same time we pointed out that for such comparative study the modern literatures of the West offer only a very limited amount ofnbsp;material. Owing to the constant interaction of these literatures uponnbsp;one another for several centuries past, and before that to the commonnbsp;influence of Latin upon all of them, they have had little chance ofnbsp;independent development. The most valuable material for our purposenbsp;comes from ancient records unaffected, or only partially affected, bynbsp;the influence of Latin or other languages of wide circulation, and fromnbsp;isolated or backward communities of the present day which are stillnbsp;but little affected by cosmopolitan literature.

The plan therefore which we set before ourselves was to examine a number of literatures, some ancient and some modern. In makingnbsp;our selection the guiding consideration was to find such literatures asnbsp;would seem to be at least partly independent.

With this object in view we have confined our attention in general to modern literatures which are—or were until recently—unwritten,nbsp;and to ancient literatures which seem to be largely derived from oralnbsp;tradition. In Vol. ii we have seen that a written and an oral literaturenbsp;may exist side by side in the same community; and in such cases wenbsp;have limited our attention to the latter.

The connection between literature and writing is accidental, and belongs to a secondary phase in the history of literature. In general,nbsp;however, oral literature tends to give way to written literature with thenbsp;advance of civilisation, though it may persist, and within certain limitations even flourish, among the backward elements of civilised peoples.nbsp;It is to peoples in what is commonly called a barbaric phase of culturenbsp;and to the backward elements among more advanced peoples that ournbsp;attention has been given. On the other hand, for reasons stated in thenbsp;Preface to Vol. i, we have not concerned ourselves with the beginningsnbsp;of literature or with those primitive phases of culture in which it firstnbsp;originated.

CL iii

PREFACE

The comparative study of oral literature has received very little attention in the past, except in specific subjects and within limitednbsp;areas. Consequently the extent of the subjects which come within itsnbsp;scope is by no means generally recognised. Nothing but a mostnbsp;inadequate impression can be obtained from the oral literatures ofnbsp;Western Europe, which consist of little more than folktales, folksongsnbsp;and ballads. To oral literature which is cultivated under favourablenbsp;conditions these bear the same relationship as popular songs do to thenbsp;(written) literature of a civilised people, taken as a whole. Fromnbsp;Eastern Europe, where a large amount of heroic narrative poetry isnbsp;still current, the material is much richer. But among all modern Christian and Mohammedan peoples oral literature is practically limited tonbsp;poems and stories intended for entertainment and to songs for use atnbsp;social celebrations, such as weddings. In general it has been discardednbsp;by the more educated and intellectual elements in society. And consequently oral literature of more serious character—didactic or informative—has been displaced by written (ecclesiastical or secular) literature.nbsp;For oral literature of this kind we must turn to peoples who are still,nbsp;or were until recently, heathen, and to the records of ancient peoples.nbsp;It is fortunate that, as we saw in Vol. i, the ancient literatures of ournbsp;own islands and of Iceland have preserved a good deal, which wasnbsp;committed to writing before native thought died out.

It will be seen that oral poetry is as comprehensive as written poetry in its range of forms and subjects, and that most of these are widelynbsp;distributed. Poetry indeed is in general an inheritance from oralnbsp;literature.

On the other hand oral prose literature seems usually to be much more limited in its range. Ancient Indian prose which is believed tonbsp;be of oral origin shows a good deal of variety; but most of the oralnbsp;literatures which we have examined apparently preserve little prose,nbsp;except narratives and perhaps laws. It is to be remarked, however,nbsp;that the material is commonly less accessible than in the case of poetry.

In Vol. I we examined the ancient literatures of Europe which come within the scope of our survey. In Vol. ii we examined two modernnbsp;European oral literatures and two ancient Asiatic literatures. For thenbsp;principles followed in the selection of these literatures we may refernbsp;to the Preface to the latter volume.

The modern literatures examined in Vol. ii are those of peoples which have been Christian for many centuries. Consequently they

PREFACE

xiii

comprise little more than literature (poetry and prose) which is intended for entertainment or for social celebrations. More serious matter—thenbsp;‘literature of thought’—is very poorly represented. Such subjects arenbsp;left to the ecclesiastical (written) literature current in those countries—nbsp;literature which does not come within the scope of our survey. Onnbsp;the other hand the ancient literatures, in both Vol. i and Vol. ii, embracenbsp;literature of thought, as well as that of entertainment and of celebration.nbsp;This is true to a large extent, as we have seen, even of the Christiannbsp;literatures examined in Vol. i.

In the present volume we have examined the oral literatures of the Tatars and the Polynesians and of five African peoples. The materialnbsp;at our disposal for the study of the latter has not been sufficient fornbsp;anything like a comprehensive survey; and consequently we have hadnbsp;to content ourselves with notes on the African literatures. We have alsonbsp;included a note on certain features in the oral literature of the Sea-Dyaksnbsp;(in Borneo), which are of special interest.

The selection, it will be seen, has been made from widely distant regions and from peoples living under such diverse conditions as thosenbsp;of the steppe, ocean, desert and forest.

Two of the African peoples selected—the Abyssinians and the Tuareg—have long been Christians or Mohammedans. Their oralnbsp;literatures therefore, like those of the Russians and the Yugoslavs, arenbsp;concerned in the main with entertainment and social celebration, thoughnbsp;a good deal of occasional poetry, mostly of an ephemeral character,nbsp;has also been recorded. As in Russia and Yugoslavia, more seriousnbsp;themes are left to the written literatures, ecclesiastical or other, whichnbsp;are current among those peoples. This is in general true also of thosenbsp;communities of the Tatars and the Galla which are Mohammedan, innbsp;so far as their Mohammedanism is not merely superficial.

The Polynesians and the other African peoples—the Yoruba and the Northern Bantu (apart from one or two coastal communities)—nbsp;were wholly heathen and ignorant of writing until recently; and thenbsp;same may be said of the Sea Dyaks and of many communities amongnbsp;the Tatars and the Galla. The oral literatures of these peoples are concerned with native learning, as well as with entertainment and celebration. In some cases also occasional poetry has been recorded.

The oral literature of the Tatars is of great interest and variety; yet no account of it seems ever to have been given before in English.nbsp;Indeed we do not know of any comprehensive treatment of it in anynbsp;b 2

PREFACE

language. A large amount of interesting material, however, has been collected, especially by W. W. Radlov, who was a Russian official innbsp;Central Asia during the latter part of last century, and to whose writingsnbsp;we are indebted for a considerable proportion of our information.

Those who have studied the European literatures treated in Vols. I and ii will not in general find the oral literature of the Tatars particularlynbsp;strange, despite the fact that we are here concerned with nomadicnbsp;peoples. The Kara-Kirghiz have a well developed heroic narrativenbsp;poetry, which will compare favourably with that of the Russians andnbsp;the Yugoslavs; other communities cultivate saga in place of narrativenbsp;poetry. Less familiar to us are the numerous stories which we havenbsp;described as ‘non-heroic’. Many of these are concerned with journeysnbsp;to Heaven or the Underworld, which are connected with—or at leastnbsp;influenced by—the theology or manticism of the heathen Tatars. Thenbsp;manticism itself, commonly known as ‘shamanism’, is perhaps lessnbsp;peculiar than is popularly supposed. It has much in common with thenbsp;manticism of ancient Europe; but the artistic or histrionic side isnbsp;cultivated to an unusual degree, especially in representations of thenbsp;seer’s visits to Heaven or the Underworld.

For the oral literature of Polynesia also no comprehensive survey has ever been made before. But a great deal of very interesting materialnbsp;has been collected in various islands, and has been the subject of muchnbsp;careful study, especially in New Zealand and Hawaii. Perhaps thenbsp;most interesting collections of all are those made about seventy yearsnbsp;ago by the Rev. W. Wyatt Gill in the small island of Mangaia, in thenbsp;Cook Group.

Polynesian literature differs greatly from those which we have already discussed. This is of course only what might be expected in view ofnbsp;the remoteness of the area and its backwardness in material culture.nbsp;But the literature shows a wealth and variety which we should notnbsp;expect from such conditions, or from the smallness of the population. Itnbsp;would seem indeed that the Polynesians are more intensely devoted to thenbsp;cultivation of literature, and especially of poetry, than any other people.

In spite of the immensely wide distribution of the Polynesian languages, the literature everywhere has much in common. The direct influence of the sea is of course an all-important factor. The clear linenbsp;of division between ‘heroic’ and ‘non-heroic’, which we have foundnbsp;among all other peoples, seems hardly to be traceable in this region.nbsp;Stories of supernatural adventure, and especially of visits to Heavennbsp;and the Underworld, as among the Tatars, are current everywhere;

PREFACE

XV

and many of them are told of the same (legendary) persons throughout Polynesia. The tohungas^ or men of learning, are an influential classnbsp;in all the larger communities. The intensive cultivation of poetry isnbsp;also general; but there are great differences between one island (ornbsp;group of islands) and another. The poetry of Tonga and New Zealandnbsp;is much more easily intelligible to us than that of Tahiti or Mangaia.nbsp;It is in these latter islands that we have met for the first time with whatnbsp;may fairly be called drama—of which we have found only somewhatnbsp;uncertain traces elsewhere. In other respects also the records from thenbsp;same islands suggest a strange world of unreality—a kind of fairylandnbsp;or opera scene—for which we know no parallel.

In the note on the Sea Dyaks we have confined our attention to recitations or songs which are sung at certain festivals and at funerals.nbsp;Materials for the study of the literature as a whole are not accessiblenbsp;to us, and have probably never been collected; but we wish to callnbsp;special attention to these recitations, which are among the most outstanding achievements of oral literature known to us. They are chieflynbsp;occupied with journeys to Heaven or the Underworld, or with visitsnbsp;of deities to earth; but they are remarkable, like the recitations of thenbsp;Tatar shaman, for their high artistic standard. They can hardly be callednbsp;dramatic in the strict sense; but they show a curious combination ofnbsp;narrative with quasi-dramatic speech-poetry.

The five African literatures which we have selected belong to peoples of different races and languages. Both the Galla and the Tuareg indeednbsp;are Hamitic peoples; but they have been separated from one anothernbsp;probably for many thousands of years. The only real contact is betweennbsp;the Galla and the Abyssinians, who are neighbouring peoples—andnbsp;perhaps much mixed—but separated by language and religion.

In Africa we have made no attempt at an exhaustive survey for any of the literatures. We have restricted ourselves to noting certain featuresnbsp;which seemed to us important or distinctive. In doing so, however,nbsp;we have been struck by the poverty of material much more than bynbsp;any peculiar features. It is true that for the Galla and the Yorubanbsp;little seems to have been published, while the published material fornbsp;the other (selected) literatures is very scattered and sometimes difficultnbsp;of access. For other African peoples there are of course many collectionsnbsp;of oral literature which we have not studied. But when all such allowances have been made, we do not think that the poverty which wenbsp;have noted can be explained in this way.

It is in the literature of entertainment that the deficiency is most

PREFACE

Striking. Saga seems to be current among all the peoples we have surveyed; and very good specimens have been recorded from thenbsp;Bantu, and perhaps also from the Yoruba. But the amount recordednbsp;is everywhere very small—apart from ‘animal tales’. More remarkablenbsp;is the fact that we have nowhere found any clear examples of ‘ speechpoetry’—which is current among all the other peoples included in ournbsp;survey. Such poetry is of course of the utmost importance in the historynbsp;of literature. It involves the cultivation of an imaginative faculty, whichnbsp;enables an author to express reflections and emotions appropriate, notnbsp;to himself or to his own circumstances, but to some other character,nbsp;real or fictitious. Yet in view of the care and skill devoted to speechesnbsp;in animal tales, it is difficult to believe that such poetry is unknown innbsp;Africa. All the other kinds of poetry which are commonly foundnbsp;elsewhere seem to occur also here; but, apart from poetry of celebrationnbsp;and occasional poetry in North Africa, they are but sparsely represented.

In general African literature does not convey the impression of unfamiliarity which we get in Polynesia. Such special features as wenbsp;have noted are not without parallels elsewhere. The most striking isnbsp;the Ahal of the Tuareg; but analogies for this may be found in medievalnbsp;Provence. Affinities with Hebrew literature, whether real or superficial, may be traced among the heathen Galla. The literature of thenbsp;Bantu, so far as our material goes, is not very remote from the ancientnbsp;European literatures in their less advanced phases.

The last part of this volume, from p. 697, consists of a survey of the results arising from the examination of the various literatures.

It is to be noted first that the chief elements occur everywhere, or almost everywhere, though in varying degrees of prominence. Everynbsp;literature has of course distinctive characteristics, positive or negative,nbsp;of its own; but in estimating these care must be taken to distinguish,nbsp;as far as possible, between characteristics which apply truly to thenbsp;literature current at a given time and characteristics, especially negativenbsp;characteristics, which may be due to accidents of transmission. Thusnbsp;poetry connected with heathen worship may be neglected by a collectornbsp;who is a Christian missionary; a century later all trace of its existencenbsp;may be lost. But it is in relation to ancient literatures that this consideration is of most importance. Certain literatures, e.g. Sanskrit andnbsp;Hebrew,’ seem to owe their preservation wholly to ecclesiastical circles.

’ In a sense of course this is true also of Anglo-Saxon and other ancient literatures. But the two cases are different. Here secular works were preserved as separatenbsp;(written) entities in the libraries of religious houses. In India and Palestine suchnbsp;secular literature as has survived is incorporated in ecclesiastical works.

PREFACE

XVÜ

If one were to take the literature which has survived as an index to the whole of the literature, secular and religious, current in India ornbsp;Palestine at certain dates in the past, the result would obviously benbsp;absurd? It is only from modern oral literatures and from such ancientnbsp;literatures as have been preserved under more favourable conditionsnbsp;that one can form a reasonable estimate of the current literature ofnbsp;a community as a whole. Such literatures as Sanskrit and Hebrew,nbsp;as we have them, convey a wrong impression of the literatures of theirnbsp;peoples as a whole; yet they are valuable not only for their wealth ofnbsp;ecclesiastical material—which is largely of oral derivation—-but alsonbsp;for the fragments and traces of secular literature which they preserve.

We have classified the material in each literature throughout our survey according to certain ‘categories’ on the basis of subject matter,nbsp;irrespective of form. Some of these categories are of a personalnbsp;character, relating to individuals, while others are of general, or morenbsp;or less general, reference. A brief discussion of these categories willnbsp;be found in Part IV, Ch. i (p. 702 ff.).

A few remarks will be sufficient here. In literature relating to (human) individuals we have usually distinguished between two elements, which we call ‘heroic’ and ‘non-heroic’, and which representnbsp;corresponding elements in the life of barbaric societies. The formernbsp;is concerned with the ‘hero’ or warrior, usually a princely warrior,nbsp;and has its origin in military or princely circles. The latter is of manticnbsp;provenance, and the interest is most commonly, though not always,nbsp;centred in a seer; frequently also it has a communal or religious interest.nbsp;These subjects are noticed briefly in Ch. i of Part IV, and discussednbsp;more fully in Ch. in. To periods in which the heroic element is dominantnbsp;we apply the term ‘Heroic Age’.

The non-heroic element is the essentially intellectual part of a barbaric community, and its activities may be seen in literature of general reference—antiquarian, gnomic, mantic—as well as in stories or poemsnbsp;relating to individuals. We have not thought it necessary to discuss

' Some critics hold that we ought to have given a complete account of each literature as we have it, so as to emphasise the differences, as well as the affinitiesnbsp;between the various literatures, and more especially perhaps between Oriental andnbsp;Western literatures. We have followed this course only in (modern) literatures fornbsp;which no other account is available. It would have been futile to do so for literatures,nbsp;like Sanskrit and Hebrew, which have frequently been treated by scholars far betternbsp;qualified than we are. The criticism seems to be based on a misconception not onlynbsp;of the object of our survey, but also of the difference between literature preservednbsp;from the past, say in ecclesiastical circles, and literature current in the past amongnbsp;all classes. It is die latter of course which we are trying to trace;

PREFACE

the latter in Part IV, except by way of comparison with heroic stories. We have also dealt only very briefly with ‘post-heroic’ literature,nbsp;which is in general the literature of the phase of transition from barbaricnbsp;to civilised—when the seer is giving place to the (secular) legislatornbsp;and philosopher. From ancient times much interesting material, Greeknbsp;and Norse, dating from this phase has been preserved, as we saw innbsp;Vol. i; but modern oral literatures have not added much. We havenbsp;no doubt that such literature is current in Africa and elsewhere; butnbsp;apparently it has seldom been thought worth recording.

Literature relating to unspecified (nameless) persons belongs for the most part to peasant society. Its origin, however, is by no meansnbsp;uniform; much of it is vagrant—carried from one land to anothernbsp;apparently by travellers and traders.

For the remaining categories it must suffice to refer to p. 704 f. and to Chs. vi-ix of Part IV. Here we would only remark that bothnbsp;gnomic philosophy and mantic philosophy are to be traced back tonbsp;barbaric times. Gnomic philosophy is usually—not always, accordingnbsp;to traditional belief—based upon experience and observation; manticnbsp;philosophy is derived either by revelation or inspiration from somenbsp;external power (usually a deity) or from some power within the seernbsp;himself. But the two philosophies are combined among some peoples,nbsp;while among others they belong to different milieus. It will be seennbsp;that we have not found very much gnomic literature among modernnbsp;peoples, though it seems to be known wherever heathen thought survives. The conditions most favourable to such literature are apparentlynbsp;those of the (‘post-heroic’) phase of transition from barbarism tonbsp;civilisation. It will also be seen that antiquarian learning (i.e. knowledgenbsp;of the far past) is often of mantic origin; but during the transitionalnbsp;phase inspiration tends to be transferred from the substance to the formnbsp;of poetry.

We would call attention to the fact that, with the reservations stated above, the categories’ which we have specified are to be found in allnbsp;the literatures included in our survey, and that within these categories

' To carry out our classification with complete consistency, we ought perhaps to have recognised one more category—of ‘literature relating to animals, etc.’.nbsp;In point of fact such literature seems to occur everywhere, whether in the formnbsp;of ‘animal-tales’ or in descriptions of animals. But within the scope of our surveynbsp;it is only among certain African peoples that we have found an intensive cultivationnbsp;of it; and we think it will be enough here to refer to the examples given on p. óoyff.nbsp;Other examples will be found in the first two volumes, especially in Vol. ii, p. 571 if.,nbsp;and in the various chapters on ‘descriptive’ poetry.

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xix

the various literatures tend to follow the same lines? The chief reservation is that, as we have already noted, native learning tends to be displaced by the sacred scriptures among peoples which have long beennbsp;Christian or Mohammedan.

In discussing literature which relates to persons it is often necessary to employ a system of classification which is not based upon subjectnbsp;matter. We have to distinguish between narrative, speech-poetry,nbsp;didactic matter, poetry of celebration and appeal, and occasional poetry—nbsp;which, for the sake of brevity, we call Types A, B, C, D, E. A morenbsp;precise definition of these types will be found on p. 696; and theirnbsp;distribution in relation to the ‘categories’ is discussed in Ch. ii ofnbsp;Part IV.

We have little doubt that the origin of poetry—i.e. ‘sung speech’, as against ‘spoken speech’—is to be found in Types D and E, whichnbsp;in their very simplest forms are not always clearly distinguishable.nbsp;But beyond this we are not prepared to speculate on the problem.nbsp;The origin of narrative poetry is discussed in the same chapter; thenbsp;characteristics of heroic narrative poetry in Ch. iv.

We are under the impression that the twofold system of analysis, by categories and types, which we have employed, enables us to obtainnbsp;a more or less complete conspectus of the varieties of literature currentnbsp;in barbaric communities—making allowance of course for defectivenbsp;information and oversights. There are certain varieties, however, whichnbsp;we have been criticised for neglecting.

Folktales and folksongs have been noticed, along with other ‘nameless’ stories and poems, in Ch. v of Part IV and in the various chapters throughout the work from which this chapter is derived. Further,nbsp;the influence of folktales upon heroic and other stories has been noticednbsp;incidentally in the various chapters on ‘unhistorical elements’. Butnbsp;we have not thought it necessary to devote special sections to thesenbsp;subjects. Our survey is concerned with the native literatures of variousnbsp;selected peoples, whereas folktales^ are vagrants, who get a lodgingnbsp;everywhere, and consequently cannot be treated adequately except innbsp;' For some examples of parallelism in individual works we may refer to pp. 151,nbsp;672 in this volume; cf. also p. 556 with Vol. n, p. 557. But we regard the similaritynbsp;in general characteristics (e.g. in antiquarian, gnomic and mantic literature) asnbsp;more important than resemblances between individual works.

’ This is true of folksongs only to a slight extent. But it is our treatment of folktales, not folksongs, which has been criticised.

PREFACE

an ‘international’ survey, which will take account of all their local variants. We are not at all inclined to deny their influence upon nativenbsp;literature, though it is quite likely that in stories here and there wenbsp;have overlooked it. But at the same time we must point out that owingnbsp;to their accessibility—they are almost the only form of oral literaturenbsp;current in civilised lands—folktales tend to receive a somewhat disproportionate amount of attention. For the study of ancient literaturesnbsp;they have without doubt a certain value, as contributing to the elucidation of individual stories relating to barbaric times; but this value isnbsp;not to be compared with that of the oral literature, taken as a whole,nbsp;of a people which has no writing.

We have also been criticised, and perhaps with better reason, for neglect of ritual literature. Hymns have been noticed in the theologicalnbsp;chapters, ritual directions in the gnomic chapters, and poetry of socialnbsp;ritual in those which are concerned with unspecifled individuals; butnbsp;the material has usually been treated very briefly. It is only in ritualsnbsp;which supply interesting illustrations of literature or thought, andnbsp;which are unknown or very little known in this country, that we havenbsp;entered into details; instances will be found below, pp. 199if., 353ff-gt;nbsp;484ff’., and in Vol. ii, p. 228 fl. A large amount of material for thenbsp;study of ritual may of course be found in the Brähmanas and the Booknbsp;of Leviticus; but we doubt whether it has much bearing on the historynbsp;of literature, or whether it would be of any great interest to the majoritynbsp;of our readers.

It is quite possible, however, that some readers will think we have unduly neglected the subject of dramatic ritual. There is some deflnitenbsp;evidence for this in the Yajurveda and the Brähmanas, as well as amongnbsp;the Polynesians and the Bantu; and we have little doubt that it wasnbsp;widespread in ancient Europe and elsewhere, though most of the evidence is of somewhat uncertain character. But we have not foundnbsp;anything which can properly be called dramatic literature, except innbsp;certain Polynesian islands. Such literature may have existed in barbaricnbsp;times in ancient Europe; but, if so, it has left only slight and doubtfulnbsp;traces—though the ritual itself may well have influenced literaturenbsp;indirectly.

Again, it may be thought that we ought to have included the ancient records of Egypt and the Near East in our survey;’ and in point of

’ The same may of course be said of other literatures, e.g. Arabic and Chinese. A knowledge of these would have been most useful to us. The literatures of Northnbsp;Africa have doubtless been much influenced by the former, that of the Tatars perhaps

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xxi

fact we have been criticised for not paying sufficient attention to the documents found at Ras Shamra. Our reply is that we are not preparednbsp;to embark upon subjects in which the knowledge required for suchnbsp;work as ours is accessible only to specialists. It is true that Mesopotamiannbsp;and Egyptian records carry the history of literature back thousands ofnbsp;years beyond the earliest date at which we begin; but they are productsnbsp;of a more advanced phase of civilisation and of communities in whichnbsp;writing had been employed from the fourth millennium or earlier.’

Another criticism which has been passed upon our work is that, under the influence of ‘Homer’, we have paid too much attention tonbsp;narrative poetry. We fear that this criticism is to some extent justified.nbsp;One of the objects, though not the primary object, of our survey isnbsp;to see how far one literature can contribute to the understanding ofnbsp;another, and perhaps especially how far modern oral literatures cannbsp;throw light upon ancient literatures. Narrative poetry in those literatures which possess it tends to dominate and influence all other kindsnbsp;of poetry, though some literatures, e.g. Greek and Norse, break awaynbsp;from this influence in course of time. And we are under the impressionnbsp;that on the whole it is in such literatures that the majority of our readersnbsp;will be chiefly interested.

We admit that we have paid more attention to narrative poetry than to saga, and indeed to poetry of all kinds than to prose. But we arenbsp;not entirely to blame for this—-the explanation lies rather in the naturenbsp;of the material itself. The prose material, as we have it, is inferior tonbsp;the poetic material. The form in which we have poetry, both ancientnbsp;and modern, is presumably the form—or at least a form—in whichnbsp;it was recited ; but we doubt if this is usually true of sagas, except thosenbsp;from Iceland. We suspect that the great majority of sagas which wenbsp;have seen, both ancient and modern, are abbreviated versions, or evennbsp;mere summaries, of the sagas which were actually recited. We do notnbsp;think that a comparative study of saga could be satisfactorily carriednbsp;out in detail within the areas which we have surveyed.

At the conclusion of a work of this kind it is hardly necessary to state that the authors themselves are well aware of numerous defectsnbsp;and obscurities at least as serious as any of those which have met withnbsp;by the latter. But we stated in the Preface to Vol. i that we were not prepared tonbsp;embark upon undertakings which we should never be able to carry out. We didnbsp;not set out to eat up the whole farmyard.

’ The records include much ritual matter, including dramatic ritual, which may Well throw light upon the ritual literature of less advanced peoples.

PREFACE

criticism. But it may not be out of place here to call attention to a few of the outstanding problems with which we feel that we have not beennbsp;able to cope satisfactorily.

In the first place we would repeat what we have said above about the dearth of material from Africa. In all the areas we have selectednbsp;there seems to be a shortage of saga and an absence of speech-poetry;nbsp;in Central Africa material of all kinds is deficient in quantity. We shouldnbsp;like to know whether this shortage is due to neglect of the cultivationnbsp;—or preservation—of literature by the peoples themselves, or to insufficient activity, or to difficulties of any kind, in the collection ofnbsp;material.

Next, we would emphasise the need for ascertaining to what extent (oral) literature is cultivated by women in barbaric communities. Innbsp;Vol. II we suggested that parts of the Books of Samuel are of femininenbsp;provenance; and the incredulity with which this suggestion was greetednbsp;by more than one critic—on general, not specific, grounds—wouldnbsp;seem to indicate that it was regarded as something quite unreasonable.nbsp;Yet it will be seen in the course of this volume that among somenbsp;peoples the cultivation of literature is largely, if not mainly, in the handsnbsp;of women; and we suspect that in general women have more scopenbsp;for such activities in barbaric than in civilised communities. We shouldnbsp;not be greatly surprised if this question should turn out to be rathernbsp;closely connected with the preceding one. At all events it is desirablenbsp;that women collectors should try to get into touch with African womennbsp;before the native literatures have wholly disappeared. So far as wenbsp;are able to ascertain, not much investigation has been made from thisnbsp;side.

Next, we have to confess that we are by no means satisfied with the references to music throughout our survey. In particular we are sometimes far from clear about the distinction drawn by some of ournbsp;authorities between ‘singing’ and ‘chanting’, and also about the character of both the vocal and the instrumental music where recitationsnbsp;are accompanied upon a stringed instrument. Precise information uponnbsp;such questions should not be impossible to obtain; but it is difficultnbsp;of access to non-specialists.

Among other questions which specially call for comparative study we may mention the nature and extent of education in barbaric communities and the whole subject of inspiration, especially the ‘call’ ofnbsp;the seer. The latter subject has been much studied from the pathologicalnbsp;side; but what is most wanted is a collection of the evidence from

PREFACE

xxiii

ancient and modern records, including, where possible, the seers’ own accounts of their experiences.

Lastly, there is a question which is not a problem in itself, but arises frequently in connection with various subjects: “Is this story, or idea,nbsp;or form of poetry, etc. a native development in each community, ornbsp;has it spread from one people to another.^” Folktales travel far andnbsp;wide. Musical instruments, and doubtless also various forms of music,nbsp;are acquired by one people from another. We suspect the same to benbsp;true of ritual practices and of ideas such as that of a coming destructionnbsp;of the world. But is a type of poetry, say narrative poetry, derivednbsp;by one people from another, or does it originate independently everywhere or in different centres i* So also with the idea of a communitynbsp;of deities, modelled on a human community—is it of native growth ornbsp;importedIt is hoped that our survey may help towards the formulationnbsp;and insulation of a number of problems of this kind, and supply datanbsp;which may lead to their solution. Probably not one of the literatures wenbsp;have examined—not even the Polynesian—is of purely native growth.nbsp;In the North African literatures the native element may be quite small.

Every oral literature may be regarded as consisting of a native nucleus, augmented from time to time by new elements of extraneousnbsp;origin. But opinions may differ as to the interpretation of ‘native’.nbsp;May not the nucleus itself consist wholly or mainly of extraneousnbsp;elements which have been assimilated long ago, and have had time tonbsp;assume a distinctive form? In support of this view it may be urgednbsp;that the material culture of any given people consists in the main ofnbsp;elements of extraneous origin—livestock, cereals, implements—whichnbsp;have been naturalised and adapted to its needs. But against this standsnbsp;the fact that the literatures of two neighbouring peoples, who speaknbsp;different languages, usually differ far more widely than their materialnbsp;cultures.

The singing of dirges or elegies for the dead, commonly by a female relative, is found probably among all the peoples included in ournbsp;survey. Is the custom a ‘natural’ growth, which has sprung up independently everywhere, or a fashion which has spread from one centre.^nbsp;Speculation upon the origin of names, places, peoples and customs isnbsp;probably current everywhere. But does it arise independently, or doesnbsp;one people learn it from another.^ Gnomes may be derived partlynbsp;from descriptions, partly from precepts, and the latter may be derivednbsp;from commands. But what is to be said about the very widespreadnbsp;custom of constructing a series of gnomes in poetic form?

PREFACE

We do not think that the time has yet come for giving a dogmatic answer to such questions. Data must first be collected. But we donbsp;think it is time that the science of literature should be recognised asnbsp;an essential branch of anthropological study. Man’s intellectual activities deserve attention quite as much as his material culture or socialnbsp;organisation. Yet, whereas the study of the latter subjects has madenbsp;immense progress in recent times, that of the former is still generallynbsp;ignored. By way of experiment we have put forward a scheme, whichnbsp;is based on a survey of the native (oral) literatures of certain selectednbsp;peoples. If this scheme itself is not approved, it may perhaps pave thenbsp;way for some alternative scheme, which will meet with more approval.

May we call the attention of readers to the fact that the Lists of Abbreviations printed on pp. 2i9fF., 467fr., 497, 531fr., 637fr., 649nbsp;and 678 fr. are intended merely for convenience of reference, in ordernbsp;to avoid constant repetitions They are not intended as bibliographies.nbsp;It would of course have been quite impracticable to attempt anythingnbsp;of the kind in such a book as this. We may also repeat here what wenbsp;said in the Prefaces to the previous volumes, that we have made nonbsp;attempt to consult the voluminous modern literature bearing uponnbsp;these subjects. If we had done so, we should doubtless have avoidednbsp;many errors and inaccuracies, and our work, so far as it went, wouldnbsp;have profited greatly thereby; but it would never have seen the light.nbsp;We have read some books which happen to have come in our way;nbsp;and to some of these we refer occasionally.

At the same time we much regret that very little recent literature relating to the Tatars has been accessible to us. We believe that a goodnbsp;deal has been published in recent years; but the books are not purchasable in this country. We fear also that in Parts II and III, owing tonbsp;the length of time that our work has been in preparation, we havenbsp;probably overlooked a number of recent publications. The importantnbsp;works of the late R. W. Williamson and most of the publications ofnbsp;the Bernice P. Bishop Museum have appeared since Part II was firstnbsp;drafted.

The translations in Part I have been made from the original Tatar texts by the author responsible for this Part, except in a few cases wherenbsp;no original texts were accessible. She has availed herself, however, ofnbsp;the invaluable help afforded by Radlov’s translations. In Part II shenbsp;has depended almost entirely upon published translations ; only in a fewnbsp;instances, where these seemed to be extremely free, she has ventured

PREFACE

XXV

to give renderings of her own in place of them. We appreciate fully the value of a knowledge of the original languages, especially for thosenbsp;literatures which are discussed in detail; but such knowledge cannbsp;be acquired only to a limited extent in a survey which covers so widenbsp;a field. The Polynesian languages differ from one another a good deal;nbsp;and for the translation of the poetry, which has an extremely specialisednbsp;diction and is highly allusive, it is better to trust to the work of expertnbsp;linguists, especially as very few aids are available. In Part III, wherenbsp;five wholly different languages are involved, and in the Note on thenbsp;Sea Dyaks, we have been entirely dependent upon published translations. For the literature of the Sea Dyaks no original texts are available,nbsp;so far as we know.

In conclusion we must record the deep sense of obligation which we feel to the late Canon John Roscoe for the kindness with which henbsp;put at our disposal his unrivalled knowledge of the Northern Bantu,nbsp;and for the trouble which he took on our behalf. We are greatlynbsp;indebted to the Hon. F. R. Rodd for reading the proofs of the sectionnbsp;relating to the Tuareg, and to both him and his brother, the Hon. P.nbsp;Rodd, for interesting information which they have given us from timenbsp;to time. We are also greatly indebted to Miss Dora Newell, who hasnbsp;read the proofs of Part II, and given us the benefit of her intimatenbsp;knowledge of Samoa. Dr E. J. Lindgren has generously supplied usnbsp;with publications and other information relating to shamans, whichnbsp;would not otherwise have been accessible to us. From Dr A. C.nbsp;Haddon we have received many valuable references and the samenbsp;constant help and encouragement as in our previous works.

We wish also to express our thanks to Mrs E. J. Osmond for interesting reminiscences of Mangaia in the early days of the Missions; to the London Missionary Society, and especially the Librarian, Mr D.nbsp;Chamberlin, for the special privileges most kindly granted us in thenbsp;use of the Library; to Dr S. M. Manton for instructive pictures ofnbsp;ceremonies in Bali; and to Mr T. W. Fraser for interesting personalnbsp;observations of the Southern Bantu. For help most kindly rendered tonbsp;us in various ways we are indebted also to Te Rangi Hiroa (Professornbsp;P. H. Buck), Professor C. G. Seligman, Professor S. Konovalov,nbsp;Mr L. C. G. Clarke and Professor D. S. Robertson. Our thanks arenbsp;also due to the Editor and staff of The Illustrated London News for thenbsp;trouble they have kindly taken on our behalf.

Most of all we have to thank Dr C. E. Wright and Mrs R. C. Wright,

PREFACE

who have read the whole of the volume in proof, and whose helpful criticism has been of the greatest value to us. We are under specialnbsp;obligations to Dr Wright, who has most kindly read the whole ofnbsp;our three volumes for us. The greater part of the present volume hasnbsp;also been read by Miss H. R. Ellis, to whom we are indebted for similarnbsp;services.

To the University Library and its staff we are under the same obligations as in the past. To the Syndics of the Cambridge University Press, and also to the staff, we must repeat the thanks which we expressed innbsp;the Prefaces to the previous volumes.

N. Kershaw Chadwick is responsible for Parts I—III (pp. 1-679) of this volume, as also for Part I of Vol. n. The distribution of the worknbsp;in Vol. I was explained in the Preface to that volume. The Index tonbsp;Parts I—III of this volume has been prepared by Mr G. V. Carey, tonbsp;whom both authors wish to express their cordial thanks for the carenbsp;which he has taken with it.

H. M. C. N. K. C.

December^ 1938

PART I

THE ORAL LITERATURE OF

THE TATARS

Turkistânning yerinda khâli imas erânlar. Har bir kulach yerinda yatur mardân erân lar.

“In the land of Türkistan there is no lack of heroes.

In every fathom of its soil there lie heroic men.” (Old verse.)^

“ R. B. Shaw, Sketch of the Turki Language, p. 13.

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

ND ER the term Tatars we propose to consider the peoples of Asia who speak various dialects of the Turkish language, whonbsp;do not inhabit towns, and who have no native written literature.

Roughly speaking, our survey will include the Turkish tribes of the Altai, Sayan, and Tien Shan mountains, the valleys of the uppernbsp;Yenisei, the Ob, and Irtish, the intervening steppes, and those of thenbsp;Aral and Caspian basins, and the Turkoman tribes of northern Persia.nbsp;Unfortunately the lack or inaccessibility of material relating to the Yakut,nbsp;who are chiefly to be found in the valley of the Lena, precludes ournbsp;including these most interesting people, to whom we can refer onlynbsp;incidentally. Our study takes as its starting point the cultural state ofnbsp;the Tatars when the great travellers of last century visited them andnbsp;recorded their oral literature as it was current at that time, before thenbsp;changes which have been brought about in central and northern Asia bynbsp;the Russian Revolution. The political geography of the present regime,nbsp;and the extensive spread of education, with the inevitable change ofnbsp;outlook and loss of native traditional culture are, of course, ignorednbsp;here. The changes which have taken place throughout Siberia duringnbsp;the last twenty years are so extensive that we have felt it safer for thenbsp;most part to speak of the native literature and native minstrelsy in thenbsp;past tense; but we do not doubt that much still remains unchanged, atnbsp;least among the nomads of the steppe and in the more inaccessible partsnbsp;of the mountains.

The Turkish-speaking peoples are commonly divided into two large classes—the eastern and the western Turks. The western Turks includenbsp;the Turks as far east as Persia and Afghanistan, and consist of thenbsp;Osmanli and Turkoman stocks. Of these the Turkomans alone comenbsp;within our range, as the Osmanli Turks have had a written literature fornbsp;many centuries. According to Czaplicka’s classification' the easternnbsp;Turks include the people of Turkestan and Central Asia as far asnbsp;Mongolia, as well as the Crimea and Volga Tatars, who belong to thisnbsp;group both linguistically and historically. The eastern Turks dwellingnbsp;in Asia are further subdivided into (i) the Iranian Turks, including the

* Turks, p. 20 ff.

1-2

4

Turks of Turkestan and some of the Turks of the Caspian steppe country who have come under ‘Iranian’ influence for many centuries;nbsp;and (2) the ‘Turanian Turks’, including most of the Turks (Tatars) ofnbsp;the Steppe, southern Siberia, Jungaria, and northern Mongolia? Owingnbsp;to the mountain barriers of Central Asia, these Turks are believed tonbsp;have been less subject to foreign influence than the first group. Wenbsp;think it certain, however, that their cultural debt in the past to Chinanbsp;and Tibet has been underestimated, and in recent years also the culturesnbsp;of Tibet and Russia have exercised considerable influence.

As the greater part of the literature available for our study is contained in Radlov’s collections, we have adopted his classification,nbsp;based on linguistic data, into the following groups, each of which isnbsp;characterised by its own peculiar type of literary productions.

• (1) The Tatars occupying the steppes and valleys of the Uppernbsp;Yenisei and the slopes of the Sayan Mountains. For the sake of brevitynbsp;we shall refer to these tribes as the Abakan group, as the greater part ofnbsp;the literature of this group was collected from the Tatars in the neighbourhood of the Abakan steppe. But it is to be understood that thenbsp;term is used merely for the sake of convenience in the following pages,nbsp;and is not to be pressed to its geographical limits. These tribes werenbsp;largely shamanists and horse nomads till the Russians undertooknbsp;vigorous measures of colonisation during the early part of last century.nbsp;They have mostly either died out, or become absorbed in and assimilated to the Russians.

• (2) The Kara-Kirghiz, most of whom are to be found on the slopesnbsp;of the Tien Shan Mountains, especially round Lake Issyk-Kul. Somenbsp;are believed to linger still in the valley of the Upper Yenisei, which isnbsp;generally regarded as their former home (see p. 7 below). They arenbsp;partly agriculturalists, but the majority are nomads, rich in flocks ofnbsp;horses and sheep. They are nominally Mohammedans,^ but they knownbsp;little of the Prophet or the Koran, and the more easterly of the tribesnbsp;are said to be almost wholly ignorant of both (cf. p. 89 below).

' This classification differs somewhat from that of Vambéry ÇTûrkenvolk, p. 85), who divided the ‘Eastern Turks’ into (i) Siberian Turks, including most of thenbsp;tribes in the areas of the Lena, the Yenisei, and the Tobol ; (2) the Turks of Chinesenbsp;Turkestan and of the southern steppes; (3) the Volga Turks; (4) the Tatars roundnbsp;the shores of the Black Sea.

’ In speaking of the religion of the various Tatar peoples, it must be understood that we are referring to the faith which they held at the time when the literaturenbsp;which we are about to study was recorded, and before the full effects of the Russiannbsp;Revolution with its anti-religious campaign were felt.

INTRODUCTION

5

• (3) The Altai, including the Chern, or Black Forest Tatars, and thenbsp;Teleut; and some smaller tribes in this region, such as the Kirei and thenbsp;Kumandists. These tribes are almost wholly shamanists, though thenbsp;Teleut were nominally converted to Islam as early as the seventeenthnbsp;century, and the Kirei, now Mohammedans, were Nestorian Christiansnbsp;from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries. The Tatars of this groupnbsp;are generally regarded as freer from foreign influence than other Tatarsnbsp;of Central Asia, and as retaining old Turkish customs and beliefs innbsp;their purest form. They practise agriculture where conditions permit;nbsp;but the majority of the Tatars of the Altai are nomads or hunters.

• (4) The Kazaks who inhabit the steppes in the northern and easternnbsp;part of the Aral-Caspian basin and the Orenburg district of Russia.nbsp;They are frequently called Kirghiz, and the Russians call them Kirghiz-Kazaks. The word Kav^ak is believed to mean simply ‘riders’. Thenbsp;name is first mentioned by the Persian poet Firdausi (1020), who refersnbsp;to the ^ka^^aks’ as mounted and armed steppe marauders. These tribesnbsp;are divided into three hordes, a division which was made by their khan,nbsp;or prince, Tyavka, in the thirteenth century for administrative purposes.nbsp;The Great Horde, as it is called, inhabits the steppe between the Sea ofnbsp;Aral and the mountains to the east of Lake Balkash; the Middle Hordenbsp;that between the Tobol and the Irtish and the Syr Daria; the Littlenbsp;Horde that between the Sea of Aral and the lower Volga. The greatnbsp;majority have been nomads until recent times, though in the south andnbsp;west they have been gradually adopting the mode of life of the Russiannbsp;settlers for over a century. Their conversion has been a gradual process,nbsp;and although Islam was introduced at an early date among the southernnbsp;tribes, it was only adopted by the majority of the people when Kuchumnbsp;Khan gave support to Mohammedan missionaries in the seventeenthnbsp;century.

• (5) The Tatars of the valleys of the Ob and Irtish, the majority ofnbsp;whom are generally designated roughly as the ‘Tobol Tatars’, thoughnbsp;the name is as arbitrary as that of the Abakan group referred to above.nbsp;They are the most consistently settled of all the Tatars in their mode ofnbsp;life, being chiefly occupied in agriculture and trade. They are mostlynbsp;Mohammedans, though a small number have been Christians since 1720.

• (6) Finally there are the Turkomans, who inhabit the steppe to thenbsp;north of Persia and Afghanistan, between the Caspian Sea and the Oxus.nbsp;A large proportion are still nomadic horse breeders, though since theirnbsp;subjugation by the Russians in 1881 they are gradually adopting agriculture and a more settled mode of life. They are all Mohammedans.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Little is known of the history of the Tatars, beyond their relations with the Chinese in the east, and their connections with Europe in thenbsp;west. Among European writers they have generally not been clearlynbsp;distinguished from the Mongols and the Tungus.’ All our informationnbsp;goes to prove, however, that the civilisation of the Tatars was on anbsp;higher level in the past than in modern times. The ancient settlednbsp;civilisation on the Yenisei, which has been brought to light by archaeologists, and which appears to extend through the whole of the firstnbsp;millennium before our era,^ is generally attributed, rightly or wrongly, tonbsp;the ancient Tatars. More important for our purpose, because morenbsp;recent, are the traces left by the Uigurs, a certainly Turkish people whonbsp;occupied first northern and western Mongolia and later the deserts andnbsp;oases to the south-west during the first millennium of our era. The Uigursnbsp;were a highly civilised town-dwelling people, with an alphabet and anbsp;literature of their own. They enjoyed trade relations with both Indianbsp;and China. Their royal house, with its capital at Karakoram in northernnbsp;Mongolia till 840, and after that in Chinese Turkestan at Kucha andnbsp;elsewhere, professed Buddhism and Manichaeism at various periodsnbsp;before the tenth century. The conversion of their khagan., or ruler, tonbsp;Manichaeism, and the resulting introduction of Manichaeism among thenbsp;Uigurs took place in 763.3 Even after the destruction of the Uigur powernbsp;on the Orkhon in 840, and the shifting of their centre to Chinesenbsp;Turkestan, their influence extended throughout the deserts and oases ofnbsp;Gobi and the Taklamakan, and the Tarim basin, and the great mountainsnbsp;to the west. As late as the thirteenth century one branch of the Uigursnbsp;still had their summer palace on the slopes of the Tien Shan Mountains.

This Uigur civilisation, derived in the main from the indigenous Indo-European speaking peoples who occupied the Turfan and Tarimnbsp;basins, and the district of Khotan further south, for centuries before thenbsp;southward movement of the Uigurs, cannot have failed to exercise anbsp;strong influence on the nomads who lived in the neighbouring mountains—an influence which was certainly none the less potent because itnbsp;is now difficult to gauge. It is very necessary that we should keep thisnbsp;factor constantly in mind in our consideration of the oral literature of

* See A. B. Boswell, S.Ji. vi (1927-8), p. 68 ff.

’ See Minns, A.J. x (1930), p. iff. and the references there cited.

3 Chavannes and Pelliot, J.A. 1913 (i), pp. i9if.; i93ff.; 3O3ff'; 317; cf. Burkitt, pp. 50, 97f. For a sketch of the history and culture of Kucha, see S, Lévi,nbsp;J.A. 1913 (2), p. 311 ff. For a discussion of foreign elements in early Turkishnbsp;culture, see Brockelmann, A.M. 1925, p. iioff.

INTRODUCTION

7

the nomads. It is easy to underrate the importance of a great people and a great civilisation which disappeared from the map a thousand yearsnbsp;ago, and which has been almost forgotten by history. The culturalnbsp;influence of the Uigurs has never been fully appreciated by Westernnbsp;historians ; but in this respect the native traditions are a surer guide thannbsp;the pages of our historians. We shall see that in the chief epic Cycle ofnbsp;the Turks the leading place in the civilisation of the East is assigned tonbsp;the Uigurs, whose high material culture, progressive policy, and peace-loving habits are a constant source of wonder to the nomad Kirghiznbsp;minstrel.

The original home of the Kara-Kirghiz is generally thought to have been on the head waters of the Yenisei. The final stage of their southwardnbsp;movements is believed to have taken place in the seventeenth century,nbsp;owing to the Russian advance in Siberia.quot; The previous stages of thesenbsp;movements, however, are assigned to a much earlier date. The Kirghiznbsp;have been identified with a powerful people known to Chinese annalsnbsp;as the Hakas, or, more correctly, perhaps, the K’ic-gia-s^e,^ who seemnbsp;to have occupied the regions round the source of the Yenisei during thenbsp;ninth century, and who destroyed the Uigur power with its centre atnbsp;Karakoram on the Orkhon in northern Mongolia in 840; 3 and the Kara-Kirghiz are more particularly identified with the branch of these powerfulnbsp;Turkish warriors which moved south-westwards from the source of thenbsp;Yenisei in the tenth century.* The early Turkish activities whichnbsp;broke the Uigur power in the north are something more than the raidsnbsp;of barbarian warriors, and a careful study of their policy and actualnbsp;achievements—so far as our evidence allows of such a study 5—makesnbsp;it clear that even the mountain Turks were capable at this time of carefully planned movements, a deliberate policy, and organised warfare.nbsp;They must, in fact, have been a far more highly civilised people thannbsp;the Kirghiz of more recent times. Radlov, indeed, held that the love ofnbsp;‘epic’® poetry, shared in modern times by the Kara-Kirghiz and thenbsp;Abakan Tatars, is probably of common origin, and belonged originallynbsp;to the Hakas on the Yenisei.^ This is more problematical, but is perhaps

’ Radlov, Proben V, p. v ; cf. Czaplicka, Turks, p. 48 ; cf. also Venyukov (Michell, P- 273)-

quot; Radlov, loc. cit.

3 See above. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Radlov, loc. cit.

5 See Chavannes and Pelliot, 1913 (i), p. 285 ff.

* By the term ‘epic’ Radlov evidently meant long narrative poems of adventure, whether relating to natural or supernatural persons and events. See Chapters ii,nbsp;in below.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben, loc. cit.-, cf. Czaplicka, Turks, p. 69.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

supported by the similarity in form of the poetry of both the Kara-Kirghiz and the Abakan Tatars to that of the Tatars of the Altai who lie between?

If this theory of a northern origin is correct—and there seem no grounds for doubting it—the Kara-Kirghiz must from early times havenbsp;been near neighbours of the Buryat, a Mongol people living at that timenbsp;(and still living to-day) around Lake Baikal. This might help to accountnbsp;in part for the confusion which prevails to some extent as to the exactnbsp;distinction between the Kara-Kirghiz and the Buryat. The originalnbsp;distinction would, in fact, be partly lost if, as is generally believed, anbsp;section of the Buryat had already migrated southwards to the shore ofnbsp;Lake Issyk-Kul at the foot of the Alatau Mountains before the southward movement of the Kara-Kirghiz to this region. Buryat or Burutnbsp;{Pulut} is the name by which the Kara-Kirghiz are known among thenbsp;Chinese and the Kalmuck in modern times, while Russian writers (e.g.nbsp;Valikhanov^ and Venyukov) generally refer to them as Dikokammenoi.nbsp;The Burut (Buryat) proper, however, are not Tatars at all, but Mongols.nbsp;The most likely explanation of the confusion seems to be, therefore,nbsp;that by this name the Chinese correctly denoted certain Mongol tribesnbsp;dwelling round Lake Issyk-Kul before the migration of the Kirghiznbsp;from the Yenisei during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, andnbsp;earlier, and that the name continued to be used afterwards both of thenbsp;original inhabitants and of the later immigrant tribes. The confusion isnbsp;an unfortunate one, however, as these tribes have yielded a rich harvestnbsp;of literature and of evidence for native customs, which are variously citednbsp;as illustrating Mongol and Tatar tradition,^ thus adding still greaternbsp;confusion to the baffling Mongol-Tatar overlap in the mountain districtsnbsp;of Jungaria and Chinese Turkestan, and the Tien Shan Mountains.

’ See further Kogutei, p. 7.

’ Valikhanov was the son of a Kirghiz chief in the Russian service, and himself an educated gentleman and a valuable authority on Kirghiz matters. See R. B. Shaw,nbsp;J.A.S.B. XLVi (1877), p. 243; cf. also p. 16, footnote i below.

3 We may refer, for example, to the brief but interesting illustrated article by Kurt Lubinski, which has reference to the ‘Oirot on the Mongolian-Siberiannbsp;borders’. According to Czaplicka, the Oirot are Tatars (Turks, p. 96, and cf.nbsp;H.S.A.R. I, p. 156—also largely her work), while most modem ethnologists classnbsp;them among the western Mongols or Kalmucks. In the Kara-Kirghiz Cycle ofnbsp;Manas, the Oirot are identified with the Nogai. Now the Nogai is an alternativenbsp;name generally applied to the western Mongols or Kalmucks; but the Nogainbsp;form the principal personnel of the Manas poems, which are the ‘national’ epicsnbsp;of the Kara-Kirghiz, and composed in a Tatar dialect. See further, Poppe, A.M.nbsp;viii, p. 183 ff., and the references there cited.

INTRODUCTION

9

Something of the splendour and formality which prevailed at the nomad courts from the time of Jenghiz Khan to the seventeenthnbsp;century can be gleaned from the works of the medieval travellers whonbsp;visited them on diplomatic and missionary enterprises, as well as fromnbsp;the later records of Russian historians. These records do not, of course,nbsp;always distinguish clearly between Tatar, Tungus, and Mongol,’ but itnbsp;is doubtful how far the distinction itself held good at this period, apartnbsp;from the immediate families of the chief leaders and rulers, whosenbsp;subjects consisted of all the peoples of the western steppe, and many ofnbsp;the eastern also. It is probable that the actual Mongol race formed thenbsp;smallest element^ in the great hordes which rolled together like a vastnbsp;snowball under the genius and leadership of Jenghiz Khan and hisnbsp;immediate followers. The predominant element among those withnbsp;whom the European travellers came into contact were doubtless Turks,nbsp;as those who conquered China were certainly Tungus.

The devastating effects of the ‘Tatar’ invasions on eastern Europe have blinded us to the great intellectual achievements of their leaders,nbsp;both in organisation and in the science of war, though their religiousnbsp;tolerance in an age when Europe was given up to fanaticism has longnbsp;been recognised.^ Their social polish was equally striking. A letter ofnbsp;condolence sent by Mamai Khan to Ivan the Terrible on the death of hisnbsp;father, Vasily III, is remarkable for its good taste and a certain cultivatednbsp;character.“* Medieval travellers, such as Pian de Carpini, Ibn Batuta,nbsp;and William of Rubruck, all afford the strongest testimony to thenbsp;tolerance and courtesy with which they were treated by the nomadnbsp;princes, and still more to the elaborate etiquette observed in theirnbsp;courts. The records of Russian envoys to the court of Altyn Khan andnbsp;neighbouring Mongol princes in the seventeenth century lay equalnbsp;stress on the elaborate ceremonial, and the love of display. 5 We shallnbsp;see when we come to examine the narrative poems that great attentionnbsp;is paid to detailed descriptions of even unimportant and everydaynbsp;matters, such as feasting and the arrival of guests, and the most trivialnbsp;movements and actions of royal persons. The narratives of the medievalnbsp;travellers and those of the Russian envoys of the seventeenth century,nbsp;notably that of Spathary, make it quite clear that this minute andnbsp;meticulous etiquette is by no means a piece of poetical embroidery, but

’ See Boswell, S./i. vi (1927-8), p. 68. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Czaplicka, 5'.K. p. 54.

3 Bury is probably the only historian who has done full justice to this aspect of Tatar culture.

“* See Karamzin vn, p. 315. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 See Baddeley ii, p. 204ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

a faithful reflection of the custom of barbaric courts, where such trifling matters are invested with all the dignity of a function, if not ofnbsp;an actual ritual. We shall have more to say on this subject also in a laternbsp;chapter (p. 72 below).

Among the Turkomans the chief is known as a khan, and his dependent chiefs, who appear to be regarded as his personal servants, and to correspond to the Anglo-Saxon Pegnas, are known as naib. Thenbsp;military leaders are known as sirdars, and are selected according tonbsp;efficiency and merit, developing eventually into ak-sakols, or elders,nbsp;along with the wealthiest and most influential men of the tribe. Thenbsp;Kazaks are governed by sultans, whose title is hereditary, and who arenbsp;subordinate to the khan, chosen only from the sultans of purely aristocratic lineage.’ The Kara-Kirghiz tribes are governed by manaps, ornbsp;elders, originally elected, but now hereditary. There are also bis whonbsp;administer the laws, and batyrs who are the leaders of the militarynbsp;expeditions. Above the manap is the aga-manapp who is the head ofnbsp;a confederation of tribes.

Succession is through the male line, though the nature of their traditions suggests that formerly it was through the female.^ A childnbsp;of the Kysyl Tatars, when questioned as to his name, also adds (i) hisnbsp;mother’s name, (2) his uncle’s name, (3) his father’s name, in thisnbsp;order.“* In the absence of written records, great importance is attachednbsp;to the preservation of the genealogies.5 Rigid distinctions are madenbsp;between those sultans who have inherited the blood of the khansnbsp;without intermixture, and those who are descended from khans bynbsp;alliance with inferior blood.^ Vambery tells us that when two Kirghiznbsp;meet, the first question asked is: “Who are thy seven fathers—nbsp;ancestors.^” The person addressed, even if a child in his seventh year,nbsp;has always his answer ready, for otherwise he would be considered asnbsp;very ill-bred.7 The status of women is probably higher than may atnbsp;first sight appear, though a large part of the heavy work falls to theirnbsp;share. Their position generally is said to be more honourable thannbsp;among the settled Turks,® and would seem to resemble that of thenbsp;desert Tuareg (see p. 656f. below). The Orkhon inscriptions also pointnbsp;' Levchine, p. 398.

Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 266; cf. Czaplicka, Turks, p. 49.

3 Michell, p. 273 f.

Racllov, Proben II, p. 645, 1. 1281 ff.

5 Levchine, p. 147. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Ih. p. 348.

7 Travels, p. 369; cf. Türkenvolk, p. 285.

® Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 268; cf. also Barthold, p. 15.

INTRODUCTION

II

to the high status of women among the Uigurs in the eighth century. Here the kkaghan {khan^ kan), in speaking of his father and mother,nbsp;gives to the latter the title of‘the Wise (Regent) of the Clan’. When hernbsp;husband dies, leaving behind two infant sons, the upbringing of thenbsp;boys is apparently left exclusively in the care of the mother.’

We know little of the nature of the personal relationship existing between lord and man, but in regard to payment and property it wouldnbsp;seem to be not unlike that which existed between a Teutonic chief andnbsp;his followers. The chief’s immediate followers who surround his personnbsp;form a bodyguard and court, while he in turn provides for their materialnbsp;needs. An interesting instance of the excellent understanding whichnbsp;subsists between the Turkomans in this matter is mentioned by Frasernbsp;who, however, evidently misunderstood the incident himself. Havingnbsp;given a naib 50 ducats for a horse he was disgusted to find that the chief,nbsp;on hearing of the sale, demanded the money from his servant, andnbsp;deliberately dividing the gold into shares, kept 12 for himself, gave 7 tonbsp;one of his own sons, 5 to another, and so on till only 4 were left; these henbsp;graciously gave back to the naïb^ who received it as a high mark of favour.

‘ “ What of it.^ ” was the naib’s reply to my burst of indignant astonishment at hearing the story; “is not all I have from the Khan.^ If I eat a hundred tomauns of his goods, he says nothing to me; I am very wellnbsp;off with what I have got, for, after all, the horse was a present to you,nbsp;sir, and no doubt the Khan will make it up to me in some way ornbsp;other.” I was as much amused as provoked with this affair, and spokenbsp;to the Meerza of it in high terms of disgust. “Ah !” replied he, “greatnbsp;men do these sort of things often: the Naib says true; who can tell butnbsp;tomorrow he may give him a horse worth sixty tomauns.^’”’

Some such elementary system of banking, which may be called ‘accumulating credit’ with a chief, is very necessary in a communitynbsp;where money can be of little value, and may well be a source of dangernbsp;to its possessor. The situation was neatly explained to Levchine by annbsp;old Kazak-Kirghiz, who declared that it would be futile for him to sellnbsp;his vast herds of horses, for he had no need of money which he wouldnbsp;have to hide away in a chest, whereas when his herds galloped over thenbsp;steppe, everyone gazed at them and realised the wealth of their owner.3

The material culture of the steppe nomads of modern times is not on a high level. They have no more permanent architecture than a tent; nonbsp;industries; little agriculture, and that only in isolated districts; and, asnbsp;' Barthold,/oc. cit.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Fraser ii, p. 325 f.

3 Levchine, p. 348 f.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

we have seen, no trade which can be regarded as organised. The way of life and the mental outlook are barbaric. The picture of the Kazaksnbsp;given by Levchine’ is probably not exaggerated, and is equally appropriate to the more virile of the nomads elsewhere—faithless and greedy,nbsp;inactive in peace, incapable and ignorant of the art of war, though muchnbsp;given to surprise raids, unable to act in concert, but courageous and fullnbsp;of personal initiative—not so much warriors as brigands, whose solenbsp;object is booty, and who depart instantly from the neighbourhood ofnbsp;their enemies when this object is obtained. It is perhaps the form ofnbsp;barbarism most widely prevalent among people who have not a largenbsp;hereditary aristocracy. Yet it is clear that these people are not withoutnbsp;their own standards of conduct, and the qualities which go to make anbsp;gentleman. The ‘aristocratic pride’ of the Kirghiz is said to be particularly remarkable,^ and O’Donovan was evidently impressed duringnbsp;his sojourn among the fiercest of the Turkomans by the refinementnbsp;and courtesy of their behaviour to their friends and to one another.^

By far the most important factor in the life of the Asiatic nomad is his horse, which he undoubtedly regards as his most precious possession. The Turkomans in particular are said to be fond of telling storiesnbsp;and singing songs of their horses. These are said to be in realitynbsp;wonderful creatures, and prized by the owner more than his wife, hisnbsp;children, even more than his own life.

“It is of interest to mark with what carefulness he brings him up”, writes Vambery, “how he clothes him to resist cold and heat, whatnbsp;magnificence he displays in the accoutrements of his saddle, in whichnbsp;he, perhaps in a wretched dress of rags, makes a strange contrast withnbsp;the carefully decorated steed. These fine creatures are well worth allnbsp;the praise bestowed upon them, and the stories recounted of their speednbsp;and powers of endurance are far from being exaggerated.”''

In illustration of these observations by Vambery regarding the Turkomans, we may refer to a passage in the Sagai poem of Khangt;nbsp;Märgän, in which a certain Altyn Aira begs a boon of the hero. Atnbsp;first Khan Märgän is silent, but is reassured when Altyn Aira says :

It is not your horse for which I ask.

It is a man whom I beg of you.

Will you give him, my friend.^

' Levchine, p. 339 ff.

’ Vambéry, Travels, p. 369; cf. what Levchine says (p. 348) of the Kazaks.

3 O’Donovan n, p. 315. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;¦’ Vambéry, Travels, p. 3i9f,

5 The form kan, dialect of khan, is retained by Radlov in many titles.

INTRODUCTION

13

Then without further hesitation Khan Märgän replies:

I will give him, friend?

It is a noticeable feature of the Tatar poems, as of the Russian byliny^ that while the hero may, and often does, forget his heroic quest in thenbsp;pleasures of eating and drinking, the horse is never at fault, and invariably recalls him to his senses. Over and over again it is the horsenbsp;which saves the situation. The horse may indeed be said to be the truenbsp;hero of the Abakan narrative poems.

The superiority of the Tatar horses and horsemanship has rendered their more civilised neighbours to the south an easy prey to their raids.nbsp;The Turkomans are said to be the hardest riders and the fiercestnbsp;marauders of the west,3 while the Great Wall of China and the Chinesenbsp;Annals and poetry afford eloquent testimony to the raiding propensitiesnbsp;of the nomads of the east,—whether Turks, Mongols, or Tungus. Evennbsp;in the fifties of last century, when Atkinson visired the camp of anbsp;Kirghiz sultan, he found that the men had just returned from a successfulnbsp;raid, bringing enormous plunder, and celebrating the event with muchnbsp;drinking and feasting.When Vambéry made his famous journey tonbsp;Khiva, the caravan elected to travel through a desert so arid that somenbsp;of the members perished from thirst, rather than travel by the shorternbsp;and more convenient route infested by Turkoman robbers, whosenbsp;proud boast it was that not one Persian could cross their frontier without a string round his neck.5 The leaders of their raids and maraudingnbsp;expeditions were generally chosen for their personal prestige, and henbsp;who showed himself competent in organising a successful expeditionnbsp;soon collected a considerable comitatus.^

In considering the intellectual development and the cultivation of oral literature among the Tatars, some caution is necessary, owing tonbsp;the custom among the richer chiefs, notably those of the Kirghiz andnbsp;the Turkomans, of keeping a mullah, or educated Mohammedan scholar,nbsp;in their camps. Atkinson noticed that among the Kirghiz of Jungarianbsp;on the slopes of the Alatau Mountains, every sultan and chief had hisnbsp;mullah, who was a very important person in the tribe.7 In 1878, thenbsp;late Prof. Bateson met a Russian acting as scribe to the Kazak chief in

* Radlov, Proben II, p. 69. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Cf. Vol. ii, p. 84.

3 Vambéry, Travels, p. 317. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Atkinson, p. 571; cf. ib. p. 563.

5 Encycl. Brit., s.v. Turks.

A vivid picture of the procedure by which a comitatus was collected among the Turkomans for a raid is given by Fraser I, p. 377.

’ Atkinson, p. 571.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

an azzZ, or camp, among the Kazaks of the Middle Horde? Vambéry noted that among the Kazaks in the Khanate of Bokhara, the wealthynbsp;‘bays’ (i.e. begs) were accustomed to search the cities for mullahs tonbsp;exercise the functions of teachers, chaplains, and secretaries at a fixednbsp;salary, payable in sheep, horses, and camels,^ and he mentions that itnbsp;was customary among the Turkomans for a chief to receive the fatiha,nbsp;or Mohammedan benediction, from a mullah before setting out on hisnbsp;forays? It was in the disguise of a learned Mohammedan dervish thatnbsp;Vambéry sojourned, an honoured guest, among the fiercest tentdwelling Turkoman slave-raiders on the frontiers of Khiva, where henbsp;was frequently forced to try conclusions with the resident mullah.

On the other hand it would be a great mistake to suppose that Mohammedan culture has wholly superseded the native tradition, evennbsp;among those Tatars who have embraced Islam. Indeed among thenbsp;nomadic tribes it cannot be said to have penetrated very far. Accordingnbsp;to Vambéry, in 1864 only one in a thousand could read or write,“* andnbsp;Venyukov reckoned the same proportion among the Kara-Kirghiz.5nbsp;Broadly speaking it is certainly true that among the nomadic peoples ofnbsp;Central Asia written literature is wholly unknown. Education andnbsp;writing have no doubt made considerable progress during recent yearsnbsp;in these parts, as elsewhere in the Soviet Republics ; but in general thenbsp;nomadic and semi-nomadic population is doubtless everywhere stillnbsp;illiterate.

Oral literature, on the other hand, is universal, and possesses great vitality. In the art of extemporisation especially the Tatars are pastnbsp;masters, as the literature which we are about to study will demonstrate.nbsp;But the art of memorisation is also cultivated among them, and an anecdotenbsp;related of the Kazaks to Vambéry by a distinguished mullah bearsnbsp;striking testimony to the ready and retentive memory of the nomad.nbsp;The mullah was enjoying the hospitality of a chief of the Sargan tribe,nbsp;and in the evening after supper he proceeded to relate stories, into onenbsp;of which he inserted a poem in the Kalmuck language. On returningnbsp;to the same neighbourhood after a lapse of six years, he was not a littlenbsp;surprised to hear the same story and the same poem recited exactly,nbsp;word for word, by a youth who appeared to him to be a stranger.nbsp;Upon enquiry, he learnt to his astonishment that the youth had heardnbsp;it as a nine-year-old boy from the mullah himself on his previous visit,

’ Vambéry, Travels, p. 369.

5 Michell, p. 287.

U

and retained it faithfully in his memory, despite the fact that the poem was in a foreign language? Even if we make some allowance fornbsp;possible exaggeration, or for exceptional powers on the part of thenbsp;youth, the anecdote is interesting as showing that the powers of memorynbsp;were highly valued and cultivated among these people.

The Turkomans are said to be especially pre-eminent in the art of memorisation. Their professional reciters are as remarkable for theirnbsp;highly specialised memories, and the verbal exactitude of their traditions, as the poets of the Kara-Kirghiz for their facility in improvisation.nbsp;In the preservation of the past history of their tribes also the Turkomansnbsp;are said to excel. Valikhanov refers further to Kirghiz tribes in thenbsp;neighbourhood of Jungaria as notable for the preservation of theirnbsp;tribal and genealogical traditions, which are transmitted from generationnbsp;to generation by the elders of the tribe, as well as by their poets.’

The eastern Tatars in general, however (including the Siberian Tatars, the Kara-Kirghiz, etc.), are said to be far inferior to the Kazaks withnbsp;regard to historical traditions, and the Tobol and Kazan Tatars are alsonbsp;said to be deficient in this respect. 3 Even such traditions as we findnbsp;among the Kirghiz and the Abakan Tatars are difficult of verification,nbsp;owing to our limited knowledge of the history of these people fromnbsp;outside sources. It is clear that Chinese historians have laboured undernbsp;' the same difficulty in attempting to write the history of the Kirghiz andnbsp;the Kalmucks (cf. p. 119 below). There can be no doubt, however, thatnbsp;traditions are orally transmitted over great distances, and throughnbsp;considerable periods of time. A certain hero Kangza, unknown tonbsp;history, is said to figure largely in the traditions of the Teleut (Radlov),'*nbsp;the Altaians (Verbitski), and the Abakan Tatars (Katanov).5 The storynbsp;of the Russian conqueror of ‘Siberia’, Ermak Timofeevich (cf. Vol. ii,nbsp;p. 59 above), is found with slight variations among the Tatars of the Obnbsp;and the Irtish.® Episodes from early Nogai and Kazak stories have beennbsp;heard among the Turkomans; and conversely the great Turkoman

’ Vambéry, Travels, p. 292f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Michell, p. 95.

5 Czaplicka, Turks, p. 56.

See Radlov, Proben I, p. 2i8f.

5 Czaplicka, Turks, p. 56. This hero is mentioned occasionally in Katanov’s collection; but the stories in which he figures are too brief to afford much evidencenbsp;of value—hardly more than brief anecdotes. We suspect that the name is corrupt—nbsp;for Kan Gzak(.^). The latter name occurs in the medieval Russian work, the Slovo onbsp;Polky Igor eve, as the name of one of the leaders of the Polovtsy.

‘ Radlov, Proben iv, pp. ii, 179, 263.

l6 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

robber and hero Kurroglou is celebrated in songs of the Kazaks? We shall see other examples of the travelling of stories from one part ofnbsp;Central Asia to another in the course of the following pages. It maybe added that many legends relating, e.g. to the Kirghiz, are considerednbsp;indecent by the present generation, which suggests that they have beennbsp;handed down in their original form; and many words and phrases havenbsp;been preserved in these traditions which are now obsolete.^

In attempting to study the oral literature of the Tatars we have encountered great difficulty, owing to the inaccessibility of much of thenbsp;material. Scholars of eastern Europe have long been aware of thenbsp;interest and importance attaching to the native poetry and traditions ofnbsp;the various races of Siberia. As early as 1842 Chodzko published anbsp;collection of sagas and poetry relating to the Turkomans and the Tatarsnbsp;of Astrakhan.^ From 1866-1872 the Russian traveller and orientalnbsp;scholar Radlov collected and published a series of sagas and poetrynbsp;relating to the Tatar tribes of the mountains and steppes of Central Asia.nbsp;Their work is of great value, and has never been superseded. Othernbsp;collections have also been published, many of them, unfortunately,nbsp;inaccessible to us. References to these will be found in such bibliographies as those of Czaplicka, Turks-, Holmberg, Siberian Mythology,nbsp;etc. Under the U.S.S.R. there is probably greater activity in recordingnbsp;the native oral literature of the Siberian peoples than at any previousnbsp;time; but unfortunately most of this material also has been inaccessiblenbsp;to us.“*

By far the most important of the collections which have come under our observation are those of Radlov.5 His work has, however, two

’ So Valikhanov (Michell, p. 100). Some interesting evidence for the historicity of the heroic narratives of the Kara-Kirghiz is given by this writer (Zoc. cit.'). Owingnbsp;to his Kirghiz origin (see p. 8, footnote 2 above), Valikhanov was in an exceptionallynbsp;favourable position, so far as the critical standards of the time—the middle of lastnbsp;century—permitted, to assess the historical value of the Kirghiz traditions, and tonbsp;equate them with Russian records.

Valikhanov (Michell, p. 95 ff.). For some remarks on the antiquity of these traditions, see ib., loc. cit.

3 Specimens of the Popular Poetry of Persia.

* A large number of books which appear to contain collections of native oral literature of the various Siberian peoples are appearing in the catalogues of thenbsp;various Russian booksellers of Leningrad and Moscow; but our efforts to procurenbsp;copies of these, by applying directly both to the firms and to their agents, have metnbsp;with only slight success.

5 Proben. (For full title, see List of Abbreviations at the close of the present volume.) In citing this work, as we shall constantly have occasion to do throughout

17 serious drawbacks. In the first place little information is given as to thenbsp;authors or reciters of the poems, or the circumstances in which theynbsp;were recorded. We are therefore almost wholly ignorant of the literarynbsp;environment of most of his material. In the second place—and this isnbsp;perhaps a natural corollary to the above—it is clear that while thenbsp;collections entered under the names of the various tribes represent thenbsp;highest literary achievement of these tribes, and the literary forms innbsp;which they excel, they do not represent the whole scope of their literarynbsp;activity. For example, Radlov’s collection from the tribes of the Abakannbsp;Tatars and the Kara-Kirghiz consists almost exclusively of long narrativenbsp;poems. Yet he tells us in his introduction to Vol. v that many othernbsp;(e.g. lyric) forms of poetry were also current among them; and this wenbsp;know also from Katanov’s collection.’ Radlov’s collection in the Probennbsp;from the Altai and from the Teleut consists principally of brief poems,nbsp;most of them hardly above the level of folk-tales; yet we know fromnbsp;Radlov himself that these people possessed a fine body of shamanistnbsp;literature (cf. p. 132 f. below). They also possessed a fine body of heroicnbsp;traditional literature, as we shall see ; and this appears to be true also ofnbsp;the inhabitants of the Sayan Mountains.^

The evidence of Radlov’s texts leaves no room for doubting, however, that the most highly cultivated form of literature among the Tatars of modern times is narrative poetry, both heroic and nonheroic, and dramatic ritual poetry. Our finest specimens of narrativenbsp;heroic poetry have been recorded from the Kara-Kirghiz, and arenbsp;contained in Radlov’s Proben^ Vol. v. The best and longest non-heroicnbsp;poems were recorded from the same tribes, and from the Abakan andnbsp;Jüs Steppes and the neighbouring regions on the Upper Yenisei, andnbsp;these last are contained in Proben^ol. ii;3 but briefer non-heroic poemsnbsp;were also recorded from the Tatars of the Altai and Sayan Mountains.nbsp;Our only text of dramatic poetry which can lay claim to anything likenbsp;completeness is the great dramatic monologue recited by the shaman ofnbsp;the following chapters, we have, for the convenience of our readers, given ournbsp;citations of volume and page, not to the original Turkish texts, but to the parallelnbsp;volumes translated into German.

' See p. 18 below; and cf. the List of Abbreviations {s.v. Katanov) at the close of the present Part.

’ Ib. pp. 56, 170; cf. Katanov (see List as above).

3 For the sake of convenience and brevity the contents of this volume are referred to throughout the following chapters as the ‘Abakan’ poems, though it isnbsp;to be understood that the Abakan poems form only a portion of the whole. Cf.nbsp;p. 4 above.

ciiii

2

l8

the Altai Tatars, and recorded by the missionaries of the Altai Mission, and included by Radlov in a German translation in Aus Sibirien, Vol. n.nbsp;Panegyric and elegiac poetry are also widespread, and occasional poetrynbsp;appears to be universal. Of these, however, our collections containnbsp;relatively few examples, owing doubtless to their ephemeral character,nbsp;though a saga Cycle from the Turkomans, recorded by Chodzko,nbsp;contains many specimens. Saga is found chiefly on the western steppe,nbsp;and in the valleys of the Ob and Irtish. The third volume of the Probennbsp;contains a fine collection of sagas and some narrative poetry from thenbsp;Kazaks. The sagas from the Ob and Irtish, less ambitious in character,nbsp;are contained in Proben, Vol. iv.

It should be added that by no means all the texts contained in Radlov’s collection have been included in our survey, which is primarily concerned only with volumes i-v inclusive. Since Radlov’snbsp;collection is now very rare and not easily accessible, it may interest thenbsp;reader to have some idea of the contents of the remaining volumes.nbsp;Vol. VI contains texts from the Taranchi Tatars; Vol. vii, texts from thenbsp;Crimea; Vol. viii, texts from the Osman Turks; Vol. ix, texts from thenbsp;Uryankhai (Soyot), Abakan Tatars, and the Karagasy; Vol. x, textsnbsp;from Bessarabia. The texts of volumes ix and X were not collected bynbsp;Radlov himself but by Katanov and Moshchov respectively. Several ofnbsp;the volumes have translations in Russian and German, but Vol. ix is,nbsp;we believe, the only one which contains material sufficiently free fromnbsp;the influence of foreign tradition to be of importance for our study.nbsp;With a few exceptions the literature of the Volga and Crimean Tatarsnbsp;has been omitted from our study, because it was felt that the closenbsp;proximity to Russia rendered the evidence less valuable for the studentnbsp;of Tatar literature. The literature of the Turks of Turkestan has also beennbsp;omitted. These people have lived for centuries in close contact with thenbsp;more civilised countries of the south, and have consequently long beennbsp;familiar with the art of writing or with written literature. We regret,nbsp;however, the omission of Katanov’s collection (Vol. ix) from our survey.nbsp;Unfortunately, this volume is not easily accessible to us.* Unlikenbsp;Radlov’s collection from the ‘Abakan’ Tatars, the collection of Katanovnbsp;contains sagas as well as poems—the latter in general much shorter thannbsp;those of Radlov. It also contains riddles, interpretations of dreams,nbsp;anecdotes, folk-tales, legends, shaman’s prayers, etc. Unlike Radlov’snbsp;texts from these tribes also, many of the poems are strophic. The

’ We have only been able to consult it occasionally in the British Museum.

19 volume contains much poetry and prose interspersed, though prose alsonbsp;appears independently. We hope that the omission of Katanov’s volumenbsp;from consideration in the following pages is not important in view ofnbsp;the fact that similar texts are included by Radlov in Aus Sibirien, whichnbsp;records his own travels in Siberia. The following pages will be primarilynbsp;concerned, therefore, with the literature of the Turkomans and of thenbsp;Siberian and Central Asiatic Turks of the steppes and mountains.

In attempting to present this material to English readers, our task is peculiarly difficult. As Radlov points out,’ the translation can onlynbsp;reproduce a feeble picture of the original, since many of the expressionsnbsp;which are introduced in the original merely for the sake of rhyme andnbsp;rhythm appear otiose in the translation. The concepts of the Turkishnbsp;minstrel belong to a language of totally different affinities from thosenbsp;which are familiar to the English reader. It must inevitably be thatnbsp;something is lost, in some instances perhaps even misinterpreted in thenbsp;transition, especially in regard to the poetry which relates to the worldnbsp;of shamanistic ideas—a world of thought which is far less familiar to usnbsp;than that of heroic poetry and saga. It is in the hope of introducing thisnbsp;little known and peculiarly interesting literature to others, who maynbsp;have time and opportunity to acquire a more intimate knowledge and anbsp;wider range of texts than have been possible to us, that we have venturednbsp;to put before the reader the following slight and tentative preliminarynbsp;study.

A word must be said on the subject of metre. According to Radlov,^ the original Turkish metres were characterised by alliteration, acrostics,nbsp;and internal rhyme. These original metres have been lost, and in theirnbsp;place we have metres strongly influenced by Persian poetry with finalnbsp;rhymes. This modern Turkish metre is divided into two classes, knownnbsp;among the Kazak-Kirghiz 3 as along and jyr. The ölöng consists of four-line strophes, of which the first, second, and fourth lines have endrhyme.“* Each line consists of three feet, and each foot has a sharpnbsp;accent on the first and last syllable. The caesura between the feet mustnbsp;always fall between two words. The rhyme generally extends to the last

' Radlov, Proben v, p. xx.

’ A.S. I, p. 501 ff. ; Proben ill, p. xxii.

’ Radlov, like many other writers, refers to the Kazak as ‘Kirghiz’, as distinct from the Kara-Kirghiz, or ‘Dikokammenoi’ (see p. 8 above).

In the Kashgar MS. of poems which was written in 1073 (see P- 65 below) the third line (or half-line) is the one which most commonly rhymes with the first andnbsp;second, while the fourth is generally, though not invariably, unrhymed.

2-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

three syllables, but it often consists merely of assonance. Each of these couplets or quatrains—according to the manner of printing the lines—nbsp;is complete and independent, and often forms a song by itself.’ Thisnbsp;metre is chiefly used for brief improvised songs and occasional poetry,nbsp;but is rarely used for narrative poetry of great length. It is the prevailing metre for literary compositions (i.e. those written or printed innbsp;books or composed under the influence of written literature). Radlovnbsp;tells us that the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz is always sung; and he addsnbsp;that he has heard some fourteen to fifteen different melodies for thenbsp;along, which is always accompanied by an instrument with two stringsnbsp;resembling the Russian balalaika.'^

The metre to which Radlov refers as jyr^ like the metre of the Abakan poems,“* is less subject to strict rule than the along. It consists for thenbsp;most part of three feet, but often only of two, each containing from twonbsp;to four syllables quite irregularly. An end-rhyme is prevalent, and therenbsp;is a tendency for groups of approximately equal lines to fall together.nbsp;In the more finished poetical production, such as many passages in thenbsp;Kara-Kirghiz poems, a fixed final rhyme often recurs through a numbernbsp;of consecutive lines, and consecutive assonances are still more frequent.nbsp;This is said to be due in a large measure to the structure of the language.^nbsp;In addition a regular repetition of a refrain line is common. Often thenbsp;jyr are formed of pairs of rhymes, or of interwoven rhymes. In jyr itnbsp;is said that there often appear traces of the original Turkish laws ofnbsp;rhythm,® e.g. alliteration, acrostic verse, and internal rhyme. This occursnbsp;most frequently in the oldest gnomic poetry, such as the brief poemnbsp;recorded by Radlov, on the first page of the Proben, Vol. in.

This non-strophic metre, with no regular system of rhyme—though end-rhyme is frequent—is employed by professional poets almostnbsp;everywhere for narrative purposes, especially among the Kara-Kirghiz,

’ We may compare the brevity and popularity of the Japanese short poem known as the tanka.

’ Radlov, A.S. loc. cit. Cf. Wörterbuch, s.v. ölöng.

3 Radlov translates {Wörterbuch, s-v.} jyr,jir, as ‘song’. The word appears to be used in a wide sense. According to Vahkhanov it is also used by the Kara-Kirghiznbsp;(‘ Nogai ’) to denote “ tales of olden times” in the form of narrative poetry, which arenbsp;“perpetuated by a special class of bards”. From what Valikhanov says later it isnbsp;clear that he is referring to poems of the Manas Cycle. See Michell, p. 98.

See Radlov, Proben in, p. xxiv.

5 See N. K. Dmitrêv, in the Introduction to Kogutei, p. 31.

Radlov has made a study of the traces of the ancient metrical system surviving in the modern poetry of the ‘Abakan’ Tatars. See Zeitschrift für Wölker-Psychologienbsp;IV, p. 85.

INTRODUCTION

21

and the Altai and Abakan tribes. It may be fairly said to be the dominant metre for oral narrative poetry among the Tatars as a whole. Indeednbsp;among the Kara-Kirghiz it is so much in the ascendant that it is employed even for heroic elegiac poetry by people who are said to benbsp;unfamiliar with narrative poetry (cf. p. 6i below). Among thenbsp;Kazaks also this metre is in common (not invariable) use for narrativenbsp;poetry.

It is held by Dmitrev that the ölöng represents the most ancient type of Turkish versification/ though we have seen that this was not the viewnbsp;of Radlov.^ Its wide range and general popularity may be adduced innbsp;support of this view. It is, indeed, said to be not unknown even fornbsp;narrative poetry among the Abakan tribes and the Kara-Kirghiz, thoughnbsp;unbroken flow of unrhymed lines, the typical ‘narrative metre’ Çjyr) ofnbsp;these people, is tending to oust it, and both here and among the Kazaksnbsp;is more general for narrative purposes. In our view it may be arguednbsp;that the great popularity of the four-line strophe in Kazak and westernnbsp;poetry as a whole tends to support a more recent derivation of thisnbsp;metre from ‘book poetry’. The prevalence of the refrain, and of formulae occupying a whole line, and repeated at regular intervals, pointsnbsp;in the same direction.

There can be no doubt that the two forms are struggling for mastery, both in east and west. In the east the evidence suggests that thenbsp;‘narrative’ metre (i.e. the unrhymed, non-strophic) is gaining ground;nbsp;but it would be unsafe to predict from the amount of material before us.nbsp;The preponderance of narrative poetry from the eastern Tatars innbsp;Radlov’s collection must not blind us to the very prevalent custom ofnbsp;extemporising brief strophic poems, which have not been recordednbsp;because of their ephemeral character and purely personal interest. Onnbsp;the other hand, if the ‘narrative metre’ is not an ‘original’ and ‘native’nbsp;one, where does it come from, and how has it come to be so widelynbsp;applied to narrative poetry.^

In the west, the struggle for mastery between the two metres is aptly evidenced by the Kazak narrative heroic poem of Kenä Sary^ of whichnbsp;we have two versions, side by side, one in strophic, and one in ‘ narrative’ metre. The latter version is in a fragmentary condition. Thisnbsp;evidence rather suggests the encroachment of the lyric metre on the

“ See N. K. Dmitrêv, J.A. (1926), p. 305. For a recent discussion by the same author of the metres and rhythms of the oral literature of the Altai Tatars, seenbsp;Introduction to Kogutei, p. 2 5 if.

’ See Radlov, Proben ill, p. xxiiff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

epic. We shall see later (p. 48 below) that the general form of Kazak narrative, and more especially the relationship of the ‘strophic’nbsp;to the ‘narrative’ metre, and of both to prose, supports this conclusion.nbsp;The identity of the strophic metres with the metre of Turkish ‘book’nbsp;poetry, and the influence of Mohammedan culture among the westernnbsp;Tatars generally, suggests that the strophic metre is reinforced fromnbsp;written sources, whether directly or through minstrels trained in anbsp;foreign or educated tradition, and Radlov’s observation of the archaicnbsp;metres still retained in ancient texts is of the utmost importance in thisnbsp;connection. The widespread use of the brief strophic form for occasionalnbsp;poetry need cause no surprise, in view of the facilities offered by thisnbsp;form, and we ourselves have no doubt that Radlov was right in regarding theyjr as older than the along. A study of Yakut metre wouldnbsp;be relevant to this question, owing to the conservative character ofnbsp;Yakut poetry, and when Yakut texts are more easily accessible we havenbsp;no doubt that they will be of great assistance in solving the problem.

Finally some reference is necessary to the musical instruments in use among the Tatars, though we can only mention one or two of thenbsp;commonest. There can be no question that for the accompaniment ofnbsp;narrative poetry stringed instruments of some kind or other are innbsp;general use. The most elaborate of these is perhaps the chatigannbsp;Çjâdigân). We shall refer later to the love of the Sagai tribes for thenbsp;chatigans, and their reluctance to sell them (p. 178 below). This instrument—a kind of zither—consists of a long cylindrical or oblong boxnbsp;without a lid, sometimes hollowed out of a single piece of wood. Thenbsp;box is, as it were, laid bottom upwards, and the strings are stretchednbsp;along the outside of the bottom. There are generally five to eightnbsp;strings in the modern chatigan^ but in the past it was probably a morenbsp;ambitious instrument, for in the poems the static description is thenbsp;‘forty-stringed chatigan . A chatigan brought by Czaplicka fromnbsp;Siberia is in the Pitt-Rivers Museum at Oxford. This specimen^ has sixnbsp;wire strings of equal length, variety of pitch being given by movablenbsp;knuckle-bones of the reindeer, placed one under each string. Thenbsp;instrument is played by plucking the strings with the fingers of eachnbsp;hand. Probably the instrument is a rude imitation of a Russian gusli,nbsp;though the shape is, of course, very different.

Various other stringed instruments are also in common use for the accompaniment of narrative and other forms of poetry. These generally

’ Czaplicka, Ó'.K. p. 237.

’ It is about a yard long, 8 inches wide, 6 inches high.

23 resemble in a varying degree some kind of fiddle or lute. The Turkomansnbsp;commonly make use of a Russian balalaika., or two-stringed instrumentnbsp;somewhat like a guitar. Vambéry refers to the two-stringed diitara ofnbsp;the Turkomans (see p. 176 below), and Valikhanov knew an instrumentnbsp;resembling a balalaika among the Kirghiz,' which is believed to benbsp;derived from the domrad Similar instruments are mentioned by Radlovnbsp;as in use for the accompaniment of the ölöng^ (see above). Verbitskinbsp;refers to a similar instrument as used by the shamans of the Altai innbsp;addition to the drum,* and Troshchanski mentions a similar instrumentnbsp;among the Yakut. 5

An instrument known as a kobu:^ is also widely used to accompany the recitation of poetry. Levchine gives a detailed description of thisnbsp;instrument as used among the Kazaks. He describes it as a kind ofnbsp;violin, but open in front, and concave, and having usually three thicknbsp;strings of horse-hair. It is played by means of a short bow, and heldnbsp;between the knees.7 Among these people the kobw^ is the most important accessory of the baksha^ who acts as the diviner, seer, andnbsp;sacrificing priest among the Mohammedan peoples of the western steppenbsp;(cf. p. 210 f. below). Verbitski also speaks in one place of the kabys ornbsp;komus as a two-stringed instrument in use among the people of thenbsp;Altai to accompany the recitation of their heroic tales ; but elsewhere henbsp;defines the komus as the stringed instrument resembling a Russiannbsp;balalaika used among the Altai tribes “by the shamans only”.^ Thenbsp;Soyot tribes are said to use the term komus for a Jew’s-harp, which thenbsp;Yakut also call homus^ while the Kirghiz are said to use the term kobw^nbsp;of a shaman’s drum.'“

The Jew’s-harp and the reed-pipe or flute are also widespread favourites. These have, of course, little to do with the recitation ofnbsp;poetry, though both appear to be used sometimes in mantic performances, especially to conjure spirits. The drum or tambourine is verynbsp;general almost everywhere where the shaman is still found. In general,

’ Michell, p. 81.

’ Lavignac, v, p. 2497.

3 Radlov, A.S. I, p. 504.

• * Czaplicka, A.S. p. 216.

5 Ibid.

• * Radlov, A.S. i, p. 504.

7 Levchine, p. 385.

• * See Czaplicka, A.S. p. 216.nbsp;’ Czaplicka, A.S. p. 216.

Loc. cit.

24 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

however, the stringed instruments are used for the accompaniment of narrative poetry, the drum and tambourine, and, to a lesser extent,nbsp;perhaps the pipe’ and the Jew’s-harp^ in mantic performances, especiallynbsp;those of the shaman.

’ The evidence for the uses of the reed-pipe for mantic purposes is chiefly literary; see Proben i, p. 202; 11, pp. 268, 440 ff.; in, p. 145 f.

* Among the Uryankhai and among the Buryat of Irkutsk—the latter, of course, Mongols—the Jew’s-harp is called a khur, and is said to be used by the shamansnbsp;only. See Czaplicka, Â.S. p. 216. Czaplicka appears to distinguish here betweennbsp;the Uryankhai and the Soyot; for these tribes see above. Elsewhere {Turks, p. 59)nbsp;she mentions that the Uryankhai are sometimes called Soyot.

CHAPTER II

HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

ARRATIVE poetry is widespread and highly cultivated throughout the Tatar tribes of the mountains and steppes ofnbsp;Central Asia. Its development is, however, by no means uniform. Heroic narrative poetry is found in its most highly developednbsp;form among the Kara-Kirghiz of the Tien Shan Mountains, especially innbsp;the neighbourhood of Lake Issyk-Kul, and is said to be cultivated alsonbsp;among the Yakut, though we have no texts of the latter.’ Non-heroicnbsp;narrative poetry of an almost equally elaborate form has been recordednbsp;in great quantities from the tribes on the steppes and in the valleys ofnbsp;the tributaries of the Upper Yenisei. The two forms are by no meansnbsp;kept rigidly apart. The poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz is distinguished bynbsp;the liberal introduction of themes which are connected with the spiritualnbsp;life of the people, while the form and style of the poetry of the tribes onnbsp;the Yenisei are derived directly from heroic poetry, or are at least suchnbsp;as we are accustomed to associate with heroic poetry. Elsewhere alsonbsp;heroic and non-heroic forms and themes are combined in the samenbsp;poems. Among the Tatars of the Altai and the Sayan Mountains thisnbsp;combined form is characteristic of much of the best narrative poetry,nbsp;while among the Kazaks and the Tatars of the Ob and the Irtish anbsp;similar form is also characteristic of the prose saga.

The narratives vary greatly in form and length, those of the Altai and Sayan Mountains being in general shorter and much simpler in themenbsp;than those of the Tien Shan Mountains or the valley of the Yenisei.nbsp;Again the proportion of narrative poetry to saga differs considerablynbsp;in the different areas. Among the Kazaks the form of pure narrativenbsp;poetry with no prose intermixture appears to be exceptional, though bynbsp;no means unknown; among the Kara-Kirghiz narrative poetry isnbsp;universal, and saga is rare. The different areas have, to a great extent,nbsp;different ranges of theme, which overlap only to a very limited extent.nbsp;In the present chapter we shall confine our attention to narrativenbsp;poetry and saga which are primarily heroic in character.

The heroic poetry of Central and Northern Asia appears to be a purely native development, directly inspired by heroic conditions of life,

’ See, however, p. 66 below.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

though the themes relate for the most part to past times. We hear of Yakut poetry relating to events of the seventeenth century (cf. p. 43nbsp;below), and in the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz the prominence of thenbsp;Uigur state and its high prestige leave no room to doubt that certainnbsp;elements in the traditions are derived from a period prior to Jenghiznbsp;Khan, in whose time the influence of the Uigurs was still powerful.nbsp;Other features to be discussed later suggest that these poems assumednbsp;something of their present form during the religious wars of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. But the Tatar Heroic Age continuednbsp;in some measure down to our own times, and it is undoubtedly thisnbsp;close association of the poems with actual heroic conditions of life innbsp;modern times which, despite much which is crude and childish, givesnbsp;to Tatar heroic narrative genuine literary value in addition to itsnbsp;historical and ethnographical interest.

In the heroic poetry of the Tatars generally, the themes treated are similar to those which we have found in the heroic narrative poetry ofnbsp;other peoples. Among the commonest are raids, single combats, thenbsp;theft of large herds, revenge and counter-attack, wooings and marriages,nbsp;the birth and remarkable childhood of heroes, sports, especially horseracing and wrestling, long journeys and the sundry adventures of anbsp;nomadic life. In the poetry which relates to both the actual and thenbsp;spiritual experiences of heroes, heroic and supernormal adventures arenbsp;skilfully interwoven, as they are in the Odyssey. Poetry of this kindnbsp;forms a very large proportion of the whole of the narrative poetry ofnbsp;Central Asia. In such poetry supernatural elements are not rare, andnbsp;visits to the Underworld are a common feature. In the purely heroicnbsp;poems, on the other hand, supernatural features form only a smallnbsp;proportion of the whole, apart from the love of exaggeration which isnbsp;general in the literature of barbaric peoples. In such poems the tempernbsp;is as sober as that of the Iliad, and strikingly similar.

The most important body of Tatar heroic narrative poetry or epic is that which was recorded by Radlov from the Kara-Kirghiz last century.nbsp;Whether for the length and advanced form of the poems, the naturalismnbsp;of the subjects, or for the realism and polished character of the style,nbsp;Kirghiz poetry far surpasses the heroic poetry of any of the other Tatarnbsp;peoples which has come under our notice. In this chapter, therefore, wenbsp;shall concentrate chiefly on the Kara-Kirghiz epics, and our account ofnbsp;the characteristic features of style will be based chiefly on them. Innbsp;general, however, it may be said that this analysis of style will hold goodnbsp;both for the heroic poetry and prose saga of the Tatars as a whole, and

27 also for much of the non-heroic poetry, notably for that of the Abakannbsp;tribes on the Yenisei, whose poetry constitutes the most important bodynbsp;of non-heroic literature which we possess from these peoples.

The Kara-Kirghiz are said to specialise in epic poetry almost to the exclusion of saga and lyric,' and to pay especial regard to finished andnbsp;polished diction.’ That these qualities are the result of deliberate artisticnbsp;effort on the part of the poet, and appreciated as such by his audience,nbsp;is clear from Radlov’s introduction to the volume which contains thesenbsp;texts.3 Moreover the poetic tradition appears to be quite native to thenbsp;people. The themes are on native subjects, and the heroes belong almostnbsp;exclusively to the past history of the Kara-Kirghiz themselves. Theynbsp;rarely overlap with those of the Abakan or Altai Tatars, or with thosenbsp;of the Turkomans, though some of their most important heroes appearnbsp;also in the heroic narratives of the Kazaks.

An individual feature of the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz, and one which shows the advanced character of the tradition, is its tendency tonbsp;fall into Cycles. In this respect it offers a contrast to the poems of thenbsp;Abakan Tatars represented in Radlov’s own collection, which are allnbsp;independent. The Abakan Tatars share with the Teleut and the Altainbsp;Tatars many tales which relate to a certain hero Kangza. The Abakannbsp;texts of Kangza“* have not been translated, however, and this volumenbsp;appears to be rare. The texts relating to Kangza are very briefnbsp;(cf. p. 15 above).

Radlov grouped the narrative poems which he recorded from the Kara-Kirghiz into three Cycles, relating to the Mohammedan heronbsp;Manas, and the two heathen heroes, Joloi and Er Töshtük. Of these thenbsp;first is by far the largest, and in many respects the most important.nbsp;Radlov gives seven poems belonging to this group. They relate thenbsp;birth of Manas of the Sary-Nogai tribe, the greatest of the Kara-Kirghiz heroes, his early years, his contest with the Uigur hero Ernbsp;Kökchö and his warfare with the Kalmucks, his marriage with Kanykäi,nbsp;the daughter of Ternir Khan, his death and burial, and his resuscitation.

Manas is not the central figure of all the poems in which he plays a part, together with his comitatus or bodyguard of ‘forty friends’. Thenbsp;second poem of the Cycle relates for the most part the conversion of thenbsp;hero Alaman Bet to Mohammedanism, and his desertion of the hero

’ Proben V, p. v. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. iii.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Cf. p. 179 f. below.

The Abakan texts of Kangza occur in Katanov’s collection of texts from this region. His collection forms the ninth volume of Radlov’s Proben. The volumenbsp;containing translations appears never to have been published. See p. 18 above.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Kökchö to follow Manas. Alaman Bet is the foremost person in this poem, and Manas does not figure in it till more than half-way through.nbsp;A large part of the story of Bok Murun is occupied with the funeralnbsp;feast and games arranged by Bok Murun on the death of his father. Herenbsp;also it is only in the latter part of the poem that Manas becomes thenbsp;leading figure, and the poem ends with the death of the heathen princenbsp;Joloi of the Kara-Nogai in single combat at Manas’ hands.

The first poem contains an account of the birth and childhood of the hero. In the opening lines we have a list of his immediate ancestors, andnbsp;a brief mention of the exact locality of his home and parentage. Hisnbsp;father, we are told, is Jakyp Bai, the son of Kara Khan, and his home isnbsp;on the Chungkar-uja, presumably in the neighbourhood of Jungaria.nbsp;Jakyp Bai, or Jakyp Khan—for both titles are given to him variously—nbsp;complains to God that since he married he has had no child, and praysnbsp;that he may have a son:

A hero to destroy the Noigut,

With their decorated stirrups and blue foot-gear;

A hero to destroy the men of Kokand,

With their saddles shaped like birds’ heads, and their blue coats;

A hero to destroy the Sarts,

.With their galled asses and their spindle-whorls;

A hero to destroy the Kazaks,

With their filthy saddle-cloths, and their steel lances;

A hero to destroy the Kirghiz,

Who never cease begging, and are insatiable.'

His prayer is heard, and a son is born to him of great promise. Jakyp prepares a feast, and all the guests prophesy good things for the child.nbsp;The four great prophets bestow on him the name Manas; the sevennbsp;envoys from Yarkand eat heartily at the feast, and—¦

“ Fiercely will Manas tread Jelmogus’ underfoot,” said they.

Likewise from China come forty envoys. They also eat heartily at the feast, and—

“ He will destroy the Chinese,” said they.

The ten envoys of the Nogai Tatars sit eating meat, and—

“ Fiercely will Manas trample underfoot,” said they.

Already while he is still in his cradle Manas begins to speak, and his father forthwith brings him a yellow horse and saddles it, and calling

‘ Proben v, p. 2,11. 29 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;' For Jelmogus, see p. 86 below.

29 to him one Bakai Khan, who seems to be in the position of a fosterernbsp;to the hero, he tells him that his son is ready to mount and ride afar, tonbsp;pass through Medina, and the mighty Bokhara, and to strive with manynbsp;mighty rulers. Bakai Khan is therefore to wait upon Manas, cook hisnbsp;food, make his fire, teach him what is unseen and unknown, and accompany him on his journeys, and, when he grows to man’s estate, teachnbsp;him the way to salvation by means of the Koran. The brave hero andnbsp;his companions set out accordingly. At the age of ten Manas shoots annbsp;arrow as well as a lad of fourteen :

When he grew to be a prince, he overthrew princely dwellings;

Sixty stallions, a hundred horses,* He drove thither from Kokand,nbsp;Eighty mares,’ a thousand kymkar^nbsp;He brought from Bokhara;

The Chinese settled in Kashgar He drove away to Turfan;'*nbsp;The Chinese settled in Turfannbsp;He drove yet farther to Aksu.5

By such graphic catalogues the poet makes us acquainted with the sphere of Manas’ military activities, and the features of the surroundingnbsp;peoples which have made most impression on the Kirghiz imagination.nbsp;On the west the hero evidently enriched himself with the horses of thenbsp;Kazaks, driving them up the valley of the Jaxartes from Russiannbsp;Turkestan. On the east he enriched himself at the expense of the Chinesenbsp;traders in the wealthy cities fringing the Taklamakan Desert in Chinesenbsp;Turkestan. The mountains separating these two wealthy regions servednbsp;the hero as a natural fortress from which he was able to enrich himselfnbsp;at the expense of both.

With this brief and disjointed poem the minstrel introduces us to the greatest hero of Kara-Kirghiz epic poetry. Radlov apologises for thenbsp;defects of the poem, which he attributes to the fact that the poet, in hisnbsp;opinion, had no account of the birth and childhood of Manas in his

’ A kunan, a three-year-old foal.

’ A baital^ a young mare which has not yet foaled.

3 The word in the Kirghiz text is kymkap. It does not appear in Radlov’s Wörterbuch, which is no doubt why the original word is also kept in his translation,nbsp;perhaps with amisprint (for kymkar'). The number of technical terms used of horsesnbsp;of every kind, age, colour, and type, is one of the major difficulties which confrontnbsp;the translator of Kirghiz.

* One of the oases in the north of the Tarim basin.

5 A city still farther to the north-east.

3°

répertoire, but composed one on the spur of the moment in answer to some questions which Radlov put to him on the subject? The storynbsp;contains hints of much which is to be more fully developed in the laternbsp;poems of the same hero—his profession of the Mohammedan faith; hisnbsp;predatory raids and aggressive warfare; his enmity with the Kalmucksnbsp;and the Chinese ; his feud with Kongyr Bai, who is sometimes representednbsp;as a Chinese ruler from Peking, sometimes as a local prince, ‘Lord ofnbsp;Kashgar and Kokand’, and collector of imposts on behalf of his over-lord.

The hero of the second poem in the Manas Cycle recorded by Radlov is Alaman Bet, to whom is applied the static epithet ‘tiger-like’.nbsp;By race he is a Mongol, an Oirot, i.e. a Kalmuck, and by birth a heathen;nbsp;but the poem opens with an account of his conversion to the Mohammedan faith by the Uigur prince. Er Kökchö. During the first part ofnbsp;the poem Alaman Bet is an honoured guest in the retinue of Er Kökchö;nbsp;but his high prestige arouses the jealousy of the rest of the retinue, andnbsp;his familiarity with Er Kökchö’s wife affords a fitting pretext for hisnbsp;dismissal. This familiarity is merely hinted at here; but a reference tonbsp;the story in the poem JoloP makes it clear that this intrigue is annbsp;accepted tradition among the Kara-Kirghiz. The second part of thenbsp;poem tells us how Alaman Bet, on leaving the camp of Er Kökchö, goesnbsp;to join Manas, with whom he swears brotherhood, and whose service henbsp;never afterwards leaves. The poem is full of interesting and intimatenbsp;glimpses into local customs and native types. In particular we would callnbsp;attention to the account of Er Kökchö’s hawking on the shore of Lakenbsp;Issyk-Kul, and of his meeting with Alaman Bet whom he sights onnbsp;horseback on the opposite shore, the high black Kalmuck lambskin capnbsp;on his head, and to the first lesson in the Kalmuck speech which thenbsp;latter at once gives to his new friend. Other picturesque passages in thisnbsp;vivid poem will be referred to later.

The third poem of the Cycle in Radlov’s collection relates the battle between Manas and Er Kökchö, the marriage between Manas andnbsp;Kanykäi, and the death and resuscitation of Manas himself. The poemnbsp;opens with a panegyric on the hero, which occupies 84 lines, before thenbsp;narrative proper begins. This third poem is not well constructed, andnbsp;the course of the narrative is not by any means always clear. The battlenbsp;between Manas and Er Kökchö is poorly motivated. Radlov regards itnbsp;as the natural consequence of the action of Alaman Bet as described innbsp;the last poem; but this is not the only interpretation which might benbsp;* Proben v, p. xiii.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 515,1. 4843 ff.

31 put on the narrative, since we have heard in the earlier poem of Manas’nbsp;aggressive policy, which is doubtless the true cause which first leadsnbsp;Er Kökchö to seek alliance with Alaman Bet. Moreover the poet laysnbsp;great stress throughout the poem on Manas’ subservience to the ‘ Whitenbsp;Tsar’ of Russia, and it is probably owing to support from Russiannbsp;Turkestan that Manas feels himself in a position to attack the Uigurs.nbsp;Radlov suspected that the emphasis laid on Manas’ loyalty to Russia wasnbsp;intended as a compliment to himself. It is, however, to be doubted ifnbsp;the motif was actually invented for this purpose, for it is easy to seenbsp;that Russian Turkestan and the fierce hill nomads had everything tonbsp;gain by mutual aid against the powerful Uigur confederacy, backed nownbsp;by Chinese, now by Tibetan support.

Whatever the true political situation in the background, however, the heroic minstrel characteristically represents the relations betweennbsp;Russians, Kirghiz, and Uigurs as purely personal. Manas rides forth tonbsp;attack his enemy Er Kökchö in single combat, and the vauntingnbsp;threats, the jibes, and the series of encounters which take place betweennbsp;them are described in great detail. In the first encounter, which is anbsp;wrestling match, Manas is naturally victorious; but when the morenbsp;civilised Uigur, Er Kökchö, proposes a test by the firing of flint-locks,nbsp;Manas’ aim comes nowhere near him, and Er Kökchö stands laughingnbsp;at his’opponent as he himself takes only too sure an aim, and Manasnbsp;flees wounded on his horse. Er Kökchö seeks to apply healing herbs tonbsp;Manas’ wound, but the Kirghiz turns and treacherously slays his horse—nbsp;an act of bad faith not rare among heroes.

A brief account of Manas’ visit of homage to the ‘White Tsar’ is next given, after which we have a detailed picture of a Kirghiz betrothalnbsp;and marriage. Manas’ father, Jakyp Bai, goes to woo Kanykäi, thenbsp;daughter of Ternir Khan, on behalf of his son. His suit is acceptable tonbsp;Ternir, and Manas comes later to take his bride with all the show of forcenbsp;and coarse arrogance characteristic of Kirghiz custom and Kirghiznbsp;heroes, while Kanykäi at first resists her violent lover with all the shownbsp;of resolution proper to a high-born Kirghiz maiden. All is arranged tonbsp;the satisfaction of both parties; but one Mengdi Bai, a man of Temir’snbsp;following, who is described as Temir’s orator, and as a slanderernbsp;by nature, determines to prevent the contract, and suborns twonbsp;robbers to poison Manas as the wedding-party are on their homewardnbsp;journey. The third part of the poem contains an account of Manas’nbsp;death and of his ultimate resuscitation and restoration to healthnbsp;and normal life. It is a strange poem on the whole, and this last part in

32

particular is difficult to understand. We shall see later in Chapter viii below that there is reason to believe that a number of variant versionsnbsp;have been combined without any great skill, or care to avoid contradictions and overlapping, and that this is probably the chief cause ofnbsp;obscurities in the narrative.

The next poem, Bok Murun, is devoted to a magnificent funeral feast, followed by horse-racing and sports. The feast is given by thenbsp;hero, Bok Murun himself, in honour of the memory of his father,nbsp;Khan Kökötöi. At the opening of the poem Bok Murun sends his fivenbsp;sons to the surrounding peoples with an invitation to attend the gamesnbsp;—an invitation couched practically in terms of a threat to absentees.nbsp;The enumeration of the heroes to whom the invitations are to be sentnbsp;constitutes a heroic catalogue closely analogous to that of the Achaeannbsp;ships in Homer, and comprises what we may regard as a comprehensivenbsp;list of the heroes celebrated in Kirghiz heroic poetry, including suchnbsp;famous names as Manas, Joloi, Jamgyrchi, Er Töshtük, Er Kökchö,nbsp;and many others. This is followed by a further catalogue of the neighbouring tribes and peoples through whom Bok Murun proposes tonbsp;make a raid in order to equip himself with all that is necessary for thenbsp;coming feast. The great problem before the host is the ordering of thenbsp;guests and the allotment of shares, for the Moslems and the heathen arenbsp;constantly at one another’s throats. In this contingency Bok Murunnbsp;consults his spiritual father. Er Koshoi, the great Mohammedan prince,nbsp;who is constantly referred to throughout the poems as having “openednbsp;the gate of Paradise, and cleared the road to the shut bazaars”, fromnbsp;which we may assume that he is something of a diplomatist, and hasnbsp;taken the lead in adopting Mohammedanism, and allying himself withnbsp;Russian Turkestan. Er Koshoi points out that Manas is the best personnbsp;to keep the heathen in check—has he not just routed the formidablenbsp;Buryat.^—and Manas accordingly appoints the feast and races for thenbsp;coming autumn.

As the heroes arrive, the minstrel, by a skilful device common to heroic literature,’ represents the crowd of onlookers as speculatingnbsp;which of the horses will win the race, and this gives an opportunity fornbsp;the introduction of a catalogue of heroic steeds and their severalnbsp;characteristics extending over 121 lines. The first race is run betweennbsp;Er Töshtük and Joloi’s aged wife Ak Baikal, and is won by the hero by

’ For parallels we may refer to the catalogue of heroes in early Irish literature cited in Vol. i, p. 281 ff., and to the Iliad, Book xxni.

33 supernatural means. A wrestling match next takes place between thenbsp;aged Er Koshoi and the heathen Joloi, and after a preliminary reverse thenbsp;Moslem brings the mighty Joloi down. Kongyr Bai, the Prince ofnbsp;China, next comes forward, lance in rest, and carries off the prizenbsp;of sixty horses, but is pursued and unhorsed by Manas. Other contestsnbsp;follow, in all of which the Moslems are victorious. The latter part of thenbsp;poem, which is only very loosely connected with the preceding events,nbsp;relates to a series of raids led by Manas against Er Kökchö and the heronbsp;Joloi, in which the latter hero is killed by Manas, and his two sonsnbsp;Oekum Bolot and Törö Bek are slain by Alaman Bet.

The poem of Kos Kaman is incomplete. The early part of the story is related with care and in great detail, but the latter part is hurried, andnbsp;so defective that it is not easy to unravel the exact sequence of events.nbsp;The subject of the poem is a circumstantial and somewhat varyingnbsp;version of the events related in the latter half of the third poem in thenbsp;Cycle—the marriage of Manas to Kanykäi, and the death of the heronbsp;at the hands of the Kalmucks. The poem opens with an account ofnbsp;Manas’ visit to Kanykäi, and her reception of her lover—a scene whichnbsp;differs considerably from the one in the version already alluded to. Innbsp;Kos Kaman we have a delightful and dignified picture of Kanykäi asnbsp;hostess, as she and her attendant maidens receive their guests. Havingnbsp;set out the brandy, they enter Kanykäi’s brightly coloured tent, and shenbsp;and her maidens present Manas and his followers with corslets broughtnbsp;on wagons from far Kashgar, and fine shirts and hose. They draw on tonbsp;the feet of their guests long boots reaching to the saddle, and broughtnbsp;on a wagon from Tashkent:

One took his white steed. One opened the door,nbsp;One secured it after the fashion of the Sarts.nbsp;Out of the great golden chestnbsp;They brought strong brandy,nbsp;The ‘forty friends’ took their seats;nbsp;And when the ‘ forty friends ’ were seated.nbsp;Strong brandy was set before them.’

The poem goes on to relate a raid of Manas and Alaman Bet against the Kalmucks, and the treacherous visit of a Kalmuck chief to Manas’nbsp;home in which the hero is slain, though he is revived later by Kanykäi,nbsp;with the help of a ‘prince of Mecca’. The last part of the poem is againnbsp;difficult to follow, and it would seem that the poet relates in a soliloquy

’ Proben v, p. 210,1. mff.

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34

yet another variant version of the wooing of Kanykäi by Manas, and his raid against the Kalmucks.

The two last poems in the Cycle relate to Manas’ son Semätäi, and to his grandson Seitäk. Semätäi is born after the death of his father, andnbsp;his grandfather and cousins plot to murder him, in order that he maynbsp;not inherit Manas’ possessions; but with the help of his mother, Kanykäi,nbsp;and his maternal grandfather. Ternir Khan, the hero escapes and returnsnbsp;at a later time to slay his cousins and old Jakyp Bai, his grandfather onnbsp;his father’s side. The last poem of the Cycle falls naturally into twonbsp;parts. The first part relates to the closing years of the life of Semätäi,nbsp;and his murder at the hands of two Kalmucks, one of whom is the sonnbsp;of Alaman Bet. The second part of the poem relates to the birth ofnbsp;Semätäi’s son Seitäk, who is posthumous like his father, and to hisnbsp;vengeance for his father’s murder. It is Kanykäi herself who strikes thenbsp;death-blow and drinks the blood of her enemy, a piece of savagerynbsp;which is the more striking since she is the Kirghiz ideal woman,nbsp;courteous, gentle, hospitable, wise, and capable. Seitäk settles in the oldnbsp;home of Manas, and lives there as ‘ruler of everything between Talasnbsp;and Tashkent’, and so fittingly brings to a conclusion this great Cyclenbsp;which we have followed through four generations.

The second great poem or Cycle in Radlov’s collection is that of the hero Joloi, the Kara Nogai or Oirot prince, son of Nogai Bai, a princenbsp;of the ‘Ten tribes of the Nogai’. Joloi is a less elevated figure of thenbsp;heroic ideal than Manas. He is of great size, and so strong that he cannbsp;overcome whole troops single-handed. This he rarely does, however, asnbsp;in consequence of his inordinate appetite,' he is generally only arousednbsp;with difficulty from a drunken sleep by his wife Ak Saikal, or his horsenbsp;Ach Budan. Ak Saikal generally fights at his side, and displays greatnbsp;activity and strength in battle. She is the heroine of the early episodes ofnbsp;the Joloi Cycle even more than Joloi is the hero.

The poem Joloi may fairly be called an epic, for the various episodes which Radlov has presented to us follow one another in close sequence,nbsp;making a coherent and well-ordered narrative. At the opening we seenbsp;the somewhat ignoble hero, lying on the ground replete, wholly indifferent to the theft of his father’s thousand horses and the appeals of

' It is interesting to compare Levchine’s account of the custom of‘heroic eating’ among the Kazaks. “Beaucoup de Kirghiz”, he writes, “prennent plaisir ànbsp;contempler les exploits de certains mangeurs fameux qui viennent aux fêtes pournbsp;jouir doublement de leur gloire, en engloutissant des quantités incroyables de viandenbsp;et de koumys” (Levchine, p. 371).

35 his family. At length by the efforts of his sister Kardygach and hisnbsp;sister-in-law he mounts his famous steed Ach Budan and sets out innbsp;pursuit, and finally succeeds in slaying Ak Khan, who has stolen thenbsp;horses, and in seizing his wife Ak Kanysh. His wonderful horse alsonbsp;carries off for him Ak Saikal, the daughter of a mighty chief Angychal,nbsp;and she becomes his wife. The poem relates a number of interestingnbsp;episodes. We hear of the marriage of Joloi’s sister Kardygach to thenbsp;Kalmuck prince Karacha, and of their usurpation of Joloi’s principalitynbsp;while the hero is imprisoned by the Kalmuck prince Urum Khan, thenbsp;overlord of Kongyr Bai, whom we have seen as a Chinese envoy in thenbsp;Manas Cycle. We hear also of the birth of Joloi’s son Bolot in Joloi’snbsp;absence, of the attempts of Kardygach and Karacha to slay the child,nbsp;of his rescue and upbringing in the aul, or nomadic settlement of an oldnbsp;chief Köchpös Bai, by Joloi’s two wives, who adopt him as their son,nbsp;and of his subsequent rescue of his father. The poem ends with Bolot’snbsp;marriage. Nothing is said here of his death at the hands of Alaman Bet.

The latter part of the poem is largely occupied with an account of the sacrificial feast held by Köchpös Bai and Bolot, and of the supernatural experiences of Bolot in the company of a certain Kara Chach,nbsp;who is described as Bolot’s ‘sister’ and Köchpös Bai’s shepherdess. Shenbsp;is evidently an accomplished shamanka^ or female shaman, for she wardsnbsp;off the powers of darkness which threaten Bolot’s life, and convoys himnbsp;safely through the perils of the Underworld, and again back to earth.nbsp;The latter part of the poem is indeed wholly non-heroic in character,nbsp;being concerned almost exclusively with religious ritual and supernatural and spiritual experiences. We shall therefore consider this portionnbsp;more fully in the chapter relating to ‘Non-heroic Poetry and Saga’.

Even from this brief summary it will be seen that the feminine interest is very strongly represented in Joloi. Indeed, the whole course of eventsnbsp;from start to finish is determined by Joloi’s two wives. The friendshipnbsp;and complete co-operation of these two women is one of the mostnbsp;striking features of the poem. Both Ak Kanysh and Ak Saikal arenbsp;jointly referred to as the mothers of Bolot,quot; while an obscure passagenbsp;relating to the aged wife of Köchpös Bai^ appears to treat her also as onenbsp;of his ‘ mothers ’, though she is, in reality, his foster-mother. Ak Saikalnbsp;by her prowess, and Ak Kanysh by her prudence, are the real heroinesnbsp;of the poem. Ak Saikal saves her husband again and again from hisnbsp;enemies, and when his own stupidity places him beyond her aid, Aknbsp;Kanysh brings up his son in safety and tutors him to a vengeance whichnbsp;' Prohen V, p. 465.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 470, 1. 3341 fF.

3-2

36

is skilfully engineered by the two women together, and of which Bolot is only the conventional instrument. They, like Kanykäi, beg and obtainnbsp;the privilege of administering the death-stroke to their captured enemy.

An interesting feature of the poem is the manner in which the centre of interest and sympathy shifts from one group of people to another;nbsp;from Joloi’s home to the court of Urum Khan, and back again, from thenbsp;place where Joloi lies imprisoned, to the yurt of his wives tending thenbsp;flocks ; from there to the home of Köchpös Bai, Bolot’s adopted parent,nbsp;to return for the denouement to the land of the Kalmucks, and then,nbsp;after Joloi’s deliverance, back to Köchpös Bai. The skill with which thenbsp;parallel threads are carried on and interwoven is hardly second to thatnbsp;which we And in the Odyssey.

The third poem of the Kara-Kirghiz which Radlov gives us is that of Er Töshtük (‘the hero Töshtük’). This story is known also to othernbsp;Tatars, where he appears in prose saga (cf. p. 109 ff. below), and where hisnbsp;name is preserved in the form Jirtüshlük^ and Jär-Tüshtük, ‘the earthsinker’.^ This story, like that of Joloi., is presented to us in epic form;nbsp;but it is wholly occupied with the life-history of a man whose experiences are spiritual rather than material, and whose principal adventures take place underground in the spirit world. We shall thereforenbsp;reserve fuller treatment of this poem till we come to the chapter onnbsp;‘Non-heroic Poetry and Saga’. It may, however, be mentioned herenbsp;that the underground adventures of the hero are similar in manynbsp;respects to the ordinary heroic adventures of Manas and Joloi, and itnbsp;is clear from references to the hero himself, and to his famous horsenbsp;Chai Kuiruk in the Cycles of Manas and Joloi, that Er Töshtük is alsonbsp;a well-known flgure in heroic story. We may refer, e.g. to the poem ofnbsp;Bok Murun,^ where Er Töshtük is brought into relation with Manas andnbsp;Alaman Bet, and where he is represented as running a race with Joloi’snbsp;wife.

The three Kara-Kirghiz Cycles overlap to some extent. Er Töshtük, as we have seen, appears in both the Manas Cycle and in a long separatenbsp;poem of which he is himself the hero. Joloi, himself also the hero of anbsp;separate poem, is found in opposition to Manas, and it is clear fromnbsp;other references that their orbits intersect.“* Joloi’s son Bolot and hisnbsp;wife Ak Saikal are present at Bok Murun’s games. Joloi’s great enemy,nbsp;the Kalmuck Karacha, also feels the heavy hand of Alaman Bet.

’ Proben IV, p. 443 ; cf. v, p. xii. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. v, p. xiv.

3 lb. pp. 162, 1. ÓQgff.; 169, 1. 92.5fF.; 173, 1. 1034ff.; 514, 1. 4821 (T.; etc. “* See e.g. Proben v, p. 51,1. 1501 f.; ib. p. 146,1. 139É; p. 167, 1. 841 ff.

37 Kongyr Bai, the Chinese tax-collector of the Manas Cycle, is sent innbsp;Joloi by Urum Khan to escort Ak Saikal from the Kalmucks to her ownnbsp;home. Moreover, it is clear that other heroes mentioned in the threenbsp;Cycles before us are themselves the centres of Cycles of stories tonbsp;which allusions are constantly made. We hear frequently of Er Koshoi,

Who opened the closed holy doors of Paradise, Who opened the closed doors of the bazaars.'

We have no doubt therefore that Er Koshoi is credited with the introduction of Islam among the Nogai, and that he is also the hero of a poem or Cycle of his own. Indeed, he himself gives us a catalogue of thenbsp;enterprises in which he has taken part, and from the allusive naturê ofnbsp;the references it is clear that the audience is expected to be familiar withnbsp;the stories.

Again, allusions are made frequently in the poems of the Kara-Kirghiz to Jamgyrchi, a Nogai ruler,’ whose sphere of influence is a constant menace to Er Kökchö, and who is regarded by Manas as anbsp;foe of equal standing. There can be no doubt that he also is the hero ofnbsp;Kara-Kirghiz poems which celebrate him as an individual hero. Wenbsp;shall see as we proceed that the encounters of Jamgyrchi and Ernbsp;Kökchö are also the subject of heroic narrative among the Kazaks.

In general the Cycles of the Kara-Kirghiz draw their themes directly from life. The lives and adventures of the heroes and heroines arenbsp;portrayed in a natural setting, and allowing for a certain amount ofnbsp;exaggeration or poetical exaltation, and what we may term the heroicnbsp;manner, their habits and actions are described for the most part withnbsp;simple realism. Their faculties and bodily strength are those of mortals.nbsp;Their journeys, unlike those of the heroes and heroines of the poemsnbsp;from the Abakan and neighbouring steppes to be considered later, arenbsp;confined to the regions of earth, and do not take them further from homenbsp;than might be expected of great men on superb steeds. The characterisation of the poems is equally convincing, though, as befits epic poetrynbsp;at its best, there is no subtlety. The characters are presented quitenbsp;naturally, partly by the wealth of detail, partly by the unerring selectivenbsp;power of the narrator. As an example of the briefer method of characterisation applied to the minor characters we may refer to the passagenbsp;which describes how Ak Erkäch, the wife of the Uigur prince Ernbsp;Kökchö, sees the Kalmuck hero Alaman Bet riding towards the house,

' Cf. e.g. ib. p. i8, 1. 394ff.; ib. p. 142,1. 27ff.

’ E.g. ib. p. 75.

38 and which shows her busily arranging her toilet and preparing to meetnbsp;him:

Ak Erkäch, the high-born beauty, —Her gaily adorned head-dressnbsp;She set upon her head,nbsp;She parted her hair to the right.nbsp;And arranged it on the right side;nbsp;She parted her hair to the left.nbsp;And arranged it on the left side.nbsp;Her golden snoodnbsp;She fixed to the end of the moon.nbsp;Her silver snood

• nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;She fixed to the end of the sun;'

Like a puppy she sidled. Like a puppy she whimpered.nbsp;Displayed her teeth in laughter.nbsp;Scattered fragrance by her breathing.nbsp;Frisked like a young lambkin.nbsp;Her ringlets fell to her shoulders.nbsp;Ak Erkäch, the prince’s daughter.nbsp;Passed out through the door.nbsp;And Alaman Bet, her hero.nbsp;She encountered on her way.’

It is not difficult to picture to ourselves this frivolous and excitable woman, and we are fully prepared for the intrigue which follows, andnbsp;the resulting breach between Ak Erkäch’s elderly husband and thenbsp;gallant young Kalmuck hero.

In the poems of this Cycle, as in the Russian byliny, there seems to be no fixed rule or precedent as to the limits of the incidents to be treatednbsp;in a single poem. The poem on the birth of Manas is more or lessnbsp;restricted to the subject suggested by the title. The poem on thenbsp;conversion of Alaman Bet, his dismissal by Er Kökchö, and his subsequent compact with Manas, forms a complete unity of incident. Onnbsp;the other hand the incidents of the third poem—the battle betweennbsp;Manas and Kökchö, etc.—are only loosely connected in the poem as wenbsp;have it. Any of the incidents might have been omitted, or any incidentsnbsp;from other poems added without alteration to the structure. It seemsnbsp;clear that the Kara-Kirghiz minstrel, like the reciter of the Russiannbsp;byliny^ selects his incidents according to his own mood, and according

' These are probably metal ornaments shaped like a sun, a crescent, etc., worn by the women.

’ Proben v, p. 38,1. 1023 ff.

39 to the temper of his audience, from the wealth of relevant incident in hisnbsp;repertoire. And this is done with very varying talent and constructivenbsp;ability, and also with varying success according to the minstrel’s mood.

From this brief account of the poems it will be seen that the Manas Cycle is a collection of individual epic poems, each concerned with thenbsp;deeds of a different hero or group of heroes. This is true also of thenbsp;poems of the Abakan Tatars; but there is a difference. Whereas thenbsp;latter are all wholly, or almost wholly independent of one another, thenbsp;distinctive feature about the Kara-Kirghiz poems is that the personnelnbsp;of the various poems overlap. They are all contemporaries, and most, ifnbsp;not all, are known to one another. Practically all the heroes of thenbsp;Manas Cycle figure in most of the poems, but with varying degrees ofnbsp;prominence. The Manas Cycle is, in reality, a picture of the life andnbsp;activities of the chief heroes of a certain branch of the Nogai Tatars at anbsp;given period.

In view of the overlapping of the characters to which reference has been made above, it might be supposed that the poems Joloi andnbsp;Er Töshtük ought to be included in the Manas Cycle equally with thenbsp;poem on Bok Murun and his Sons-, but this is hardly the case. Althoughnbsp;Er Töshtük figures in the poem devoted to Bok Murun, his rôle is butnbsp;slight; and although Manas figures in the poem Joloi, it is abundantlynbsp;clear that for the minstrel’s present purpose Joloi is the more interestingnbsp;and important figure—for the moment his hero, whereas Manas, however great his actual prestige, is moving for the nonce on the outernbsp;orbit of Joloi’s sphere. The Kara-Kirghiz poems indeed stand midwaynbsp;between the poems of the Abakan group on the one hand, each ofnbsp;which as we have said, is completely independent, and the Russiannbsp;byliny on the other, each of which contains the adventures of annbsp;individual hero, but which are linked by the central though somewhatnbsp;impassive figure of Prince Vladimir. In the Manas poems the centralnbsp;figure is far from being impassive. He is at times himself the centralnbsp;figure, and very active, though in certain poems the most active heroesnbsp;are his relatives, friends, or followers, and the most important deeds arenbsp;not always performed by the hero himself.

It would seem that in the Manas poems we have a ‘Cycle’ in the making. A petty prince of the Sary-Nogai is in process of acquiring anbsp;literary prestige which is doubtless in excess of such political or militarynbsp;influence as he may have actually possessed. This literary prestige isnbsp;undoubtedly to be ascribed to the minstrels of the Kara-Kirghiz. Wenbsp;have seen that the minstrels also attach great importance to the con-

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

version of Manas’ sworn brother, Alaman Bet, to Mohammedanism, and to the devotion of Er Kökchö and Er Koshoi to Islam. There cannbsp;. be little doubt, therefore, that the Mohammedan influence in the Cycle,nbsp;however superficial and recent, is strong, and it is very probable that itnbsp;is to the influence of Mohammedan minstrels that Manas owes somethingnbsp;of his prestige, and the Cycle such unity as it possesses. To be morenbsp;specific, it would seem to be not improbable that such leaders as adoptednbsp;Mohammedanism would gain a certain amount of political support fromnbsp;Russian Turkestan, which would enable them to acquire wealth andnbsp;prestige above their neighbours—the surest way to the support andnbsp;adulation of the professional minstrel.

The poems discussed above share in general those features which we have seen to be characteristic of heroic poetry elsewhere. In fact thenbsp;resemblance both in form and style is surprisingly close. Granted thenbsp;unfamiliarity of the environment, and of experiences incidental to anbsp;nomadic, as opposed to a settled, existence, the types of charactersnbsp;depicted and the action of the poems are closely analogous to those ofnbsp;the Homeric poems and of Beowulf. The literary features are also verynbsp;much the same. We have the same wealth of description and leisurelynbsp;narrative, the same love of epic formulae and static epithets, the samenbsp;bizarre and picturesque splendour of the scenes.

In particular the minstrel loves to dwell on minute descriptions, and to expand his narrative by means of repetitions and the introduction ofnbsp;long speeches and catalogues, the latter often included in the speechesnbsp;themselves. These not infrequently occupy several pages, and somenbsp;examples have already been referred to. Dialogue of the kind whichnbsp;reflects the casual discourse of daily life, or the stichomuthia of Greeknbsp;tragedy is unknown, as elsewhere in heroic poetry; but formal councilsnbsp;are not rare. We may refer to the deliberations which take place beforenbsp;Bok Murun’s games, and note the leisurely manner in which the heroesnbsp;express themselves at length. Interruption or ‘ cutting short ’ is unknown,nbsp;and the decorum of conversation is always preserved. The exact wordsnbsp;spoken on all occasions are so consistently reported that we are evennbsp;given the exact words of the Kalmuck and Mohammedan greetings,nbsp;though the minstrel feels the necessity of translating the words to hisnbsp;audience. The lessons in Kalmuck idiom which Alaman Bet gives tonbsp;Er Kökchö,’ and which the Kalmuck messenger from the Crimea givesnbsp;to Kyrgyn Chai,’ give the audience also the instruction which will standnbsp;’ Proben v, p. 8f., 1. 6'yS.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ /b. p. 217,1. 345fF.

41

them in good stead on similar occasions. The first meeting between Alaman Bet and Er Kökchö is described as follows:

Alman Bet, the Tiger-like,

—On his head a high black cap— Came riding towards him.nbsp;When Kökchö saw him terror seized him.nbsp;Alman Bet looked on Kökchö:nbsp;“Altai! Altai !” cried he,nbsp;“Jaby! Jaby!” cried he,nbsp;“ Möndü ! Möndü ! ” cried he,nbsp;“ Kalakai kashka ! ” cried he,nbsp;“ Bichik solon ! ” cried he....

Thereupon Kökchö answers:

“I do not understand your speech.” Then thou spakest, Alman Bet:'nbsp;“When I say ‘Altai, Altai’,nbsp;I ask after your welfare;nbsp;When I say ‘Jaby, Jaby’,nbsp;1 ask after your health;nbsp;When I say ‘Kalakai kashka’,nbsp;I ask: ‘Have you a prince.’’nbsp;When I say: ‘Bichik solon’,nbsp;I ask: ‘Have you a lord.’’”’

The speeches frequently repeat the narrative, which is then given in the identical words which have just been spoken. By this meansnbsp;speeches are utilised very widely for lengthening the narrative bynbsp;repetition—always a favourite device of heroic narrative poetry.nbsp;Among the Kara-Kirghiz the actual narrative and descriptions arenbsp;frequently expressed in the form of speeches. An interesting instancenbsp;of this is the detailed description which Joloi’s sister-in-law gives to thenbsp;hero of some food which she has prepared for him to give to his sonnbsp;Bolot, narrating the various processes in the preparation of the food,nbsp;so that what is in effect a cookery recipe is transformed into a narrativenbsp;of action conveyed in the form of a speech:

In the year now past,

I slaughtered a thousand mares, Khan Joloi. All the flesh of these thousand maresnbsp;I cut into very narrow strips;

' This particular idiom introducing reported speech occurs also in the Russian byliny.

’ Proben v, p. 8,1. 63 if.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

I laid them in salt for six days, Then I pounded spices very fine,nbsp;Strewed them on the meat.nbsp;In the sun I dried it hard.nbsp;Then I ground it in the mill.nbsp;That it should not be coarse grained ;nbsp;Then I sieved it through a silken sieve.nbsp;Brought out pestle and mortar.nbsp;Assembled women and maidens,nbsp;And had it pounded still more finely;nbsp;Put it in a leather bag.nbsp;Placed it in a leather satchel,nbsp;Hung it up beside the fire.nbsp;Bound it to the side of the cauldron.’

As in the Homeric poems the movements and actions of heroes and their wives are presented to us with great fulness. When a hero starts onnbsp;a journey every detail of his movements is minutely set forth. He risesnbsp;from his seat, he goes towards the door, he or his wife unfastens hisnbsp;horse from the post, and the process of saddling and bridling is meticulously related—not a strap is omitted, not a buckle is left to thenbsp;imagination. Finally he mounts, he seizes his whip, and away he goes.nbsp;The elaborate account of the preparations made by Manas and hisnbsp;followers for the journey to the funeral feast and games held by Boknbsp;Murun affords a lively picture of the bustle of a Kirghiz camp on thenbsp;move:

Bring horses for riding... Bring the cauldron hastily.nbsp;To-day is the day for riding.—nbsp;Our golden tent of white camel hair.nbsp;Bind it up, fold it tightly. ..nbsp;Lay on my white steed’nbsp;My leopard-skin saddle cloth.nbsp;On his head place a red bridle.nbsp;Tie on him the blue falconer’s drum.nbsp;Bring him to me by the leading rein.nbsp;And the golden white tentnbsp;Bind well and truly to my pack-horse.^

The diction of the poems is very conventional. Static adjectives are universally used; e.g. ‘high horse’, ‘red sun’, ‘golden bed, table’, etc.nbsp;Every hero is distinguished by a static epithet, e.g. ‘Alaman Bet, thenbsp;’ Proben v, p. 503, 1. 4439.

’ For kunan, see p. 29, footnote i above. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 /J. p. j yj-iS..

43 tigerlike’, ‘Adshu Bai with sharp tongue’, ‘Er Joloi with a mouth likenbsp;a drinking horn’; and many others' occur in the numerous catalogues ofnbsp;the members of Manas’ retinue. A phrase commonly applied to a heronbsp;is ‘he whom no horse can carry’. To every hero is attached the name ofnbsp;his horse as we attach a surname, e.g. ‘Alaman Bet of the Yellow Piebald’. Even cities and nations are also designated by a static descriptivenbsp;phrase, e.g. ‘Bokhara with six gates’, ‘the Russians with hairy mouths’nbsp;(a reference to the Russian custom of wearing beards), ‘the jabberingnbsp;Chinese whose language no-one understands’, ‘the stinking Kalmucksnbsp;with round tasselled caps, who cut up pork and tie it to their saddles’,nbsp;‘ the Sarts who love their asses as if they were horses, and who carrynbsp;their bread in their bosoms’. A vast number of static phrases are used asnbsp;a standardised currency to supply the required expression for allnbsp;occasions, and many of these are not to be understood literally, as whennbsp;a promising baby hero is bom and we are told that the upper half ofnbsp;him is of gold, the lower half of silver; and that he pronounces thenbsp;word ‘mother’ at the end of two days, and ‘father’ at the end of seven.nbsp;Finally it may be mentioned that here, as in heroic poetry elsewhere, anbsp;large number of motifs are also static and recur constantly in analogousnbsp;circumstances. Formal speeches, such as warnings and lamentations,nbsp;are sometimes couched in figurative or allegorical language, and arenbsp;introduced with a certain deliberativeness : ‘ Ak Saikal now stood up andnbsp;raised her voice’, or ‘spoke loudly’.^

Before leaving the narrative poetry of the Tatars, a word may be said of the poems of the remaining groups. Among the Tatars of the Altainbsp;and Sayan Mountains, narrative poetry is widespread, and relates innbsp;general to princes and aristocratic or famous heroes.^ It would seemnbsp;probable that a large body of heroic narrative poetry has been flourishingnbsp;among these peoples in comparatively recent times,^ though littlenbsp;beyond the few short examples in Radlov’s collection has beennbsp;accessible to us. Heroic narrative poetry appears to flourish alsonbsp;among the Yakut on the R. Kolyma, though very little information on this subject has been at our disposal. From incidentalnbsp;remarks in the narrative of Shklovsky, we learn that these people havenbsp;epics relating to the great Yakut leader Djennik, under whom theynbsp;revolted in the seventeenth century. These epics are said to be remarkablenbsp;for their richness and wealth of imagery, and for their realistic detai?nbsp;(cf. p. 122 below). The operation of flaying is described with great

’ Proben V, p. 410, 1. 1299. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Kogutei, p. 7.

5 Ib. loc. cit. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Shklovsky, p. 209.

44

minuteness, details even being given as to what kind of knives were used. Unfortunately, however, we have no’ texts, and we do not know if anynbsp;have been recorded.'

Both narrative poetry and saga are found among the Kazak-Kirghiz. The examples in Radlov’s collection sometimes consist of pure narrativenbsp;poetry, such as Sain Batyr, but more often of a combined form ofnbsp;narrative poetry and saga. The latter form appears to be practicallynbsp;confined to the Kazaks, among whom it has been developed to a highnbsp;degree of artistic excellence. All the narratives from the Kazaks which wenbsp;are about to consider, with the exception of Sain Batyr, are of this class.

Sain Batyr^ which is proper to the Little Horde, was obtained by Radlov from a MS. It consists of 1882 lines, and relates to the warfarenbsp;between the Nogai and the Kalmucks, and is closely akin, both in themenbsp;and style, to the poems of the Manas Cycle. The hero, a Nogai Tatar,nbsp;goes to assist a certain Kublanda, a hero of the Kara-Nogai, in hisnbsp;encounters against the Kalmucks, but is abandoned in the thick of thenbsp;fight by his own followers and by Kublanda himself, and is left on thenbsp;field sorely wounded. His retainers ride home and report him dead, butnbsp;his wife and mother ride to the spot where the hero lies, and under theirnbsp;care he soon recovers from his wounds. They themselves are capturednbsp;by the Kalmucks; but at this point his two sons ride to Kublanda to begnbsp;his help, and the three together attack the Kalmucks, and with the helpnbsp;of Sain overcome them and rescue the two women. It is difficult in thisnbsp;brief summary to do justice to the admirable proportions and literarynbsp;quality of this narrative, which has all the heroic characteristics of thenbsp;Kara-Kirghiz poems, together with the skill in managing episodes andnbsp;multiple characters which we shall see to be the special prerogative ofnbsp;the Abakan poems. As already stated, Sain is the only example in Radlov’s collection of a Kazak narrative poem with no prose intermixture,nbsp;but its excellent qualities make it improbable that it is an isolated examplenbsp;of its kind, and its affinities with the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz cannbsp;hardly be accidental. We shall see presently that certain stories andnbsp;heroes of the latter are known also to Kazak tradition, and it seemsnbsp;probable that Sain is a Sary-Nogai hero, and even that the poem itselfnbsp;has been introduced to the répertoire of the Kazaks from the Sary-Nogai, or some other branch of the Kara-Kirghiz.

Perhaps the most famous Kazak narrative is Ky^-Zhtbek, which is best described as a heroic romance. This story is current in a number ofnbsp;variant versions, and perhaps in a number of variant forms. It is notnbsp;’ Cf. however p. 66 below.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben in, p. 205 ff.

45 contained in Radlov’s collection, and the only version which we havenbsp;seen is a Russian translation in the characteristic Kazak form of alternating prose and poetry. The poetry far exceeds the prose, however,nbsp;and comprises both narrative and speeches, often repeating what hasnbsp;been narrated in prose immediately before. The prose thus serves tonbsp;some extent as an introduction and commentary, and may not be annbsp;original feature of the work, though, as we shall see, the form is thenbsp;one most usually found among the Kazaks. The late Prof. Williamnbsp;Bateson, writing from the bank of the Shu River near Lake Balkash innbsp;the Great Horde in 1887, mentions that he had ‘found a copy of anbsp;national song of an epic sort, telling of the loves of Talighun andnbsp;Djupek, and of a war with the Kalmucks’, which manifestly refers tonbsp;Kyz-Zhibek and her first husband Tulegen, and which suggests that thenbsp;version referred to may have been wholly poetical in form. Batesonnbsp;further adds that he bought the copy for u. 8t/., so we may presumenbsp;that written versions were no longer rare at that time.^ The story wasnbsp;current in oral form long before this, however, as we know from thenbsp;testimony of old Kazaks, who heard Kyz-Zhibek from the lips of theirnbsp;grandfathers, and from the old akin, or native singers of extemporenbsp;poetry. Russian scholars attribute it on internal evidence to thenbsp;fourteenth or fifteenth century.’

The story relates to the wooing of the heroine Kyz-Zhibek, whose aul, or camp, is on the R. Yaïk, by a young chief of the Little Hordenbsp;named Tulegen. Tulegen first hears of Zhibek from a merchant sojourning in his father’s aul, and sets off to find her. Her father’s chiefnbsp;counsellor, who is described as his ‘vizier’, befriends Tulegen, andnbsp;introduces him to Zhibek. The two are united, and Tulegen stays threenbsp;months in Zhibek’s aul-, but Zhibek has already been betrothed to anbsp;hero named Bekezhan, by her father, and her rejected lover causes Tulegennbsp;to be murdered by robbers as he is returning to Zhibek after visiting his

' Bateson, p. 166. Bateson’s copy may have been one of the versions which were written down in Arabic script in Kazan during the nineteenth century. At the endnbsp;of this century the famous native poet and scholar Zhusupbek twice worked overnbsp;the oral narrative; and the Russian translation referred to above, which was presentednbsp;to us by the kindness of Prof. Minns, was made by the famous Kazak poet Sakennbsp;Sefullin from Zhusupbek’s version. See the Introduction to Kyr^-Zhibek, p. 3 ff. Itnbsp;is impossible for us with our limited resources to gauge how much is due tonbsp;Zhusupbek, but the internal evidence of the version before us makes it extremelynbsp;improbable, as the editors point out (loc. cit.'), that the character of the originalnbsp;narrative has been substantially changed.

’ Kyz-Zhibek, loc. cit.

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father in his old home. In revenge Zhibek’s brothers kill Bekezhan. Eight years later Tulegen’s younger brother Sansyzbay goes to seeknbsp;tidings of him and learns of his death. Following Tatar custom he seeksnbsp;the hand of his brother’s widow, but her father has again betrothed her,nbsp;this time to a Kalmuck khan. Zhibek, however, sits weeping in heryzzrrnbsp;while the wedding festivities are in progress, and on learning ofnbsp;Sansyzbay’s arrival, she rides away over the steppe to meet him on onenbsp;of the khan’s horses. The khan pursues the fugitives, and a fierce combatnbsp;takes place between himself and Sansyzbay; but the khan is slain, andnbsp;in the battle which ensues between his Kalmuck followers and thenbsp;followers of Zhibek’s father, the latter are victorious, and the bride andnbsp;bridegroom are happily united.

The examples of heroic narrative which Radlov cites from the Great and Middle Hordes consist, like Ky^-Zhibek, of prose and poetry interspersed in varying degrees. In the poem Rosy Körpösh, the narrative,nbsp;which runs to 36 pages, consists almost wholly of poetry. The poem,nbsp;like the latter, may be best described as a heroic romance; but thenbsp;setting follows the conventional lines of Tatar heroic poetry elsewhere,nbsp;and the romantic element may have been developed under foreignnbsp;(Mohammedan) influence. The hero, Kosy, and the heroine are betrothed in infancy; but the hero’s father dies soon afterwards, and hisnbsp;wife and son are reduced to penury. The heroine’s father regrets thenbsp;betrothal, and seeks to marry his daughter to a neighbouring chief ; butnbsp;the hero, by the advice of an old woman, seeks his betrothed in thenbsp;disguise of a beggar, and wins her love. The frustrated bridegroom seeksnbsp;to kill Kosy, but in this version he is himself slain by the heroine, who isnbsp;happily united to her lover. In a version of the same story from thenbsp;Baraba Tatars, however, the bridegroom chosen by the heroine’s fathernbsp;succeeds in killing Kosy, and the heroine stabs herself on the dead bodynbsp;of her lover.

The Kazak version is composed almost wholly in the form of narrative poetry. Only two prose passages are introduced into the poem, and one is added at the end. It is interesting to note that a variant of thisnbsp;version is published in Berezin’s Chrestomathie (pp. 70-162) whichnbsp;apparently consists wholly of verse,^ while the other version from thenbsp;Baraba Tatars, to which we have just referred, consists of mingled prosenbsp;and verse, the latter being confined to the speeches (cf. p. 49 below).nbsp;In both the Kazak and the Baraba versions the poetry is exclusivelynbsp;strophic, and in the former the refrain is used with a persistence whichnbsp;' See Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 297 f.

47 strikes us as strange and distracting in a long narrative poem. Thisnbsp;feature, and the excessive use of repetitions, give a lyrical tone to thenbsp;poem, which again is disturbing in a lengthy narrative. The whole givesnbsp;the impression of a hybrid ballad.

Three other heroic narratives of considerable length are recorded by Radlov from the Kazaks, and, like Ky:{^Ehibek, they consist of alternatenbsp;passages of verse and prose. Of these Et Kökshü and Dshelkildäknbsp;consist of rather more prose than verse, while Er Tar gyn contains anbsp;preponderance of verse, which sometimes continues in an uninterruptednbsp;flow for several pages. Er Kökshü and Er Targyn are typical heroicnbsp;narratives, while Dshelkildäk contains a considerable proportion ofnbsp;non-heroic matter.

The opening of Er Kökshü^ is somewhat obscure in the Kazak version. The story seems to be somewhat as follows. Er Kökshü, who is herenbsp;represented as a young man, and the head of ten tribes of the Nogai, isnbsp;raided after the death of Örmön Bet by Dshangbyrshy, himself thenbsp;chief of a thousand followers. Er Kökshü’s ‘spiritual kinsman’,’nbsp;Manasha, who is the head of‘forty friends’, also takes part in the battle.nbsp;When all their men have perished. Er Kökshü and Dshangbyrshynbsp;decide not to fight themselves, and they accordingly drive off the animals,nbsp;dividing the booty between them. Er Kökshü finds that his ‘spiritualnbsp;kinsman’ Manasha has been wounded in the forehead by an arrow, andnbsp;this he withdraws and applies healing medicines. He himself howevernbsp;dies of his wounds, and is buried by Manasha, who thereupon seizes hisnbsp;share of the booty, cheating Er Kökshü’s son and heir, Kosai. The restnbsp;of the story relates the adventures of Kosai, his efforts to avenge hisnbsp;father, and finally the death of Ternir Bai, the son of Dshangbyrshy, atnbsp;his hands.

The similarity of these names to those of the Kara-Kirghiz heroes cannot be fortuitous. The name of the hero, together with Dshangbyrshy and Manasha, is manifestly identical with Er Kökchö, Jamgyrchi, andnbsp;Manas, while Örmön Bet must be Alaman (Alman) Bet. The hostile relations between Er Kökchö and Jamgyrchi also reappear in the Kazaknbsp;story. In spite of obscurities and differences of detail, the relations ofnbsp;the three great heroes—Er Kökshü, Manasha, and Dshangbyrshy—nbsp;appear to be substantially the same as in the Kara-Kirghiz poems, wherenbsp;Er Kökchö is harassed by the depredations of his neighbours, Manas

' Prohen. in, p. niff.

’ From the Kara-Kirghiz Cycle of Manas (Manasha) we know that Manas and Er Kökchö are both Mohammedans.

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on the one hand, and the powerful Jamgyrchi on the other. In the Kazak story, however. Er Kökshü is still a young man.

The story of Et Tar gyn takes place during the lifetime of Örmön Bet, and therefore a trifle earlier than Er Kökshü. It is a typical storynbsp;of adventure. The Kirghiz hero Er Targyn, having slain a man of hisnbsp;own people, flees to the Nogai, where by his bravery he rises to be thenbsp;leader of the khan’s troops. Having eloped with the khan’s daughter henbsp;joins Örmön Bet, the prince of the Nogai, and routs the Kalmucks, andnbsp;obtains the daughter of Örmön Bet as his second wife. The story ofnbsp;Dshelkildäk relates to the misfortunes of the family of the brother ofnbsp;Nörmön (.^Örmön) Bet at the hands of a heathen prince, Telägäi, who isnbsp;also a great magician and controller of the weather, and it also tells ofnbsp;their rescue, and the death of Telägäi at the hands of the youthful heronbsp;Dshelkildäk. Although the kernel of the story is a raid, and thenbsp;vengeance of the injured, and although the style is heroic throughout,nbsp;the victories on both sides are achieved as much by magic as by valour.

öne of the most interesting, and at the same time the most problematical, features of these Kazak stories is the relationship of the poetry to the prose. Much of the prose has all the appearance of a paraphrasenbsp;from heroic narrative poetry. Sometimes the corresponding passage innbsp;poetry actually overlaps the prose paraphrase, as in Er Kökshü, p. 116,nbsp;and as is common in Ky:^-Zhibek. More frequently, however, thenbsp;poetical passage on which the prose appears to be based is omitted, asnbsp;e.g. in Dshelkildäk, p. 136. öther prose passages, such as the dialoguesnbsp;in Er Targyn, pp. 155 and 169, are wholly foreign to the style of epicnbsp;poetry, and have manifestly been composed directly for the place whichnbsp;they now occupy. In these formal characteristics the stories bear a closenbsp;resemblance to the early Norse Hervarar Saga, Ch. xiiff., and it seemsnbsp;probable that all our texts are based on narrative poems which havenbsp;been in part forgotten, or which are giving way under the influence ofnbsp;saga, ön the other hand many of the poems contained in the sagas,nbsp;more especially the speech poems, would seem either to be independentnbsp;poems inserted into the sagas at appropriate points, or else to have beennbsp;composed directly for their present context. This is probably the casenbsp;in regard to the poems in Er Targyn, pp. 171 ff. and i8off. It is to benbsp;noted that whereas the poetry which appears to be original epic materialnbsp;consists of both narrative and speech poems, the poetry which appearsnbsp;to be either independent, or composed for the place which it nownbsp;occupies, consists almost wholly of speeches.^

’ It would be of interest to our study of the relationship of the poetry to the prose in these and other narratives to be considered presently if we could know more

HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;49

The form of narrative which we have seen to be characteristic of the Kazaks, and which consists of mingled prose and verse, and of prosenbsp;narrative interspersed with speech poems, is characteristic also of thenbsp;Tatars of the Ob and the Irtish. Examples are Kosy Körpör^^ Idägä Pi,nbsp;Toktamysh Khan, and Kur s Son. The last is a heroic prose narrativenbsp;from the Tobol Tatars, containing a number of speeches in verse, andnbsp;is distinguished from the rest by being signed with the narrator’s name.^nbsp;It is to be suspected that the story is of foreign origin. We have alreadynbsp;seen that the story of Kosy Körpörf is found also in the form of a narrative poem among the Kazaks. In the Baraba version the narrative isnbsp;confined to prose, while most of the speeches are in verse, and wherenbsp;poetry is employed in heroic narrative this seems to be the usual customnbsp;among the Tatars of this region.

The story of Idägä Pi^ from the Baraba Tatars relates the life and adventures of the hero Idägä Pi in the service of Toktamysh Khan. Henbsp;incurs the enmity of Toktamysh and is forced to flee, and the storynbsp;passes on to relate the downfall of Toktamysh at the hands of Idägä Pi’snbsp;son Myradyl, the quarrel between Myradyl and his father, Myradyl’snbsp;usurpation of the throne of Toktamysh, and the final vengeance ofnbsp;Toktamysh’s son Ismail. The same story is related in a variant formnbsp;among the Kurdak Tatars.“*

By far the most elaborate development of heroic saga with which we are familiar is the Turkoman prose Cycle of Kurroglou, which wasnbsp;written down by the traveller Chodzko from the dictation of nativenbsp;of the relationship of poetry to prose in the various versions of the story of thenbsp;ancient hero Kesar, king of Ling, who figures in oral prose narratives and poemsnbsp;throughout Tibet, Mongolia, and Ladakh. Mongolian prose versions of the storynbsp;are in existence in a written form; Tibetan poetic and prose versions in oral form.nbsp;What may be called the ‘classic’ form of the story, as it is found in central Tibet, hasnbsp;the form of epic poetry; while the version published by Francke from Lowernbsp;Ladakh is chanted to-day by the Bedas, or groups of village minstrels and entertainers, in a form of poetry largely interspersed with prose. Similarly the shorternbsp;episodic narratives from the same story or cycle, which Francke regards as originating in the lateral valleys of Ladakh, are composed in a form of mingled prosenbsp;and verse. See A. H. Francke, Tibetische Hoch-{eitslieder (Darmstadt, 1923), p. i;nbsp;Ib. A History of Western Tibet (London, 1907), p. 53; C. Bell, The People of Tibetnbsp;(Oxford, 1928), p. to; A. David-Neel and the Lama Yongden, The Superhuman Lifenbsp;of Gesar of Ling (London, 1933). Cf. also the prose version edited from a versionnbsp;printed at Pekin by 1. J. Schmidt under the title of Bogda Gesser Chan (St Petersburg,nbsp;1836).

CL iii

5°

rhapsodists during a sojourn of eleven years on the shores of the Caspian and in northern Persia, and which was translated into English by thenbsp;same author.^ This Cycle consists of narratives of the life and adventuresnbsp;of Kurroglou, a great bandit hero and accomplished minstrel who isnbsp;believed to have lived in the latter half of the seventeenth centurynbsp;(cf. p. 122 below). It is divided into thirteen mejjliss (lit. ‘ meetings ornbsp;rhapsodies) which are self-contained prose narratives related independently, and which are said to last as long as the narrator may thinknbsp;advisable.^ These thirteen meijliss fill in all 327 pages in the Englishnbsp;translation.

In scope and form the Cycle of Kurroglou bears a close analogy to the Kara-Kirghiz Cycle of Manas. Like the latter it contains a numbernbsp;of heroic stories, all of which relate to the great hero, though here alsonbsp;it cannot be said that he is in every case the most prominent person innbsp;the story. It would seem that in the Turkoman Cycle, as is probablynbsp;the case also in the Manas Cycle, a number of adventures, originallynbsp;proper to a number of different heroes, have been swept up in thenbsp;course of time into the Cycle of the chief hero, thus contributing theirnbsp;quota to the great Turkoman classic. Like the Kara-Kirghiz stories also,nbsp;those of Kurroglou begin with the childhood and early years of thenbsp;hero, and cover a lifetime; but while the former continues with annbsp;account of the hero’s son and grandson, the Kurroglou Cycle ends, atnbsp;least in Chodzko’s record, with the hero’s death.

The stories told of Kurroglou and his troop of bandits consist largely of accounts of plundering expeditions, the object of attack being mostnbsp;frequently the merchant caravans encamped in the meadows belownbsp;Kurroglou’s mountain stronghold. Other favourite themes are thenbsp;hero’s visits in the disguise of a minstrel to the tents of his enemies ; ornbsp;to the harems of the Persian rulers, whence he carries off their daughtersnbsp;to fill his own harem. He is not always victorious, and when honourablynbsp;defeated, as he is on one occasion by a merchant who challenges him tonbsp;single combat, he is unscrupulous and treacherous in his mode ofnbsp;vengeance. Sometimes the heroes of the adventures are the members ofnbsp;Kurroglou’s retinue, as, for instance, in the account of how Ayvaz, hisnbsp;adopted son, goes to steal game from the park of the pasha of Tokat.nbsp;In the account of how Hamza the scullion steals Kurroglou’s horsenbsp;Kyrat, Kurroglou himself cuts but a sorry figure, though he is restorednbsp;to his horse and his heroic dignity at the conclusion of the story. Thenbsp;Turkoman mejjliss contain a large number of songs, most of which arenbsp;’ See List of Abbreviations.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Chodzko, p. 13.

51 attributed to the hero Kurroglou himself, though some are attributednbsp;to his son Ayvaz and to others of his retinue. Kurroglou is indeednbsp;represented as a most accomplished poet and musician, and as celebrating every important occurrence in song. Every situation of excitement or emotion calls forth from him a series of extempore compositions.nbsp;Whenever he speaks formally he finds poetry a more natural mediumnbsp;than prose.

The Cycle of Kurroglou is a typical specimen of heroic literature. The stories are all stories of adventure, and their object is simply tonbsp;entertain. The milieu is that of a heroic society, in most respects justnbsp;such as travellers among the Turkomans describe the native society tonbsp;have been during the early part of last century. The narratives are allnbsp;anonymous, and are carried on by oral tradition, partly to the accompaniment of a stringed instrument. In style too the narratives conformnbsp;to the standards of heroic saga. The particular is related in preference tonbsp;the general, with fulness of description and elaboration of details.nbsp;Speeches are introduced very freely even on the most trivial matters.

Though individualistic throughout, the Kurroglou Cycle cannot claim to be wholly aristocratic. The hero himself was the son of thenbsp;master of the stud of Sultan Murad, and though this might be regardednbsp;in itself as an office of some honour, his followers are undoubtedlynbsp;plebeian, being drawn from among grooms, shepherds and artisans.nbsp;His adopted brother is a merchant and his adopted son, the son of anbsp;butcher.’ Nor is the rude plebeian side glozed over by the reciter.nbsp;The descriptions of Kurroglou’s enormous appetite and coarse tablenbsp;manners, and his powers of drinking^ recall those of the Kirghiz heronbsp;Joloi, while even a merchant can upbraid him justly with ungentlemanlynbsp;conduct towards his enemies.

“Hold back thy arm, Kurroglou !.. .1 have heard a great deal about thee, but I have seen thee now, and thou dost not deserve thy fame.nbsp;A brave man gives timely warning to his enemy; it is a woman’s part tonbsp;fight without warning and to kill by stealth.”^

It is probable that while some of the plebeian features of the Kurroglou Cycle are original, others may be adventitious. The liberalnbsp;introduction of humour is akin to that of many of the Irish sagasnbsp;and to that of the Russian bylina of Vasili Buslaev. We refer to suchnbsp;passages as the consternation which is caused to the onlookers by thenbsp;capacity of the hero’s appetite, which consumes not only vast quantitiesnbsp;of rice, but the bag in which it has been carried; to the terror inspirednbsp;' See Chodzko, p. 41 f. ’ Ib. pp. 48, 103, etc.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Ib. p. i84f.

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by the length of his moustaches; to the ague which keeps his retinue in bed for a twelvemonth, and which is caused by terror at sight of hisnbsp;enemy’s head poised on his lance. Such humour is alien to the highnbsp;seriousness of heroic narratives composed for an aristocratic audience.nbsp;In its general conduct and outline, however, the Kurroglou Cyclenbsp;accords closely with the aristocratic standards which we have seen to benbsp;characteristic of heroic poetry and saga elsewhere. The virtues most innbsp;favour are courage, loyalty, generosity; and the profession of freebooternbsp;and predatory warrior is followed by all. Riches and spectacular displaynbsp;in personal ornaments and weapons are highly prized. The heroic codenbsp;of honour is generally recognised even though not always adhered to.nbsp;Kurroglou himself possesses in a superlative degree the first politenbsp;accomplishment of a gentleman of Asiatic heroic society—the ability tonbsp;carry on a conversation by means of extempore songs. This accomplishment is also shared in a lesser degree by other heroes in these sagas.

Above all the prominence of the horse accords with the highest standards of Turkoman ideals. Kurroglou’s horse Kyrat, even morenbsp;than its master, is the true hero of the Cycle, coveted as it is by potentates,nbsp;and loved and admired by all. Kurroglou hardly seems to have annbsp;existence apart from his horse, whom he loves as his own soul. When henbsp;finds his steed dying he gladly gives himself up to his enemies, unwillingnbsp;to live an hour after his faithful and beautiful companion.

The Altai and Teleut Tatars share with the Abakan Group an interesting series of sagas relating to the Mongol (Kalmuck) princes of Chinese Turkestan and Jungaria in the seventeenth and eighteenthnbsp;centuries. These sagas are simple and direct in style, and, unlike thosenbsp;which we have mentioned above, they appear to be comparatively freenbsp;from the influence of heroic poetry. The Sagai saga of Sunu Mattyr^nbsp;although quite brief—five and a half pages—falls naturally into threenbsp;parts. In the early part of the saga we are shown the relations of thenbsp;Kirghiz under the resident official Kongyr Targa, with their overlordsnbsp;in the Altai under Kongdaijy Khan.’ When Kongyr Targa grows old,nbsp;his people refuse to follow his advice and withhold their tribute fromnbsp;the Altai, and slay the officers sent to collect it. The Kongdaijy sendsnbsp;a punitive expedition and drives all the people from their homes. Thisnbsp;part of the saga is post-heroic, told in summary form by a narrator withnbsp;a defined political horizon and an antiquarian tendency.

' Proben n, p. jSof.; cf. ib. A.S. I, p. 185f. ’ The word kongdaijy is in reality a title.

53

The second part of the story is purely heroic. It relates the slaying of a tiger with a single iron-tipped arrow by the Kongdaijy’s seven-yearnbsp;old heroic son Sunu Mattyr. Later on his rivals, full of jealousy andnbsp;treachery, accuse him of immorality and violence with their women, andnbsp;persuade his father to have him thrown into a deep pit. He is ultimatelynbsp;resuscitated to vindicate his father’s independence by his prowessnbsp;against the ‘Mongols’. The several motifs included in this portion ofnbsp;the story, including the last rally of the hero, who is believed to havenbsp;been dead for some time, are all familiar to us from other stories of thenbsp;Altai, the Kara-Kirghiz and the Abakan groups.

The third part is occupied with the adventures of Amyr Saran, who is here said to be another son of the Kongdaijy.’ He leads thenbsp;Kirghiz tribes to the edge of a lake where he bids them settle. He thennbsp;insults the Mongol Khan^ by refusing to marry his daughter and slayingnbsp;a thousand of his soldiers. After this he flees to the White Tsar, but thenbsp;‘Mongol Khan’ insists that he shall be executed. The end is obscure,nbsp;and much of the narrative is weak and unmotivated.

A comparison of this rather invertebrate story with the versions cited by Radlov elsewhere, both from the Sagai^ and other tribes, emphasisesnbsp;the impression that what has come down to us is merely a disintegratednbsp;tradition of what must have been an extensive and perhaps elaboratenbsp;Cycle of oral traditions. We do not know of any parallel version to thenbsp;first part of the Sagai saga; but a Teleut version of the second part existsnbsp;as an independent saga.'* The Teleut version is simpler and clearer in thenbsp;main than the Sagai version, though the end appears to have been confused and forgotten. According to the Teleut, Shünü (Sunu) was thenbsp;youngest son of Kongodoi, an Oirot (Jungarian) prince, and the jealousnbsp;rivals who plotted against him were his three younger brothers. In thisnbsp;version they persuade his father to destroy him, for fear that, with hisnbsp;great strength, he will destroy his father—a much simpler motive thannbsp;that of the Sagai version. Moreover, in the Teleut narrative Shününbsp;ultimately leaves home in consequence of an attempt on the part of hisnbsp;father to poison him. He is said to have joined his uncle, Ajykku Khan

* Cf. however, p. 121 below. From Baddeley’s Genealogical table (G) it would seem probable that Amyr Saran was not the son but the great grandson of thenbsp;Kongdaijy—if, indeed, this is a proper name, and not a title or term of relationship.

’ The Mongol Khan is probably to be identified with the Chinese Emperor Kien-lung. See Radlov, A.S. i, p. 171. Cf. Baddeley i. Genealogical Table G.

3 Cf. Radlov, A.S. I, p. lóyff.

¦’ Proben I, p. loóff.; cf. Radlov, A.S. I, p. i69ff.

54

(i.e. Ayuki, the Torgut prince), then living on the borders of Russia,“^ and to have distinguished himself in fighting on his behalf against thenbsp;Russians.

In bringing together the several variants of this Cycle with a view to gauging its historical value in a later chapter, mention should benbsp;made here of a brief saga—hardly more than an anecdote—obtained bynbsp;Radlov from the Altai,^ which clearly refers to the same circle of eventsnbsp;as those related in the previous sagas.

“The Oirot Kan dies and Amyr Sanaga rules over the people. In the Altai dwells the prince Chagan Narattan. Chagan Narattan fightsnbsp;Amyr Sanaga. They come to battle at the river Tscharysch. Chagannbsp;Narattan takes to flight before the battle is decided, and takes refuge withnbsp;sixty-two men in a cave on the Katunja. The men of the Altai drivenbsp;Amyr Sanaga over the Irtish, but when they do not find Chagannbsp;Narattan among the dead they go to look for him and eventually findnbsp;him. He wants to escape again, but is captured at the river Bitutkan,nbsp;which obtained its name from this event. The men of the Altai, angerednbsp;at Chagan Narattan’s cowardice, said to him: ‘You have forsaken us innbsp;war, so we forsake you in peace. You are our leader no more.”’3

These sagas, brief and slight though they are, are worthy of consideration, as representing oral historical tradition carried on independently of written records. The history of the ruling Kalmuck princes of the Jungarian line is fairly well known from the sixteenth centurynbsp;down to our own time from Mongolian and Russian records,“* and anbsp;comparison of these with the oral records given above affords the onlynbsp;important material to be found in Radlov’s works for the study of thenbsp;oral transmission of historical tradition among a nomadic people, as wenbsp;shall see (p. 118 ff. below). At the same time these sagas offer interestingnbsp;material for the study of variant texts, and of the intrusion of motifsnbsp;common to folk-tales.

The story of Toska Mattyr, recorded by Radlov from the Kuärik Tatars,5 differs greatly, both in form and style, from the sagas whichnbsp;we have been considering. It is a long and elaborate narrative afternbsp;the manner of the Abakan poems. It relates to the adventures of anbsp;champion Taska Mattyr in the service of Udsäng Päg, by whom he isnbsp;sent to convey the tribute due from Udsäng Päg himself to the Mongolnbsp;Khan. The Mongol Khan in his turn sends the hero on a further

’ SeeHoworth, I, p. 564ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ A.S. I, p. 172.

3 Loc. cit.

See Baddeley, passim. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Proben n, p. 700 ff.

55 mission, in the course of which he pays a visit to a supernatural countrynbsp;which is entered through a hole in a mountain, and which obviouslynbsp;bears a close relationship to the countries with a similar access in othernbsp;stories and poems of the Tatars, and generally represents the land of thenbsp;dead. When at last the hero returns to the court of Udsäng Päg he hasnbsp;been away so long that he is not recognised till he plays his old familiarnbsp;tunes on the chatigan, or Kirghiz zither.

This saga gives a vivid picture of the manners and relations of the Kirghiz of the Kara Jüs and the Mongols during the period to which thenbsp;two last sagas also have reference. We see the khans enforcing thenbsp;personal attendance of their tributary chiefs or their official deputiesnbsp;every three years; the long journey involved; the Kirghiz bivouac andnbsp;the brewing of the evening tea; the Mongol Khan leaning on hisnbsp;bamboo staff; his wily manner of making these emissaries executenbsp;difficult tasks for him, and the long absence from home which thesenbsp;tasks sometimes entail. We see the ideal heroic prince in Udsäng Päg,nbsp;bold, cruel, unscrupulous, able, generous, a good master, a splendidnbsp;hunter, an intrepid fighter. We see the ideal heroic adventurer in Taskanbsp;Mattyr, who can shoot and hunt and follow a track better than anyone;nbsp;who is brave, loyal, successful, and an accomplished musician; and whonbsp;knows forty melodies and can also extemporise on the chatigan. Thenbsp;saga is composed in a leisurely and elaborate style with all the characteristics of heroic poetry highly developed, and neither the dictionnbsp;nor the syntax are those of prose. It is, however, a unique example ofnbsp;its kind among the prose narratives recorded by Radlov, and nothing isnbsp;said of its history, or the milieu in which it circulates.

In addition to the narrative poetry and saga already considered, the Tatars possess a great wealth of oral poetry of a slighter character.nbsp;Heroic poetry in the form of speeches in character is common. As wenbsp;have seen, it occurs frequently in sagas. It is found also independently,nbsp;and has been recorded especially among the Tatars of the Irtish and thenbsp;Ob. A large number of poems of this type are attributed to well-knownnbsp;historical persons, but it is improbable that the majority are reallynbsp;personal poems composed by the heroes named. The range of namesnbsp;represented, the impersonal nature of the contents in general, thenbsp;elaborate and finished style, the artificial, often strophic form andnbsp;regularity of refrain, and the persistence of the conventional frameworknbsp;all suggest a traditional literary form rather than a spontaneous personalnbsp;impulse.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

An example of a tolgaw (‘lament’) on the taking of Kazan by the Russians in a.d. 1552, which was recorded by Chodzko from thenbsp;recitation of a Tatar of Astrakhan in 1830/ must undoubtedly belong tonbsp;this class. It purports to be the lament of a Tatar prince, Batyr Shorah,nbsp;who perished in the marshes during an attempt to relieve the siege.nbsp;From the nature of the contents, however, which refer specifically tonbsp;the manner of his death, it is clear that it must have been composed bynbsp;some other person after the event. This makes it probable that a fragment from another tolgaw on the same historical event, which followsnbsp;immediately in Chodzko’s collection,’ is also a poem of similar origin.

Many examples of poems which celebrate historical persons are extant from the northern Tatars. A strophe has survived^ from anbsp;forgotten Song of Kuchum Khan in which the hero is represented asnbsp;reflecting on his achievements and thinking with affection of his archers.nbsp;In another poem of seven strophes,'* Khotsash, one of Kuchumnbsp;Khan’s heroes, is represented as recalling in old age the good things ofnbsp;his youth—brandy and mead, rich clothing and horses, and the love ofnbsp;the maid Känikä. Another poem purports to be spoken by Myrsa Tus,nbsp;a younger brother of the ‘hero Mamai’.5 These two poems have elaborate strophic forms and refrains. In Toktamysh Khan^ Toktamysh isnbsp;represented as holding converse with the noble Myratym and the sagenbsp;Chänbai.

Speech poems of Type C7 are commonly used as a framework in which to incorporate material which in substance belongs properly tonbsp;the literature of learning and of celebration. A somewhat elaboratenbsp;poem sung among the Kurdak tribes of the northern Tatars whichnbsp;purports to be spoken by the hero Atulu Batyr,^ is obviously composednbsp;to convey information of a gnomic and descriptive character. Anbsp;dialogue poem in which the mother of Murat Pi questions her son as henbsp;sets out for battle thinly veils a didactic tendency under a cloak ofnbsp;personal solidtude.9 The poem Kara^al^ is spoken by a Tatar chief whosenbsp;two sons have fallen in battle against Ermak the Cossack. The poem isnbsp;an elegy on the two dead sons, and may of course have come down tonbsp;us from the seventeenth century; but its finished form and carefulnbsp;structure make it more likely that it is a product of a later era.

' Chodzko, p. 362f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 364 (no. in).

3 Proben iv, p. 141; cf. A.S. I, p. 157. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;'* Proben iv, p. 209f.

5 Ib. p. 2l2f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;® Ib. p. 241 ff.

7 For the ‘Types’, see p. 696. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;® Proben iv, p. 2iof.

5 Ib. I, p. 22of. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Ib. IV, p. 328.

There can be no doubt that the northern Tatars, and perhaps the Turkomans also, have developed to a special degree a literary form innbsp;which speech poems are represented as uttered by great heroes of thenbsp;past. It is probable therefore that this form, which may well have begunnbsp;as personal poetry, soon developed into a literary convention, and thatnbsp;the majority of heroic speech poems were composed long after the timenbsp;of the men who are represented as speaking. These poems generallynbsp;begin with a formula, such as ‘Khotsash the hero speaks’, or ‘Atulunbsp;the hero speaks’, or

One day Jan-Bai spoke to Idägä. Kämal’s son, Jan Bai spoke.'

Among those who dwell on the Tobol Speaks Ak Buga the hero.’

The same form is frequently used in connection with heroes who are less illustrious, but who may nevertheless have had a historical existence.

Bi Agysh speaks:

O you beloved Nogai, etc.3

The lord of Januar Bos, Äbil Kasym, the prince, speaks.“*

Such poems generally consist of a single speech or dialogue. They are free from prose passages. In form they resemble closely such Anglo-Saxon poems as the Seafarer and the Wife’s Complaint. The contents,nbsp;however, are purely heroic, and the interest is exclusively masculine.

Turning to the Tatar tribes farther south, we have noted that among the Kazaks and neighbouring peoples an individual form of heroicnbsp;narrative has developed in which prose and poetry, the latter consistingnbsp;principally though not exclusively of speeches, are combined in varyingnbsp;degrees. Among the same people also we have found poetry of thisnbsp;type in which a brief prose introduction and conclusion is commonlynbsp;added to speech poems to indicate the setting. In such poems briefnbsp;prose passages are also occasionally added in the body of the poemnbsp;where the reciter feels the necessity of greater explicitness. The type isnbsp;a common one, and is found among both the Kazaks and the Teleut.nbsp;From the former we may cite Täti, which consists of the speech of a

' Proben IV, p. 165.

’ P- 334-

58

dying Kazak chief who has been treacherously clothed in a poisoned coat by his enemy; Köigüldü, the boasting speech of a hero before henbsp;rides to avenge his brother who has been wounded by the Kalmucks ;nbsp;and MandyJds Son, which consists of three separate speeches, joinednbsp;by brief prose passages? The analogy of such poems to those containednbsp;in the early Norse collection of the Elder Edda’ is very striking.

At least one example of heroic poetry of this type is recorded also from the Kara-Kirghiz.3 A short prose introduction relates the murdernbsp;of Kul Myrsa by a rich man in whose house he is staying, and thenbsp;arrival of the father Kubat in search of his son. The rich man tells Kubatnbsp;that he has not seen his son; but his daughter waits by the wayside fornbsp;Kubat, and then sings an elegy of twenty-four lines for his son, innbsp;which she relates how he has come by his end. A few lines of prose atnbsp;the conclusion relate the vengeance of Kubat.

The composition of heroic panegyric and elegiac poetry is common among the Tatars. Travellers speak constantly of the presence ’ofnbsp;minstrels at the feast, and of their extempore composition in honournbsp;of host and guests. Radlov was present at a Kirghiz feast at which thenbsp;chief, in his delight at the panegyric of a famous minstrel who wasnbsp;present, flung his satin cloak from his own shoulders and bestowednbsp;it upon the poet.“* Parallels to this incident are common in Europenbsp;in the Viking Age (cf. vol. i, p. 346). Venyukov mentions that innbsp;i860 a Kirghiz poet who was attached to the Russian expeditionary column was held in high esteem among his tribesmen as theirnbsp;chief poet. ‘When the chief of the expedition gave an entertainmentnbsp;to the Kirghizes... this poet loudly and eloquently extolled thenbsp;virtues of the giver of the feast—probably with a view to a noblenbsp;largesse’.5 Among the Kazaks also the late Prof. Bateson was madenbsp;the subject of extempore panegyric poetry.^

The same practice is referred to in the Abakan prose narrative of Toska Mattyr, where we are told that at the feast given by the usurpingnbsp;prince Üdsäng Päg, “all began to eat, and Üdsäng Päg went amongnbsp;them and said : ‘ Sing ! ’ and they sang and praised Üdsäng Päg.”7

Chodzko tells us that among the Turkomans a minstrel who has

• * Proben in, p. looff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Vol. I, pp. 9, 19.

3 Proben v, p. 602 f.

• * Radlov, A.S. i, p. 488; cf. also p. 185 below.

5 Michell, p. 291. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;® Bateson, p. 166.

7 Proben, II, p. 703.

59 recited the deeds and poems of Kurroglou invariably concludes with anbsp;panegyric composed by himself or another, praising the person who isnbsp;to pay him for his trouble?

Several examples of panegyric poems are published by Radlov. We may refer to the Kazak address of twelve lines in praise of Abylai Khan?nbsp;A poem of three strophes which is sung as a prelude to the Teleut storynbsp;of Ak Köbök is virtually an independent panegyric poem, but we havenbsp;no evidence that it was sung apart from its present context? Again, innbsp;the same saga, a poem of four strophes is sung by village girls in praisenbsp;of the hero.'*

An interesting and unusual example of panegyric poetry occurs in the Baraba version of the saga of Ak Köbök^ A smith, Kützömöz, hasnbsp;forged a sword for the hero which is highly approved. When Kützömöznbsp;demands his reward, Ak Köbök stands up and praises him in a typicalnbsp;heroic panegyric poem of twelve lines, of which the first six consist ofnbsp;remarks on the strength and efficiency of Kützömöz, while the lastnbsp;six invoke blessings and riches on him. It is a curious inversion ofnbsp;the usual practice to find a hero praising an artisan, but the smith is anbsp;person whose work is of unique importance to warriors, and the highnbsp;status of Kützömöz may be inferred from the fact that he is mentionednbsp;by name.

A number of Turkoman panegyrics are extant which are attributed to the hero Kurroglou. The following is interesting, not only as beingnbsp;attributed to the hero himself, but also as having been apparentlynbsp;committed to memory by him; for in reference to a service which anbsp;certain Mustapha-beg had once performed for him Kurroglou saysnbsp;later: “I composed then a song to his honour, and I do not know why,nbsp;but it comes to my recollection at the present moment. Bring mynbsp;guitar; I’ll sing it to thee....’ Kurroglou tunes his guitar, and sings:

‘Like a man, like a true warrior, he came and fought. Mustapha-beg is of noble blood. Under the blows of his sword the rocks cleave.nbsp;Mustapha-beg is the son of a noble father.... He is master of fortynbsp;thousand men always ready at his first signal. Clad in armour, in ironnbsp;dresses with blood-shot eyes,^ they eat his broth and his pillaw.nbsp;Mustapha-beg is son of the Pakiar. Is there any father that can boast ofnbsp;five such sons.^ He is fit to be any hero’s companion. He deserves to be

Chodzko, p. 344. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben in, p. 92.

3 Ib. I, p. 224. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;'* Ib. p. 231.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Ib. IV, p. 60.

* According to the opinion of oriental physiognomists blood-shot eyes are a sign of valour (Chodzko). In the Mahabharata also heroes have red eyes.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

my brother. Mustapha-beg is the son of a nobleman. Shouting, he cuts his way through the enemy’s ranks; he darts an unerring arrow fromnbsp;his bow, and pushes Kurroglou into a river. Mustapha-beg is the sonnbsp;of a nobleman.’

Kurroglou is also said to have composed a beautiful panegyric on his enemy, Reyhan Arab, which is incorporated in the story of Reyhannbsp;Arab’s death at the hands of the hero.^

The practice of composing panegyric poetry on horses,^ dogs, weapons, and other favourite adjuncts of heroic life is frequently referred to, both by travellers and in the heroic narratives themselves.nbsp;Sir Alexander Burnes mentions the practice among the Turkomans ofnbsp;singing songs in honour of their horses.'* Radlov quotes a Kazak poemnbsp;of eight strophes which is at once a panegyric and an elegy on a favouritenbsp;hawk which a dog has killed.’ In the Teleut saga of Ak Köhök to whichnbsp;we referred above, the hero is represented as reciting a poem of fournbsp;strophes in praise of his horse, and another of eight strophes in praisenbsp;of his falcon, his spear, his sword, and his whip.®

Elegiac poetry is commonly composed by women in celebration of the dead. When Prof. Bateson was in the neighbourhood of Lakenbsp;Balkash he heard “a number of girls assembled to mourn with hisnbsp;mother for a man who was supposed to have died. They sat in a ringnbsp;and covered the heads with coats and sang a monotonous dirge with anbsp;refrain. I couldn’t exactly make out how much was extempore, but Inbsp;fancy that it was extemporised upon some probably stock form.”? Innbsp;the narrative poem of Sain Batyr, also from the Kazaks, the hero’s wife,nbsp;on hearing of his downfall at the hands of the Kalmucks, tears hernbsp;cheeks, loosens her black hair, enters her house, and sits down tonbsp;celebrate him in an elegy. Similarly in the Kara-Kirghiz poem onnbsp;Semätäis Birth, after the death of the hero Manas his wife Kanykäinbsp;tears her face and unbinds her hair and ‘lamented him in song’.’

Radlov tells us that among the Kara-Kirghiz the wife sings elegies in

' Chodzko, p. 286 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ lb. p. 87.

3 For the attention paid by the Turkomans to their horses we may refer to the poem attributed to the hero Kurroglou in which the points of a good horse arenbsp;enumerated. See Chapter vii below.

¦* Burnes n, p. 58. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Proben in, p. 8of.

Ib. I, p. 227f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Bateson, p. 165 f.

8 Proben in, p. 246!.

5 lb. V, p. 283 f. Cf. also the references to the same custom in the Kazak elegy in ib. in, p. 27.

HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

6i

the yurt for a whole week beside the clothes of her dead husband, and a dead man is always celebrated in poetry by the woman most closelynbsp;related to him. Such laments are never sung by men except by professional minstrels who will sing in public assemblies in honour of anbsp;famous man.’

Three independent examples of heroic elegies are published by Radlov from the Kara-Kirghiz. The first is composed on a heronbsp;Jantai.’ It consists of one hundred and thirty-two lines, in which thenbsp;hero’s personal beauty, and the excellence of his character as a generousnbsp;and heroic prince, are set forth, together with allusions to his relationsnbsp;with other princes.

The second is a lament on a prince Chokcholoi^ by his daughter.'* In it reference is made to the hero’s conquests over the Kazaks, and tonbsp;his journeys over desolate mountains, while he himself is compared tonbsp;the heroes Koshoi, Manas, Joloi and others. Both these poems arenbsp;composed in the continuous metre, and the style characteristic of heroicnbsp;narrative poetry. Radlov tells us that they were dictated to him bynbsp;people who were unfamiliar with epic songs; yet he himself observesnbsp;that they conform so completely to the character of such songs thatnbsp;they look like extracts, and he compares them with the prelude to thenbsp;third episode in Manas.^

Among the Kazaks the singing of lamentations and elegies for the dead is said to be kept up for a whole year. From these tribes we havenbsp;several examples of such elegies. All the independent poems of thisnbsp;kind are, however, in strophic form. One of them is an elegy onnbsp;Balgyn, daughter of Sultan Batyr Bek, by her mother.^ Another examplenbsp;of a Kazak elegy is that sung by the sister of Sultan Bopo for her deadnbsp;bridegroom.7 They are full of tender reminiscence and sorrowful,nbsp;hopeless reflection, and are more emotional in tone than the laments ofnbsp;the Kara-Kirghiz. The impersonal character and concrete allusions ofnbsp;general interest characteristic of the latter are here wholly absent.

On the other hand in the heroic narrative poem Sain Batyr^ recorded by Radlov from the Kazaks of the Little Horde, which is composednbsp;entirely in the run-on non-strophic metre characteristic of the narrativenbsp;poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz and the Abakan Tatars, a series of elegiesnbsp;occur in the text which are typically heroic in character. They are

' A.S. I, p. 486. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben v, p. 594ff.

3 The second half of this name is only a scribal variation of the name Joloi.

* Proben V, p. 598ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Ib. p. xxvii.

Ib. in, p. 25 f.; A.S. I, p. 486f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben ill, p. 26 ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

recited for the hero who is believed to be dead, and are attributed to the hero’s wife, his child, and his mother. Reference has already been madenbsp;to the singing of elegiac poetry by the hero’s wife in this poem. Thesenbsp;elegies remind us of the elegies for the dead Hector in Homer, and arenbsp;exactly what we might expect to find in Manas or Joloi. The reflectivenbsp;emotional tone of the preceding examples is foreign to these insetnbsp;elegies in Sain Batyr. In the Kazak saga of Dshelkildak a brief elegynbsp;of a similar character is also recited by Os Ternir, the son of Nörmönnbsp;Bet, who returns home to find his elder brother and his nephewnbsp;murdered, and his nieces carried into captivity.’

The Turkomans have preserved an elegy which is said to have been composed by Kurroglou on his horse Kyrat.

“ O inconstant Fate ! shall I proclaim to the world all thy wickedness.^ Thou hast befriended nobody faithfully to the end. Death was alwaysnbsp;thy last reward. How many potentates thou hast put on a level withnbsp;the thorn, creeping on the earth?.. .Where is that Soleiman commanding the divs and the perish Did not the king of kings, Kaykaus,nbsp;that second Rustem, lose in play at dice with death.^”^

A tolgaw or lament for the fate of the Tatars settled in Europe is preserved among the oral literature of the Astrakhan Tatars. It is saidnbsp;to have been composed by a poor Volga Tatar settled at the court ofnbsp;one of the Ghireis in the Crimea. The Tatar chiefs are referred tonbsp;under the names of birds, and the whole is composed in purely figurativenbsp;language, which to Chodzko suggested comparison with the poetry ofnbsp;the Norse ‘ skalds ’, though a closer parallel is to be found in the medievalnbsp;Russian work, the Slovo o Polky Igorevê.'^ Though obscure to us without commentary, it was perfectly understood by the Ghirei to whom itnbsp;was recited.

“ When a startled doe runs away with her kids, it leaves a track on the swampy morasses.

“On the mountain of Caucasus the falcon Terlan will raise his voice.

“A solitary white-beaked vulture, perched on the top of a rock, screamed, and spread terror on the vast lake.

“Two eagles are shedding their feathers on the borders of Ytill (viz. the Volga), and fear arises in the hearts of the enemy.”“*

Addresses to individuals in the form of a request or prayer are not rare, and the Turkoman minstrels are in the habit of concludingnbsp;’ Proben in, p. I34f.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Chodzko, p. 341.

3 See Vol. II, p. 65 of the present work.

“* Chodzko, p. 372.

63 their recitations in such terms. Several examples occur also in thenbsp;Kurroglou Cycle. Among the most interesting is that in whichnbsp;Kurroglou implores his horse Kyrat to leap a ravine, carrying Kurroglou himself and his adopted son Ayvaz. The poem opens with thenbsp;words :

“ O my steed, thy father was Bamp;dow, thy mother Kohlan. On ! on ! my wortliy Kyrat, carry me to Chamly-bill ! ”

And concludes as follows:

“Art thou not of the race of Kohlan.^ Art thou not the great grandson of Dulduli' O Kyrat, carry me to Chamly-bill, to my brave ones ! Inbsp;will have satin housings cut out and sewed purposely for thee. We willnbsp;enjoy ourselves, and the red wine shall gush out in a stream. O mynbsp;Kyrat, my chosen one of five hundred horses. On! on! carry me tonbsp;Chamly-bill!”'

Among the Turkomans it is the custom to sing war songs when entering into battle or when setting out on a foray, and Chodzko tellsnbsp;us that during the struggles for independence of the Turkoman tribesnbsp;with their Persian masters, “when the two hostile armies are going tonbsp;meet, before they engage in battle, they animate each other, and scoffnbsp;at their opponents; the Persians, by singing passages from the Shah-nama; the Iliats,® by shouting the war songs of Kurroglou”.^ Chodzkonbsp;gives a specimen of these songs which was composed in memory of anbsp;successful battle against the Kurds, and points out the striking resemblance to two specimens published by Sir Alexander Burnes.“*

“On Aghas. Onward”, cries the poet, “Let Aly Shiraslan go. Barcha, skilful in curing pains, wise as Lockman, will go. From thenbsp;desert of Moghan will come Mullah Baghanj. . . the descendant of thenbsp;Aghas of Tuka. Next Zemen will follow. O Aghas, you should see hisnbsp;valour in the day of battle, his two-edged sword, his Arabian steed.nbsp;Liberal like Hautem, he falls upon the enemy like a famished wolf uponnbsp;a herd, mounted upon a prancing horse, spear in hand,...” and henbsp;concludes with the words: “Khan Mohammed, the wild boar; thenbsp;father and the chief of the numerous tribes of Ozenlu; with a wolf’snbsp;claws, he tears his enemies asunder in the day of battle.”^

“ Chodzko, p. 79 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ I.e. the Turkoman nomads.

3 Chodzko, p. 4.

The reference which Chodzko gives is to Vol. in, p. 92 of Burnes’s Travels into Bokhara, but in the edition of the latter work published in 1834 the poems innbsp;question occur in Vol. n, p. ii4ff.

5 Chodzko, p. 381.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Chodzko also gives the song which is said to have been composed in 1796 on Agha Mohammed Khan when going to battle against a Kurdishnbsp;chief. The song is a combination of a panegyric on the khan and a callnbsp;to battle.

“He has forty thousand horses tied up in stables; their saddles are set with precious stones; on their necks hang talismans; on their ruby tailsnbsp;sparkle diamond knots. He has forty thousand gunners to fire his guns.nbsp;He has forty thousand men in ambush, posted along the passages in thenbsp;mountains.... The shah has ordered it, and everybody must go. Henbsp;has forty thousand dishes full of fat meat; and forty thousand swiftnbsp;horses in the stables. He took Kurdistan, and what is it to him tonbsp;conquer you (Memish Khan).^ The shah ordered, and you must follownbsp;him.”'

The evidence of the poems and sagas makes it clear that heroes are in the habit of improvising personal and occasional poetry to thenbsp;chatigan^ a kind of native zither. In the Küarik saga of Toska Mattyrnbsp;(see p. 55 above) the hero makes himself known to Üdsäng Päg, hisnbsp;former master, by taking his ‘forty-stringed chatigan’ and singing thenbsp;following song:

“Taska Mattyr took his departure from here three years ago. He has seen another sphere. Even now the hero, the strong one, Taskanbsp;Mattyr is not yet dead.”3

Our fullest evidence for the composition and recitation of personal poetry, however, comes from the Turkomans, where, as we have seen,nbsp;extempore composition seems to be very widely practised. The largestnbsp;collection of these personal poems is that which is scattered throughoutnbsp;the sagas of the Kurroglou Cycle. Chodzko tells us of the hero thatnbsp;“his Improvisations were made without forethought, and, as it were,nbsp;sprang forth by themselves, without the author’s previous reflection.. . .nbsp;On every principal event of his life, he left some improvisations in thenbsp;Perso-Turkish language, which are used to the present day by thenbsp;trans-Caucasian Mussulmans, as well as by those of Aderbaidjan and bynbsp;the nomades of Tatar descent in Northern Persia.”“*

The question of the authenticity of the tradition of the poems has already been discussed. It may be remarked here, however, that whatever conclusion the reader may come to on this matter does not affect

• * Chodzko, p. 387f.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ For a note on the chatigan, see p. 22 above.

• * Proben il, p. 719.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Chodzko, pp. 6, 12.

Ö5 the fact that they offer indubitable testimony to the widespread andnbsp;highly cultivated habit of the extempore composition of personal andnbsp;occasional poetry.

It has already been mentioned that Kurroglou on any formal occasion, or whenever his emotions were stirred, is traditionally stated to have spoken in verse more naturally than in prose, and it is importantnbsp;to remember that the same custom appears to have been followed to anbsp;large extent by the people with whom he was in contact. Even mostnbsp;casual conversations are carried on in poetry. In the early part of thenbsp;Cycle, when Kurroglou departs to seek and adopt Ayvaz, the son of anbsp;butcher, as his own son, he announces his intention to his followers innbsp;a song.’ Ayvaz informs his father, the butcher, of the identity ofnbsp;Kurroglou, and implores him to send him away, in a series of shortnbsp;poems in which bare facts are expressed quite literally.’ When Kurroglou is carrying Ayvaz away, a whole conversation is carried onnbsp;between them in verse,^ and a series of casual comments are made in versenbsp;by Kurroglou in the tent of a ‘Turkish’ merchant.'* It would be superfluous to multiply instances which abound throughout the collection.

It will be seen that all forms of heroic poetry are found among the Tatars, though Type C appears to be only slightly represented in ournbsp;collections. Authentic examples of personal poetry are also notnbsp;common, but this is manifestly due to the ephemeral character of suchnbsp;poetry among a people who practise extempore composition morenbsp;widely than verbal tradition. This facility in extempore composition isnbsp;especially characteristic of the Kara-Kirghiz and the Yakut, but is bynbsp;no means confined to them. It is not surprising that among such peoplenbsp;personal utterances in poetical form pass unrecorded.

Before leaving the heroic poetry of the Tatars, we would call attention to a collection of fragmentary quotations from Tatar poetrynbsp;contained in a MS. written by a native of Kashgar in 1073, probablynbsp;from an earlier copy.5 These quotations are therefore probably thenbsp;earliest specimens of Turkish poetry which have come down to us,^nbsp;and represent popular oral compositions of a period prior to the latternbsp;half of the eleventh century. They consist ofquotations from elegies, love

’ Chodzko, p. 45. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 64?.

3 Ib. p. 72 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;'• Ib. p. 187.

5 See Brockelmann, ‘Altturkestanische Volkspoesie’, A.M. 1923, p. i S.; 1924, p. 24 ff.

The Kudatku Bilik, to which reference is made on p. 193 below, was apparently written down a few years earlier (in 1069).

cLiii

5

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

poems, drinking and hunting songs, boasting and gibing poems, and others. The poems from which these fragments are taken have beennbsp;reconstructed to some extent by the editors, and enough remains tonbsp;show the unmistakably heroic character of the originals. Like the tolgawsnbsp;referred to above, however, they are not easy to classify. The first elegynbsp;is composed for a hero Alp Ar Tonga, who is possibly to be identifiednbsp;with a well-known character who lived in the Eighth Century. Thenbsp;second is for an unnamed hero. A fragmentary panegyric on a princessnbsp;also occurs. The poems which follow purport to be personal poemsnbsp;relating to the poet’s experiences in warfare, and closely resemble thenbsp;tolgaws (pp. 56, 62 above).

Note. Since the above was printed, I have, by the kindness of Professor Konovalov, been enabled to obtain a Russian translationnbsp;of a collection of Yakut oral literature.^ This contains, among othernbsp;items, a number of narratives described by the translator as byliny.nbsp;The translations are printed as prose, but the term byliny suggestsnbsp;that in the Yakut the form is that of rhythmical narrative, whichnbsp;was doubtless chanted by the narrator (cf. p. 158 f. below).

It should be added that among the Oirot of north-western Mongolia and among the Buryat heroic narrative poetry is still highly developednbsp;and still flourishes. Among the Oirot there are still to be found manynbsp;professional singers who can recite poems of several thousand lines,nbsp;and who can compose new poems on contemporary events in thenbsp;traditional style. Among the Khalkha Mongols similar poetry is alsonbsp;to be found, but in a less flourishing condition. Among the Mongolsnbsp;everywhere such poems are not recited, but always sung. In the opennbsp;steppe, when the people meet for horse-racing, wrestling, and shootingnbsp;with the bow, the minstrel honours the victor with an ‘ode’, and thenbsp;victorious race-horse with a ‘panegyric’, while heroic narrative poemsnbsp;are chanted by professional minstrels. In the evenings also the peoplenbsp;love to listen to heroic songs in their yurts at the feast. From Poppe’snbsp;account of the narrative poems of the Khalkha Mongols these wouldnbsp;seem to resemble the non-heroic poetry of the ‘Abakan’ Tatars; butnbsp;it is probable that the poetry of the Oirot, and perhaps also the Buryat,nbsp;will approximate more closely to that of the Kirghiz. For Poppe’snbsp;note, and a German translation of a Khalkha Mongol narrative poem,nbsp;see A.M. v (1930), p. 183 ff.

' S. V. Yastremski, Obra:çtsy Narodnoy Literatury Yakutov^ Leningrad, 1929.

CHAPTER III

(2) the scenes of the stories; (3) the accessories of heroic life; (4) the social standards and conventions observed in heroic poetry and saga.nbsp;The great majority of our evidence will be drawn from the poetry ofnbsp;the Kara-Kirghiz, since this is the largest and most important body ofnbsp;heroic literature which we possess from the Tatars, though the heroicnbsp;poetry and saga of the Kazaks and the northern Tatars also offer muchnbsp;for our purpose.

As in heroic poetry elsewhere, the personnel of the poems is aristocratic. All the heroes are princes, or at least aristocrats, and the heroines are the daughters of princes or people of noble rank. We have seen thatnbsp;the Turkoman hero Kurroglou and his retinue are of the middle class,nbsp;or even of plebeian rank; but this is exceptional. In Tatar heroicnbsp;literature as a whole we hear very little of the lower ranks of society, andnbsp;the only glimpses which we get of their way of life are, in general, thenbsp;pictures given of high-born people in captivity, such as Ak Saikal,nbsp;Joloi’s wife, tending the Kalmuck sheep. The lower classes take nonbsp;part in the fighting. They are twice mentioned as expressly excludednbsp;from taking part in the games at Bok Murun’s feast:

The lower classes must stand back, Only the princes may take their places.'nbsp;And again:

The lower classes must stand back. Only the princes may take their places,nbsp;Take their places to tilt with lances.’

Manas has a retinue of forty followers, most of whom are named, and a brief description of their functions generally follows their names asnbsp;an epithet: ‘Kaman, Jaipur, two youths who never lost a horse’s track

' Proben v, p. 171,1. çSzf. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 179,1. I204f.

5-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

by night; Tas Baimat who brews tea in the cauldron.’ They always accompany Manas on his expeditions, and it is even implied that theynbsp;take an active part themselves. It is to be noted, however, that theynbsp;are always referred to as ‘heroes’ rather than as retainers or servants.

Some of the heroes of the comitatus, and those with whom they are brought into contact, play an important part in heroic story and recurnbsp;constantly, like Vladimir’s heroes of Kiev. Alaman Bet is the heronbsp;of several independent adventures. Other well-known names arenbsp;Jamgyrchi ‘the mighty wrestler’; Er Koshoi ‘who opened the gate ofnbsp;Paradise’; Bok Murun at whose feast all the heroic world contendednbsp;in the races; Kos Kaman, who comes—or pretends to come—from anbsp;long captivity among the Kalmucks, clad in Chinese armour, andnbsp;wearing a pigtail; Er Töshtük, who is himself the hero of a long poemnbsp;which relates his adventures in the Underworld, and who representsnbsp;the spiritual, as opposed to the military point of view. The traditionalnbsp;enemies are an even more picturesque group. All are heathens. Ernbsp;Kökchö, whose luxurious Uigur tent with its silk and satin hangingsnbsp;affords a striking contrast to the black horse-hair tents of the Kirghiz;nbsp;Karacha, the Kalmuck prince who meets Joloi’s sister as she is hawkingnbsp;and gathering wild cherries on the mountains, and who brings aboutnbsp;Joloi’s downfall; and most picturesque of all, Kongyr Bai, the ‘snubnosed, oblique-eyed Chinese’, ‘clothed in cold iron’, and, ‘girt with anbsp;sharp sword ’, who ‘ babbled in a language which no one could understand ’—

Lord of Kashgar and of Kokand, Ruler of a thousand Chinese,nbsp;Snub-nosed, red-eyed,nbsp;Kongyr Bai from China,nbsp;Kongyr Bai with bald pate,nbsp;Whose habits are outlandish.’

The most outstanding hero of the poems is Manas himself, a typical heroic prince, whose ancestors have ruled the Sary-Nogai for severalnbsp;generations. He is essentially a soldier. When he decides to raid thenbsp;Uigurs, Er Kökchö seeks to buy him off by suggesting that they shouldnbsp;divide between them the herds which Manas seeks to carry off; butnbsp;Manas will not hear of it, and declares that one of them must die:

I will have no agreement with you,

I will have no reconciliation,

’ Proben V, p. 146, 1. I5off.

THE HEROIC MILIEU-INDIVIDUALISM

I will have no equal division, Nothing will I give back to you.nbsp;Come and take them—well and good !nbsp;If you cannot—then howl for them like a dog

A complete contrast to Manas is Er Kökchö himself, who is at the head of the powerful Uigur confederacy, and represents the more diplomaticnbsp;and enlightened elements in the poems. He is the furthest removed fromnbsp;the heroic ideal of any of the Tatar heroes. He lives in Chinese luxury,nbsp;and entertains his guests to tea, the drink of China. Hemmed in on onenbsp;side by the restless Manas, on the other by Jamgyrchi, Er Kökchö, nonbsp;longer young, at least in the Kirghiz version of the story,’ induces thenbsp;Kalmuck prince ‘Alaman Bet the Tiger-like’ to abandon his ownnbsp;people, and accept the chief place in his comitatus. It is clear that he hasnbsp;no longer any love of combat himself, although we see from remarksnbsp;dropped by his wife^ that he has been a valorous hero. It is characteristic of him that when his suspicions have been aroused as to thenbsp;infidelity of his wife Ak Erkäch with Alaman Bet, he induces that heronbsp;to leave his service unrewarded, yet without open warfare. Whennbsp;forced to encounter Manas he first tries, as we have just seen, to come tonbsp;an agreement by negotiation. While Manas fights in his famous cuirass.nbsp;Er Kökchö wears only a cloth coat. In the most up-to-date form ofnbsp;single combat—the duel fought with gunpowder—Er Kökchö isnbsp;victorious over Manas.

Among the Kara-Kirghiz the women are at least as heroic and militant as the men, and apparently more savage. It is Joloi’s sisternbsp;‘Kardygach, the wicked witch’, rather than her paramour Karacha whonbsp;takes the initiative in seeking to destroy Joloi. Joloi himself cuts a verynbsp;poor figure in the poem which bears his name, and would have perishednbsp;over and over again, despite his gigantic strength and valour, had it notnbsp;been for the heroic prowess of his two wives. Kanykäi, Manas’ wife, isnbsp;represented as the ideal woman of the steppe—loyal, gracious, hospitable,nbsp;a skilled cook and doctor, a woman of the highest honour and culturenbsp;according to the standards of the milieu in which she figures. Yet wenbsp;have seen her showing great savagery in the treatment of her enemynbsp;(cf. p. 34 above)—a savagery which is shared also by Joloi’s wives,nbsp;and by other high-born Tatar women and maidens.“*

’ Proben V, p. 67, 1. 162 if.

’ We have seen (p. 47 above) that in the Kazak version of the story Er Kökshü is represented as a young man.

3 Proben v, p. 24, 1. 595 ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Very frequently the scene is laid in a prince’s tent, and tent life is presented to us under all its aspects. One of the commonest of these isnbsp;the feast, which is mentioned very frequently, though it rarely forms thenbsp;background or chief incident of a poem, or serves as a static opening tonbsp;the theme, as it does in so many of the Russian byliny. In the literaturenbsp;of the Tatars the feast is conducted on a large scale, and with considerable ceremonial and formality. We may refer to the description of thenbsp;religious festival given by Manas on the arrival of the Kalmuck cortègenbsp;in Kos Kaman.'- At this feast the Kalmucks undergo conversion to thenbsp;Mohammedan faith and have their pigtails shaved, and horses and sheepnbsp;are slaughtered and much feasting takes place, together with horse races.nbsp;During the banquet we see Kanykäi busying herself with the welfarenbsp;of her guests, like the royal ladies in Beowulf-.

She inclined her head.

And bowed from the waist...

She took the wine-bag under her arm. Seized the porcelain cup in her hand.nbsp;Handsomely she entertained the forty heroes ƒnbsp;They drank their fill of brandy and sherbet.nbsp;And then began to raise their song.3

It is interesting to note that songs are mentioned as an accompaniment to the feast; and again in the same poem the Kalmucks are referred to asnbsp;singing and carousing in their tents.'* But we hear little in the poems ofnbsp;stringed instruments, unless one is referred to as an accompanimentnbsp;of the prayer of Bek Toro in Er Töshtük.^

The Sary-Nogai, or people of Manas’ retinue, and the Uigurs also are very fond of tea-parties and tea-making, which takes place on allnbsp;sorts of occasions, though brandy is also sometimes drunk by the Sarynbsp;Nogai, in spite of their Mohammedan faith. The tea is always drunknbsp;with sugar and cream. Milk appears never to be used for this purpose.nbsp;Er Kökchö, on his first acquaintance with Alaman Bet, entertains him tonbsp;tea in his tent, and the process of the tea-making is set before usnbsp;minutely:

Kökchö called his followers to him.

Set up the white tent.

Spread out silk-brocade and velvet.

Spread thick coverlets. Stood the samovar by the fire,

’ Proben v, p. 236 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ I.e. Manas’ retinue.

’ Proben v, p. 237,1- looyff. * Ib. p. 257. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 If,, p. 539,1. 3o6ff.

THE HEROIC MILIEU-INDIVIDUALISM

Put in tea, frothing white, Added to it clotted cream.nbsp;Then added sugar to it.nbsp;Added also a ripe apple,nbsp;Poured in the sugar.nbsp;Then prepared the tea.nbsp;And handed it to Alaman Bet.’

Both at the feast and at other times the heroes boast proudly of their courage and strength and their deeds of valour, both past and future.nbsp;As in Beowulf and among the ancient Gauls, such boasting seems to benbsp;part of the social ritual of the feast. We may cite the series of vows madenbsp;by Ägrä Kara when feasting with a party of seventy heroes in the housenbsp;of Tas Chüräk, as to the insults he intends to heap on the hero Puga-Däkä^ in the second of the Sagai poems quoted by Radlov. Thenbsp;advantage to the community of such boasting when combined with anbsp;high sense of honour in carrying out the pledges is manifest from anbsp;passage in the Kachin poem of Kara Tygan Khan and Suksagal Khan.nbsp;Here the hero is said to make a boast at his wedding feast, and on thenbsp;following morning his wife tells him that in his drunkenness he boastednbsp;that he would restore two dead men to life. The hero turns for verification to his brother-in-law:

“Did I say this.’” he asked.

“You said you would revive the dead”, he replied.

“If I actually said so.

Have my heroic steed saddled”;

and the hero, with his brother-in-law as his companion, rides away forthwith to fulfil his vow.3

It would seem as if the boasting had a stimulating effect, inducing an exalted impetus to do great deeds. It is with such a boast that thenbsp;Kazak hero Sain sets off on the tracks of his ninety slaves, buoyed upnbsp;by his own vow:

You ninety slaves...

Your steps will I trace...

To the waterless steppe.

Kudai* will cause you to come in my way.

I will ride to bring this about All alone against a thousand foes.5

’ Proben v, p. 10,1. iióff.; cf. also ib. p. 50,1. I46off.

’ Ib. II, p. 25,1. 169/?. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Ih, p. 587, 1. 115 ff.

lt; Kudai, ‘God’, lit. ‘the strong one*. See p. 83 below.

5 Proben ill, p. 219, 1. 48iff.; cf. also p. 238,1. 1098f.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Even in the more trivial events of life great attention is paid to details of etiquette and procedure. These formalities are especially noted in thenbsp;poems with regard to the reception and entertainment of guests, thenbsp;welcome and housing of strangers, the preparations for a feast, sports,nbsp;hunting, the farewell to those setting out on a journey. It is clear thatnbsp;the minstrel regards these details as significant, and of interest to hisnbsp;audience, and they enable us to form a clear notion of the routine andnbsp;etiquette of steppe life. The insistence of the poems on matters ofnbsp;deportment is very striking. One gets the impression, even makingnbsp;due allowance for static poetic formulae, that life in the steppe is the mostnbsp;conventional in the world. The sense of decorum is most clearly seen innbsp;the almost total absence of impropriety throughout these heroic poemsnbsp;and sagas.

The horse plays an even more important part here than in the stories of the heroes of Kiev. All the horses are individualised and mentionednbsp;by name. It has already been mentioned that every hero’s name has hisnbsp;horse’s name appended, as we use a surname—Alaman Bet of thenbsp;Yellow Piebald, Seräk of the blue steed. But the words employed fornbsp;‘horse’ are numerous, a separate word being used to denote each classnbsp;according to its exact age and condition. The catalogue of horses whichnbsp;come to the races at Bok Murun’s feast contains a detailed descriptionnbsp;of every horse famous in the heroic traditions of the Kara-Kirghiz. Innbsp;this catalogue the description of Manas’ horse Manykär occupies fifty-three lines. We have already referred to the poem which contains anbsp;detailed description of the ‘points’ of Kurroglou’s famous steednbsp;Kyrat, and which is quoted as authoritative by horse breeders amongnbsp;the Turkomans to-day. Dogs are very rarely mentioned,* but after thenbsp;death and burial of Manas his horse, hawk, and hound remain behindnbsp;beside the tomb of their dead master to mourn his loss, and their griefnbsp;is represented as so great that God sends His angels down from Heavennbsp;to enquire the cause of their sorrow. By this means they are instrumentalnbsp;in bringing about the hero’s resuscitation.

The apparel, and more especially the weapons of the heroes are sometimes described with great care and minuteness. We have alreadynbsp;seen Kanykäi shaking out her leather sacks containing the wardrobenbsp;with which she equips her guests, Manas and his ‘forty friends’, andnbsp;which is said to consist of white corslets brought from Kashgar on anbsp;wagon, richly studded with bosses, and having a golden gorget andnbsp;copper epaulettes. In addition she furnishes them with fine shirts.nbsp;This may be due to Mohammedan influence.

THE HEROIC MILIEU-INDIVIDUALISM nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;73

Strong hose, and high boots reaching to the saddle.’ We see Manas contending with Er Kökchö in his famous mail-coat, while Er Kökchönbsp;himself wears only a cloth coat. The admirable outfit of Kongyr Bai,nbsp;Prince of China, is also described—his woven steel corslet, his sharpnbsp;sword, his fir-shafted lances. In sharp contrast to these are the horsehair jerkin and high black lambs’-wool cap of Alaman Bet of the Kara-Nogai. Manas’ famous mail-coat and sword are mentioned constantlynbsp;in the poems, and the passage which tells us how they were forgednbsp;affords an admirable example of the skilful method by which thenbsp;Kirghiz minstrel conveys description by means of narrative :

That which the craftsman of the Chinese Painfully fashioned ;

Which the craftsman of the Russians Skilfully fashioned;

Which the craftsman of the Kalmucks Fashioned as he muttered songs;’nbsp;Which the musket never pierced.nbsp;Nor the bullet ever bored.nbsp;This, his outer white mail-coat.nbsp;This white mail-coat he drew on.nbsp;Where the charcoal was insufficient,3nbsp;A patch of dense forest was stripped ;nbsp;When the water was insufficient,“*nbsp;The river Boschat was emptied.nbsp;When the file was insufficient.nbsp;Thirty files were brought into play.nbsp;When the winter set in,nbsp;Maw- and paunch-fatnbsp;He portioned with it;

When the spring set in. It was laid on the grass,nbsp;And, that it might strike home.nbsp;It was tempered in the blood of heroes,nbsp;And plunged in poplar juice.nbsp;This sword he bound to his belt.5

The life of the heroes is that of a typical barbaric community. Landed possessions appear to be unknown, and wealth consists whollynbsp;of flocks and herds. Life is sustained chiefly by hunting and plunder.

' Proben v, p. 210, 1. I2iff.

’ So the text; but the reference is doubtless to charms.

3 Le. for smelting the steel. This line and all that follows refer, not to his mail-coat, but to his sword.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;¦* Le. for tempering the steel.

5 Proben v, p, 43, 1. 1227; cf. ib. p. 44, 1. 1275 ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Agriculture also is unknown, and we hear nothing of artisans or of handicrafts, save in the instance just quoted. There is, of course, nothingnbsp;resembling economic organisation, and references to trade are practically confined to the static epithet of Er Kökchö, ‘ who opened the shutnbsp;bazaars The attitude of the hero to others of his own class is whollynbsp;irresponsible, the usual custom being that the young and strong plundernbsp;the old and weak, as soon as they feel themselves in a strong enoughnbsp;position to do so, and quite irrespective of any previous relationshipnbsp;which may have existed between them.

As in the heroic literatures discussed already, it is only rarely that social standards or moral judgments are expressed explicitly. Occasionally it happens that a character is singled out for an opprobriousnbsp;epithet. Kardygach, Joloi’s sister, is referred to as ‘the wicked witch’,'nbsp;and Jakyp Bai, the father of Manas, as the ‘evil slaveMore often thenbsp;poet makes clear only by implication that certain characters are to benbsp;deprecated, while others are approved. It is to be doubted whethernbsp;courage is highly valued for its own sake, for many of the heroes shownbsp;little enough, while their sisters and their horses—often their wivesnbsp;also—are surpassingly brave without gaining the slightest commendation from the poet. Joloi shows no courage or resolution, and Manasnbsp;himself is less courageous than his enemy Er Kökchö, though the latternbsp;is naturally averse to fighting. The cowardice of old Sadai Khan on thenbsp;approach of his enemy, the dreaded Kuskun Alyp, in the Koibal poemnbsp;Sugdjul Mamp;rgän is made the subject of humour rather than censure, andnbsp;he cuts a comic figure as he hides under the feather bed on the approachnbsp;of his enemy, who pulls him out ignominiously by the legs.^ Suchnbsp;absence of decorum is never found in the heroic poems, however. Andnbsp;all the heroes are credited with a naïve recklessness, and will at times gonbsp;forth alone against a whole army.

The duty of loyalty is less emphasised perhaps in Tatar poetry than in other heroic literatures, owing to the individualistic character of thenbsp;poems, especially among the peoples of the Abakan steppe. Referencesnbsp;to the practice of making a compact of brotherhood together, however,nbsp;suggest that the virtue of personal loyalty is a recognised standard ofnbsp;behaviour. It is moreover generally implied throughout the poemsnbsp;that gratitude to a deliverer ought to bring loyalty in its train, andnbsp;though we infer this more often from the breach than from the observance, disloyalty always meets with due punishment. In the poemnbsp;' Proben v, p. 432, and passim.

’ Ib. p. 284.

THE HEROIC MILIEU-INDIVIDUALISM nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;7$

on the death of Manas the desertion of Manas’ retinue from the tomb of their dead lord is brought into sharp contrast to the faithful watch keptnbsp;at the tomb by his horse, hawk, and hound. It is moreover clearnbsp;throughout the poems that the loyalty of a wife to her husband, of anbsp;sister to her brother, of a horse to its master, are the standards ofnbsp;conduct recognised by all. The sisters who betray their brothers arenbsp;regarded by the poet as the worst characters in the poems, and all meetnbsp;with their punishment before the conclusion is reached. Disloyalty ofnbsp;a wife is more venial, and is often forgiven by the hero. Disloyalty ofnbsp;a horse to its master is absolutely unknown.

But the hero is a law to himself. He may be gluttonous, slothful, worthless, like Joloi; or callous of wife and home, and negligent ofnbsp;parents and dependants, as many of the heroes are ; he may spill innocentnbsp;blood, or be guilty of cruelty. All these things are condoned, evennbsp;approved, provided that he is successful in battle, and can carry offnbsp;much booty. It matters little by what means his success is gained,nbsp;whether by incredible strength, or skill, or cunning, or by supernaturalnbsp;aid—though this is rare in the poems of the Kara-Kirghiz. It may benbsp;by the courage or skill and endurance of his wife, or sister, or horse. Itnbsp;is all one, if only he achieves the end desired by all, and can drive homenbsp;many flocks and herds, and the family and retainers of his enemy tonbsp;augment the resources of his own establishment. All this is, of course,nbsp;only what we should expect to find among a people who are singularlynbsp;poorly provided with material wealth and comfort.

Yet it rarely happens that the actions of the hero, as distinct from his negligence, are of such a nature as wholly to disgust the reader, ornbsp;to alienate his sympathy. This is partly due, no doubt, to the remotenessnbsp;of the life and incident from those with which we are directly familiar.nbsp;But this is not the only reason. The chief cause lies in the fact that thenbsp;hero’s standards of behaviour, as distinct from his way of life, are not,nbsp;in general, remote from those of western heroic poetry. Vulgarity isnbsp;wholly absent, and the home-life of the heroes, making allowance fornbsp;the uncertainties of warfare, and the difficulties of subsistence, is annbsp;ordered and not ungenial one. The coarseness and boorishness incidental to a nomadic people are in striking contrast to the absence ofnbsp;obscenity, and the general air of decorum in the poems. The rarity ofnbsp;barbarities and of gratuitous cruelty makes us feel the Tatar nomad lessnbsp;remote from ourselves than the Assyrian conquerors, whose prowessnbsp;and atrocities are portrayed on the wall slabs from Nineveh andnbsp;Kuyunjik.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

It is hardly necessary to say that the narrative poetry of the Tatars is wholly individualistic in its interest. Everyone who has any realnbsp;existence or function in the poems is individualised and mentioned bynbsp;name. It need cause no surprise that the poems show no sign of nationalnbsp;interest, in view of the elementary stage of Tatar political institutions;nbsp;but it is somewhat surprising that tribal feeling should hardly makenbsp;itself felt in the poems. The words ‘Turk’, or ‘Tatar’, or ‘Kirghiz’nbsp;rarely occur, and we hear very little of tribal organisation. Even references to various branches of the Tatars are not common, apart fromnbsp;catalogues, though some few peoples are mentioned by name. We arenbsp;told that Manas is a prince of the Sary-Nogai, Joloi of the Kara-Nogai,nbsp;that Alaman Bet belongs to the Oirot, or Kalmucks, Er Kökchö to thenbsp;Uigurs. We are told that

The Kalmuck tribes who nomadise in the Altai Live at peace under the rule of Ai Khan;nbsp;The Kalmuck tribes who nomadise in Künkainbsp;Live at peace under Kün Khan,nbsp;Live at peace, ply their trade.’

But this is merely a means of identification employed by a people who have not the habit of referring to a fixed locality, and where no townsnbsp;exist. There is no indication that any political distinctions are recognised,nbsp;or any national unity felt, or animosity of one branch of the Tatars ornbsp;Mongols, as such, towards another.

This absence of political consciousness is seen in the ease with which a hero will pass at will from one camp to another. The heroes are by nonbsp;means necessarily of the same nationality as the people on whose sidenbsp;they fight. The most important example is Alaman Bet, who leaves hisnbsp;own people, the Kalmucks, to enter the service of Er Kökchö, the Uigurnbsp;prince, and then again leaves him for Manas, a prince of the Sary-Nogai.nbsp;Karacha, one of the heroes of Urum Khan, a Kalmuck prince, is himselfnbsp;of Russian origin.^ Manas is in alliance with, and under the patronagenbsp;of Russia. On one occasion Joloi is referred to as ‘Joloi Khan, thenbsp;Russian prince’.3

The Tatar poems are exceptional among heroic literatures in recognising the existence of a linguistic barrier. The Chinese are constantly referred to as ‘babbling in a language which no-one can understand’.nbsp;Alaman Bet'* and others^ are under the necessity of instructing the

' Proben v, p. 212,1. i6off.

5 Ib. p. 146. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;4 Ib. p. 8f.

THE HEROIC MILIEU—INDIVIDUALISM nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;77

Uigurs, the Sary Nogai, etc., in their language, and these lessons are quaintly given verbatim in the text. But as a general rule, in the ordinarynbsp;intercourse of life no difficulty is experienced in communication. Whennbsp;Kos Kaman and his sons arrive at the camp of Jakyp Bai, they conversenbsp;on easy terms with the Nogai, though, according to their own story,nbsp;their whole life has been spent among the Kalmucks.

The poems give no hint of a clash of rival interests, or of difference of national ideals between the peoples who are at war with one another.nbsp;In the geographical catalogues the neighbouring peoples are enumeratednbsp;seriatim-, but the interest of these is anthropological rather than political,nbsp;and there is no hint of a consciousness of political feeling, whether ofnbsp;sympathy or animus, on the part of the reciter. The poems of thenbsp;Abakan Tatars are even more individualistic in feeling, for here almostnbsp;every chief appears to be independent. The only country which standsnbsp;out from the rest as having a certain locale is China, which, unlikenbsp;other territories in the poems, is referred to by name. But there isnbsp;nothing which would lead one to suspect that the Chinese are a totallynbsp;alien people. To the Kara-Kirghiz it is the country of their hatednbsp;overlord to whom taxes are due; to the people of the Abakan poems itnbsp;is indistinguishable from the world of spirits (cf. p. 90 below).

No such complete cleavage exists between the Mohammedans and the heathen in the Manas poems as the difference in religions wouldnbsp;lead one to expect, though religious distinctions play some part in thenbsp;actual stories, and have played their part also in the predilections andnbsp;prejudices of the minstrels by whom they have been carried on. Thenbsp;Uigurs and the Sary-Nogai—the latter represented by Manas and hisnbsp;followers—are Mohammedans; the Kalmucks and the Kara-Nogai—nbsp;the latter ruled by Joloi are heathen. The poems appear to portray thenbsp;Mohammedan peoples just at the transition stage, and to reflect somenbsp;of the religious antipathies governing the warfare and politics of easternnbsp;Central Asia during the eighteenth century.^ Manas and his people arenbsp;apparently newly converted, since Er Koshoi, who ‘opened the gatenbsp;of Paradise and the shut bazaars’, is still alive. Religious controversy isnbsp;raging among the Kalmucks, and Alaman Bet, the son of the rulingnbsp;prince, is a convert to Mohammedanism; but his parents and theirnbsp;subjects resent his change of faith, and determine to remain heathen.nbsp;Yet despite the fact that the period is one of transition, religious differences and religious controversy play little part in the poems, andnbsp;religious bitterness may be said to be absent. The relations between thenbsp;‘ See Radlov, Proben V, p. xi.

78

Sary-Nogai and the heathen Kalmucks, who are generally identified in the poems with the Chinese, are in some respects not unlike those of thenbsp;Christians and the Moors in medieval Spain, and do not exclude thenbsp;possibility of friendly rivalry between individuals. Once more we maynbsp;refer to the feast of Bok Murun to which all the heroes are invited, bothnbsp;Mohammedan and heathen, who figure in Kara-Kirghiz epic poetry.nbsp;The religious bias of the poet undoubtedly makes itself felt in this story,nbsp;for the Moslem tribes, led by Manas, on the one side, are pitted againstnbsp;the heathen on the other, and the former are represented as victoriousnbsp;in every trial of skill; but for the poet the personal interest and thenbsp;incidents far outweigh the religious interest, and here, as elsewhere,nbsp;strong religious emotion and religious animosity are very little innbsp;evidence.

It is characteristic of their freedom from national consciousness and national prejudice that the Tatar heroic stories, like the heroic stories ofnbsp;the Teutonic peoples, have to some extent an international currency.nbsp;That is to say, stories and variants of stories which are current amongnbsp;the Kara-Kirghiz are found also among the Kazak and other Tatars.nbsp;We may instance the story of Et Töshtük, one variant of which in prosenbsp;form under the name Jirtüshlük. {Jär-TüshtücE) is current also amongnbsp;the Tatars of the Tyumen and Yalutrowsk areas, while another version,nbsp;also in prose, is found under the title Kan Shentäi among the Kazaks.nbsp;Most of the important heroes mentioned in the Manas Cycle occur innbsp;the Kazak story of Er Kökshü, which is partly in prose, partly in verse.nbsp;Other instances have already been mentioned and others again will benbsp;referred to later (p. 161 ff. below).

The individualism which is so salient a feature of the heroic poetry of the Tatars, as of other heroic poetry, is characteristic also of thenbsp;methods of warfare, and of the motives for which it is carried on. Ofnbsp;generalship, or strategy, or the art of war the poems know absolutelynbsp;nothing. All the fighting of which we have any details is of a personalnbsp;character, and every battle described at any length resolves itself intonbsp;a series of single combats, in which the heroes of noble birth alone takenbsp;part. The war between the Sary-Nogai and the Uigurs consists of a seriesnbsp;of duels between Manas and Alaman Bet and their immediate relativesnbsp;on the one hand, and the Uigur and Kalmuck chiefs on the other. Thesenbsp;duels are in every respect typical heroic encounters. We see the heroesnbsp;deliberately discussing before the contest the various methods by whichnbsp;they are about to fight one another, and the weapons which they arenbsp;about to employ. Each hero in vaunting terms threatens his opponent.

THE HEROIC MILIEU-INDIVIDUALISM nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;79

and boasts of the death to which he will consign him. The actual encounter is generally described with spirit and freshness; but when the poet attempts to give an account of warfare on a larger scale, he at oncenbsp;falls into trite and meaningless formulae.

Despite the crudity of technique and the absence of refinement in the methods of warfare, the poems are in general remarkable for the raritynbsp;of brutality and butchery such as sometimes disfigures the heroic poetrynbsp;of the Yugoslavs and the ancient Greeks. Head-hunting is unknown.nbsp;It is also remarkable that it is only very exceptionally that the heronbsp;gains his advantage in battle either by supernatural means or bynbsp;subterfuge. His colossal strength is, of course, exaggerated, but it isnbsp;not in general different in kind from that of other men. The hero ofnbsp;Kara-Kirghiz poetry is no trickster, and no gods or angels lend himnbsp;their aid in battle.

The Tatar heroes constantly undertake desperate, and, indeed, hopeless enterprises with reckless daring and total disregard of odds. In this they appear to be actuated rather by desire of gain and personalnbsp;aggrandisement than by a desire of heroic honour or a thirst for fame.nbsp;They are indeed more materialistic in their outlook than any othernbsp;heroes with whom we have been in contact, owing, no doubt, to theirnbsp;poverty, and the absence of a settled mode of life. By far the mostnbsp;frequent cause of warfare and personal strife alike is desire for plunder,nbsp;and no other pretext is felt to be necessary to start a raid. As in allnbsp;heroic poetry, however, a very common cause of war is the unauthorisednbsp;carrying off of women. Insults also are a fruitful source of strife.

Despite the fact that warfare plays so large a part in the poems the heroes do not appear to love fighting for its own sake, as the Yugoslavnbsp;heroes do. The economic conditions of steppe life, rather than heroicnbsp;sentiment, are the main incentives to heroism, and in such circumstancesnbsp;it is not surprising to find that the stronger prey upon the weaker. Anbsp;young chief, growing up to find himself pauperised by a powerfulnbsp;neighbour, directs his whole attention to retrieving his lost patrimony.nbsp;The jealousy of Guthriin, the polish and courtesy of Hrothgar, the self-conscious heroism of HamSir and Sörli find no place in these poems.nbsp;The poet himself is unfamiliar with these refinements of a more advanced state of society. The heroism of the Tatar poems is of a primitivenbsp;character, and the conditions of life hardly permit of the subtler andnbsp;wider motives which sometimes govern international relations and makenbsp;for peace and war in more advanced communities.

But when due allowance has been made for these differences, which

8o nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

are, after all, differences of degree, it will be seen that the milieu and personnel of these poems correspond in their essential features withnbsp;those of the other heroic literatures already considered. They arenbsp;concerned with individuals of aristocratic rank, who lead a somewhatnbsp;irresponsible existence, and live chiefly by plunder. Warfare is common,nbsp;but it is chiefly of a personal character. Peaceful relations between onenbsp;people and another are also chiefly personal. Agriculture and trade arenbsp;practically unknown, though personal adornments and luxuries arenbsp;highly prized, and intellectual accomplishments are not wholly lacking,nbsp;especially among the women. In short the society depicted is a typicalnbsp;barbaric society in an unsettled phase of existence and with no clearlynbsp;defined limits of territory.

CHAPTER IV

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

POST-HEROIC poetry and saga of purely native origin appear to be wholly unknown among the Tatars, though postheroic features are not wanting in the poetry of the Turkomans, as we have seen. Post-heroic prose of native origin, other than saga, isnbsp;perhaps not wholly unknown, though examples are few and doubtfulnbsp;(cf. p. 52 ff. above). Prose saga composed under foreign influence contains a considerable proportion of post-heroic features. Poetry and saga,nbsp;other than heroic, of purely native origin seem to correspond almostnbsp;wholly to what we have elsewhere called non-heroic poetry and saganbsp;of the Heroic Age. This is, of course, what might be expected from thenbsp;fact that among the Tatars the Heroic Age lasted until comparativelynbsp;recent times.

The Tatars possess a great body of non-heroic literature. Much of this belongs to communities which also possess a rich store of heroicnbsp;literature, especially of heroic narrative poetry. Indeed, non-heroicnbsp;literature which is wholly divorced from heroic elements is not oftennbsp;found in Radlov’s collections, except in the dramatic presentations ofnbsp;the shamans. It may perhaps be said that the great bulk of the materialnbsp;in Tatar literature which is manifestly unhistorical is also non-heroic innbsp;character. But in narrative poetry and saga unhistorical and non-heroicnbsp;elements are almost invariably included in a heroic framework. Examplesnbsp;of narrative poetry and prose which are primarily concerned with non-heroic characters, such as professional shamans and shamankas,’ are notnbsp;common, though they are not unknown.

The range of stories contained in this non-heroic literature differs considerably from what is found in most of the literatures which we havenbsp;hitherto considered, though it will be seen that it offers much whichnbsp;is closely akin to certain elements in ancient Greek literature and ritual,nbsp;and to the ancient literature of Mesopotamia and of Japan. To thisnbsp;subject we shall return later. These non-heroic Tatar stories are ofnbsp;considerable interest, not only for their own sake, but also for the studynbsp;of Tatar mythology and of religious and eschatological ideas. Owing

’ Le. female shamans. This form is a hybrid, the Russianised feminine of shaman, apparently itself a Tungus word. See p. 193 below.

CLÜi

6

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

to the great wealth of Tatar literature of this kind it will be necessary to confine our attention to a few examples of the more importantnbsp;branches, concentrating chiefly on the poetry of the Tatars of thenbsp;Abakan and neighbouring steppes and of the Kara-Kirghiz. It must,nbsp;however, be borne in mind that a large number of poems similar innbsp;character, though, in general, briefer and of less literary merit, arenbsp;current also among other Tatar tribes, notably the Teleut and Chernnbsp;Tatars, and the Tatars of the Altai.

In order to understand clearly the spiritual background of the poems it will be necessary to say a few words about the spiritual ideas andnbsp;concepts of Tatar religion. For these our chief authorities are thenbsp;pronouncements of the shamans, and the texts of the actual poems andnbsp;sagas before us, more especially of the narrative poems of the Kara-Kirghiz and the Abakan Tatars, and the poetry recited by the shamansnbsp;of the Altai during the performance of their religious ceremonies tonbsp;which reference will be made below. Owing to lack of space it will notnbsp;be possible for us to do more here than mention the most outstandingnbsp;features of the personnel of the Tatar spiritual world. At the same timenbsp;it is important for us to remember that in the form in which this nonheroic Tatar narrative poetry and saga has come to us it is composed andnbsp;recited, not for religious purposes, but for purposes of entertainment.nbsp;Here, just as also in other literatures in which mythology hasnbsp;passed similarly from a religious to a secular milieu, the spiritualnbsp;beings have lost their austerity and remoteness, and tend to approximatenbsp;to the figures of folk-tales. The evidence of oral literature for Tatarnbsp;theology is not in.agreement in all respects with Radlov’s exposition,nbsp;which was derived more directly from the teaching of the shamansnbsp;themselves and from their hymns and prayers.’

The poems appear to recognise two spiritual environments which are mutually hostile. The personnel of the first are situated in the Heavensnbsp;above, which are pictured as a series of superimposed planes. Thenbsp;highest of these is ruled by a supreme being, whose name is sometimesnbsp;given as Kaira Khan,^ sometimes as Bai Ulgen.3 The personnel of thenbsp;second live underground, and their ruler is Erlik Khan. His realm isnbsp;the abode of the dead. The entrance to this gloomy region is throughnbsp;a hole or cave in the ground. The interests of the spiritual beings who

’ See Radlov, Â.S. ii, p. i ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ So Radlov, Â.S. n, p. 3.

3 See Radlov, Wörterbuch, s.v. Ülgen. The difference may possibly be local. But complete consistency is not to be expected in a very elaborate theological systemnbsp;carried on by oral tradition.

83 dwell in the Heavens are opposed to those of Erlik and his followers ;nbsp;but these two classes of spirits never meet, or come into any directnbsp;contact with one another, at least in the narrative poems and sagas. Thenbsp;hero of these narratives is generally under the direct protection of thenbsp;Heavenly beings, whose champion he is. His enemy, also a hero, butnbsp;an unsympathetic character, is often the central figure of the beings whonbsp;inhabit the underground realm, and frequently represents their interestsnbsp;on earth. Very often the hostile hero is said to be ‘black’, and he isnbsp;sometimes referred to as an ‘earth hero’, i.e. one who lives underground.’

These spiritual beings constitute two communities of which the members stand in an implied relationship to one another which seems tonbsp;be constant. The Heavens are occupied by the God Kaira Khan,nbsp;Bai Ulgen^ or Kydyr (who are also known as Kudai, ‘ the Strong Ones’),nbsp;the nine Jajan or ‘ Creators ’,3 and the Wise Maidens, who are generallynbsp;three in number. The hero is under the protection of Kydyr, who takesnbsp;an intimate personal interest in his affairs, but rarely comes in contactnbsp;with him. The intermediaries are the nine Jajan or ‘Creators’, spiritualnbsp;beings who are very commonly spoken of as acting and speaking in anbsp;body, though they have their own rivalries and their own differences,nbsp;as we shall see. These spiritual beings dwell on the lower planes ofnbsp;Heaven, and protect a man throughout his life, perhaps as ancestralnbsp;spirits. Higher than the Jajan in prestige are the three Wise Maidens,nbsp;who seem to be identical with the three daughters of Kudai, and whonbsp;are also sometimes referred to as the daughters of the Jajan themselves.nbsp;They are the guardians of the herbs of healing and the water of life.nbsp;In approaching them, the hero is sometimes spoken of as first encountering the Jajan who guide and direct him to them, and instructnbsp;him as to how he shall conduct himself in his relations with them.

* Among the Buryat, whose spiritual ideas and institutions resemble those of the Kara-Kirghiz closely, this schématisation appears to have been carried much further,nbsp;and here a definite opposition of two hostile spiritual forces, working against onenbsp;another, is officially recognised. There is a close resemblance to Zoroastrianism,nbsp;which is emphasised also by the occurrence among the Buryat of certain loan words;nbsp;see below. For accounts of Buryat theology, see Klementz, s.v. the article Buryat,nbsp;in Hastings’ Ertcycloptedia of Religion and Ethics, and the more recent work ofnbsp;Sandschejew. For the ‘black hero’ of Mongol epic see Poppe, A. M. ¥(1930),p. 185.

’ Among the Buryat in certain localities Ülgen is significantly known as Khormusta-Tengri, i.e. Ormuzd (Klementz, loc. cit.').

3 Radlov translates the wordjajan throughout the Proben as ‘Schöpfern’. In his lEör ter buch der Türkischen Dialekte he translates by the words soylatel, tvorets,nbsp;‘der Schöpfer’, ‘Gott’.

6-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Erlik Khan, the prince or ruler of the Underworld, is pictured as an old man with a great black beard, and sometimes as black himself. Henbsp;has a number of retainers, some of whom also act at times as thenbsp;familiars of the ‘earth-hero’, who borrows them from Erlik and employsnbsp;them to hunt human quarry. In addition he has a number of colleaguesnbsp;who also live unde^ the earth. Among these we may refer to the earth-Aina, Jer Kara, who seems to represent the spirit of death or of thenbsp;dead, and the swan-woman, Chekchäkäi, who is vividly portrayed asnbsp;having leaden eyes and hempen plaits, and hands with yellow nails. Henbsp;has also a respected colleague in Altyn Sibäldi, the ‘Golden Witch’,nbsp;who is commonly referred to as ‘ leaden-eyed and copper-nosed ’. Shenbsp;is the mother of nine sons, the Jelbägän (sing. Jelmogus, sometimesnbsp;called Dshalmaus^Jel Maja^ etc.), who are variously described as havingnbsp;seven, nine, etc. heads, and as living in a many-gabled house of stone, thenbsp;entrance to which is guarded by great dogs with fiery breath. The exactnbsp;nature of the Jelmogus is not wholly clear. The records frequently suggestnbsp;that he is something in the nature of a dragon hero ƒ but Radlov wasnbsp;told among the Chern Tatars that he is a very strong demon with sevennbsp;heads who has destroyed the moon, but is forced by Ulgen to restore it.’nbsp;Sometimes Jelmogus appears to be used figuratively for the Uigur state.3

Among the Kara-Kirghiz, the only non-heroic poem recorded by Radlov is Et Töshtük. The poem is obscure in many particulars, andnbsp;the poet has not remembered his story well, or through fatigue or somenbsp;other cause has omitted much which would have made the narrativenbsp;more intelligible. Some of these omissions can be supplied from thenbsp;prose variant versions to be found elsewhere, and many of the obscurenbsp;and difficult passages are also clearer or more specifically related in thesenbsp;versions. Summaries of these prose versions will be given in the sectionnbsp;of the present chapter devoted to non-heroic saga, and a comparison ofnbsp;these texts will also be given in the chapter on ‘The Texts’.

The poem is the biography of a man whose adventures and experiences appear to have been for the most part of a spiritual rather than of a material character, and whose life is largely spent underground innbsp;the spirit world. In spite of this fact, however, these adventures arenbsp;similar in many respects to the ordinary heroic adventures of Manasnbsp;and Joloi, and it is clear from references to the hero himself and to hisnbsp;famous steed Chai Kuiruk in the Cycles of Manas and Joloi that Er

’ See e.g. Proben I, p. 28 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Radlov, A.S. i, p. 372.

5 Proben v, p. 3,1. 5 3 where Radlov translates “ Grimmig wird Manas ” ; but for a more literal translation see p. 28 above.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

85

Töshtük is a well-known figure of heroic story. Reference has already been made to the poem of Bok Murun (p. 32 above), where Ernbsp;Töshtük is brought into relation with Manas and Alaman Bet, andnbsp;where he is represented as running a race with Joloi’s wife; but evennbsp;here his spiritual experiences underground are referred to, and therenbsp;can be no doubt that he is the most outstanding spiritual figure innbsp;Tatar literature.

The central idea of the poem now before us is the visit of the hero to the Underworld and his safe return. The poem opens, like the Manasnbsp;Cycle, with an account of the birth of the hero. Er Töshtük is born innbsp;answer to the prayer of his father Ilämän, whose youngest son he is,nbsp;and we are tempted to believe that owing to this fact, and also to thenbsp;fact that he is the ninth son, the hero is in some way specially endowednbsp;with spiritual gifts, and especially marked out by the inhabitants of thenbsp;spirit world as their own. When the day comes to give the child a name,nbsp;an old man with a white beard appears and names him ‘Er Töshtük whonbsp;finds favour with God ’, and then disappears as suddenly as he has come.nbsp;From the many parallels to this incident in other stories it is clear thatnbsp;the old man is the god Kydyr.

One day, as Er Töshtük is away from home tracking his father’s herds, which have been stolen, he comes upon a hut made of birch barknbsp;in charge of a black and hideous maiden called Bek Toro,’ who promisesnbsp;him that his herds will be found, and insists on his spending the nightnbsp;in her hut. When he awakens at midnight all is bright within the hut,nbsp;and the hideous maiden has become extremely beautiful, and he alsonbsp;finds food cooking on the spit beside the fire, which he takes and eats.nbsp;Although it is not exactly stated, it is probable that by eating the foodnbsp;of Bek Toro the hero delivers himself into her hands, for it is spirit food.nbsp;When he would embrace her, however, she forbids him, saying that shenbsp;has prayed to God that he might be born. The passage is obscure, butnbsp;the poet seems to suggest that Bek Toro claims Er Töshtük as hernbsp;spiritual child. Her words are as follows :

With golden frame and silver tongue My komus^ have I played ;nbsp;I charmed the ear of God,nbsp;You, Töshtük, for myself,nbsp;I fitly formed, O hero.nbsp;This false world is naught;

Mine will you be hereafter, Töshtük. 3

' Curiously enough this is also the name of one of Joloi’s sons.

’ For this musical instrument, see p. 23 above. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Proben v, p. 540.

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The true significance of her words becomes clearer as the poem proceeds. Er Töshtük returns home, and his father sets out to look fornbsp;a wife for him, and in his turn also encounters Bek Toro, and, beingnbsp;overtaken by night, is forced to accept her hospitality. He thennbsp;proceeds on his way and obtains Kendshäkä, the youngest of Againbsp;Khan’s nine daughters, as a husband for the hero, though her father isnbsp;very unwilling to marry her. But Bek Toro, who appears to regardnbsp;Kendshäkä as a natural enemy and spiritual rival, meets her as she is onnbsp;her way to the home of Er Töshtük, and tries to poison her. A strangenbsp;dialogue takes place between the two women in which Bek Toronbsp;relinquishes Er Töshtük to Kendshäkä in this world, but lays claim tonbsp;him in the next.'

When Kendshäkä overtakes Ilämän and his party they are obliged to encamp for the night at a spot against which her father has warned them,nbsp;and Ilämän explains that this is due to her delay. Ilämän is forciblynbsp;seized by an evil spirit, JelmogusJ and is obliged to promise Ernbsp;Töshtük’s soul to Jelmogus in order to save himself. Er Töshtük’snbsp;soul is contained in a black steel file^ hidden under the hearthstone, andnbsp;on the arrival of the bridal party at the house of her future husband thenbsp;bride at once asks for the file, doubtless with the intention of keeping itnbsp;safe from Jelmogus. It is found, however, that Ilämän has left itnbsp;behind at the evening bivouac, and Er Töshtük at once sets out tonbsp;retrieve it. He finds it in the possession of Jelmogus, who is still in thenbsp;same spot in the form of a hag, and after a prolonged struggle for thenbsp;file, she sinks into the earth followed by the hero on his famous steed,nbsp;Chai Kuiruk. From this point (1. iioo) the action takes place underground almost to the end of the poem, and relates a series of encounters, all more or less closely connected with one another, and allnbsp;described as if they were ordinary heroic combats. In the course of hisnbsp;life underground the hero marries two wives and has a son, Bir Biläk.

At last the hero’s horse grows weary of life underground, and begs his master to return to earth. The manner of Er Töshtük’s return is

’ This situation, and the dialogue between the two women—one a supernatural and the other a human being—bears a striking resemblance to the dialogue betweennbsp;Brynhildr and the gjgr in the Hdre'iö Brynhildar, a poem contained in the earlynbsp;Norse collection known as the Elder Edda. See Vol. I, p. 27; cf. also p. 97 below.

’ Cf. p. 84 above. The word Jelmogus seems to be merely a dialectal variety of Dskalmaus., which is defined by Radlov as lit. “‘Snap-mouth’, a monster whichnbsp;licks men up and swallows them” IProben in, p. 154, footnote i). This monsternbsp;occurs very frequently in Tatar non-heroic literature.

3 Some discussion of this is given by Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lxvi (1936), p. 311.

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very striking. He comes to the middle of the earth and finds a lofty elm, its summit reaching to Heaven. A gigantic dragon is coiled around itsnbsp;trunk, while a pair of young eagles are perched on the top, lamentingnbsp;loudly. Er Töshtük slays the dragon, and the grateful mother bird firstnbsp;renews the hero’s youth by swallowing him and then spitting him out,nbsp;and afterwards carries him up to earth on her back. From time to timenbsp;she turns her head to be fed by him as she flies, and at last, having nonbsp;more food to offer her, he is forced to give her one of his own eyes andnbsp;a piece of his own shoulder. These are, however, restored to him by thenbsp;eagle at their journey’s end, and become whole again. The eagle fliesnbsp;back to the Underworld, and the hero places a turban on his head, andnbsp;makes his way to his old home, disguised as a mullah, and then, onnbsp;finding his family still hopefully awaiting his return, he reveals hisnbsp;identity to them, and all live happily together once more.

We have no doubt that the story of Er Töshtük is the biography of a person of shamanistic pretensions. The internal evidence of the storynbsp;and its variants would seem to point to this, and the suggestion isnbsp;supported by a comparison of the concluding portion of the poem withnbsp;the practices of the shamans of the Altai district, as recorded by Radlov,nbsp;as well as those of the Buryat and other east Siberian peoples. Thesenbsp;practices will be considered more fully in connection with the shamannbsp;(cf. Chapter x). It may be mentioned here, however, that in thenbsp;great annual sacrifice to Bai Ulgen, the god of the highest Heaven, thenbsp;shaman first climbs a tree, and then mounts to Heaven on the back of anbsp;goose, after which he descends to the Underworld through a hole in thenbsp;ground.

The Kara-Kirghiz have left us yet another story of the visit of a mortal to the Underworld, this time a man whom we have no clearnbsp;reason for regarding as a professional shaman. The incident is related ofnbsp;Bolot, Joloi’s son, who descends into the depths of the earth on hisnbsp;father’s horse Ach Budan, following the tracks of his ‘sister’, thenbsp;shamanka Kara Chach, just as Er Töshtük rides into the earth on hisnbsp;horse, following the tracks of Jelmogus. Previously to this incidentnbsp;Kara Chach has restored Bolot to his foster-father, Köchpös Bai, by hernbsp;arts, and then, at the religious banquet at which the hero’s external soulnbsp;is sacrificed in the form of a sheep to Kydyr, Kara Chach herself disappears into the earth. When Bolot follows her on Ach Budan, he findsnbsp;her riding on Jel Maja (i.e. Jelmogus; cf. p. 86, footnote 2 above), whonbsp;warns him that he is compassed about by a heathen army. Bolot cutsnbsp;down a fir tree and makes himself a mighty lance, and fights the heathen

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

army till his strength is gone, and then he sees that Kara Chach is hovering over his head in the form of a grey hawk and routing his foes.nbsp;The scene then changes to the upper world, where his brothers are alsonbsp;fighting the heathen host; but at last, again with the help of Karanbsp;Chach, they succeed in routing their enemy, and the wounded Bolot isnbsp;restored to life and health by the further ministrations of Kara Chach,nbsp;which she performs by tearing the lungs from Jel Maja, and strikingnbsp;Bolot on the head with them, and then gently stroking his side.’

The similarity of the narrative of Bolot’s underground experience to the story of Er Töshtük are very striking, and this similarity is morenbsp;evident in the original text, which is rich in detail and incident, thannbsp;in this brief summary. The chief difference lies in the fact that in thenbsp;story of Er Töshtük no friendly shamanka guides the hero’s actions andnbsp;protects him from his enemies. We may believe, however, that in thenbsp;original form of the story Bek Toro played a more important part in thenbsp;underground incidents, and this we shall see later is also suggested bynbsp;the variants. She probably corresponds to Kara Chach, as Jelmogusnbsp;corresponds to Jel Maja. It is also possible that the female eagle in thenbsp;former story corresponds to the hawk in the latter, though this is lessnbsp;clear. It is far from clear in either story what is the exact relationship ofnbsp;either maiden to the hero. Kara Chach, under her name of Koitu Kung,nbsp;is several times referred to by the hero as his ‘sister’; but whether in anbsp;worldly or a spiritual sense is not clear, and it is doubtful if the relationship is to be pressed very closely. Neither woman appears to stand innbsp;the relationship of a lover, even of a spiritual lover. The nearest analogynbsp;seems to be the Norse fylgjur, the guardian spirits who follow a mannbsp;throughout life and guide and direct both his soul and body for hisnbsp;welfare. The part played by Kara Chach, who hovers over the hero’snbsp;head in battle in the form of a hawk and overcomes his enemies, isnbsp;strikingly reminiscent of the part played by the maiden Kara, who innbsp;the form of a swan hovers over the head of the hero Helgi and fights hisnbsp;enemies in the Norse Saga of Hrómundr Grdips son?'

The epic poetry of the ‘Abakan Group’, that is to say of the Sagai

' Proben v, p. 524.

’ For an English translation of this saga the reader may refer to Kershaw, Stories and Ballads of the Far Past (Cambridge, 1921), p- diff. It is not impossible that thenbsp;name Helgi has reference to this and other spiritual experiences of the hero, thoughnbsp;the name is, of course, very common. It is interesting to note that the word Karanbsp;is unknown elsewhere in Norse.

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tribes, and the Koibal, Katshin, and Kysyl Tatars (see p. 4 above), is contained in the second volume of Radlov’s Proben. In spite of itsnbsp;somewhat restricted range of theme, it offers in many ways a morenbsp;interesting field of study than any narrative poetry which we have foundnbsp;among barbaric peoples. The Sagai tribes, to whom the largest groupnbsp;belongs, are the most proficient in this form of poetry. They are said tonbsp;be the least mixed with Finnish or Samoyedic peoples of all the Tatars ofnbsp;Siberia.’ The subjects of the poems, so far as we can judge from thenbsp;proper names and topographical details, are drawn from native sources,nbsp;though we may suspect a certain amount of Mongolian influence,nbsp;especially from the Buryat and Kalmucks. They are interesting, therefore, for their detailed pictures of steppe life, and still more for thenbsp;information which they afford of the religious ideas and practices of thenbsp;heathen Tatars. The people are still shamanists, and their poems arenbsp;practically free from Christian or Mohammedan influence, thoughnbsp;Buddhist and perhaps Manichaean ideas are not wholly absent.

The literary technique of the poems has attained to a remarkably high level. The average length of a poem is 770 lines, though the longest, thenbsp;Sagai poem Ai Mergän and Akyn Kus, runs to nearly 4000 lines. Theirnbsp;narratives are the most complicated, and their structure the mostnbsp;ambitious which we have found outside Sanskrit literature, to which innbsp;this respect they bear some resemblance. The scene shifts constantly,nbsp;and numerous characters are swept into the course of the narrative,nbsp;each bearing a fresh set of complicated circumstances in his train. Thenbsp;handling of the material is astonishingly competent, and the poet nevernbsp;fails to resolve his discords, every villain being duly punished in hisnbsp;own turn, every hero provided with a wife, or refurnished with hisnbsp;own lost possessions before the end is reached. The climax of the Sagainbsp;poems comes, not at the end of the poem, but approximately in thenbsp;middle. Already the poet begins gradually to unwind his clew, retracingnbsp;his steps through the many localities where he has previously left onlynbsp;a tangled skein. The poems of the entire group which we have classednbsp;together as ‘Abakan’ are handled with a recognition of the relationshipnbsp;of incidents which is very rare in the heroic epic of oral tradition, and resemble a rich brocade. They are a triumph of structure and of memory.

These poems offer a totally different range of theme from those of the Kara-Kirghiz. The stories appear to form an independent group,nbsp;and do not overlap to any great extent with those of the other Tatars,nbsp;though identical incidents and motifs are sometimes found, as we shallnbsp;’ Czaplicka, Turks, p. 19; cf. Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 96.

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see (p. 95 ff. below). They are, in a sense, stories of adventure; but we are often in doubt as to whether these adventures are actual physicalnbsp;realities, or whether they are merely spiritual or intellectual adventuresnbsp;—adventures of the mind. At times they are clearly of the latter kind.nbsp;Very often the main theme is a search. It may be that the hero is soughtnbsp;by a supernatural adversary, an emissary of Erlik. Sometimes thenbsp;search is for an absent soul; for in these poems the soul is regarded asnbsp;separable, and is sometimes contained in a lifeless object, though morenbsp;often it has the form of a bird. At times the search is for stolen herds.nbsp;A very common theme in the poems is a series of journeys, often ofnbsp;fantastic length and duration, and sometimes but slightly motivated,nbsp;though generally culminating in the acquisition of a wife, and wealthnbsp;of herds. Warlike encounters also play a certain part. In the latter thenbsp;issue of events is generally governed by the cunning or knowledge ofnbsp;either a woman, or a horse, or of supernatural beings. But in all thenbsp;poems supernatural elements play a large, even a preponderant part,nbsp;and the personnel of the Heavens and the Underworld are rarely absent.nbsp;It will not be possible in the limited space available here to do morenbsp;than give brief summaries of a few of the poems which will serve tonbsp;illustrate their unusual and interesting range of subject. In order tonbsp;appreciate their technical merits it is necessary to read the actual textsnbsp;of the poems.

The Sagai poem of Ai Mökö is a fair specimen of its class. It tells us that the orphan hero Ai Mökö and his sister are brought up by a certainnbsp;Altyn Ärgäk, till one day, as Ai Mökö is out hunting, he encounters anbsp;certain Khan Kaigalai who says he does not honour Kudai. In the eyesnbsp;of the shamanist Tatars, therefore, Khan Kaigalai is an atheist, and annbsp;encounter accordingly takes place between him and the hero, who atnbsp;once champions Kudai. While they are contending, a dart is thrown bynbsp;an unknown hand, whereupon Khan Kaigalai disappears into the earth.nbsp;Ai Mökö picks up the dart and finds a piece of script attached, whichnbsp;purports to have been sent by a certain Chas Mökö in the land ofnbsp;Kudai.’ The dart has been intended for a certain Akyrang Tas, withnbsp;whom Chas Mökö has been at lifelong feud. He urges Ai Mökö tonbsp;await the issue of the combat on the summit of the Altai, promising himnbsp;that he will discover for him the whereabouts of his father, Altyn Airy.nbsp;Before long Ai Mökö does actually find his father, a grey-haired old man,nbsp;herding horses outside a princely dwelling.

The old man tells him that he has been overcome in battle by two

’ In this poem the land of Kudai is identified with ‘China’, i.e., no doubt, Chinese Turkestan.

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heroes known as Altyn Pyrgy and Kümüs Pyrgy, and advises him to consult Chas Mökö, who ‘has come from China’, as to the advisabilitynbsp;of taking vengeance. Chas Mökö declares that Kudai will not allownbsp;Ai Mökö to be overcome, and the hero accordingly confidently undertakes to do battle with his father’s enemies. In the single combatsnbsp;which ensue. Ai Mökö slays the brothers, and then returns to Altynnbsp;Argäk, accompanied by his father and Chas Mökö. Chas Mökö, however, soon leaves them to go in search of his old enemy, Akyrang Tas,nbsp;and Ai Mökö follows him, bidding his father continue on his course tonbsp;Altyn Argäk. Chas Mökö is slain, but Ai Mökö slays Akyrang Tas innbsp;vengeance, and then goes to Altyn Argäk, who gives him in marriagenbsp;the noble lady Altyn Chüstük, the daughter of a certain Kisikai, and thenbsp;hero and his family return to their old home. Altyn Chüstük, it is to benbsp;noted, is the name of one of the three ‘Heavenly Maidens’, daughtersnbsp;of Kudai, who dwell in the Heavens, and possess the water of life andnbsp;the herb of healing.

The Sagai poem of Puga-Däkä also tells how a youthful hero sets out to rescue his father who has been carried off by two brothers, Tasnbsp;Chüräk, and Pus Chüräk. He comes upon them as they are celebratingnbsp;the marriage feast of their sister, who is again Altyn Chüstük, and overhears a dialogue between the chief of the company, Ägrä Kara, a ‘ greatnbsp;black man from the Underworld’, and his aged opponent, Karyn Dara,nbsp;also from the nether regions, in which the former boasts that he will gainnbsp;possession of the youthful hero, while the latter denies his power.nbsp;Meanwhile Puga Däkä finds his father nailed to a lofty rock. Henbsp;returns to attack Ägrä Kara, and fighting together they sink down farnbsp;below the earth to Ägrä Kara’s dwelling, where the hero slays him andnbsp;others, and then mounts to earth by climbing a tree which grows in thenbsp;Underworld, like that by which Er Töshtük mounts to the eagle’s nest.nbsp;The rest of the story tells how the hero retrieves his lost horse-herds.

The Sagai poem of Altyn Pyrkan relates the prolonged search and pursuit by a certain Saryg Khan of the young hero Altyn Pyrkan, whonbsp;is saved by the superior power of a foal who sucks the child up intonbsp;his nostrils and gallops away. In his efforts to capture his prey, Sarygnbsp;Khan calls to his aid a number of supernatural emissaries—his two royalnbsp;eagles, his two hounds, Kasar and Pasar, and Seven-headed Chalbägän’nbsp;—who seek their prey through air, earth, and underground. He alsonbsp;sends the Swan-woman and Kär Palyk, the great royal carp which

* For the Chalbägän (Jelbägän), the Swan-woman, etc., cf. p. 84 above. All these appear also in the epic poetry of the Khalka Mongols, where the hounds appearnbsp;as Assar and Bassar. See Poppe, A. M. viii, p. 202 ff.

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dwells on the bottom of the sea, and he himself makes enquiries of sun, moon, and stars, herbs, and all created things ; but he cannot come upnbsp;with his prey. Later in the story the child dies, but the foal secures thenbsp;aid of Altyn Chüstük, who restores the dead to life, and to whomnbsp;reference has already been made. She is here said to be the oldest ofnbsp;three maidens who possess this gift, and who live in ‘the third Heaven’.’nbsp;Actually it seems to be, not Altyn Chüstük herself, but her youngernbsp;sister. Ai Aryg, who comes ‘as a golden cuckoo’ to the corpse, andnbsp;sprinkles it with the water of life, and lays the yellow herb in its mouth,nbsp;so that the child is restored to health and vigour, so much so that whennbsp;he cracks his whip even the jaj, or tutelary spirit^ who dwells in Heavennbsp;above, cannot remain seated. After this we learn without surprise thatnbsp;the hero returns and slays Saryg Khan and all his supernatural familiars.

The closing portion of this strange story is not the least interesting. The hero overcomes a certain Ottyg Chalyn and his brother, and then,nbsp;instead of slaying them, he ‘purifies their souls’, and releases them. Wenbsp;next hear of the hero’s journey to Heaven to woo for himself Altynnbsp;Chüstük, who is here said to be the youngest of the three sisters. As henbsp;passes through the first Heaven the nine jajan discourage him, butnbsp;ödürbä Jajan in the second Heaven befriends him on the ground thatnbsp;he has purified the souls of Ottyg Chalyn and his brother. It is to benbsp;observed that in these poems we frequently find the inculcation ofnbsp;mercy and gentleness, especially by divine beings, rather than of heroicnbsp;virtue. Altyn Chüstük, however, has vowed only to marry the mannbsp;who can overcome her in wrestling and archery, and a long andnbsp;incredible struggle follows in which the earth is destroyed, despite thenbsp;efforts of the jajan, who all assemble to hold it together. At last, afternbsp;this Titanic combat, the hero succeeds in overpowering Altyn Chüstük,nbsp;and, sticking her unceremoniously into his pocket, he rides home withnbsp;her to his yurt and makes her his wife.3

The Sagai poem of Kan Togos, like the majority of these poems, relates to a hero who has no parents, neither has he brother or sister;nbsp;but he is wealthy, and his herds are cared for by nine ‘bald-headed men’,nbsp;while he himself lies on a golden bed and eats delicate food. One daynbsp;the ‘bald-headed men’ enter his yurt and tell him that most of his

* In shamanist theology the Heavens are represented as a series of superimposed planes.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Pl.yeyazz; cf. above.

3 The resemblance to the Russian bylina of Dobrynya and the polenitsa (see Vol. II, p. 37 above) is very striking, though in the Russian story the woman comesnbsp;oif victor, and pockets her vanquished wooer.

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servants and herds have disappeared, they know not where. Khan Togos at once strikes the earth asunder, and disappears underground in searchnbsp;of them. He soon comes upon Erlik Khan, the god of the Underworld,nbsp;who directs him to Altyn Sibäldi, the golden witch, whom the heronbsp;slays, together with her nine sons, the nine Jelbägän^ whom he findsnbsp;playing at knuckle-bones.' He continues to overcome one hero afternbsp;another, even calling down fire from Heaven to destroy their dwellings,nbsp;till ‘there is no peace for any between the Aina underground and thenbsp;Jajan above’. At last, after incredible encounters and victories, henbsp;arouses by his arrogance the anger of the nine Jajan who have creatednbsp;all heroes, and they accordingly create a hero who forces him to fleenbsp;underground once more. Here his final encounter takes place with anbsp;six-headed Jamp;lbägän seated on a golden bed, and his unlovely wife, anbsp;leaden-eyed, copper-nosed witch, both of whom he slays. Finally henbsp;returns to earth, a white-haired old man, to find all his herds and peoplenbsp;awaiting him. It is a particularly interesting feature of Khan Togos thatnbsp;he is expressly stated never to have married or to have had any children.nbsp;This statement would seem to be expressly made of other heroes innbsp;these poems (cf. p. 96 below), who, like Khan Togos himself, arenbsp;accomplished in the arts ascribed generally to shamans. The latter partnbsp;of the poem of Kan Togos has affinities with the poem of Er Töshtük,nbsp;whom we have also seen to be gifted with shamanistic powers, and therenbsp;can be no doubt that Khan Togos is himself a person of this class.

The Sagai poem of Kara Par opens with an account of Russian kidnapping. The hero is stolen as a six-year-old boy by a Russian ‘ innbsp;a black coat’, and sold to a childless old couple in exchange for ninenbsp;deer-skins. When he is nine years of age a Russian conscription officernbsp;comes and ‘writes him on his paper’, giving him the name Kara Par;nbsp;and three days later the boy rides forth to join the Russian army, butnbsp;soon makes good his escape on a stolen horse, and rides away to hisnbsp;father’s hunting ground. So far the poem is not remote from reality,nbsp;and offers us a vivid picture of the relations between the Russians andnbsp;Tatars viewed from a Tatar’s personal standpoint.

The atmosphere of realism soon vanishes, however. Before long Kara Par finds his uncle, Khan Märgän, lying dead in his house, and,nbsp;forbidding his retainers to bury the body till his return, Kara Par setsnbsp;offquot; to find the murderer. The murderer, somewhat to our surprise, isnbsp;an old woman with nine ears, from which hang nine ear-rings, and shenbsp;lives in a black house with nine gables. She confesses to Kara Par thatnbsp;' The static formula used of a child in Tatar poetry.

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she has cooked his father in a black kettle, and hidden his uncle’s soul, in the form of a golden file, inside her black coffer. Her own soul, innbsp;the form of a seven-headed spotted snake, lies in the sole of her boot,nbsp;and Kara Par forthwith dispatches it, cutting off the seven heads. Henbsp;then enters the house, passing from room to room, each offering anbsp;spectacle more dreadful than the last, and we are not surprised when henbsp;exclaims on returning to the upper world—the horrors, it seems, arenbsp;contained in subterranean caves—

To such an Aina-_yzzrr

May my own child never come.’

At last the hero returns to his own yurt and restores his uncle’s soul by means of the file; but he cannot restore his father—for has he notnbsp;seen his head cooking in the cauldron in the cave of horror.^ The storynbsp;is chiefly interesting for the detailed picture which it gives of the hero’snbsp;experiences in the caves—experiences which are not rare in these poems,nbsp;but which are not often related so fully.

An interesting parallel to the journey of Kara Par to the Underworld occurs, however, in a poem from the Sayan Steppe recorded bynbsp;Castren,’ in which the picture of the Underworld is even more detailed,nbsp;and which is especially interesting, since the visitor to the spirit worldnbsp;is in this case a woman. According to this story a certain hero, Komdei-Mirgän, is injured while hunting a fox, which is, in reality, the daughternbsp;of Erlik Khan in disguise. When the hero is disabled, the nine-headednbsp;Jelbägän rides up on a forty-horned ox and cuts offquot; his head and carriesnbsp;it to the Underworld. The hero’s sister, Kubai Ko, resolves to seek thenbsp;head, and follows the track of Jelbägän to a hole in the ground throughnbsp;which she descends to the realm of Erlik Khan. Here she encountersnbsp;many strange shapes and sights, among others, groups of people eachnbsp;suffering torment nicely adjusted to their evil deeds on earth. Hurryingnbsp;by in fear, she at length comes to the bank of a river, on which standsnbsp;the abode of Erlik, a stone house with forty gables. Before the entrancenbsp;stand nine larch trees, all growing from one single root. Erlik’s horses

’ With this picture of the underground caverns of horror it is interesting to compare the account given by Waddell of the great chamber of horrors in Sam-Yasnbsp;monastery, about thirty miles from Lhasa, in which a man who enacts the part ofnbsp;the scapegoat is compelled annually to spend seven days, and from the horrors ofnbsp;which he has sometimes become demented and died (Lamaisrri', p. 5i2f.; cf. alsonbsp;ib. p. 267).

’ Castrén in, p. i48ff. ; iv, p. 239 ff. A summary of the story is also given by Holmberg, p. 489 ff.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;95

are tied to the larches, and Kubai Ko also ties up her horse here and enters the house. She feels herself seized and tormented by invisiblenbsp;hands, while her clothes are torn to rags. When Erlik appears he ignoresnbsp;her, and refuses to speak to her, but Kubai Ko follows him throughnbsp;many rooms till at last she enters a room where eight princes of deathnbsp;are seated, and in their midst is their chief, Erlik Khan himself. Kubainbsp;Ko bows low and asks why their servant Jelbägän has cut off and carriednbsp;away her brother’s head. The princes reply that Jelbägän has acted undernbsp;their orders, but promise to give her back the head if she can pull anbsp;goat out of the earth which is buried up to its horns. Kubai Ko acceptsnbsp;the ordeal, and is led through nine rooms filled with human heads, hernbsp;brother’s among them. She succeeds in exhuming the goat, and isnbsp;escorted back to the larch, where she mounts her horse and then ridesnbsp;back to earth, carrying her brother’s head, and accompanied by thenbsp;princes of death, who expound to her the significance of all that she hasnbsp;seen. Kubai Ko now restores her brother’s head to his body, and sitsnbsp;down beside him to lament; but Kudai has pity on her tears, and sendsnbsp;the water of life which she sprinkles three times on his lips, and the heronbsp;is restored to health and strength.

The Kachin poem of Kara Tygan Khan and Suksagal Khan^ recorded by Radlov, opens with an account of the wooing and marriage of thenbsp;daughter of a certain Ak Khan by the hero, Kara Tygan Khan, who isnbsp;accompanied by his brother-in-law, named Olanger. The preliminarynbsp;incidents of this poem have already been alluded to (p. 71 above). Wenbsp;have seen that the hero’s wife and Olanger tell the hero that while he wasnbsp;drunk at his wedding feast on the previous night he boasted that henbsp;would restore to life two heroes, whose names are given as Altyn Ergäknbsp;and Kümüs Ergäk. In order to fulfil this vow Kara Tygan Khan andnbsp;Olanger transform themselves into swallows, and their horses intonbsp;swans. They then fly up to a certain tree on the Altai, on the summit ofnbsp;which grows the white herb which has the virtue of restoring the deadnbsp;to life. The herb is guarded by two ravens who have built their nest innbsp;the topmost branches, and whose nestlings lie on the top of the herb;nbsp;but the heroes in their bird-form secure it, and then, transformingnbsp;themselves once more into men, fulfil their vow, and return with thenbsp;bride to their own home.

One day, as Kara Tygan Khan is out hunting, his black horse stumbles, and breaks its neck. A white-haired old man appears suddenly, andnbsp;supplies him with another horse, and with this he again goes hunting,nbsp;and in due course reaches the dwelling of a certain Suksagal Khan,

96

whom the hero clearly regards as having ‘stolen’ his black horse (i.e., presumably, ‘stolen’ its soul), though the story seems to be somewhatnbsp;confused at this point. He is welcomed by his host, and by supernaturalnbsp;means he succeeds in finding his own black horse among Suksagalnbsp;Khan’s herds. The most interesting part of the story is what follows.nbsp;Suksagal Khan, who is evidently possessed in a high degree of supernatural power or shamanism, and who has been much impressed bynbsp;Kara Tygan Khan’s display of similar power in regard to the horse,nbsp;challenges him to a trial of skill. During the night he steals Kara Tygannbsp;Khan’s eyes without his being aware of it. The following night, however, our hero steals Suksagal Khan’s tongue, and the latter ownsnbsp;himself defeated. Suksagal Khan suggests to his rival that as neither ofnbsp;them will have any children they shall make a mutual compact thatnbsp;whichever of them dies first, the other will come to look at his bones-—nbsp;an office which we gather from these poems is observed by a man’snbsp;son. The statement that neither hero will have children is interesting,nbsp;and probably has reference to their shamanist faculties (cf. p. 93nbsp;above).'

The poem of Südäi Märgän and Joltai Märgän from the Kysyl Tatars offers a somewhat different range of theme from the preceding.nbsp;It opens with an account of the efforts of a childless wife, Adshäng Ko,nbsp;to rid herself of her husband, Südäi Märgän, and to marry a man bynbsp;whom she may bear children. Südäi Märgän dresses himself in a bear’snbsp;skin, and coming by chance to the court of a strange prince, Altynnbsp;Khan, is accepted by him as a son-in-law. He continues for some timenbsp;to live in a house apart with his wife, Aidang Aryg, still wearing hisnbsp;bear’s skin at home; but when he rides abroad his horse meets him,nbsp;bringing to him fine clothing and weapons. With these he slays anbsp;predatory ‘hero-bird’ and a fierce tiger, but allows his two brothers-in-law to claim the credit of the deeds on condition that they give him anbsp;joint from their fingers and a strip of skin from their backs.

One day his wife reproaches him with his bear guise, and he leaves her, and, dispatching his horse home riderless with his bear’s skin, asnbsp;if he were dead, he builds himself a yurt in the forest. His brothers-in-law discover him and entrap him in a deep pit, but his wifenbsp;finds him, and sends his horse to fetch Tong Asyn Aryg, the sister ofnbsp;Törömön Mökö who dwells on the border of Heaven, and who hasnbsp;extraordinarily long hair. By means of her hair the hero is drawn out of

* Can this be connected with the so-called ‘Change of Sex’ which is discussed at some length by M. A. Czaplicka, in Aboriginal Siberia, p. 243 S.Î

97 the pit, and he then marries Tong Asyn Aryg as his second wife. Henbsp;returns to Altyn Khan and exposes the guilt of his two brothers-in-law,nbsp;and afterwards returns to his home with his two wives. On his arrivalnbsp;he finds a daughter born to him after his departure, and shortly beforenbsp;her arrival Tong Asyn Aryg also bears him a son, who is named Joltainbsp;Märgän. The rest of the poem is occupied with the life of Joltai Märgän,nbsp;and has some interesting affinities with early Norse literature.

Joltai soon discovers his uncle, Törömön Mökö, and after introducing him to his new home, he himself sets out to woo Pula Purkan, who is known as the ‘maiden prince’, and who seems to be a femalenbsp;‘ hero ’ and ruler of the type corresponding to the second Hervor in thenbsp;early Norse Hervarar Saga^ and to the polenitsy in the Russian by liny.nbsp;On his way he first encounters a cock which acts as sentinel and watchman, and he succeeds in tearing off its head before it has time to crownbsp;and arouse Pula Purkan’s guards. He then slays the dog which isnbsp;also on guard, and finally, having slain all Pula Purkan’s heroes, henbsp;takes her home to be his bride. When they come to the spot where henbsp;has slain the dog, they find a maiden with three plaits^ who sits therenbsp;‘singing and warbling’, and who, it is interesting to observe, taunts,nbsp;not the hero, but Pula Purkan, the bride:

When you were a prince. Had you any ideanbsp;That you would marry and keep house i*

Three times the maiden shouts her question, after which a cloud sinks down from Heaven, and dust rises from the earth, and when theynbsp;clear, nothing is to be seen. Joltai Märgän cries angrily:

Who is this Aina who stands in our way.^

and would have struck at her with his sword ; but his wife forbids him, and herself addresses the maiden:

I am no longer a prince, I am no longer a lord,nbsp;I am Joltai Märgän’s wife.nbsp;Sink below the golden earth.

!

The maiden with three plaits sinks below the earth, and the bridal pair pass on to the place where the cock was killed. Here two heroes

’ Cf. p. 84 above. The plaits seem to be a characteristic mark of the ‘Aina folk’.

CL ill

98

attempt to detain Pula Purkan, but are slain by the hero, and he and his bride succeed in reaching his home safely?

A group of poems recorded by Radlov from the Shor and Sojon Tatars resemble closely the poems of the Abakan group, and carry usnbsp;in general into the same atmosphere. Here also the marriage of the heronbsp;forms the climax in almost every poem. In these texts, the themes arenbsp;generally considerably weakened, and the brilliant narrative art of thenbsp;Abakan poems is lacking. Two examples must suffice, though fornbsp;purposes of comparative literature, and for the information which theynbsp;afford of Tatar tradition and mythology, all these poems are full ofnbsp;interest.

The story of Kara Khan is interesting in that the chief figure in the story is a woman, as in the poem of Kubai Ko recorded by Castrén, ofnbsp;which some account has been given above. The heroine Akyn Aryg isnbsp;the only child of an aged couple, who have grown too old to look afternbsp;their own herds and possessions. Her father, Kara Khan, proposes tonbsp;divide his possessions into two halves, bestowing only one half on hisnbsp;daughter, and as for the remaining half :

My father under the earth May take half my herds.nbsp;May take half my people.

Altyn Aryg, protesting her ability to manage the entire estate, goes forth after the manner of a hero, and slays a serpent prince, rescuingnbsp;birds and beasts alive from its maw. On her return she is treated withnbsp;well-deserved honour, and takes over the entire estate which she hasnbsp;proved her ability to defend. Her hand is sought in marriage bynbsp;Katkandshula—a name which recurs more than once in the Abakannbsp;poems, where a character bearing this name is described as a noted horsenbsp;thief, and closely connected with the beings of the Underworld. Altynnbsp;Aryg, by her prowess and force of character, cheats the dead of theirnbsp;share of her father’s estate—whatever the precise meaning of thenbsp;quotation given above; and it is clear, both from the quotation itselfnbsp;and from the reference to Katkandshula, that the atmosphere of thenbsp;supernatural underlies this poem, despite its heroic framework.

* It will be seen that both the dialogue and the situation offer analogies to the early Norse poem the Helreib Brynhildar (cf. Vol. I, p. 27 of the present work).nbsp;A similar situation occurs also in the Kara-Kirghiz poem of Er Töshtük and itsnbsp;variants (cf. p. 86 above, and the chapter on The Texts).

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

99

The next poem in Radlov’s collection is entitled A Youth, but relates to the hero Ai Mangys, who, like so many of our heroes, beginsnbsp;life as a destitute orphan whose father has been robbed and killed by anbsp;powerful enemy. The outline of the story is only too familiar. The heronbsp;seeks out his enemy, and overcomes him with the help of a friend, andnbsp;marries his daughter. Other heroes and their marriages are skilfullynbsp;but conventionally interwoven in the narrative. One incident in thenbsp;poem deserves more detailed notice. The youth hears a human voicenbsp;addressing him from a birch tree, and looking up, he sees a white-hairednbsp;old man sitting on the top.

“ Hold, youth,” says he, “ I will give you your name,nbsp;Be Ai Mangys,” says he...nbsp;The youth... asked:nbsp;“ What man are younbsp;Who have given me my name.’”nbsp;The old man replied:nbsp;“Who should I benbsp;But Kudai, the jajuchi (chajuchï)” says he;nbsp;“To a man without a fathernbsp;I have at last given a name.”'

The formal bestowal of a name on the hero when he reaches an age to own a horse is a very common feature in all our poems, and the name isnbsp;often bestowed on him by an old man, often a stranger, who is sometimes said to be Kudai, and who generally disappears mysteriously whennbsp;the ceremony is concluded. From the present passage it would seemnbsp;that the old man is one of the jajuchi, and that he represents one of thenbsp;hero’s ancestral spirits. His position on the tree-top recalls the positionnbsp;of the shaman on the birch tree in certain ceremonies of the Altai Tatarsnbsp;and other peoples of northern Siberia, to which we shall refer laternbsp;(p. 200 below).

The most outstanding poem from the Altai Tatars in respect of length and excellence of style bears the name Kogutei?' The real heronbsp;of the story, however, is not Kogutei himself, but a beaver, whomnbsp;Kogutei finds as he is felling wood on the Altai, and who promises tonbsp;serve him well if he will spare his life. Kogutei takes the beaver home

’ Proben I, p. 358, 1. loiff.

’ This poem is not contained in Radlov’s collection. It was published independently in a Russian translation in 1935. See the List of Abbreviations at the close of the present section, s.v. Kogutei.

7-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

to his wife, and the childless old couple adopt him as their son, and live in comfort by their fireside, the fuel of which is supplied by the beavernbsp;himself, who is, of course, exceptionally well qualified to collect it fornbsp;them. By such touches of humour and realism the skill of the narratornbsp;clothes the fantastic narrative in homely human dress. In due course,nbsp;the beaver begs Kogutei to go a-wooing on his behalf to a wealthynbsp;neighbour, Karatty Khan, and a further element of humour is introducednbsp;by the adroit manner with which the beaver stimulates the courage ofnbsp;the faltering Kogutei with strong spirits, and also in the uncomfortablenbsp;reception which the presumptuous request receives from Karatty. It isnbsp;only after the mission has been repeated several times that the beaver isnbsp;duly married to Karatty’s youngest daughter, Karatty Ko, and that henbsp;takes up his abode in the aul of his father-in-law, where the onlynbsp;creatures to whom his arrival brings pleasure are Karatty’s dogs.

Karatty Ko’s husband is treated with contempt by all on account of his beaver form, and he and his wife live alone in a distant part of thenbsp;azzZ, apart from the rest of the family. He is not encouraged to take anynbsp;part in their common enterprises. Yet while his brothers-in-law, thenbsp;husbands of Karatty Ko’s six elder sisters, are unsuccessful in everynbsp;hunting expedition, the beaver never fails to bring down the quarry,nbsp;allowing them to claim the credit, and only demanding their littlenbsp;fingers and toes in return. Their last great enterprise is undertaken tonbsp;rescue Karatty Khan’s colts which have been driven off by Khannbsp;Kerede,’ the ‘Bird Khan’. At this point the hero leaves his beaver coatnbsp;at home in charge of his wife, and securing for himself a magnificentnbsp;mount, he rides after his brothers-in-law under the name of ‘ Kuskunnbsp;Kara Mattyr of the Raven Black Steed’. The brothers-in-law are onlynbsp;too glad to allow the hero to go on alone to attack the Bird Khan ; butnbsp;as he approaches the nest, he hears the fledglings lamenting theirnbsp;impending doom from a snake which devours their parents’ fledglingsnbsp;every year. Forgetting that Khan Kerede is his enemy, Kuskun Karanbsp;Mattyr kills the snake, and rescues the fledglings, and the parent birds innbsp;gratitude give up the colts and make a bond of friendship with the hero.

Meanwhile his brothers-in-law plot his destruction. To this end they dig a deep pit into which they decoy him on his return, while theynbsp;themselves drive home the colts to Karatty Khan, claiming full credit tonbsp;themselves for retrieving them. Khan Kerede, however, learns of the

’ The word is said to be identical with the Indian mythological bird Garuda. See Kogutei, Introduction, p. 36. See further the Mongol epic translated by Poppe,nbsp;j4.M. vin, p. 202 If., where the ‘Garuda is prominent.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

hero’s plight, and rescues him, and Kuskun Kara Mattyr, after proving the perfidy of his brothers-in-law by producing their fingers and toes,nbsp;lays the curse of death on the whole aul, and returns to Kogutei, whomnbsp;he enriches by his magical powers. Eventually he rides to a distant landnbsp;where he is joined by his wife Karatty Ko. The poem closes with anbsp;vivid account of the feast and games which take place on the arrivalnbsp;of a younger bride for the hero.

It will be seen that the story relates to incidents with which we are already familiar from the Kara-Kirghiz and the Abakan poems. Stillnbsp;further analogies will be found in some of the sagas which we are aboutnbsp;to consider. We shall examine the nature of their relationship morenbsp;closely in the chapter on the Texts. But it may be said here thatnbsp;nowhere do these themes receive such competent handling from thenbsp;literary point of view as in Kogutei-, for in point of style this is one ofnbsp;the best of the Tatar poems or rhythmical stories. The story itself isnbsp;simpler, and the characters and incidents are, in general, fewer than wenbsp;generally find in the Abakan poems. As in the latter, the atmosphere isnbsp;that of folk-tale. The hero triumphs in every adventure, not by heroicnbsp;action, but by superior magic. Yet the supernatural elements which innbsp;the Abakan poems generally constitute the most interesting part of thenbsp;narrative are here condensed into a few bare lines. The poet cares littlenbsp;for the glamour of beaver magic. He loves to dwell on the heroicnbsp;incidents; to linger over the heroic details—the splendour of thenbsp;beaver’s armour, the superb qualities of his steed. The story is magnificently told. Boisterous humour, a vivid realistic treatment of thenbsp;incidents of daily life, a gift of presenting rapid contrasts, of seizing onnbsp;just the telling detail of description and of speech, betrays the artistnbsp;in every line, the artist versed in all the conventions, repetitions, andnbsp;formulae of heroic poetry at its best. The daring hyperboles, thenbsp;relevance and significance of the racy narrative, resemble the Russiannbsp;byliny. But Kogutei shows equally with the poems of the Manas Cyclenbsp;that even the Russian ska'iitely must yield to the Tatar minstrel as annbsp;artist in sustained narrative poetry.

Kogutei is described by Russian editors as a chorchok^ a ‘ rhythmical ska:{ka\ or ‘folk-tale’, rather than a strictly metrical poem, such as thenbsp;true epicsnbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;of the Altai and the Kara-Kirghiz.’ It belongs to a

particular literary (oral) genre of this region known as the ‘heroic

' Chorchok, ‘ska:çka', ‘Das Märchen , Radlov, Wörterbuch, s.v.

’ Kogutei, Introduction, pp. 28, 31; but according to Dmitrêv {Kogutei, loc. cit.}, even the ko^ikon were already losing their strictly metrical form in Radlov’s time.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

skat^ka \ in which themes and motifs commonly found in folk-tales are interspersed with heroic episodes, and related in the style of heroicnbsp;poetry. We find the same type of hero as in the poems of the Abakannbsp;Group, and he performs much the same type of exploit; there is thenbsp;same close connection between the hero and his horse; the same stress isnbsp;laid on the colour of the horse, and here also there is the same conventionnbsp;of attaching the horse, specifying its colour, to the name of a hero as anbsp;surname. We have the same descriptions of battles, and the mightynbsp;races of heroes on their trusty steeds; the same feast with meat andnbsp;vodka. The style is similar to that of Yakut poetry, especially thenbsp;liberal use of alliteration and parallelism, and the literary conventionsnbsp;are also similar. We have a similar presentation of the soul; and the samenbsp;picture of the ‘endless summer’ enfolding the Altai, in which the heronbsp;ends his days at the close of his adventures; the same monster birdnbsp;Kerede; the same love of the cuckoo, the welcome harbinger of springnbsp;alike on the Altai and the northern steppe. The action and the heroes,nbsp;however, are in general the same as those found in Mongolian literature.nbsp;Kogutei has little in common with the literature of the western Turks;nbsp;but it has so much in common with the narrative poems and the ska^kinbsp;of the eastern Turks, the Yakut, and the Mongols, that it sometimesnbsp;seems, as Dmitrev observes, as if the oral traditions of all these peoplesnbsp;formed one big ska^^ka}

In the stories which we are studying, no insurmountable barrier exists between man’s material environment and the spirit world.^ Heronbsp;and heroine transport themselves from earth to the Heavens or thenbsp;Underworld without apparent difficulty. For this purpose a certainnbsp;technique must be observed. A hero must be conducted to the Underworld by a shamanka, or must follow on the tracks of Dshalmaus, or benbsp;conducted thither on a steed of special spiritual gifts—but what Tatarnbsp;horse is not possessed of such gifts? A heroine must adopt the form ofnbsp;a bird and fly aloft singing; but few Tatar heroines have failed tonbsp;acquire this accomplishment. In general the transitions from thenbsp;natural to the supernatural take place simply and as a matter of course,nbsp;with no elaborate preparation. And this is not surprising; for thenbsp;Heavens and the Underworld are peopled by beings as material as the

’ Kogutei, p. 35 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Loe. cit.

3 The spiritual character of the motifs which underlie these narratives of entertainment has been more fully demonstrated by N. K. Chadwick in a paper on ‘The Spiritual Ideas and Experiences of the Tatars of Central Asia’, in J.R.A.I. i.y.Ninbsp;(1936), P- 291 ff-

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;IO3

heroes and the heroines who visit them, and subject to the same emotions as themselves. The realm of Erlik differs little from many of the lamaist monasteries, with their fearsome and materialistic representations of punishment and dissolution; the realm of Heaven, at least onnbsp;its lower planes, offers much with which the men and women of thenbsp;poems were perfectly familiar in the tents of their own khans.

Let us look for a moment at the jajan who form a community living on one of these lower Heavenly planes. This community is by no meansnbsp;always at unity. Theyt^a« are addicted to gambling, and are prone tonbsp;strive for precedence in a manner little calculated to inspire the respectnbsp;of mortals, who, however, must treat them with formal deference. Innbsp;the Sagai poem of Tarba Kindshi, a minor jajuchi lays a wager with anbsp;major jajuchi that the hero, Tarba Kindshi himself, who was creatednbsp;by the former, will overcome a hero created by the latter, and thatnbsp;Tarba Kindshi’s horse will outleap the ‘bird of God’, i.e. doubtless thenbsp;horse of the latter hero. The hero’s victory ensures the exaltation of thenbsp;minor jajuchi over his superior, a triumph which appears to be shared bynbsp;his fellowycyara. We may interpret the incident as a humorous treatmentnbsp;of a revolt of the minor orders of Heaven against the deity, or of thenbsp;subordinate orders of some kind of monastic or ‘ecclesiastical’ organisation against their superior. In the poem Altyn Argäk from the Shornbsp;Tatars, theyeyara are again shown to us laying a wager that the horsenbsp;created by the ‘ninejajan will outstrip the hero’s horse, the creation ofnbsp;a single jajuchi. In this instance, however, the creation of the singlenbsp;jajuchi is successful, and his prestige strengthened. Sometimes suchnbsp;contests take place between the heroes themselves and the jajan. Thenbsp;Sagai poem Ai Mergän and Altyn Kus relates how a certain hero Kattannbsp;Khan challenges the jajan to a contest of power, but in this instance thenbsp;hero is defeated.

The establishment of the jajan is kept up in some state, and certain ceremonial observances are required of those who seek audience withnbsp;them, much like the great potentates of the steppe who were visited bynbsp;Pian de Carpini and Friar Rubruck, in the thirteenth century, and bynbsp;the Russian embassies in the seventeenth. When they desire to speaknbsp;with Tarba Kindshi, they write a letter which falls down from Heavennbsp;through the smoke hole of his yurt., and which summons him to theirnbsp;presence. The hero’s horse grows wings and transports him throughnbsp;three regions of Heaven till they reach the land of the ‘nine jajan whichnbsp;is said to be thickly populated. The hero opens the door and enters thenbsp;dwelling of the jajan, bowing low, his cap under his arm; but the jajan

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

are well versed in the behaviour traditionally associated with the great, and ignore his presence all day. In the evening they deign to notice him,nbsp;and tell him of the wager which they have laid, and to which we havenbsp;already referred. This scene, which humorously and realisticallynbsp;represents the jajan in the character of haughty tyrants, and undignifiednbsp;and emulous gamblers, is one of the most intimate pictures of Tatarnbsp;‘high life’ with which the poems present us. It is the more remarkablenbsp;that when eventually they dismiss Tarba Kindshi with the rewardnbsp;which his services have deserved at their hands, their parting injunctionsnbsp;to him are that he shall

Commit no sins, no cruelties. Slay no men.'

Cruelty and wanton destruction of life are no part of the standards of heroism on the Steppe.

Yet despite their realism and their concrete character—qualities which are inseparable from a literature of entertainment—it is impossiblenbsp;to doubt that the stories which we have been considering are in the mainnbsp;spiritual adventures. When Tarba Kindshi returns from a visit to thenbsp;realm of Erlik Khan he must bathe himself in a ‘golden lake’ andnbsp;fumigate himself with wild thyme’ to remove the stench of mortalitynbsp;contracted in the realm of the dead, and at once

The smell of the Aina disappeared.

The smell of the world of daylight suffused him.

When the same hero returns to earth from the abode of the jajan^ he descends through three regions of Heaven, and alights on the ridge ofnbsp;the Altai. The uncorporeal nature of his adventures is well illustratednbsp;by his own words when aroused from a deep sleep by the piping ofnbsp;an old woman:

Ah, when you piped.

Ere I had passed six mountain ridges, I awoke.

His soul, which has been absent from his body during sleep, is recalled to the empty form by the piping of the old woman and her assistants.

‘ We may compare the merciful injunctions given by the ‘nine sons’ of the old ‘father shaman’ to the young shaman at his consecration ceremony among thenbsp;Buryat as recorded by Agapitov and Khangalov; see Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lxvinbsp;(1936), p. 88.

’ We may compare the procedure of the early Japanese hero Izanagi, who bathes and cleanses himself after visiting his dead wife in the Underworld, Kojiki,nbsp;p. 34ff.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I05

Among the adventures of the mind with which these stories are largely occupied perhaps the commonest are the long journeys. Butnbsp;these are not, in general, journeys on earth. More often they arenbsp;journeys in any other element—in the air, in the water, under the earth.nbsp;The last are far the commonest, though a considerable number ofnbsp;journeys are made through the air, and up to the various Heavens. Thenbsp;journeys are most commonly made by the heroes and heroines themselves, though sometimes they are made by their horses on theirnbsp;behalf. These journeys are sometimes undertaken by the wish of thenbsp;hero or heroine, but are often forced on them by some enemy who isnbsp;pursuing them, generally by supernatural means. When the journeysnbsp;are undertaken voluntarily, it is frequently to seek something lost, itnbsp;may be stolen herds, or runaway slaves, or parents or other relatives whonbsp;have been carried off in a plundering raid by an enemy. Most often thenbsp;journeys to the Heavens are undertaken, either to seek the water of lifenbsp;and the herbs of healing, or else a wife from among the maidens who arenbsp;under the guardianship of the Heavenly beings, the jajan. The journeysnbsp;underground are most commonly taken to rescue the soul, or the head, ofnbsp;a brother or sister, or it may be some other near relative who has beennbsp;carried to Erlik’s gloomy realm by some hag or monster, the demons ofnbsp;the Underworld, or their emissaries. These journeys to the Underworldnbsp;to rescue the souls of the dead are perhaps the commonest of all thenbsp;themes in our poems, as they are certainly among the most interesting.nbsp;In such cases the hero is generally involved in a conflict with the demonnbsp;or supernatural enemy who has carried off the soul which the hero isnbsp;seeking to rescue. And here again it is perfectly clear that the conflictnbsp;is a spiritual one, and takes place in the spirit, rather than the materialnbsp;world.

The poems, indeed, reflect the ideas and beliefs traditionally associated with shamanism. The hero and his pursuer take just such flights throughnbsp;the realms of nature and through the various elements as those takennbsp;by the Siberian shamans in their search for an absent soul. Like anbsp;shaman Saryg Khan calls to his aid the creatures supreme in the variousnbsp;kingdoms of nature; like a shaman he scrutinises the sun and moon innbsp;his mirror; and like a shaman he runs through the list of stars, herbs,nbsp;and roots in his endeavour to find the lost tracks. The whole story ofnbsp;his pursuit of the hero Altyn Pyrkan relates the typical procedure of anbsp;shaman searching for an absent soul. The contest for superiority in thenbsp;practice of magic, conjuring, or hypnotic power which takes place innbsp;the friendly rivalry between Kara Tygan Khan and Suksagal Khan is

I06 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

undoubtedly based on a shamanistic contest. The arrow shot from a distance by Chas Mökö is reminiscent of some such custom as that ofnbsp;shamans who are said to hurl missiles at one another from great distances,nbsp;‘sometimes hundreds of miles’.' The journeys of heroes to Heaven andnbsp;the Underworld to visit the spiritual beings who dwell there correspondnbsp;in all particulars with the ceremonial visits of the shamans of the Altainbsp;Tatars and of the Yakut to the abode of the God Ulgen who dwells innbsp;the highest Heaven,’ which will be discussed more fully in Chapter viinbsp;below.

Perhaps the most striking feature of the poems is their preoccupation with marriage. The marriage of the hero forms the climax in mostnbsp;cases. Even apart from this the feminine interest is very stronglynbsp;represented throughout the poems. The dénouement is very frequentlynbsp;brought about by women, and they are undoubtedly more gifted, bothnbsp;intellectually and spiritually, than their husbands and brothers. One isnbsp;led to suspect that the poems may have passed at some time through anbsp;feminine milieu, if they have not actually been composed by women.nbsp;In this connection it is interesting to note that in the texts before usnbsp;women are frequently spoken of as singing. Among the Yakut and thenbsp;Tungus, the composition and recitation of poetry is still largely annbsp;accomplishment of the women.

Non-heroic sagas are numerous and widespread among the Tatars as a whole, though in general it will be found that their distribution is uneven.nbsp;Where a large and flourishing body of narrative poetry exists, prose saganbsp;appears to be either lacking altogether, or at least very scarce. We havenbsp;hardly any saga recorded from the Abakan Tatars,^ while from thenbsp;northern Tatars and the Kazak a varied and extensive body of saga hasnbsp;been recorded. These sagas fall naturally into a number of more or lessnbsp;clearly defined classes, some of which correspond closely in their subject-matter and style to the non-heroic poetry already considered, whilenbsp;others appear to be quite independent, and to have originated in anbsp;different milieu. Variant versions of a single theme are frequently found

' The expression is probably a figurative one. For a discussion as to its significance, see Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lxvi (1936), p. 89.

’ For other names of the deity occupying the highest Heaven, see p. 83 above.

3 Due allowance must, of course, be made for the fact that no collections have been accessible to us except Radlov’s Proben. In Katanov’s collection of oralnbsp;literature from the Abakan Tatars a considerable number of prose texts are given,nbsp;but they are very brief, and can hardly be classed as saga in the literary sense.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;IO7

in more than one group of the Tatar peoples. It will therefore be convenient in this chapter to group the non-heroic sagas, not accordingnbsp;to their geographical distribution, but according to their subjectmatter.

The first group is very widespread, and constitutes the principal class of saga of entertainment among the Tatars. In these sagas thenbsp;supernatural plays a large part, and the heroes excel in spiritual, especially magical and shamanistic gifts, rather than as military champions.nbsp;The affinities of these sagas lie for the most part with the Abakan andnbsp;the Altai poems, to some of which they offer variant prose versions. Asnbsp;in the latter, they relate to heroes who are not known from historicalnbsp;sources, at least from such sources as are known to us. In general theynbsp;show in their style strong poetical influence, and a considerable proportion of poetry is generally interspersed in the narrative. Sometimesnbsp;the poetry even predominates over the prose, though the actual threadnbsp;of the narrative is still prose. Moral and didactic elements are whollynbsp;lacking. Intellectual gifts are highly prized, and cunning and wisdomnbsp;and mantic and magical power are the qualities most admired in bothnbsp;men and women. In these gifts the women are generally regarded asnbsp;superior to the men.

One of the most interesting types of non-heroic saga is that which consists of a contest between two heroes as to which possesses thenbsp;greater knowledge and mantic power. The knowledge may be naturalnbsp;or supernatural, but the two are rarely clearly distinguished from onenbsp;another or divorced from supernatural gifts or power. In the story ofnbsp;The Two Princes^ from the Tatars of the Altai a certain prince namednbsp;Altyn Chächän is represented as challenging a rival prince, Järännbsp;Chächän, to a contest:

“Let us not fight and slay one another, but let us propound riddles. If you can solve them all I will give myself up to you with all my people.nbsp;If you cannot solve them all, I will take your people.”

The challenge is accepted, the princes meet and feast and give themselves up to riddles:

The stars of Heaven they enumerated. The fish of the sea they enumerated.nbsp;The flowers of the earth they enumerated,nbsp;The people of the earth they enumerated.nbsp;The trees shone upon by the moon they enumerated.nbsp;The stones shone upon by the sun they enumerated.

’ Proben I, p. lÿyff.

IO8 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Altyn Chächän knows three times more than Järän Chächän, and so gains the victory over him; but he is himself defeated in a subsequentnbsp;riddle contest by the daughter-in-law of Järän Chächän, who knowsnbsp;seven times more than he, and the defeated Altyn Chächän is accordinglynbsp;buried in a deep pit, and all his people are carried off by his victoriousnbsp;rivals? We have seen that chächän {jajan} are divine beings who dwellnbsp;in Heaven, and who are full of wisdom and supernatural knowledge.nbsp;The word Altyn^ ‘golden’, is commonly used of divine beings in thesenbsp;poems, while the word Järän seems to be connected with the word fornbsp;‘earth’. The contest is, therefore, probably a shamanistic contest,nbsp;between a human and a divine sage, or person of shamanistic character,nbsp;in which the shamans, human and divine alike, are defeated by thenbsp;supernatural gifts of a shamanka. The story may well be a humorousnbsp;treatment of a serious theme, such as we have seen to be common innbsp;stories of the jajan among the Abakan Tatars.

Another story in which the shamanistic contest figures prominently is Ak Köhök. This extremely interesting story occurs in several versions,nbsp;and has been recorded from the Teleut, the Baraba Tatars, and thenbsp;Kurdak tribes. The form is that of mingled prose and verse, but in allnbsp;versions the proportion of verse to prose is unusually high. In thenbsp;Teleut version^ the connecting thread of the narrative, which is innbsp;prose, relates the achievements of the hero Ak Köbök, both in magic andnbsp;warfare, and his revenge and overthrow of the heroes Mangyt andnbsp;Ködön Pi. Ak Köbök is represented as a brave champion, but hisnbsp;victories are all won by his supreme skill in magic, and although he isnbsp;said to engage in warfare, his single combats are fought out, not on thenbsp;field of battle, but in private, and by competitive efforts in destructivenbsp;magic. His power over the weather is a salient feature of this magic,nbsp;and his power of producing intense frost recalls Teutonic magicalnbsp;tradition.^ He is also represented as engaging his companions and hisnbsp;enemies in riddle contests. The narrative element in this version is verynbsp;slight, hardly more than a series of links to the songs. From the Baraba

* Capital punishment is sometimes the penalty of defeat in contests of wisdom between sages in Sanskrit literature. See Vol. n, pp. 5O4f. and 584 of the presentnbsp;work.

’ Proben I, p. 224.

3 We may refer to the snow-storm produced by Thorsteinn at the court of King Geirröör in the Norse Saga af Thorsteini Bcejarmagni, and to the proficiency of thenbsp;people of East Prussia in the art of producing artificial freezing as reported bynbsp;Wulfstan in the account Inserted by King Alfred the Great into his translation ofnbsp;Orosius’ History of the Wtirld, though the reference here is not to a Teutonic people.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;IO9

and Kurdak versions, however, it would seem that the narrative element has once been much greater, and has apparently been forgotten ornbsp;curtailed, while the songs have remained; for in both those versions thenbsp;prose narrative is much more fully developed than in the Teleutnbsp;version, and one brief passage in the Baraba version consists of narrativenbsp;poetry.'

An important group of non-heroic sagas is one in which the hero takes a journey to the Underworld. Some of these stories have pointsnbsp;of resemblance with Er Töshtük, while some are actually variants ofnbsp;this story. Important examples of the latter are the Kazak saga of Khannbsp;Shentäi^ and the saga of Jirtüshlük from the northern (Tyumen andnbsp;Yalutrowsk) Tatars. A somewhat detailed account of both sagas isnbsp;given here, partly because of the interest of the story for its own sake,nbsp;and partly because we shall have occasion to refer to them again in somenbsp;detail in the chapter on the Texts.

The saga of Khan ShentaV- opens with the theft of the herds of the wealthy and aged hero, Karys Kara, at the hands of the three Karanbsp;Bagys brothers. Karys Kara sets off in pursuit, but is soon overpowered by the robbers and buried alive in a deep pit. Meanwhile hisnbsp;aged wife bears him a son, who at an early age succeeds in rescuing hisnbsp;father, and then sets off to track his stolen cattle. Before long he comesnbsp;upon an old woman in a deep cavern, the mother of the three robbers ofnbsp;whom he is in search, and by whom he is adopted as a son. He overcomes the robbers in wrestling, and then lives on friendly terms withnbsp;them, taking the name Khan Shentäi. Presently he sets off to seek fornbsp;himself as a wife the daughter of a distant prince named Aina Khan,nbsp;who, like Brynhildr, lives behind a barrier of fire.

After various adventures, the hero, like Sigurör, rides through the fire, and wins the maiden in a competition in horse-racing and wrestling,nbsp;in which he takes part in the guise of a beggar. An interesting part isnbsp;here played by a wise maiden, Synshy Sary Kus, who advises the heroinenbsp;throughout, and ultimately succeeds in identifying the hero. In annbsp;interesting speech (p. 313) which makes it clear that she is speakingnbsp;through clairvoyance, she recites the names of a catalogue of heroes,nbsp;rejecting each in turn, till she comes upon that of Khan Shentäi. He,nbsp;she declares, is the hero, and to prove her words and the authenticitynbsp;of her right to pronounce, she bids him take the form of a blue dove,nbsp;then of a hawk, and finally of a hero of surpassing beauty. The speechnbsp;bears a close resemblance to the catalogue which enumerates the heroinesnbsp;’ Proben IV, p. 68.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. Ill, p. 297 fï.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

of the world visited by Kara Chach in seeking a wife suitable for the hero Bolot? It is instructive to find the catalogue form associatednbsp;constantly with mantic persons.

In due course Khan Shentäi’s three adopted brothers come out to meet him and welcome his bride, and Khan Shentäi bids them conductnbsp;her to his home while he sets out on a fresh journey. He instructs themnbsp;to pause for the night in the place which he indicates by drawing a circle ;nbsp;but where he draws a long line they must pass on, and he adds that henbsp;will know if they are faring well. This is the first clear indication thatnbsp;Khan Shentäi possesses supernatural powers. As the bridal partynbsp;pursue their course they are seized and swallowed by a certain hero,nbsp;Kara Tün, who is also called a dshalmaus, and who dwells below thenbsp;earth. The narrative is not very clear at this point, but it suggests thatnbsp;Kara Tün has previously desired the daughter of Aina Khan for himself,nbsp;but has been afraid to take her by force. Now in the absence of Khannbsp;Shentäi he seizes the whole party save the three brothers, and disappearsnbsp;with them into the earth. In their endeavour to save the maiden thenbsp;three brothers lose their hands and feet, and in this condition they arenbsp;found by Khan Shentäi, who returns in consequence of an evil dream.

The hero now descends under the earth by means of a rope, leaving his ‘brothers’ in charge of the upper end of the rope. Presently henbsp;comes to a great house in which lies the seven-headed dshalmaus fastnbsp;asleep, while the hero’s wife sits mourning at his side. A terrible fightnbsp;ensues, and Khan Shentäi must inevitably have perished but for thenbsp;timely help of Kydyr, who appears in the form of a white-bearded man,nbsp;and slays the dshalmaus with his iron staff, and ‘ takes his soul ’, whereupon Khan Shentäi cuts open his body and releases all the people whomnbsp;he has swallowed. He now shakes the rope, and would have returnednbsp;to the upper air; but his brothers are unable to raise him and all thenbsp;people whom he now has in his train, and the entire party are forcednbsp;to remain beneath the earth.

Time passes, and one day the hero slays a dragon which has climbed a tree and is about to devour three nestlings. The nestlings help the heronbsp;to climb the tree, and the mother bird, whose name is Kara Kus,^nbsp;promises out of gratitude that she will carry the hero, together with hisnbsp;wife and all his possessions, back to earth, if he will supply her withnbsp;food on the journey. Accordingly they set out, and when the birdnbsp;has devoured all the meat provided, and still requires food, Khannbsp;Shentäi cuts a piece from his own thigh, and on the strength of this thenbsp;’ Proben V, p. 525, 1. 5193 ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Literally, ‘Black bird’.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

III

bird carries him and all his party safely to earth. She then spits out the piece of his thigh, which adheres; and she also swallows his threenbsp;wounded ‘brothers’ and spits them out whole and sound. Khannbsp;Shentäi with all his following sets out towards his old home, and afternbsp;various incidents, which are referred to only briefly, he is united oncenbsp;more to his aged parents, and rules as a prince till the day of his death.

The saga of Jirtüshlülä opens with an account of a wealthy prince and his seven sons who desire to marry. The prince eventually finds sevennbsp;sisters, the youngest of whom is endowed with second sight or exceptional discernment. As his suit is pleasing to the girls’ parents, thenbsp;prince brings his six eldest sons to fetch their wives, leaving thenbsp;youngest son at home in charge of his estate, and promising to bringnbsp;his wife. The arrangement is not pleasing to the youngest maiden ; but anbsp;‘childless’’ old woman tells her that her destined bridegroom is superiornbsp;to all his brothers, and advises her, as she is her father’s favouritenbsp;daughter, to beg from him at parting the steed Chai Kuiruk, who livesnbsp;under seven regions of earth, and under whose liver lies a diamondnbsp;sword. The maiden follows her advice, and the father grants her thenbsp;steed and all his possessions, though he afterwards regrets his generosity,nbsp;and follows the bridal party and begs back two-thirds of his herds fromnbsp;his daughter. The dialogue which takes place between them delays thenbsp;bride, and the bridal party are obliged in consequence to spend thenbsp;night at a spot against which her father has warned them. At night anbsp;dragon comes and threatens to swallow the prince, and in order to savenbsp;themselves he and his six sons promise to deliver Jirtüshlük to him. Onnbsp;learning what has taken place the hero departs to find the dragon, andnbsp;his bride at parting presents him appropriately with Chai Kuiruk.

The dragon takes him down through a hole in the earth, and here they pass through a host of dragons, and come to a town in the midstnbsp;of which is the house of the princely master of his dragon convoy. Whennbsp;the hero enters he sees a little white snake coiled up in a corner, andnbsp;presently many men enter and address him as ‘bridegroom’, and havingnbsp;prepared a bridal bed, and summoned a mullah who formally marriesnbsp;him to the snake, they all withdraw. He eats the food provided, andnbsp;finally falls asleep. When he awakens the snake has become a lovelynbsp;maiden. In the morning her father bids Jirtüshlük bring some preciousnbsp;bones from a lake, wherewith to build himself a house. On his way henbsp;comes upon a hideous woman in an earthen hut, who warns him on nonbsp;account to look back when once the bones are in his possession, and bynbsp;' Proben IV, p. 443 ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Cf. p. 96 above.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

following her advice he succeeds in bringing home the bones and building a house in which to live with his bride. Numerous othernbsp;heavy and dangerous tasks are laid upon him by his exacting father-in-law, all of which he discharges successfully with the old woman’snbsp;helpful advice. In the course of these adventures he procures fornbsp;himself a second wife.

When he comes to the end of his tasks, his father-in-law tells him that the reason why he sent the dragon to bring him to the Underworldnbsp;is because they have been beset by many foes and unable to live in peacenbsp;till the hero should overcome them. Now that they can be at peace henbsp;allows Jirtüshlük to return through a hole in the ground, or a cave, tonbsp;his own home in the world above, taking his two wives with him.nbsp;Before reaching home one of his two wives is twice stolen, but he isnbsp;able to rescue her. Then as they are passing the night on the edge of anbsp;lake, a water spirit raises a great flood which separates her a third timenbsp;from Jirtüshlük. She is washed up in a land belonging to a wealthynbsp;lord who makes her his wife ; but she is ultimately restored to her truenbsp;husband once more by the ministration of two doves. Finally the heronbsp;is reunited to his first wife Kendshäkäwhom he has been forced to leavenbsp;on the eve of their marriage, and he himself comes into possession of thenbsp;khanate, and settles down happily with his three wives. The relationshipnbsp;of this story to that of Khan Shentäi, and of both to the Kara-Kirghiznbsp;poem of Et Töshtük will be discussed in the chapter on ‘The Texts’.

The saga of Mishäk from the northern Tatars relates how the hero, Mishäk Alyp himself, undertakes three different enterprises of anbsp;supernatural character at the command of Kara Khan. His secondnbsp;adventure is a slight variant of the Kara-Kirghiz story of Er Töshtük,nbsp;and in the third adventure also the same story is continued. Herenbsp;Mishäk Alyp seeks the hand of a princess for Kara Khan, and is carriednbsp;to the spot by a grateful parent bird, exactly as Er Töshtük is carried tonbsp;earth. Kara Khan omits to reward Mishäk Alyp, and comes to a sadnbsp;end in consequence, and the story ends on a cautionary note. The motifnbsp;of the second part—the killing of the snake, and the rescue of thenbsp;nestlings—appears to be a common motif, since it appears again in thenbsp;first part of a saga entitled The Prince’s Sank

We now come to a series of sagas whose affinities, both in style and content, lie with the Abakan poems. The Kazak saga of Erkäm Aidar’’nbsp;’ Proben IV, p. 26 ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 115 ff.

3 lb. in, p. 321 ff.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;II3

relates the attempts of a sister, Naran Sulu, to rid herself of her brother, the hero Erkäm Aidar, who is opposed to her marriage with Usun Sarynbsp;Alyp. To this end she feigns sickness, and sends her devoted brother onnbsp;long and difficult journeys to obtain medicines for her. The brothernbsp;fulfils all her requests with the help of three wise maidens; but eachnbsp;time, as he pauses on his homeward journey, the eldest of the sistersnbsp;takes from his bag the ‘medicine’ which he has procured, and substitutesnbsp;a counterfeit in its place. When he finally returns to Naran Sulu, he isnbsp;slain by her lover; but his horse, true to Tatar ideals, saves his master bynbsp;galloping for the three sisters, who restore him to life by means of thenbsp;medicines which they have taken out of his bag. Ultimately the heronbsp;slays Naran Sulu and her lover, and marries the three wise sisters.

Owing to lack of space it will not be possible to do more than mention one or two more examples of the sagas of this kind. Kadyshnbsp;Märgän^ from the Baraba Tatars is a strange rambling tale of adventure.nbsp;The first part relates how the hero slays three Jelbägän and carries offnbsp;their wives to become wives to himself and to his brothers. Thenbsp;second incident in the story relates how Kadysh Märgän is wounded bynbsp;his treacherous brothers, and how he is healed by eating a root which henbsp;has observed some mice using as a balsam. Then follows a weird episodenbsp;in which the hero and two ‘half men’ are restored to youth and healthnbsp;by an old giantess. Finally the hero takes vengeance on his wickednbsp;brothers and rules happily ever after.

Altain Sain Sümä, Jästäi Möngkö and Kara Kököl^ also from the Baraba Tatars, are again stories of marvellous adventures. The first’nbsp;relates how the hero wins the daughter of a prince as a reward of prowessnbsp;and of feats of supernatural skill. The second 3 is divided into two parts.nbsp;The first part relates how Jästäi Möngkö wins a wife for himself innbsp;consequence of a service which he has once performed for an animal—nbsp;a common theme in Tatar stories (see p. 99 above). The second partnbsp;narrates how the hero on two different adventures slays Jelbägän andnbsp;the hero Jär Kara Alyp,'* and obtains a wife for a shepherd. He himselfnbsp;becomes a prince and the shepherd his vizier. Kara Kököl, of which wenbsp;possess two versions,5 is also the story of a hero who, by prowess andnbsp;cunning, overcomes his enemies, the three Jelbägän brothers amongstnbsp;others, and wins two princesses as his brides. As in the Abakan poems,nbsp;he then returns home, avenges all his wrongs on his enemies, and

“ Proben iv, p. yiff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 89fF.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Ib. p. 99®.

“• The name doubtless indicates a ‘black shaman*. Jär, ‘earth’; kara, ‘black*.

3 Proben IV, pp. 81 ff., 109 ff.

CLÜi

8

II4

finally becomes a prince. In this story, as in the other two, supernatural elements and shape-changing play a large part.

It will be seen that the resemblance between these sagas and the poems of the Abakan group is very close. The form is that of a disjunctnbsp;series of adventures with a neat rounding off, generally effected bynbsp;marriage. In both the supernatural plays a large part, and the intellectualnbsp;rôle is generally filled by women, who figure prominently throughout.nbsp;The diction resembles that of the Abakan poems in the love of staticnbsp;formulae and repetitions, many of which are indeed identical with thosenbsp;which occur in the latter.

The sagas of the next group present a striking contrast, both in form and style, to those which we have been discussing. They relate for thenbsp;most part to well-known historical characters—the heroes of history innbsp;fact. They are told in a simple and direct style—what we may call thenbsp;chronicle style—and appear to be wholly free from the influence ofnbsp;poetry. They are often so brief as to be mere anecdotes, such as Kuchumnbsp;Khans Flight^ or Igi Seid Mirgän'^ others again are obviously summaries, such as the Kurdak version of the story of Ermakdgt;

The form of this group of sagas is generally that of mingled prose and verse, or of prose narrative interspersed with poetry, which wenbsp;have seen to be characteristic of the Kazaks and the northern Tatars,nbsp;though pure prose examples are common also. Post-heroic elements arenbsp;prominent, and learned or foreign influence is to be suspected, thoughnbsp;in general it is not very apparent. Very frequently a moral is inculcated,nbsp;or some point of practical wisdom is emphasised, and it happens thusnbsp;that stories of great and warlike heroes reach us sometimes through anbsp;non-heroic milieu. A striking example is the story of Timur the Lamenbsp;(Tamerlane) from the Tobol Tatars,'* which is a story of the triumphnbsp;of brains over physical fitness. In this saga the great conqueror isnbsp;represented as winning his chieftainship by a cunning trick, and asnbsp;desisting from attacking the Tsar Ivan Vasilevich through fear. Thenbsp;reference to the great prestige of Russia at the conclusion suggests thatnbsp;the story may have reached us in a sophisticated form.

Abylai Khan is another figure around whose name non-heroic stories have collected. In a little Kazak anecdote, which appears to have beennbsp;narrated to illustrate his love of candour, he is represented as rewardingnbsp;with extravagant generosity a boy who has the courage to tell him annbsp;unpalatable truth.5 Another story about the same hero, also from thenbsp;' Proben IV, p. ^ióf.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ lb. p. lySf.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Ib. p. 179f.

lb. p. 307 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 nij p. g^f.

NON-HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;II5

Kazaks, relates how, in fleeing from his enemy, Kasy Bek, he effectively stops his pursuers by leaving behind him a kettle full of food. The ruse isnbsp;said to have been suggested by his wife.’ The traditions of Ermak whichnbsp;are so numerous in western Siberia, and are doubtless in part the resultnbsp;of antiquarian speculation, represent the great hero as conqueringnbsp;Siberia, not by prowess in arms, but by a trick. We shall refer to thesenbsp;traditions more fully in connection with ‘Antiquarian Speculation’. Itnbsp;may be added here that many of the sagas relating to unknownnbsp;individuals are markedly non-heroic in character.

In conclusion reference may be made to an interesting and unusual type of saga recorded from the Altai under the title of The Ironnbsp;Mountains.^ The story relates how the army of an Oirot prince is foilednbsp;in its efforts to conquer the land beyond the ‘Iron Mountains’, and isnbsp;finally bought off with an offering of tribute and treasure by the peace-loving and wealthy inhabitants, and the narrative concludes with anbsp;clear confession from the Oirot khan that he feels himself unequal to anbsp;contest with people so rich in wealth, so advanced in culture, and sonbsp;mighty.—“What manner of men will fight with such people.'’ Who willnbsp;make war on them without being afraidi’ Remain here; these are thenbsp;only people whom the Oirot fear.”^ The saga contains no names ofnbsp;persons, but the people of the Altai are accustomed to refer to themselves as ‘ Oirot’,“* and it is most probable that the term here has referencenbsp;to them, rather than to the Mongolian people usually designated ‘ Oirot’nbsp;by ethnologists. The people ‘beyond the Iron Mountains’ are probablynbsp;the inhabitants of Turkestan.

Non-heroic poetry other than narrative is chiefly represented by a number of poems recorded from the recitation of the shaman duringnbsp;the ceremonies in which he offers the annual tribal sacrifice to Bainbsp;Ulgen, and on other occasions. In some of these he recites poemsnbsp;mimetically which purport to be spoken by various beings, both naturalnbsp;and supernatural. The whole constitutes a kind of religious drama, ornbsp;ballet, though, of course, practically the entire performance is executednbsp;by the shaman himself. Unfortunately we possess the actual text ofnbsp;only a few of the many poems or speeches in character recited by thenbsp;shaman on these occasions, though our information is much fuller innbsp;regard to their tenor, and to the circumstances and manner of his

’ Proben ill, p. 90 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Ib. I, p. I94ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 197.

See Dmitrêv, Introduction to Kogutei, p. 14.

8-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

recitation. We shall therefore give a fuller account of poetry of this kind in later chapters.

In conclusion it may be mentioned that a large number of non-heroic speech-poems are also found in the sagas. Some of these have alreadynbsp;been referred to from the Kazaks and from the western Tatars. Innbsp;particular we may mention the poems contained in the sagas of Âknbsp;Köbök and The Two Princes. Some of these poems are clearly manticnbsp;in character, and will be discussed in Chapter vi below. Other poemsnbsp;attributed to the sages are gnomic and descriptive in character, andnbsp;these also will be discussed later. There can be no doubt that in sagasnbsp;like Âk Köbök, many of the poems have been composed by the authornbsp;of the saga or others, and attributed to the sages, and it is at least doubtfulnbsp;if many of the poems were really composed by the people who arenbsp;represented as reciting them, for among all the Tatars the art ofnbsp;extempore composition seems to be more highly developed than thenbsp;art of memorisation.

One of the most interesting questions which arises from the nonheroic literature of the Tatars, and especially from the narratives recorded from the more eastern tribes, is the relationship of thisnbsp;literature to the ritual and tradition of the more civilised peoples ofnbsp;southern Asia. How, one wonders, does it come about that muchnbsp;of the mise-en-scène and the milieu depicted in these narratives recallsnbsp;so vividly the caverns utilised for Buddhist symbolism in Tibet today, those of Korea and Turkestan dating from the Uigur period, ofnbsp;Gandhara and Ajanta from the same period and even earlier.^ How cannbsp;we account for the reappearance of the themes and motifs of the Assyrian and Sumerian classics in the narratives of the shamanist Tatars.^nbsp;This is not the place in which to enter into difficult questions ofnbsp;origins ; but in view of the close affinities which undoubtedly existnbsp;between the traditions of northern and southern Asia, there can benbsp;no doubt that the non-heroic literature of the eastern Tatars in particular is by no means independent of southern influence.

CHAPTER V

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS IN HEROIC POETRY AND SAGA

NFORTUNATELYwe have not the means at our disposal of entering into a discussion of the historical value of the heroicnbsp;poems of the Tatars. Nothing is known of the individual heroesnbsp;of these Cycles from Western sources, and none of them has beennbsp;identified from Oriental records. The events which form the backgroundnbsp;of the Manas poems, and the characters themselves, have been attributednbsp;to a period before the eighteenth century.’ As the poems stand, thenbsp;internal evidence suggests that they attained their present form at anbsp;period when Russian prestige was rapidly gaining ground, that is tonbsp;say, during the latter half of the sixteenth and the early part of thenbsp;seventeenth centuries; but this date may be somewhat early. Radlovnbsp;regards the heroes themselves as mythical;^ but he sees in the religiousnbsp;animosities reflected in the poems echoes of the warfare and religiousnbsp;animosities raging during the eighteenth century between the Mohammedan Kirghiz and their Kalmuck and Chinese overlords, whom theynbsp;regard as heathen. Something has already been said on this subjectnbsp;(p. 77 above).

Though we cannot identify any of the personnel of the poems, a perusal of the Russian and other records relating for the most part tonbsp;the seventeenth century, and published recently by Baddeley, leaves onnbsp;the reader a general impression that the heroes of the Kara-Kirghiznbsp;epic poems belong to the Mongol world of this period. When we readnbsp;in the Manas Cycle of Kongyr Bai, the Chinese or Mongol prince, wenbsp;recall Khongor,3 a Kalmuck prince of the sixteenth century, who is saidnbsp;to be directly descended from a brother of Jenghiz Khan; and thenbsp;five sons of Khongor, known as the ‘five tigers’,'* recall the staticnbsp;epithet of Alaman Bet, ‘the tiger’, who, as we have seen, left thenbsp;Kalmucks to join himself to Manas and embrace Mohammedanism.nbsp;Manas himself we have not been able to identify. The part which henbsp;plays resembles that of the great Bogatyr,5 whose alternative name wasnbsp;' Radlov, Proben v, p. xif.; cf. Michell, p. loo; cf. ib. p. 98.

’ Loc. cit. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Baddeley i, Genealogical Table D.

“I Ib. loc. cit. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Ib. n, p. 30 fF.

Il8 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Buni, the great Oirot prince who played an important part in the difficult politics of Central Asia at the beginning of the seventeenthnbsp;century. So much for the ‘Sary-Nogai’ or the Oirot of the Manasnbsp;poems.

Of the Kara-Nogai of the poem Joloi we are equally unable to make any reliable identification, and equally tempted to suggest certainnbsp;possibilities. In particular it is tempting to see in the hero Bolot, Joloi’snbsp;son, one of the seven Bolots,’ sons of the great Dayan, who died innbsp;1543, after having raised the Mongol power to a height which it hadnbsp;never attained since the days of Tamerlane.^ The name of Bolot’snbsp;grandson Seitäk recalls the Seidak, descendant of Ediger, who gavenbsp;trouble to the Russians in the neighbourhood of Sibir, and wasnbsp;treacherously murdered by them towards the close of the same century,^nbsp;while that of Er Töshtük’s son Bir Biäk is identical with that of the sonnbsp;of the third of the Bolots mentioned above.'* Such identifications havenbsp;little value in themselves. The names in question, many of which have anbsp;definite meaning, may be common among the Mongols. But occurringnbsp;as they do on the royal lines of the Oirot and other Mongol (Kalmuck)nbsp;princes, and in the period to which our poems appear to have reference,nbsp;they seem to suggest that our poems belong to the same milieu. Butnbsp;this is as far as we can go. Even this evidence, however, slight as itnbsp;undoubtedly is, is important as seeming to suggest that the chief heroesnbsp;of our poems are not of Turkish, but of Mongol origin—a conclusionnbsp;to which, as we have seen, the internal evidence of the poems themselvesnbsp;also points. For an analogy to this celebration by the heroic poet ofnbsp;heroes of an alien stock, we may refer to the non-Greek names whichnbsp;occur in the line of Agamemnon.5 It is possible that among the Tatarnbsp;heroic poets, as among the Greek, the foreign origin of the heroes hasnbsp;come to be forgotten, though this is by no means certain.

One saga which we have seen (p. 52 ff. above) to be current among both the Kara-Kirghiz and the Altai tribes has preserved a detailednbsp;picture of the ruling family of Jungaria during the latter half of thenbsp;seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth centuries. The saganbsp;relates to the internal relations of this family among themselves, andnbsp;also their relations with their overlords, to whom they are tributary.nbsp;The outline of the saga, together with some variants, has been related

’ Baddeley, i, Genealogical Table A.

’ Ib. p. xlivf. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Ib. p. Ixxiff.

Ib. Genealogical Table B, and p. xlivf.

5 Cf. Vol. I, p. 194 f of the present work.

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS II9 above in the chapter on ‘Heroic Poetry and Saga’. There it was pointednbsp;out that motifs common to folk-tale, and to narrative heroic poetry,nbsp;have been introduced into the sagas; but of the historical foundationnbsp;of the stories there can be no doubt. A glance at the history of thenbsp;Oirot, or the Kalmucks of Jungaria at this period, will make this clear.’nbsp;The kongodoi^ kongdaijy or kongtaichi (‘ruler’) referred to in the firstnbsp;part of the Sagai Saga of Sunu Mattyr is Tse-wang Arabdan,’ the greatnbsp;Kalmuck nomad prince and ruler of Jungaria, who was murdered innbsp;17273 by his son Galdan Tseren—the Kaldan-Chärä mentioned in thenbsp;Teleut saga. By his first wife, Tse-wang Arabdan had a son Sununbsp;(Shünü); by his second wife, the daughter of the Torgut chief Ayukinbsp;(the Ajykku of the Teleut saga, though he is said there to be the unclenbsp;of Shünü), he had several sons, including Galdan Tseren (Kaldan-Chärä). One of his descendants was the Amyr Saran of our saga.“*nbsp;Considerable confusion exists with regard to the personal history of thenbsp;historical Sunu or Shünü. Baddeley makes no reference to him.nbsp;According to Howorth he distinguished himself in his father’s warsnbsp;against the Kazak-Kirghiz in 1723 and gained thereby the envy of hisnbsp;brother, from whose vengeance he escaped to the Volga. There henbsp;married, and died in 1732.5 According to Radlov, however, a notice isnbsp;said to have been received by the governor of Orenburg to the effectnbsp;that Sunu had raised a rebellion, in consequence of which the kongtaichinbsp;had had him bound so tightly that one of his shoulder blades was broken

’ For a brief outline of the events which form the background of these sagas and their variants, the reader is referred to Howorth, 1, p. 640 ff. ; Radlov, A.S.i,p. 161 if. ;nbsp;Michell, p. 169 ff. The official Chinese version is translated by Parker, C.R. xxni,nbsp;p. i4f. It appears to have been drawn up in 1763, and opens with the interestingnbsp;notice: “In pursuance of the emperor’s commands, the Great Officers of the Cabinetnbsp;Council took in hand the Dzungar Genealogies, and submitted ‘An imperiallynbsp;sanctioned sketch of the whole Dzungar nation.’ It runs as follows: ‘Fromnbsp;ancient times some account has also been given of all outer barbarians. But thenbsp;truth occurs as seldom as error happens frequently. Of course it is partly thenbsp;difficulty of getting into their country and of verbally communicating with themnbsp;which is responsible for the fact that we can only find out a percentage of what is tonbsp;be learnt.... Remembering that they (i.e. the Jungarians) were once a great nation,nbsp;and ought properly to be provided with a record, we have therefore availed ourselvesnbsp;of such facts as could be ascertained by personal investigation, and we now consignnbsp;these to paper, as some slight contribution to Geographical History.’ ’’

’For some further notices of this enlightened prince, see Baddeley i, p. clxxvii. 3 See li. Genealogical Table G.

The family relationships, and much of the family history, are given by Baddeley, loc. cit.

5 Howorth I, p. 649.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

and he could no longer draw the bow. Radlov adds that Shünü is said to have then fled to the Ayuki Khan. When the latter wished to delivernbsp;him up he fled to Petersburg. In 1740, under the title Karasakal, henbsp;raised a rebellion among the Bashkirs, and in 1745 he fled to the Kirghiz,nbsp;where he took upon himself the title of Kara Khan.' It is beside thenbsp;purpose of this book to sift the historical value of these variant accountsnbsp;—manifestly based on discrepancies in tradition, whether written ornbsp;oral. The name Sunu is not unknown elsewhere, and it is possible thatnbsp;mistaken identifications have taken place. It would seem, however,nbsp;that at the time to which our saga refers a historical character of thisnbsp;name, the son of the kongtaichi of Jungaria, was living, and that hisnbsp;career had much in common with that which oral tradition attributesnbsp;to him.

It is a curious fact, however, that Sunu should figure in a more distinguished rôle in saga than Amur-sana, though it must be confessed his saga is not a very convincing one. We have been struck by its similaritynbsp;in several points to the actual history of his grandfather Senga ornbsp;Senghe, the son and successor to the great Bogatyr (see above)nbsp;and brother of Galdan,’ the Jungarian chief who overran Central Asianbsp;towards the close of the seventeenth century. According to Kalmucknbsp;tradition^ Senghe, during a war against the Kazaks, caused to benbsp;murdered one Onchon, who is identified with some probability bynbsp;Howorth'* with the youngest5 of the five sons of Khana Noyon Khongor,nbsp;known as the ‘Five Tigers’. He also distinguished himself in war innbsp;Siberia, actually besieging the Russian town of Krasnoyarsk on thenbsp;Yenisei in 1667. He extended and consolidated the Kalmuck power®nbsp;which Bogatyr had established. His half-brothers, however, werenbsp;jealous of him, and attacked him several times, and eventually murderednbsp;him in 1671.7 It will be seen that the story has much in common withnbsp;our saga, and it seems to us not improbable that in oral tradition Sununbsp;has been confused with his grandfather Senghe, and that this confusionnbsp;has not been altogether rectified by Western historians. If this is so, itnbsp;is possible that in the story of Sunu’s prowess against the tiger we havenbsp;a reflection of the tradition which ascribes a similar feat to the great

’ A.S. I, p. 169.

’ For a brief notice of this chief, see Baddeley ii, p. 139, note.

3 See Howorth i, p. 621. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;¦gt; Ib. i, p. 621.

5 The name is given by Baddeley as Buyan Ochun Batur (i, Genealogical Table D).

® The Russians sent a mission to him under Kulvinski in 1667. See Ib. ii, p. 180. ’ Ib. II, p. 139, note. See also Parker, C.R. xxiii, p. 15.

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS

Bogatyr/ and which may have been transferred already in oral tradition to his son Senga. We may compare the confusion which seems to existnbsp;between Galdan Tseren, Sunu’s brother, and the great Galdan, brothernbsp;of the Senga in question? Such transference and confusion are notnbsp;unfamiliar to us in heroic traditions elsewhere, and are similar to whatnbsp;have taken place in Teutonic heroic literature. At the same time thenbsp;element of folk-tale is probably present. The whole story bears anbsp;suspicious resemblance to that related in the narrative poem of Sudainbsp;Märgän and Joltai Mär g an (see p. 96 f. above), and to the story ofnbsp;Kogutamp;i (cf. p. 99 ff. above).

Amur-sana,3 the Amyr Saran of our saga, is perhaps the most distinguished figure in the history of the Kalmucks. He succeeded Galdan Tseren, kongtaichi of Jungaria, who died in 1745, and extended thenbsp;Kalmuck power over the whole of Mongolia. Ultimately, however,nbsp;seeking to make himself independent of China, he was forced to fleenbsp;northwards to Siberia, and died in the neighbourhood of Tobolsk innbsp;1757. The Chinese emperor Kien-lung—the ‘Mongol Khan’ of thenbsp;saga—demanded the corpse. The demand was refused by the Russians,nbsp;but his remains were shown to the Chinese envoy that his death mightnbsp;be clearly ascertained.

It will be seen that the sagas which we have been considering relate to the Kalmuck princes who ruled the Jungars from the early years ofnbsp;the seventeenth century, from the death of the great Bogatyr, till thenbsp;middle of the eighteenth century. Allowing for the possible telescopingnbsp;of characters and events, notably of the two Galdans and of Senga andnbsp;Sunu, our sagas may be said to cover, with sparse and somewhatnbsp;disintegrated traditions, the period from the close of the second heroicnbsp;period of the Kalmucks, which ended with the death of Dayan in 1543,nbsp;to the destruction of the Jungarians by the Chinese in the middle of thenbsp;eighteenth century. We have already seen reason to believe that thenbsp;heroic poems themselves relate to the early part of this period, and tonbsp;the ruling princes of the same stock. If we are right in our identificationnbsp;of the milieu of the poems—there can be no doubt as to the substantialnbsp;historicity of the sagas—the oral literature of the Kara-Kirghiz in thenbsp;neighbourhood of Lake Issyk-Kul recorded by Radlov has preservednbsp;for three centuries in a Turkish dialect the historical traditions of thenbsp;Mongol (Kalmuck) rulers of Jungaria, whom they doubtless looked upnbsp;to as their overlords at this period.

’ See Ib. II, p. 30. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See e.g. Howorth i, p. 660.

3 See Baddeley i, Genealogical Table G; Howorth, loc. cit. See further p. 130 below.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

The historical existence of the Turkoman hero Kurroglou is vouched for by Chodzko’ who lived for many years among the Turkomans innbsp;northern Persia, and was well acquainted with their history and traditions.nbsp;The hero is said to have been a Turkoman Tuka and a native of Khoras-san, and to have lived in the second half of the seventeenth century. Henbsp;is further said to have built for himself a fort named Chamly-bill in thenbsp;valley of Salmas in the province of Aderbaidjan, the ruins of which cannbsp;still be seen. From this stronghold he was in the habit of plunderingnbsp;the caravans on the great commercial route from Persia to Turkey.nbsp;The memory of his deeds and songs is said to be carefully preserved bynbsp;the wandering Turkish tribes on the great steppe between the Euphratesnbsp;and the Merve river.

It may be added that traditions of the hero Kurroglou are known also from other sources. According to Valikhanov^ this ‘classicalnbsp;robber’ of the Turkomans figures also in Kazak ‘rhapsodies’.

How far the incidents related in this cycle represent historical events we do not know. We are not able to test the historical foundation of thenbsp;actual occurrences, and unfortunately Chodzko makes no pronouncement on this matter. It is a striking fact, however, that the cycle isnbsp;singularly free from elements which are manifestly unhistorical. Supernatural elements and magic are almost wholly absent. Exaggeration isnbsp;freely indulged in, but it is hardly for the most part of such a characternbsp;that the audience would be expected to accept it in a literal sense. Notnbsp;infrequently it is frankly humorous. It is also perhaps worth noting innbsp;regard to the fidelity of the traditions that the hero’s failures are recordednbsp;as well as his triumphs. When he is defeated by a merchant^ the incident isnbsp;related with frankness, and no attempt is made to gloze it over. The heronbsp;is, however, neither censured nor criticised by the narrator, thoughnbsp;he is represented as feeling ashamed of the incident himself.

In conclusion it may be mentioned that Yakut narrative poetry has apparently retained reliable traditions of a historical Yakut hero, thenbsp;great Djennik, who headed a disastrous revolt of his people on thenbsp;River Lena in the seventeenth century (cf. p. 43 above). Unfortunatelynbsp;none of this poerry has been accessible to us; but the preservation ofnbsp;traditions of this hero suggests that the historical element may be wellnbsp;preserved among these remoter Turkish peoples.

Of the vast amount of unhistorical elements in the poems there can be no doubt. These elements consist chiefly of exaggeration and super-' Chodzko, p. 3!.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Michell, p. 100.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Chodzko, p. i83ff.

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS I23 natural features. In regard to incidents and situations which are innbsp;conflict (a) with reliable historical evidence, or (^) with other heroicnbsp;stories, it has already been stated that our knowledge of the historynbsp;of the peoples in question is too limited to allow of our testing thenbsp;events of the stories by the former, while our variants of heroic storiesnbsp;are hardly extensive enough to allow of our re-establishing the originalnbsp;form of a given tradition. Some indication of the unhistorical elementsnbsp;which have entered into the stories of Ermak and of Sunu Mattyr havenbsp;already been given, however. It may be added here that in the narrativenbsp;poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz it is probable that a similar telescoping ofnbsp;historical periods and events has taken place, and that there has been,nbsp;in the course of oral transmission, a tendency to draw into the Manasnbsp;Cycle heroes, incidents, and allusions which belong properly to othernbsp;cycles, and perhaps to other periods.

The poems afford abundant examples of incidents and situations which are in themselves incredible. These may be said to consist ofnbsp;exaggeration, shape-changing, and supernatural elements of variousnbsp;kinds. These features are present in the narrative poetry of all thenbsp;Tatars, and are very common in the sagas also. They are relatively lessnbsp;prominent in the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz than in that of the Abakannbsp;Tatars and of the Altai and Teleut peoples.

The introduction of supernatural beings into the poems is very common, especially in the poems of the Abakan group. Among suchnbsp;incidents one which recurs very frequently is the sudden appearance ofnbsp;an old man, described as either grey-haired or bald, at the namingnbsp;ceremony of a child (cf. p. 99 above). Sometimes he is identified withnbsp;the god Kydyr; more frequently it is stated that no one knows who henbsp;is or whence he comes, and he disappears mysteriously immediatelynbsp;after bestowing a name on the child. One of the most frequent of thenbsp;supernatural beings is a monster known as Jelbägän {dshalmaus', cf.nbsp;p. 86 above), who possesses many heads and dwells underground,nbsp;though he (she) frequently visits the world of mortals, sometimes undernbsp;other forms, such as the lungs of an animal. This creature is generallynbsp;represented as hostile to the hero’s interests, though this is not always thenbsp;case. We have seen that in the variant versions of the story of Ernbsp;Töshtük Jelbägän is sometimes represented as hostile to the hero,nbsp;sometimes as friendly.

Of other supernatural beings who figure in the stories something will be said in the chapter on ‘Poetry and Saga relating to Gods andnbsp;Spirits’, to which the reader is here referred. A glance at this chapter

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

and at the chapter on ‘Non-heroic Poetry and Saga’ will show at once that intercourse between human beings and the spirit world plays anbsp;very large and important part in the literature of the Tatars. We are notnbsp;inclined to regard this intercourse as either fiction pure and simple, ornbsp;yet as a mere literary convention. We shall see in the chapter onnbsp;‘ Recitation’, etc. that direct personal intercourse between human beingsnbsp;and deities forms a part of the liturgy or libretto recited by the shamannbsp;at religious functions, and that such intercourse is actually believed bynbsp;the Tatars to form a part of the spiritual experience of the professionalnbsp;shaman and shamanka. When such intercourse occurs as an incident innbsp;the narrative poems, therefore, we prefer to regard it, not as an un-historical element in the poems, but as a constituent element in thenbsp;spiritual life of the heroes. That is to say, among the Tatars intercoursenbsp;between human beings and supernatural beings is to be understood asnbsp;having reference primarily, not to actual, but to spiritual experience.nbsp;We know that this spiritual experience is sometimes symbolised innbsp;dramatic action, both among the Tatars and other peoples (cf. p. 200 if.nbsp;below). It may be taken for granted also—and this is of the firstnbsp;importance—that this same spiritual experience has come to be commonly treated as a literary convention, a traditional motif in the poems.nbsp;As a purely literary convention similar motifs are commonly to benbsp;found among other peoples also, notably among the Greeks and thenbsp;ancient Irish. Where the Tatar evidence is of especial interest is in itsnbsp;closer relationship to the actual beliefs and practices of the peoples whonbsp;recite the stories. This will be more clearly demonstrated in connectionnbsp;with the dramatic monologue recited by the shaman in the chapter onnbsp;‘Recitation’, etc.

The attribution of supernatural power to human beings and animals is very common. In comparison with Greek and Celtic heroic stories,nbsp;much of the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz is, on the whole, surprisinglynbsp;sober in this respect; but in the Abakan poems it is normal and evennbsp;usual for human beings to possess supernatural power. In the heroicnbsp;poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz we cannot fail to be struck by the rarity ofnbsp;divine interference in human affairs. We never find the gods takingnbsp;part in battle, or showing favour to individuals, or acting in their ownnbsp;persons, save in the instances of the appearance of Kydyr at the ‘ namingnbsp;ceremony’ just referred to, and the angels sent by God to the mourningnbsp;creatures at Manas’ tomb. The powers of Manas and Joloi are stupendousnbsp;and exaggerated, but rarely supernatural. Exceptions occur however.nbsp;An interesting passage in Joloi^ to be discussed later, relates a contestnbsp;between the Kalmuck prince Karacha and Joloi’s wife Ak Saikal, both

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS I25 of whom are represented as transforming themselves into a series ofnbsp;animals, birds, etc.

Exaggeration is very common throughout Tatar literature. The hero Manas is represented as abnormally strong and invincible. He has a coatnbsp;of mail which no lance can pierce. The hero Joloi possesses greatnbsp;strength and stature. He and his wife are capable of doing battle alonenbsp;against whole troops of Kalmucks. When he is cast into a pit he is ablenbsp;to survive for fifteen years till he is finally rescued. This exaggerationnbsp;assumes its most daring form in the indications of time and space in thenbsp;Abakan poems. If a hero fights in single combat he is said to sink intonbsp;the earth with the exertion, and may remain fixed there mourning fornbsp;nine years. The combat may indeed last for forty years till all thenbsp;mountains are overturned and all the trees are uprooted. Or a hero maynbsp;ride in pursuit of an enemy through thrice nine worlds, and thrice ninenbsp;heavens, over many seas. Manifestly such bold hyperbole is notnbsp;intended to be interpreted literally.

Throughout Tatar literature, including that of the Kara-Kirghiz, human and superhuman faculties are attributed to horses. Not only arenbsp;these generally gifted with human speech and reason, but they are, asnbsp;we have seen, superior morally and intellectually to the heroes themselves. In the Kazak epic of Sain Batyr the hero’s horse and breastplatenbsp;are both represented as encouraging the hero to battle.’ Birds also arenbsp;sometimes gifted with speech and credited with much wisdom, and arenbsp;represented as taking an active part in human affairs. In the Kara-Kirghiz poem Er Töshtük an eagle carries the hero to earth on her backnbsp;from the Underworld, while in the Altai poem Kogutei an eagle deliversnbsp;the hero from his imprisonment in a deep pit. In the Kachin poemnbsp;Kara Tygan Khan and Suksagal Khan the herb which restores the deadnbsp;to life is guarded by two ravens on a certain tree-top in the Altai. Innbsp;the Kysyl poem Kulatai and Kulun Taidshy a cuckoo addresses thenbsp;hero from a tree-top in human speech, telling him that his life will lastnbsp;just as long as that of the cuckoo himself and no longer. Such motifs arenbsp;very numerous.

A curious supernatural feature commonly attributed to wild birds is that of being able to convey a letter safely and directly from the sendernbsp;to the person to whom it is indited,’ and we would call attention to the

’ Proben III, p. 253,1. 1596fF.

’ G. Turner calls attention to the ‘ocean postal service’ on the Ellice Group in Micronesia, where the natives have trained frigate birds to act as carriers fromnbsp;island to island, sometimes as far as sixty miles distant {Samoa A Hundred Yearsnbsp;Ago, London, 1884, p. 282 f.).

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS '

constant references to what appears to be a highly developed postal system on the steppe, in which birds act as letter-carriers. The women innbsp;the poems, who, as we have seen, are the most cultivated members ofnbsp;the community, appear to be mostly able to pen and read a letter. Thusnbsp;in the Kysyl poem Südäi Märgän and Joltai Märgän the hero’s wife callsnbsp;a swallow to her, ‘writes a letter on its wing’, and sends it to her lover.'nbsp;In the Sagai poem Ai Mergän and Altyn Kus, the maiden Altyn Arygnbsp;obtains a nest of young owls, and writes a message and sends it on anbsp;young owl (i.e. presumably on its wing). She then lets fly the twonbsp;young owls, which alight on Ar Chotai’s shoulder on the gable of a stonenbsp;building. Ar Chotai reads what she had ‘written on the two youngnbsp;owls’. The message runs: “Ai Mergän slew my father. Take me, O Arnbsp;Chotai!”’

Shape-changing is comparatively rare in the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz, though interesting instances occur in Joloi, where the Kalmuck hero Karacha and Joloi’s wife Ak Saikal are represented as transformingnbsp;themselves into a series of birds and animals. The passage resembles thenbsp;Russian bylina of Volga, and is even closer to the pursuit of Gwionnbsp;Bach by Caridwen in the Welsh story of Taliesin (see Vol. i, p. 103).nbsp;The passage in Joloi relates to the pursuit of Karacha and Joloi’s sisternbsp;by his wife Ak Saikal :

But Karacha turned his steed. And escaped the hands of Saikal;nbsp;Ere Saikal turned her horsenbsp;That black-winged heroic steednbsp;Has become a blue dove,nbsp;Soared aloft and flown away.nbsp;But at once the brown horsenbsp;Became a blue falcon,nbsp;Struck it from the rear.nbsp;Swooping from Heaven aloft.nbsp;Prince Karacha now afresh....nbsp;Became a red fox.nbsp;And hid himself in a forest.nbsp;And the horse became a black vulture.nbsp;And swooped down from above.nbsp;And so pierced the forest,nbsp;His feathers fluttered in the air.nbsp;Yet again the other escapednbsp;And became a white fish.nbsp;And sped plunging through the water.nbsp;The horse became a beaver,

’ Proben ll, p. 608. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. 11, p. 460, 1. 2520.

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I27

Dived after him to the bottom of the water,

7 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;«

Seized him on the bottom of the water,

And so at last Ak Saikal Seized Karacha the prince?

Shape-changing frequently takes place in the Abakan poems also. In Sugdjul Mergän the three children pursued by Kuskun Alyp changenbsp;themselves into bright falcons, and later in the poem resume theirnbsp;human form. In Altyn Pyrkan one of the three maidens who lives abovenbsp;Heaven comes to earth ‘as a golden cuckoo’. In Kulatai and Kulunnbsp;Taidshy the heroes’ wives become two geese and fly up aloft. In Karanbsp;Tygon Khan and Suksagal Khan the heroes transform themselves intonbsp;swallows and their horses into swans. Transformations of human beingsnbsp;into animals are much less common. The hero Puga-Däkä transformsnbsp;himself into a fly, and the hero Altyn Taidshy changes himself into anbsp;mouse in order to spy secretly on his sister’s behaviour. In Ai Tolysynbsp;the hero is assisted by three maidens, two of whom can assume swannbsp;forms at will, the third, that of an ermine. A variant of the shapechanging theme is seen in the stories of Südäi Märgän, in which thenbsp;hero dresses himself in a bear’s skin, and in Kogutei, in which the heronbsp;assumes beaver form. Even the horses can transform themselvesnbsp;apparently at will. In the poem of Kartaga Mergän, on the death of thenbsp;hero’s roan horse, his black horse transforms himself into a jelbägännbsp;(cf. p. 84 above), and flies through the air in pursuit of a bird, whichnbsp;proves to be the soul of the roan horse.

A curious feature among the supernatural elements in the Abakan poems is the ‘naked’ people who are said to take an active part in humannbsp;affairs. Their assistance is sometimes given to the hero, sometimes to hisnbsp;enemy, according as they are the emissaries of Kudai or of Erlik. Innbsp;Altyn Pyrkan the cruel and relentless Saryg Khan employs seven nakednbsp;men who dwell beneath the earth to burn his own son to death. On thenbsp;other hand in the poem Kan Märgän from the Sagai Tatars on thenbsp;R. Se the three heroes whose drink has been poisoned are miraculouslynbsp;restored to health by a naked child sent from God. In the Kysyl poemnbsp;Kulatai and Kulun Taidshy a naked little girl intervenes on behalf ofnbsp;the female ‘hero’, the ‘maiden prince’. This little girl, as we have seen,nbsp;ultimately becomes a ‘maiden prince’ herself, but the account of hernbsp;origin is not clear.

Stories of the remarkable birth and childhood of heroes are common. Monster births appear to be rare in the literature of entertainment,

' Proben v, p. 431,1. 1996.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

where they would doubtless be looked upon as indecorous, though the hero in the poem Khan Märgän from the Sagai Tatars on the R. Is isnbsp;said to be the child of a mare. In antiquarian saga such monster birthsnbsp;are quite common (cf. p. 143 below). The stories of the birth and childhood of heroes show on the whole surprising uniformity, and that innbsp;features which appear to us to be remarkable in themselves. Thus almostnbsp;all the heroes are said to be either the children of their parents in extremenbsp;old age, often, like Manas, and Er Töshtük, the youngest of a seriesnbsp;of brothers ; or else orphans. In the latter case the hero and his sisternbsp;are almost invariably alone, and, at least at the opening of the stories,nbsp;the sole survivors of their family, their parents having generally beennbsp;carried off or slain in a raid by a hostile chief. In the former case thenbsp;hero may be sent in answer to a special prayer to God. Very commonlynbsp;the hero is distinguished at birth by signs of beauty which, if we takenbsp;the words at their face value, we should regard as supernatural features.nbsp;Thus Manas is said to have had bones of copper, and flesh of exceptionalnbsp;whiteness. The hero Altyn Kiris, in Khan Mergän and At Mergän, isnbsp;born with a head of gold and a body of silver. These are, however, tonbsp;be regarded as hyperbolical expressions, figures of poetic diction, rathernbsp;than as literal statements of supernatural characteristics.’

A similar uniformity governs the stories of the childhood of the heroes. All are said to grow and develop at an abnormal rate. Whennbsp;Manas is born we have an interesting account of his naming feast, tonbsp;which come representatives from Yarkand, China, and elsewhere, andnbsp;all prophesy good things for him. He himself boasts as he lies in hisnbsp;cradle of how he will lay waste the heathen, and ‘ open a path for thenbsp;Moslems’. At ten years of age he shoots with bow and arrow; atnbsp;fourteen he becomes a ‘prince, a destroyer of princely dwellings’.^ Thenbsp;hero Er Töshtük is said to have uttered the word ‘ Mother ’ on the secondnbsp;day of his life, ‘Father’ on the sixth, and while still an infant in thenbsp;cradle he creeps out to his father who is herding sheep, and drives thenbsp;flock home for him. In the poem of Khan Märgän from the R. Is, thenbsp;new-born hero, who is the son of a mare, tears off the hand and footnbsp;of his enemy, Khan Kartaga. Practically all the orphan heroes go outnbsp;into the world hunting or raiding long before, in the opinion of theirnbsp;wise elder sisters, they are of a suitable age to do so.

’ For a similar poetical convention we may compare the description of an infant hero in a Norse fragment of heroic poetry quoted in the Hervarar Saga, Ch. XII, andnbsp;the explanation given in the prose passage which follows.

’ Proben v, p. i f.

HISTORICAL AND UNHISTORICAL ELEMENTS I29

Necromancy is commonly referred to. Many instances occur in the Abakan poems. In Altyn Pyrkan the young hero dies, but is restorednbsp;to life by one of three maidens who dwell above Heaven. She comesnbsp;‘as a golden cuckoo’ to the corpse, and sprinkles it with the ‘water ofnbsp;life’ and lays a yellow herb in its mouth, which restores the hero to hisnbsp;full life and vigour (cf. p. 92 above). In the poem Sugdjul Mergardnbsp;the hero, with the help of his wife, restores a number of people tonbsp;life. The poem is obscure in many points, but the tenor of thenbsp;narrative suggests that the hero is chiefly responsible for the physical,nbsp;or, as we might put it, the medical side of the necromantic process, thenbsp;woman for the rescue of the soul from the hosts of enemies in the landnbsp;of the dead, though even here she has to call the hero to her aid, sonbsp;powerful are the hosts fighting against her.

It will be seen that the two forms of necromancy are quite different. In the first a supernatural being comes in the form of a bird and restoresnbsp;life by physical means. In the second two human beings, a man and anbsp;woman, enter the spirit world and fight against evil spirits as a part ofnbsp;the necromantic process. This second type of story is common in thenbsp;Abakan poems. Nor is it confined to them. In the Kara-Kirghiz poemnbsp;Joloi we have seen that the black shamanka^ Kara Chach, restores Bolotnbsp;to health by similar means, though here the hero himself accompaniesnbsp;her to the Underworld.

The account of Manas’ death and revival is obscure, and the obscurity is increased rather than elucidated by a comparison of the variousnbsp;versions. We shall see (p. 170 f. below) that it is stated in one passagenbsp;that the hero has made a journey underground, while elsewhere it isnbsp;stated that he made no such journey. The obscurity is further increasednbsp;by the ambiguity which exists, both here and also commonly elsewhere,nbsp;as to whether a given hero is represented as, in actual fact, dead, or onlynbsp;as severely wounded. The versions of the Manas story differ on thisnbsp;point. When, therefore, we are told that his wife Kanykäi restores himnbsp;with herbs and ointments, that is to say, by a natural process, we cannot be sure if her proceeding is merely curative, especially as she isnbsp;assisted in her office by a Mohammedan mullah or pilgrim.’ Finally thenbsp;curious account of the angel from God transforming Manas’ tomb intonbsp;a fine house, and restoring the hero to a life of luxury within it is

’ Proben n, p. 307 ff.

‘ To this incident we shall have to refer again in the chapter on ‘The Texts’, where it will be shown that at least two apparently incompatible versions of thenbsp;story have been combined.

CLÜi

9

130 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

inexplicable as we have the story, and we suspect that connecting links have been forgotten which would have made the narrativenbsp;clearer.

The chief cause of the obscurity, however, no doubt lies in the superimposition of Mohammedanism on the ancient heathen practicesnbsp;which in Joloi, Er Töshtük, and the Abakan poems appear in a clearernbsp;light. In these poems the restoration of the dead to life is described asnbsp;a spiritual rather than a physical process, and is carried out by a shamannbsp;or a shamanka, or a man or woman acting in these capacities. Generallynbsp;it involves a journey to the Heavens or to the Underworld, and carriesnbsp;us into a spiritual milieu, away from the material Universe. This subjectnbsp;has been treated more fully by one of us elsewhere,’ and space will notnbsp;permit of fuller treatment here; but it is hardly necessary to point outnbsp;that a superstratum of Mohammedanism, little understood, being introduced by a heroic minstrel into the warp and woof of older heathennbsp;motifs, must necessarily leave much which is difficult to reconcile withnbsp;either faith, and still more difficult to reconcile with known customs andnbsp;authentic ritual. We have little doubt that many of our difficulties in thenbsp;Manas stories in particular are to be accounted for by the two-foldnbsp;religious traditions of the minstrel.^

* Chadwick, J.R.A.I. (1936), p. 291 ff.

’ We understand from N. Poppe (‘Russische Arbeiter auf dem Gebiet der Mongolistik,’ Asia Major V, 1930, p. 217) that the Story of Amursana referrednbsp;to on p. 121 above (cf, also p. 52 ff. above) has been discussed in a short articlenbsp;by B. Vladimirtsov, ‘Mongolskie Skazaniya ob Amursane’, in a Festschrift fornbsp;Oldenburg, Leningrad, 1927. Unfortunately this work has not been accessible to us.

CHAPTER VI

POETRY AND SAGA RELATING TO GODS AND SPIRITS, AND MANTIC POETRY

IN non-heroic sagas and poems gods and supernatural beings play a very large part, and they are frequently represented as visitingnbsp;human beings on earth, while men and women are also very commonly shown as visiting the gods in the Heavens and the Underworld.nbsp;Indeed such incidents form the greater part of the supernatural elementsnbsp;of these narratives. Some account of these spiritual beings has alreadynbsp;been given at the opening of the chapter on ‘Non-heroic Poetry andnbsp;Saga’. But we have not found any stories relating primarily to the godsnbsp;as a community,* like the stories of the gods in Norse and Greeknbsp;literature, though we are not inclined to doubt that such stories maynbsp;exist. The fact that they have not been recorded by Radlov and othernbsp;collectors may be due to the persecution of shamanism under the tsaristnbsp;régime.^

On the other hand a considerable amount of the poetry of celebration has survived, especially among the eastern Tatars. A large number ofnbsp;poems of this class are recited by the shamans of the Tatars of the Altainbsp;at the great annual sacrifice to Bai Ulgen, and consist of invocations,nbsp;prayers, and kindred forms of poetry. These will be referred to morenbsp;fully in the account of the performance of the shaman himself in thenbsp;chapter on ‘Recitation’, etc. below. In this connection we may refernbsp;also to an invocation to the spirits recited by a baksha^ as the shamansnbsp;of the western Tatars are called, in which the names of a number of godsnbsp;and spirits occur. In spite of much that is obscure and corrupt in thenbsp;poem, it is easy to recognise the names of a number of gods and spiritsnbsp;known to us from the Altai and Abakan poems, and the invocation

' Unless some of the material in Holmberg’s work on Siberian Mythology is derived from such stories.

’ What makes us suspect that such stories may exist is the fact that a very interesting story has actually been recorded from the Cheremis by E. Chirikovnbsp;(translated by N. Kershaw in the Cambridge Maga:(ine for February 23rd, andnbsp;March 2nd, 1918, under the title of ‘ The Daughter of the Sky’). It is true that thenbsp;Cheremis are a Finnish, not a Tatar people; but their religion would seem to be ofnbsp;a similar character to that of the shamanist Tatars.

3 Radlov, A.S. n, p. 63 if.

9-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

itself has close affinities with the invocation recited by the Altai shaman in the performance just referred to. It should, however, be clearly statednbsp;at the outset that in many cases it is impossible for us to draw any clearnbsp;distinction between hymns and prayers on the one hand, and spells onnbsp;the other. The invocation of the baksha might with equal propriety benbsp;classed among the latter.

Radlov cites an example of a hymn in fifteen lines of verse addressed to Erlik, the ruler of the Underworld, by a shaman of the Teleut.’ Thisnbsp;hymn was sung in recitative on two notes. He also gives a prayer ofnbsp;thanksgiving offered up by his host, a Teleut shaman on the R. Rachat, tonbsp;the god Ulgen. It consists of twenty-seven lines,^ and contains a personalnbsp;request for the divine blessing and for well-being and prosperity. Anbsp;refrain of two lines recurs four times. Vambery cites^ from Jadrintzewnbsp;the hymn of a shaman to Ülgen’s third son, Timur Khan (‘Ironnbsp;Prince’), the war god. The hymn consists of eight lines of panegyric,nbsp;and closely resembles a heroic panegyric poem. Radlov gives examplesnbsp;of prayers from the Kazaks which contain references to sacrifice and tonbsp;the god Kydyr, though they conclude with the Mohammedan formulanbsp;Allah ekbär, ‘God is great’.'* An example of grace after meat from thenbsp;Kara-Kirghiz which he gives elsewhere is almost identical with one ofnbsp;the prayers in this group.5

Prayers to the gods are quoted in heroic narrative poems and sagas. We may refer to a prayer made by the hero to the god Kudai to changenbsp;his filthy hovel into a grand house, in the Kysyl poem of Südäi Märgännbsp;and Joltai Märgänd' In the Sagai poem of Ai Mergän and Altyn Kus,nbsp;Ak Khan and his wife Agylang Ko are represented as praying to Godnbsp;to grant them a child, after which all their dependents unite in prayernbsp;that their wish may be granted.^ All three prayers are quoted in full.nbsp;The first two are very short. The public prayer consists of eleven lines.

An interesting instance of family prayer, combined with a solemn vow, occurs in the Kara-Kirghiz poem Joloi^ The object of the prayernbsp;is the return of the hero Bolot, the adopted son of Köchpös Bai. Thenbsp;entire family stands in a circle round Köchpös and each in turn drinksnbsp;a ceremonial draught of kumyss. Thereupon Köchpös Bai orders hisnbsp;sons to bring him the bosko :

' Radlov, A.S. I, p. 341.

’ Proben I, p. 238; cf. Radlov, A.S. 11, p. 9.

THEOLOGICAL AND MANTIC POETRY

His bosko, the welfare of the flocks, His bosko, the welfare of the soul,nbsp;Bring now here to me.

I will send it up to Kudai.

Bolot, my dear offspring,

I will forthwith cause to fly to me.‘

The poet did not know the meaning of the word bosko, but as Radlov observes, it must, from the nature of the context, be a bird which isnbsp;regarded as a tutelary genius. When the bosko is brought, Köchpös Bainbsp;raises it on high and lets it fly away, and prays as follows:

“Give Bolot to me, O Kudai!” he cried; “ O my children, my children.

Until Bolot returns

I will not sleep under cover.

Or lay me down upon the earth,

I will not unloose my belt !

Kudai, my Lord, give Bolot to me !

References to spells are not uncommon, though actual examples of spells are rare. Radlov gives an example of a Teleut rain charm^ ofnbsp;eighteen lines which was pronounced by one of his guides of the Tölösnbsp;tribe (on the R. Cholyshman) near the source of the Abakan River innbsp;1861, after a week of bad weather. The speaker was a jadachi, ‘rainmaker’. After he had warmed his ‘ medicine’ in a spoon over the fire, henbsp;raised both hands and the spoon to Heaven and pronounced hisnbsp;charm.“* It is obscure to us, but the shaman seems to be apostrophisingnbsp;the Heavens and certain spirits in a conjuration or adjuration.

The most interesting example of a charm which we know is the formula quoted by the same author5 which is said to be used by thenbsp;shaman as an incantation to Erlik Khan. The charm is indistinguishablenbsp;from a prayer to Erlik, and is valuable as giving a detailed picture of thenbsp;god—a picture which is curiously reminiscent of the imagery andnbsp;beliefs associated with the deities of the Bon of Tibet.

Thou, Erlik on the black horse.

Thou hast a bed of black beaver skins; Thy hips are so mighty

That no girdle can span them;

’ Loc. cit. 1. 354off,

3 Proben I, p. 241.

5 Ib. A.S. 11, p. IO.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Thy neck is so all-powerful That no human being can clasp it;nbsp;A span broad are thy brows,nbsp;Black is thy beard,nbsp;Blood-flecked is thy fearful countenance.nbsp;O, thou mighty Erlik Khan,nbsp;Whose hair gives forth shining sparks.nbsp;Ever does the breast of a corpsenbsp;Serve thee as a bowl;nbsp;Men’s skulls are thy beakers.nbsp;Thy sword is of green iron.nbsp;Of iron are thy epaulettes.nbsp;Sparkling is thy black countenance,nbsp;Thy hair floats in waves.nbsp;At the door of thy yurtnbsp;Stand many mighty thronesnbsp;An earthen cauldron hast thou.nbsp;And the roof of thy yurt is of iron.nbsp;Thou ridest a mighty ox.nbsp;For the purpose of thy saddlenbsp;A horse’s skin is too small;

To overthrow heroes, thou stretchest forth thy hand, To overthrow horses, when thou fearfullynbsp;Only drawest tight their belly-band.

O, Erlik, Erlik, my father. Why persecutest thou the people thus.^nbsp;Say, why dost thou destroy them-'nbsp;Thy countenance is ever black as soot.nbsp;Glittering dark like coals,nbsp;O, Erlik, Erlik, my father.nbsp;From generation to generationnbsp;In the long course of timenbsp;We honour thee day and night;nbsp;From generation to generationnbsp;Thou art an honoured lord.

The poems of the Kara-Kirghiz afford a considerable amount of evidence for the widespread use of charms. At the birth of the heronbsp;Bolot a black shaman is called in, who is said to be a very excellentnbsp;doctor and magician. He sits down at the head of the woman and callsnbsp;all his spirits to her aid. The words which he utters, like the prayer tonbsp;Erlik just quoted, are rather a prayer to the spirits than a spell, but thenbsp;context makes it clear that magic rather than religion in die ordinarynbsp;sense is operative.' We suspect that the opening lines of the Kara-

* Proben v, p. 471 f.

THEOLOGICAL AND MANTIC POETRY nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;IJJ

Kirghiz poem How Alaman Bet becomes a Mussulman^ have been modelled on such a heathen conception :

The son of Kara Khan, Alaman Bet, the tiger-like.nbsp;When the saints assembled.nbsp;Was born at their word;nbsp;When the saints assembled.nbsp;He was born by their spell?

In these poems, charms are also said to be written down. In the Kara-Kirghiz poem Joloi^ when Kara Chach desires to send a messagenbsp;to summon the hero Bolot to the house of his foster-father Köchpösnbsp;Bai, she takes a piece of paper the size of a hand, spreads it out beforenbsp;her, writes a charm formula on it, and lets it fly to Heaven, whence itnbsp;soon reaches Bolot.’ With this passage it is interesting to compare thenbsp;passage from the same poem quoted above, in which Köchpös Bainbsp;himself attempts to recall Bolot by praying for his return, at the samenbsp;time releasing some spirit, perhaps in the form of a bird (cf. p. 133nbsp;above), which flies to Heaven.

It is often difficult to distinguish charms from blessings and curses. In the Kara-Kirghiz poem Joloi, Bolot’s ‘mothers,’ Ak Saikal and Aknbsp;Kanysh, sacrifice a sheep and recite a blessing over him before he setsnbsp;out to encounter his enemy Karacha.3 It is clear in some cases, as innbsp;ancient Ireland, that a curse is immediately and practically operative.nbsp;Again our evidence comes chiefly from the heroic stories. In the Kazaknbsp;saga of Khan Shentai, when the hero sets out on his travels, his mothernbsp;bestows a name on him, and also bestows on him her blessing in a setnbsp;formula, invoking the name of Kydyr.“* Later in the same saga the heronbsp;is saved in a deadly combat against the seven-headed Dshalmaus by thenbsp;intervention of a white-bearded man. ‘ This man was Kydyr, who hadnbsp;come through the blessing {batet) of his mother.’5 In the Kazak saganbsp;of Erkäm Aidar it is clearly stated that the hero’s only sister is annbsp;‘enchantress’ {duakâr), and that when he is setting out on his journeynbsp;she makes a charm {dua).^ The words of her charm are almostnbsp;identical with those of the ‘blessing’ bestowed on Khan Shentäi by hisnbsp;mother. In the Kysyl epic of Südäi Märgän and Joltai Märgän from

’ Proben v, p. 6,1. 9ff, The word in the text is translated by Radiov Segensworf, but in his IPörterbuch the only meaning given is ‘curse’.

* Ib. p. 498 £; cf. p. 517.

3 Ib. p. 485,1. 3841 ff.

5 Ib. p. 3i6f.

136

the Abakan group it is the uncle who bestows his blessing, combined with admonition and advice’ (cf, p. 96 ff. above). In Tatar weddingnbsp;ceremonial it is customary for the father-in-law or some relative tonbsp;bestow blessings and advice on the bride. A long and elaborate examplenbsp;of such a blessing is given by Radlov in his account of the weddingnbsp;songs and ceremonies of the Altai Tatars.^ A similar custom seemsnbsp;to prevail among the Kazaks (see p. 157 below).

The evidence of the heroic poems makes it clear that the bestowal of a formal blessing is a recognised part of the ‘naming ceremony’—thatnbsp;important function at which the hero is regarded as formally coming ofnbsp;age. One of the most interesting examples of such a blessing occurs innbsp;the Sagai poem Ai Mergän and Altyn Kus. The young hero Ai Mergännbsp;has not yet received a name. Riding one day in rhe mountains, he findsnbsp;a letter tied to the top of a birch tree. It has been written by the sevennbsp;jajan and left behind for him. It contains a message naming him Ainbsp;Mergän, bestowing blessings upon him, adjuring him to be brave andnbsp;generous, and to avenge his parents. It also contains the assurance thatnbsp;if he practises the virtues inculcated, he will “live long, and stand highernbsp;than the jajuchi”^.

Curses are sometimes very elaborate. We may refer to the curse which Ak Kanysh, Joloi’s wife, threatens to hurl on him if he refuses to givenbsp;his favourite horse to their son.4 As an instance of the immediate effectnbsp;of a curse we may refer to the Teleut story of Ak Köbök., in which thenbsp;hero blesses his uncle in a verse of four lines for bestowing a horse uponnbsp;him ; but when his uncle refuses to grant him a second horse, Ak Köböknbsp;curses him, also in a verse of four lines. The prose narrative immediatelynbsp;relates the operation of the curse, and the uncle is glad to relent.5 Innbsp;this connection we must remember, however, that Ak Köbök is a sagenbsp;as well as a warrior, and his- curse would without doubt be especiallynbsp;potent. We have had no opportunity of studying the effect of the cursenbsp;of an actual shaman among the Tatars. We may refer, however, to thenbsp;account—too long to quote here—which Czaplicka gives of the actualnbsp;operation of the curse of a Tungus shaman on a Tungus layman of hernbsp;acquaintance who had incurred his enmity. The mesmeric effect on thenbsp;victim as the shaman danced and called upon the powers of darkness isnbsp;very striking, and its potency was such that the curse was believed to

’ Proben n, p. 648,1. i4ooff.

’ Radlov, A.S. I, p. 319.

* Ib. v, p. 502.

THEOLOGICAL AND MANTIC POETRY nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I37

be operative not only on the victim, but on his family also, even after the death of the shaman himself.'

We know of no independent examples of vows which have attained to literary prestige, but mention may be made here of the vow ofnbsp;Alaman Bet when leaving the service of Er Kökchö’ (cf. p. 30 above).nbsp;The elaboration of this passage, and the set form in which Alaman Betnbsp;threatens revenge, the regular recurring refrain, and the categorical listnbsp;of threats, all suggest that such vows follow a recognised formula whichnbsp;allows of considerable literary scope.

Prophecy is only very slightly represented in Tatar literature. Private or individual prophecy and political prophecy are alike wanting. In anbsp;saga recorded by Castren which we have referred to more fully elsewhere (p. 198 below), a shaman claims knowledge of the future, and hisnbsp;claim is probably one which is commonly made by shamans; but theirnbsp;prophecies do not appear to have been recorded.

There is, however, one class of prophecy of which examples are apparently not very rare. We have from the Altai and Teleut Tatars twonbsp;prophecies on the end of the world, both in poetical form. The firstnbsp;(Teleut) which consists of eighteen lines, contains a number of briefnbsp;prophecies as to the destruction of natural objects and the subversionnbsp;of natural values when the end comes. The second (Altai) is a morenbsp;elaborate treatment of the same theme in eighty-seven lines. After thenbsp;account of the dissolution of nature and the subversion of the elementsnbsp;and of the established order, the poet passes to a picture of mankindnbsp;in this last extremity. Shal-Jime, who represents man, and whonbsp;corresponds to Adam in the Altai story of the Creation, is representednbsp;as praying to Mandy-Shire, man’s intercessor with the supreme Creator;nbsp;but Mandy-Shire is silent. A second time Shal-Jime prays, this time tonbsp;Mai-Tere, who is Ülgen’s champion against Erlik and the spirits ofnbsp;darkness; but Mai-Tere is also silent. Then will Erlik arise withnbsp;Karan and Kerei, and will come to earth to fight with heroes of Ülgen,nbsp;Mandy-Shire and Mai-Tere, and the blood of Mai-Tere will burn thenbsp;earth with fire, and that will be the end of the world. The conclusion ofnbsp;the poem indicates clearly the close connection between the literaturenbsp;of prophecy and that of cosmogony, as will be seen if it is comparednbsp;with the conclusion of the Altai story of the Creation (p. 145 ff. below).

' Czaplicka, Ó'.K pp. 210, 213 fF.

138

The similarity of the last battle between the champion spirits of Ülgen and Erlik and his followers at the end of the world has something innbsp;common with the Norse conception of Ragnarriik. We quote thenbsp;concluding lines of the poem :

Then the black earth bursts into flame, Hosts of the people perish,nbsp;The rivers arise from springs of blood.nbsp;The mountains turn to dust.nbsp;The rocks fall crashing down.nbsp;The rainbow rocks trembling.nbsp;The waves of the sea are heaped upnbsp;So that the bottom of the sea is visible.nbsp;Now on the bottom of the seanbsp;Nine great black stones are shattered,nbsp;And from each of these stonesnbsp;Arises an iron hero;nbsp;The mighty iron heroesnbsp;Ride on nine iron horses.

On the forefeet of the horses Shine brightly nine iron swords.nbsp;And on their hind feetnbsp;Gleam nine iron lances.nbsp;When they come in contact with a leaf on a tree.nbsp;All the trees fall prostrate.

When they come in contact with living beings. They sink down destroyed.

Kaira Khan,’ the god, the father. He, the creator of this world.nbsp;Then closes his ears.nbsp;Does not give ear to the crying of the people.nbsp;Shaljima’ then calls in vainnbsp;On Mandy-Shire 3 for help.nbsp;For he gives no answer.

On Mai-Tärä‘* he calls in vain, Mai-Tärä persists in silence.nbsp;Then two heroes of Erlik,nbsp;The hero Karan and the hero Kere,nbsp;Come up out of the earth.nbsp;On Mai-Tärä and Mandy-Shire

’ For Kaira Khan, see p. 82 above.

’ I.e. Man. For an account of this word see Holmberg, p. 367.

¦’ A Buddhist bodhisattva (cf. p. 145 below).

The Buryat also know Mai-Tärä under the name Maidari-Burkhan. The name is, of course, derived from the Buddhist Maitreya, the manifestation of the Buddhanbsp;of the future (cf. p. 145 below).

THEOLOGICAL AND MANTIC POETRY

These heroes rage and fight. From the blood of Mai-Täränbsp;The earth now takes fire.nbsp;In this way the end of the world will some day come about.^

A number of other prophecies relating to the same subject are referred to by Holmberg in his chapter on ‘The Destruction of the World’.’

It is, of course, self-evident that the prophetic literature just referred to has been composed under direct Buddhist teaching. There \nbsp;is reason for believing (cf. p. 203 below) that prophecy of purelynbsp;native inspiration is not unknown, and may well be highly developed,nbsp;though no considerable texts have come under our notice. Therenbsp;can, however, be no doubt that the doctrines of the shamanistnbsp;Tatars have been affected, in some varying measure, by Buddhism,nbsp;as well as by other civilised religions of the south, notably Manichaeism. The influence of Buddhism is still more marked in the beliefsnbsp;and practices of the neighbouring Buryat. Indeed, it is probably innbsp;part through contact with the Buryat at various periods that thisnbsp;influence has spread among the Tatars, especially those Tatars whonbsp;to-day occupy the mountains of Central Asia. We have alreadynbsp;referred (p. 116 above) to other traces of the great civilisations ofnbsp;southern Asia which manifest themselves in certain branches of Tatarnbsp;literature. The whole question of their transmission is of greatnbsp;interest, but here we can do no more than call attention to them.nbsp;One of us hopes to demonstrate them in fuller detail in a futurenbsp;study.

On the whole the evidence of the texts of Tatar poetry and saga suggests that the Tatars are not so poor in mantic literature as mightnbsp;seem to be suggested by the paucity of actual recorded texts. Apartnbsp;from prophecy most forms of mantic literature are represented in ournbsp;texts, though often only incidentally in the narratives. The sparsity ofnbsp;references to elaborate literary magical and mantic formulae in thenbsp;records made by travellers is doubtless to be ascribed largely to thenbsp;proscription under which shamans have long laboured, and which mustnbsp;have operated especially against displays of mantic and magical art,nbsp;and the recitation of the accompanying texts.

’ Radlov, Â.S. u, p. 13.

’ For similar doctrines in India, Palestine, etc. cf. Vol. n, pp. 590 f., 622, 731.

CHAPTER VII

ANTIQUARIAN POETRY AND SAGA. GNOMIC AND DESCRIPTIVE LITERATURE. POETRYnbsp;AND SAGA RELATING TO UNSPECIFIEDnbsp;INDIVIDUALS

IN general the literature of antiquarian speculation is not very highly developed among the Tatars, though certain genres are found innbsp;abundance. Such poetry as we possess which embodies traditionalnbsp;native learning consists for the most part of catalogues, which amongnbsp;the Kara-Kirghiz, as in Homer, form an important element in thenbsp;narrative poetry. The greater part of antiquarian literature, however,nbsp;is composed in the form of prose sagas and genealogies, and of cosmogonic myths and speculative matter. The former appear to be currentnbsp;chiefly among the western Tatars, the latter among the eastern, thoughnbsp;this distribution is by no means exclusive.

Speaking of the antiquarian literature among these people, the Russian traveller Valikhanov wrote during the middle of last century:

“An abundance of traditions forms a marked and characteristic heritage of the nomadic races of Central Asia. These traditions arenbsp;devoutly preserved by the elders of the tribes, either in the form ofnbsp;ancestral reminiscences and genealogical legends, or in ballads whichnbsp;are perpetuated by a special class of bards. Many words and locutionsnbsp;now obsolete prove their antiquity.”'

In regard to the importance of genealogies the same writer continues: “Genealogical traditions form a most important section of theirnbsp;legendary lore. The relation of one tribe to another depends on thenbsp;degree of affinity which exists between the chiefs. The hereditarynbsp;superiority of one branch over another is determined by the right ofnbsp;primogeniture. Traditions of this nature are in so far important as theynbsp;represent the extraction of the people and the composition of society.nbsp;It appears from the genealogical tables of the Kazaks, Uzbegs, andnbsp;Nogais that they are a medley of different Turkish and Mongol tribesnbsp;formed after the decline of the Golden and Jagatai Hordes.”'

Genealogical lore is undoubtedly highly cultivated among the

’ Michell, p. 95 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 97.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I4I

Turkomans and the Kazaks, and among the Tatars generally. It was stated last century that every well brought up Kazak boy, even if henbsp;were only in his eighth year, could recite his ancestors for at least sixnbsp;generations.^ Since written literature is rare, genealogies are of thenbsp;utmost importance as the only guarantee of an individual’s rights andnbsp;titles, and it is not surprising to learn that these genealogies, and thenbsp;ancestral and family traditions which accompany and doubtless form anbsp;commentary on them, are often clothed in a fixed literary form, whichnbsp;must have greatly assisted in their preservation.

In the actual texts before us genealogical material of this kind is generally found merely incidentally in historical sagas and narrativenbsp;poetry, but is much commoner in the former. Brief genealogies occurnbsp;occasionally in the opening lines of the heroic poems, such as Ernbsp;Töshtük, but they seldom enumerate more than three or four generations.nbsp;Among the Kazaks and the western Tatars antiquarian elements playnbsp;a large part in many of the brief historical and semi-historical anecdotesnbsp;characteristic of this region. Thus the Baraba version of the story ofnbsp;Ermak, the Russian conqueror of Siberia, contains some place-namenbsp;speculation, and an explanatory passage which tells of the trick by whichnbsp;Ermak outwitted Kuchum Khan, and obtained land in Siberia, and, atnbsp;the opening of the narrative, a brief chronicle of the rulers of the Tom,nbsp;down to Kuchum Khan. These brief dynastic or genealogical introductions are characteristic also of the Kazaks. It may indeed be saidnbsp;in general that in Kazak saga antiquarian elements tend to be concentrated at the opening and conclusion of the narrative.

In the narrative poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz and the Kazaks learned elements are, as has been observed above, found chiefly in the form ofnbsp;catalogues. These are so long, and figure so frequently, that theynbsp;doubtless have an independent existence apart from the poems andnbsp;sagas in which they actually occur. This is supported by the fact thatnbsp;some catalogues, such as that of the heroes of Manas’ retinue,^ recurnbsp;several times in different poems in almost identical form.

These heroic catalogues are introduced with great liberality by the Kara-Kirghiz minstrels. Much of our knowledge of heroic society isnbsp;comprised in them, and they serve as mnemonic compendia of information to the heroic minstrels themselves, as well as to their audience.nbsp;In the catalogue of heroes who are invited to take part in Bok Murun’snbsp;games, we have a survey of the leading princes of the day, together withnbsp;’ Vambéry, Travels, p. 368.

’ Proben v, pp. 113 if., 152. ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

precise geographical indications as to their places of abode? In the same poem the most famous horses mentioned in heroic stories are alsonbsp;enumerated at great length? The catalogue of neighbouring princesnbsp;whom Jakyp Bai tells Ternir Khan he has visited in search of a wife fornbsp;Manas has something in common with the Anglo-Saxon poem Widsith,nbsp;but with a more systematic range. It is at once a survey of the politicalnbsp;geography and of the ethnography of the world as known to the Kara-Kirghiz.3 A closer parallel to Widsith is Kara Chach’s catalogue of heroicnbsp;princes whom she has visited, which occurs in the Kara-Kirghiz poemnbsp;Joloid' Here also geographical and ethnographical details are frequentlynbsp;added, and after the reference to each important hero visited, a summarynbsp;mention is made of the principal heroic story with which he is associated, and of the kind of entertainment which she has received at hisnbsp;home. The catalogue in which this Tatar ‘Widsith’ relates her travelsnbsp;occupies three pages. An interesting prose catalogue of heroes occursnbsp;in the Kazak saga of Khan Shentäi^ in which many heroes are enumerated by the shamanka Synshy Sary Kus in her endeavour tonbsp;establish the identity of the hero.5

The tendency which we have found widespread in other literatures to speculate on the origin of place-names, and other forms of popularnbsp;etymology, is common. The Kazak narrative poem KosyKörp'ósh containsnbsp;a large amount of popular etymology of place-names.® Instances havenbsp;already been referred to as occurring in the Baraba version of the saganbsp;of Ermak the Cossack; and even among the Tatars farther east, wherenbsp;antiquarian elements as a whole are less fully developed than in thenbsp;west, the same tendency is not wholly unknown. Further instancesnbsp;occur in the Altai saga of Amyr Sanaga and Chagan Narattan (cf. p. 54nbsp;above). As an example of popular etymology we may refer to thenbsp;legend of the origin of the Kirghiz from forty maidens {jàrknbsp;related below. The same tendency to etymologise place-names and othernbsp;proper names is noticeable also elsewhere in sagas which are not otherwise distinguished by antiquarian features.

Speculation on the origin of places and of customs does not appear to be common, but the latter at least is probably not unknown.nbsp;Holmberg 7 gives an interesting story of the first shaman, which isnbsp;current among the Buryat in the region of Lake Baikal. The literature

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE

of the Buryat is so closely akin to that of the Altai Tatars, especially in matters relating to religion, that we can hardly doubt the existence ofnbsp;such shaman traditions among the latter people also.

Antiquarian speculation on the origin of the race, or of special tribes, is very common. Most of the Tatars trace the origin of their tribe to thenbsp;union of a human being and an animal, and such speculations arenbsp;probably ancient, for they are said to contain many words now obsolete,nbsp;and we are expressly told that they are considered indecent by thenbsp;present generation.* In the story just cited the Kara-Kirghiz trace theirnbsp;origin, by a piece of popular etymology, to forty maidens (Jârk ki(), thenbsp;attendants of a daughter of a certain khan. According to one version ofnbsp;the story, they returned one day from a long walk to find their campnbsp;pillaged, only one living animal—a dog—remaining, which became thenbsp;progenitor of the Kirghiz. Another version of the story relates that thenbsp;princess and her maidens, having been miraculously fecundated by thenbsp;foam of a certain lake, were expelled by their relatives. The princess wasnbsp;found by the progenitor of the Kirghiz, who installed her as one of hisnbsp;wives.^ A satire composed by a mullah, and current among the Kara-Kirghiz, contains many allusions to the traditional origin of the Kara-Kirghiz and the Kazaks, the former being derived from a union of somenbsp;thieves and a beggar-woman, the latter being related to a wolf.3 Storiesnbsp;of this kind are not often found in poetry, though they are probablynbsp;derived from native traditions. Similar speculations have evidentlynbsp;been current also among other steppe peoples, as can be seen fromnbsp;Chinese records.'*

A considerable amount of material is available for studying the literature of antiquarian speculation on cosmogony and natural sciencenbsp;generally. This material has been carefully collected and classified bynbsp;Holmberg in his Siberian Mythology., to which the reader is referrednbsp;for a large number of examples of the poetry and sagas relating to thenbsp;subject. Among those Tatars who have been under Mohammedan,nbsp;Buddhist, or Christian influence for several centuries, much of thenbsp;material is naturally suspect, and generally speaking it is easy to see thatnbsp;the beliefs and traditions of such alien religious influence have banishednbsp;or transformed the literature of native speculation. Among the Chernnbsp;and the Altai Tatars the influence of alien tradition is not so easy tonbsp;trace, and it is generally held that among these people the traditional

' Michell, p. 95 ff.

’ Ib. p. 275 ; Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 262.

3 Radlov, A.S. I, p. 407. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Michell, p. 96.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

beliefs of heathenism are preserved in the least adulterated form. To a great extent this is no doubt true. It must be remembered, however,nbsp;that Nestorian and Manichaean influences, especially the latter, havenbsp;undoubtedly affected native thought in the past; and that Buddhismnbsp;(Lamaism) is a constant factor in the religious thought of the presentnbsp;day. Much of the mythology may be due to the influence of othernbsp;faiths, whether this influence be direct or indirect. For obvious reasonsnbsp;it is much more diflicult for us to trace foreign religious elements in thenbsp;native mythology of these eastern Tatars than in that of their westernnbsp;neighbours, but we cannot doubt their permeating influence. We thinknbsp;it wiser therefore to touch only very lightly the literature of nativenbsp;speculation.

Native poetry on cosmogony and eschatology has certainly existed, and is no doubt still remembered to some extent by the shamans; butnbsp;even such poetry as has survived is very little known. It is clear fromnbsp;the examples cited by Holmberg that an elaborate cosmogonic mythnbsp;existed among the Tatars’ which resembled closely the early Norsenbsp;conceptions of Yggdrasil’s Ash, the World Tree, MibgarSsormr, and thenbsp;Spring of Fate, with all of which we are familiar in Norse mythologynbsp;from the elaborate account given in Ch. xvi of Gylfaginning.^ Such anbsp;conception could hardly have prevailed in so picturesque a form andnbsp;with so little inconsistency over thousands of miles of southern Siberianbsp;if it had not been transmitted in elaborate artistic form.3 Holmberg hasnbsp;preserved a fragment from a poem of the Minnusinsk Tatars describingnbsp;this world tree in terms which recall the Old Norse conception ofnbsp;Glasir in the Prose Edda fSkaldskaparmdl, ch. 43).

Piercing twelve heavens. On the summit of a mountain,nbsp;A birch in the misty depths of air—nbsp;Golden are the birch’s leaves,nbsp;Golden its bark.nbsp;In the ground at its foot a basinnbsp;Full of the water of life.nbsp;In the basin a golden ladle....

Unfortunately the rest of the poem has not been accessible to us, but Holmberg tells us that it is further mentioned that this ‘birch’ is

’ Holmberg, p. 349 ff.

’ For some account of Gylfaginning, see Vol. I, p. 32off. of the present work. 3 Cf. also the Tibetan conception of the World Tree, Francke, T.H. p. 14.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I45

guarded by the ‘ old Tatar’, the forefather of the Tatars, who was given this post by the Creator himself/

Among the Tatars, as among other peoples who have come under the influence of a higher civilisation, such speculations have reached us fornbsp;the most part in prose, and in a puerile form, on the level of folk-tale;nbsp;and indeed in their present form such brief stories are indistinguishablenbsp;from this class of literature. We may refer to a story which relates hownbsp;Erlik, by a trick, succeeded in making mankind permanently impure,nbsp;frustrating the efforts of Kudai who had sought to instil into them a purenbsp;soul.^ A number of variants of this story are cited by Holmberg fromnbsp;different parts of Siberia.

Another story of this kind attributes the origin of fire to Ulgen himself, who is said to have struck together two stones, a black andnbsp;a white, so that a spark flew down from Heaven and set the grass onnbsp;fire.3 One story from the Altai relating the creation of the Universenbsp;derives the earth and the rocks from earth which was brought in thenbsp;beaks of two birds—one a white swan—which were sent by God.nbsp;Equally puerile are the stories, current also among the Tatars of thenbsp;Altai, of the origin of human life, of the sun and moon, and othernbsp;heavenly bodies, and of living creatures, such as the mosquito.“* Thesenbsp;stories are extremely brief and perhaps represent only summaries ofnbsp;stories actually current.

More ambitious sagas on the same and kindred themes certainly exist however. Radlov gives an elaborate saga from the Altai on the Creationnbsp;of the World,5 which, in spite of its origin in a more civilised religionnbsp;of ancient times, is full of significance for us on account of its highlynbsp;developed saga form. It relates the Creation of the World by God, andnbsp;his relations with Erlik, Mai-Tere,^ Mandy-Shire,7 and Jakpara; thenbsp;creation and the fall of man; and the final withdrawal of God, afternbsp;leaving the world to the guidance of Jakpara and Mandy-Shire. Thenbsp;story has much in common with the Biblical story of the Creation andnbsp;the Fall, but has certainly been influenced largely by Buddhism, as the

’ Holmberg, p. 350.

’ Radlov, A.S. I, p, 373; Proben I, p. 285; Holmberg, p. 373.

3 Holmberg, p. 449.

• * /Ä. pp. 377, 387, 421.

5 Proben I, p. 175 ff. An abstract is given by Peisker in the Cambridge Medieval History, Vol. I, p. 344fF.

• * Mai-tere is the Buddhist Maitreya; cf. p. 138, footnote 3 above.

’ Mandy-Shire, the Buddhist Manjussi, a bodhisattva-, cf. p. 138, footnote 3 above.

CLÜi

146

names alone would show. This saga, which is more than nine pages in length, is narrated in the expanded narrative style which we associatenbsp;primarily with literature of entertainment. The conversations are reportednbsp;in full, and the effect is heightened by the addition of many picturesquenbsp;details, such as the picture of Mandy-Shire, angling with his home-madenbsp;net from a home-made boat, and shooting squirrels. The dialoguesnbsp;between God and Erlik are conducted with spirit:

“Now Erlik begged land from God. ‘You have destroyed my Heaven, and now I have no land. Give me a little’, said he. God said:nbsp;‘No, I will not give you any land.’ Erlik said: ‘Do just give me onenbsp;acre of land.’ God said : ‘ No, I will give you no land at all.’ Erlik said :nbsp;‘ Give me five lengths of land.’ But God did not give him even fivenbsp;lengths of land. Thereupon Erlik stuck the stick which he had in hisnbsp;hand into the earth and said: ‘O, my God, just give me as much landnbsp;as the point of this stick covers.’ God laughed and said : ‘ Take as muchnbsp;land as is under this staff.’”’

Although the ostensible purpose of this saga is to account for the existence of created things and of sin in the world, and to teach mankindnbsp;his relations with God and with his representatives, the style has beennbsp;so closely modelled on that of narrative saga as to make it probablenbsp;that sagas of the gods are also told for purposes of entertainment,nbsp;though, as we have seen, actual texts are wanting. A number of storiesnbsp;of creation similar to the one described above, but less fully related, willnbsp;be found in the chapter on ‘The Origin of the Earth’ in Holmberg’snbsp;Siberian Mythology.

More elaborate teaching has, however, been current in the past regarding cosmogony and the pantheon, as well as the physical Universenbsp;generally, than one would infer from the stories to which we havenbsp;referred above. It is probable that genealogies of the gods were innbsp;existence. Sieroszewski heard a Yakut shaman invoking the gods andnbsp;spirits by name, and he adds that each of these gods and spirits has hisnbsp;genealogical titles and his personal attributes, which must be cited.’ Thenbsp;information obtained by Radlov from the Altai peoples reveals annbsp;organised pantheon and a conception of the spiritual Universe, for whichnbsp;we look in vain in the childish sagas and anecdotes just referred to.

According to Radlov,3 the native teaching on these subjects was obtained by him chiefly from the shamans, and was contained innbsp;“allusions in a whole series of legends, sagas, folk-tales {Marcheri}.,

’ Proben I, p. 18if.

’ R.H.R. (1902), p. 329.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;147

narratives {Er^^ahlungen}, songs”. It is a noteworthy fact, however, that in the actual texts published by Radlov, hardly any poems arenbsp;given which are composed primarily on cosmogony or mythology, andnbsp;few sagas of which the contents cannot be traced with certainty tonbsp;Buddhist, Manichaean, or Christian sources. This is hardly surprisingnbsp;in view of the rigorous measures taken by the Russians in the past tonbsp;suppress shamanism, and the missionary activities of what we may termnbsp;the civilised religions. Radlov’s reconstruction’ of Tatar religious andnbsp;philosophical speculations, based as it is on literary (oral) allusions,nbsp;probably comes nearer to representing the earlier religious beliefs thannbsp;the more direct pronouncements of the shamans to-day, and enablesnbsp;us to see the great wealth of mythological and cosmogonic traditionnbsp;which was current among the Tatars until recent times.

It will be seen that most of the subjects which we have found elsewhere as themes of antiquarian speculation or tradition are represented in Tatar oral tradition also, though for obvious reasons an exception isnbsp;perhaps to be made, at any rate among the nomadic and semi-nomadicnbsp;peoples, in regard to speculations on the origin of places and buildings.nbsp;But though most of these subjects are represented, it cannot be claimednbsp;that Tatar literature as a whole is rich in antiquarian lore. In fact thenbsp;reverse is the case. Moreover the forms of antiquarian lore which arenbsp;most highly developed are not in general quite free from alien influence.nbsp;The genealogical lore and the historical traditions of the Kazaks, thenbsp;western and northern Tatars, and the Turkomans, are undoubtedlynbsp;fostered to some extent by Mohammedan mullahs. The cosmogonicnbsp;speculations and myths of the Altai and Teleut tribes are also undoubtedly indebted to some extent to Buddhist teaching, perhapsnbsp;through the Baikal Buryat. How deeply the foreign influence goes, andnbsp;how far it has displaced earlier ‘native’ speculations and traditions is notnbsp;easy to determine. It is improbable in any case that a nomadic people willnbsp;have a strong interest in local history and antiquities. But that the nomadsnbsp;have purely native methods of classifying their knowledge would seemnbsp;to be shown by the wealth of heroic catalogues, while the non-heroicnbsp;narrative poetry, which is a mine of information for the ancient heathennbsp;myths, seems to have been little affected by foreign religious teaching,nbsp;at least in modern times.

Gnomic literature is common, in the form both of individual proverbs and of a consecutive series. The largest collection of proverbs withnbsp;* Z.OC. «7.

10’2

148 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

which we are acquainted was obtained by Radlov in the Altai/ though examples are cited also from the Kara-Kirghiz? They are all or almostnbsp;all composed in poetical form, and the greater number are composed ofnbsp;two lines of which the sense is parallel, and in which the second line isnbsp;sometimes slightly more forcible than the first, e.g.

He who has honoured a chief will himself be a chief, He who has honoured the rich will himself be rich.

It is the common practice of the Tatars and Turkomans to introduce these general observations couched in couplets conveying parallelnbsp;statements into their ordinary conversation. An amusing anecdote isnbsp;recorded by the Russian traveller Valikhanov who was evidently unaware of the custom, and who on one occasion, during his sojourn amongnbsp;the Tatars of the Altai, was led to conclude that his host was insanenbsp;because his conversation was couched in cryptic couplets of generalnbsp;import (cf. p. 187 below). In reality it seems clear that the chief wasnbsp;merely entertaining his guest with the most formal and polite kind ofnbsp;conversation with which he was familiar. Such parallel couplets, sometimes expanded into quatrains, are frequently introduced into poemsnbsp;and sagas in formal speeches.^ In the Abakan poems and elsewhere thenbsp;usual formula in which to enquire a person’s name is:

Every wild beast has hair. Every person has a name.nbsp;What are you called.^'*

The Turkoman hero Kurroglou is said to have been in the habit of carrying on his conversation by means of just such couplets of purelynbsp;general import. Thus when Bolly-beg, a member of his retinue, appealsnbsp;for his favour and that of his men, Kurroglou replies; “Some versesnbsp;come to my mind; listen:

‘ Who has nothing to speak of, he had better be silent. It is better to refuse the bread and salt of a villain, than to eat it.’”

When Bolly-beg inquires in reply whether Kurroglou is averse to a reconciliation, he receives in reply the following stanza:

“I always repeat the same. The orchards cast off the withered leaves, which are unable to remain longer on the trees. It is better to be indifferent towards an inconstant flirt, than to love her.”

’ Prohen I, p. i fF.

’ See e.g. Radlov, A.S. i, p. 418.

5 Proben II, p. 543,1. 94 f.

¦* We may refer, e.g. to such passages as ib. p. 92,1. 92; p. 120,1. 1019; etc.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;I49

Further appeals from the unfortunate Bolly-beg only succeed in eliciting a further series of such improvisations?

Such couplets are usually of a general character, but it is not to be supposed that all are proverbs. A large number of examples are givennbsp;by Radlov to illustrate the metre in which extempore poetry is composed, and these examples, as well as those ascribed to Kurroglou, arenbsp;indistinguishable in form and substance from many of the examples ofnbsp;proverbs cited by Radlov from the Altai. It is clear that the extemporenbsp;poetry introduced into conversation among the Kirghiz and Turkomansnbsp;consists largely of gnomic utterances, and these, when repeated singly,nbsp;are to all intents and purposes proverbial utterances. It is interestingnbsp;to observe that among the Tatars, and probably the Turkomans also,nbsp;as among other peoples whose proverbs we have studied, a large proportion is concerned with observations of nature and physical science.

Two poems from the Kysyl Tatars of the Abakan group’ consist of such couplets containing general observations, in which the secondnbsp;observation is a kind of moral drawn from the first, e.g.

If the horns of the antelope did not fall off They would reach up to heaven;

If men did not die The earth would not be made.

In the first of these poems the gnomes are inverted by being couched in the form of a question.

Very frequently these gnomic utterances are joined to form a sequence. We may quote a song from the Tobol Tatars^ which consists of a series of nature gnomes.

The cock knows when day breaks.

The cuckoo knows when the sun rises.

The traveller knows the near and the far away, He who has tasted knows the flavoured and the insipid.nbsp;He who has lived there knows the people’s excellence.

Several brief poems consisting of a sequence of gnomic utterances occur also among the Kazaks.'* Some are concerned with observationsnbsp;on birds and animals and the world of nature generally, others withnbsp;social conduct and behaviour. Among the Tatars of Astrakhan thesenbsp;gnomic sequences are very common, and are said to be current alsonbsp;among the Tatars from Ural to Kuma. The specimens which have come

’ Chodzko, p. 275 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben II, p. 657!.

’ lb. IV, p. 331. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Ib. in, p. iff.

150

under our observation are all contained in Chodzko’s Collection and are believed by him to be old. They are, as a rule, somewhat didacticnbsp;in character, working up gradually from general observations to annbsp;implied moral. We may refer to nos. v, vii, ix, xiii of his collection.’ Asnbsp;an example we quote no. ix:

“The hawk is the swiftest bird; it will not fly after the goose, after having passed the sparrow. Throw a slender rod with greater force thannbsp;an arrow, it will not perforate a shield. There is no greater bird than thenbsp;berkut (great eagle); but the luckiest of them will sometimes miss hisnbsp;prey. When a virtuous man gets into company with bad people, theynbsp;will slander him, and plot against him. When such a man meets withnbsp;misfortune, they will not overtake him, though they set out to pursuenbsp;him.”

Not infrequently these Astrakhan poems are frankly didactic.

“Hill, O grassy hill! did not you turn barren when upon your top the jackals and the foxes dug their holes and threw your sand up.^

“Horse, high-legged horse! did not you die when you left your master on foot in the steppes.^. ..

“Man, selfish man ! did not you die when your robes of gold brocade became so heavy with the precious metals, that they folded no more uponnbsp;you?

“Remain for ever with the name of an insatiable man; you would never help the poor !

And again:

“When you choose for yourself the means of conveyance, choose the camel. That animal will get over forty hills, and will not be tired.

“When you wish to be provided with milk, choose a mare. That animal never ceases to be in milk till the advanced frosts.

“When you are about to take a wife, choose a beautiful girl. Who will refuse to marry a fine widow when mourning your loss?”3

In some cases general observations are combined with advice or admonition, or with description. An interesting example from thenbsp;Kazaks sets forth the disadvantages resulting from an unwise selectionnbsp;in taking a wife.^ From the same tribes comes a poem of considerablenbsp;length in which advice is given to a young bride.5 This poem may benbsp;compared with similar ‘advice’ poems in Anglo-Saxon and Russiannbsp;literature. It is interesting to compare also the Samoyed custom de-

‘ Chodzko, p. 347. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 365.

3 Ib. p. 370.

lt; Proben ill, p. 2; Radlov, A.S. I, p. 506. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Proben in, p. ijff.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;151

scribed by Czaplicka, in which the mother-in-law is said to give advice in the form of gnomic utterances to her daughter-in-law? Passages innbsp;the poems of the Abakan group also indicate advice poems as recitednbsp;by older people and women to young heroes setting out on a journey.nbsp;In a Kysyl poem, the hero’s uncle at the naming ceremony (cf. p. 136nbsp;above) gives admonition and advice to his nephew, combined with his

Gnomic and descriptive matter is frequently couched in catalogue form. A list of ten principal ‘evils’ to which man is subject occurs in anbsp;speech in a poem from the northern Tatars,^ while in the Kazak saganbsp;of Et Targyn the characteristics of the hero at seven stages of his lifenbsp;are set forth in the form of a long panegyric addressed by a maiden tonbsp;the aged Koshak.“* The framework in which the characteristic featuresnbsp;of a man at various stages of life are described in detail is parallel to thatnbsp;of Solon’s poems on the Seven Ages of Man. The tendency to generalnbsp;descriptions is not confined to this passage. A Kazak poem on How thenbsp;Kalmuck laments for his Land, though composed in the form of anbsp;lament, and in the first person, consists of a sustained description of thenbsp;Kalmuck’s mountain land and of the life lived there.5 This compositionnbsp;may, however, be a conscious imitation of a foreign style ; for it is quitenbsp;in the fashion of Mongol lyrical poetry.^

Among the most elaborate of the descriptive poems which we have met are those which enumerate the points of an ideal horse, and whichnbsp;are ascribed to the Turkoman hero Kurroglou, and were possiblynbsp;composed by him. They are actually general descriptions; but theirnbsp;purpose is certainly didactic, for they contain much information of anbsp;practical kind, and are full of shrewd observation and expert knowledge.

“Listen to me,” cries the hero of the first of this series, to Sultan Murad, “and learn by what signs a horse of noble breed may benbsp;known.”

The hero then improvises his description, which is said to be so exact and authoritative that connoisseurs of horses in Persia appeal to itnbsp;to-day in their disputes about the merits of their race-horses.7 Severalnbsp;poems of a similar character are scattered throughout the Kurroglounbsp;Cycle.®

Among the Tatars and among the Yakut and the peoples of the Altai

’ Czaplicka, Ó’.K. p. no. ’ Proben ii, p. 648f. ’ lb. iv, p. i68ff.

* lb. Ill, p. 165 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 lb. p. 66 f.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Prejevalsky, p. 69.

’ Chodzko, p. 23 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ lb. pp. 169, 176.

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region especially riddles are not uncommon. The examples which have come under our observation are chiefly, though not exclusively,*nbsp;contained in riddle sequences. Indeed the literary convention whichnbsp;we have found to be common in Norse and elsewhere, by which twonbsp;people ask one another a series of riddles—a riddle contest in fact—isnbsp;a popular motif among the Altai Tatars and the Teleut. Such contestsnbsp;are generally of a serious nature, sometimes definitely hostile. They are,nbsp;however, a favourite form of amusement also at social gatherings,nbsp;especially among the Yakut (see p. 159 below). These contests arenbsp;generally held between girls and youths. One party, consisting entirelynbsp;of girls, seeks to overcome their opponents, a band of youths, or vicenbsp;versa, with riddles or abusive extempore verses. He or she who cannotnbsp;answer the riddle or ‘cap’ the abusive couplet or quatrain must pay anbsp;forfeit. The women are said to be especially proficient in this art.

In spite of the fact that such contests are essentially extempore, it is said that the better varieties of them remain in the memories of thenbsp;public and pass from one end of the steppe to the other.* Radlovnbsp;quotes^ from the Kazak-Kirghiz an interesting example of such a famousnbsp;poetical contest in which a man, caught in the act of stealing horses, isnbsp;fettered and taken to the khan’s tent and allowed to enter into a poeticalnbsp;contest with his daughter. The contest takes the form of an abusivenbsp;dialogue, and apparently serves as a kind of neck-verse, or trial by ordeal,nbsp;to discover if the man is a cultured person of good birth and socialnbsp;standing. In this case the man comes off victorious. Here and elsewherenbsp;it is clear that in these abusive dialogues neither party is prepared tonbsp;spare the feelings of his opponent.“*

Riddle contests are frequently held between two sages,5 and also between a sage and an ordinary individual.® An account of such anbsp;contest, which occurs in the Altai saga of The Two Princes, has alreadynbsp;been given (p. 107 above), and it has been pointed out that the storynbsp;probably has reference to a contest between a heavenly and an earthly

' A collection of individual riddles is given from the Altai region in Proben I, p. 261 ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 295.

3 Proben ill, p. 48; Radlov, A.S. l, p. 493 f.

It will be remembered that in the Norse Hervarar Saga, Gestumblindi (i.e. Gestr hinn blindi, ‘Guest the Blind’, or Othinn) chooses to undergo a riddle ordealnbsp;rather than to abide a trial by the ‘Judges’ when summoned to appear before Kingnbsp;HeiSrekr. See the translation of this saga by Kershaw, Stories and Ballads of the Farnbsp;Past, p. Ii4f.

5 We may compare the contest between Väinämöinen and Joukahainen in the Kalevala.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;See e.g. Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 296.

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sage, though the treatment is probably humorous. Reference has also been made (p. io8 above) to the saga of Ak Köhök which occurs innbsp;several versions, and which also refers to various contests of intellectualnbsp;power and practical magic between the hero himself and others ofnbsp;similar intellectual and mantic pretensions, including his own brother.nbsp;Riddle contests form an important part of these competitions. In thenbsp;saga of The Two Princes and the Teleut saga of Ak Köhök the riddlesnbsp;are all propounded consecutively. Thus the answers, also given in anbsp;series, closely resemble the Anglo-Saxon gnomic verses, as we havenbsp;found to be the case also in some of the early Norse and Russian riddlesnbsp;(cf. Vol. II, p. 212 f. of the present work). In the Kurdak version ofnbsp;Ak Köhök,however, each riddle is answered before the next is asked,nbsp;though several of the riddles in this series bear a close resemblance tonbsp;those in the Teleut version.

In Tatar stories the ability to answer riddles is a test frequently applied to a suitor who asks for the hand of a lady in marriage. An instance ofnbsp;such an ‘intelligence test’ occurs in the brief Altai story of The Riddlenbsp;of the Bride's father.^ We may mention also a short story from thenbsp;Kazak Tatars in which a princess is represented as having refused manynbsp;suitors, only agreeing to marry the hero when he has successfullynbsp;answered a riddle sequence.^ In this series, as in the examples from thenbsp;Altai, the riddles are all asked consecutively, and the answers are alsonbsp;consecutive. Almost all belong to that class of riddle which consists ofnbsp;the elucidation of the figurative speech of poetic diction, and almostnbsp;all these figures or riddles are concerned with the animals or the naturalnbsp;features of the steppe.

It will be seen from the examples cited that the riddle contests form a kind of ordeal, whether an alternative to military combat, or to legalnbsp;trial by judges, or a test of wit and culture. It is not impossible that thenbsp;stories of such contests may in some measure reflect actual customnbsp;which at some period has been current on the steppe. Radlov wasnbsp;interrogated about the stars and the Heavens by an official among thenbsp;Chern Tatars'* in a series of questions, much as Ak Köbök is interrogatednbsp;by Kidän Khan’s envoy when Kidän Khan seeks to avoid battle with hisnbsp;strong rival, and to substitute for it a contest in wisdom and knowledge.nbsp;The resemblance cannot be pressed, of course, as such questions arenbsp;natural from an intelligent native official to an enlightened member ofnbsp;a higher civilisation.

' Proben IV, p. i8iff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ lb. I, p. 6of.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. in, p. jSyfF.

¦* Radlov, A.S. I, p. 371 f.

154

Apart from the similarity of form, however, which may be accidental, the similarity of the actual questions put by the official to the riddlesnbsp;which we have cited is interesting. The riddle sequences, like those ofnbsp;other countries, are principally preoccupied with natural science, morenbsp;especially with those phenomena which are connected with the sky andnbsp;the weather. On the whole, therefore, the testimony of the Tatarnbsp;riddles supports the belief to which we are led by our examination of thenbsp;riddles of other countries, that the asking and answering of riddles isnbsp;traditionally regarded as an ordeal applied to people of intellectualnbsp;pretensions as a test of culture in general, and of proficiency in naturalnbsp;science and the language of poetry in particular, though in modern timesnbsp;it has come to be largely a matter of social entertainment. We shall findnbsp;further evidence of a similar character among other peoples to benbsp;considered later.

It is important to remember, however, that the prevalence of stories of riddle contests among the Tatars and the Yakut does not necessarilynbsp;imply that the custom is native to this part of the world. The evidencenbsp;for such contests is very widespread and ancient.’ We have seen that innbsp;early Norse and modern Russia riddle sequences occur which resemblenbsp;closely those which we have just considered, both in form and in thenbsp;subjects treated, and that in Russia they are associated with marriagenbsp;customs. It may be mentioned here that in modern Ladakh, on thenbsp;western border of Tibet, riddle sequences are said to form an invariablenbsp;part of the social ritual at marriage ceremonies, and consist largely of anbsp;recital of the names of the gods and of data relating to geography andnbsp;primitive natural science. Such riddles are propounded to the bridegroom’s party on their arrival at the bride’s home in order to discovernbsp;if they are cultivated persons and of good family. Both questions andnbsp;answers are recited in the form of poetry, and constitute what is innbsp;reality a combination of a poetical and a riddle contest.^

â

Narrative poetry and saga, and poetry embodying speeches in character relating to people not known otherwise seem to have much innbsp;common with Yugoslav poetry. Almost all the narrative poems possess

’ An Indian tradition represents King Kanishka as listening to the story of King Kriki who has had ten dreams which the brahmans interpret as evil portents, butnbsp;which the sage Kasyapa explains otherwise. (See J.B.T.S. Vol. i, Pt. in, 1893,nbsp;p. 19.) The list of the dreams and their interpretations is much like a riddle sequencenbsp;or contest. But both conventions were doubtless already ancient in the time fromnbsp;which our record dates.

’ See Francke, I.A. xxx (1901), p. 131.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;155

the characteristics of style which we have seen to belong to heroic narrative poetry, and almost all are stories of adventure. Sometimes theynbsp;resemble those of the Kara-Kirghiz, sometimes those of the Abakannbsp;Tatars. In particular a number of poems are recorded from the Altainbsp;which resemble closely those of the Abakan Tatars except that they arenbsp;briefer and simpler. It will be remembered that the Abakan poems allnbsp;relate to heroes who figure only in a single poem. Many of their heroesnbsp;are either poor, or friendless orphans, or appear to be without anythingnbsp;resembling a staff of followers or an organised household. In this respectnbsp;their resemblance to folk-tales is very close.

In illustration of poems of this class we may refer to two texts, recorded by Chodzko from the Tatars of Astrakhan, in which a dyingnbsp;warrior is represented as lamenting his fate.’ These poems resemblenbsp;very closely the heroic tolgaws or laments to which we have alreadynbsp;referred (pp. 56, 62 above). We have no doubt that either they werenbsp;composed by someone else after the hero’s death, or else that they arenbsp;merely exercises in compositions of this class. No names are mentioned.nbsp;The first line of the second song:

My bay horse was fond of my singing a tolgaw while I was riding, suggests that this class of composition is widely practised.

Poetry of this class is not very intimate or personal in character. Radlov cites four examples consisting of from two to four strophesnbsp;each from the Northern Tatars,^ one of which purports to be spoken bynbsp;an exile in a strange land, longing for home. The theme is not uncommon. Dmitrêv quotes three examples from the Volga Tatars. Henbsp;tells us that among these people it is one of the favourite forms, beingnbsp;composed for the most part to express the sorrows of the conscriptsnbsp;impressed into the Russian army.^ From the Kazaks we have the poemnbsp;of thirty-five lines referred to above (p. 151) in which a namelessnbsp;Kalmuck describes his native mountains and bemoans his exile in a farnbsp;land.“* The type is probably of Mongol origin (cf. p. 62 above).

The greater part of the occasional poetry in Radlov’s collections consists of improvised couplets and quatrains. These are especiallynbsp;common among the Tatars of the Altai.5 They are general and reflectivenbsp;in character, and consist largely of parallel utterances, the first statementnbsp;containing figurative speech, very often relating to physical nature, the

' Chodzko, pp. 368, 369 (nos. xi, xv).

’ Proben iv, p. 391 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ J.A. 1926, p. 3i7f.

lt; Proben III, p. 66 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. I, pp. 246 ff., 434.

156

second the literal interpretation/ Frequently poems of this kind, though recited in the first person, are almost wholly gnomic innbsp;character.

Love poetry is doubtless universal, and forms among the Tatars a large item in the poetry of social ritual. Vambery tells us that among thenbsp;Kara-Kirghiz it is a common pastime among the young people for thenbsp;men and girls to stand in two semi-circles facing one another and improvise love poems.^ Radlov records a number of love poems from thenbsp;northern Tatars,^ but in these particular examples foreign influence isnbsp;to be suspected.

Poetry of celebration is chiefly represented by elegiac poetry, which, like narrative poetry, is heroic in style, at least in the few examplesnbsp;which have come before us. Such poetry is generally composed bynbsp;women, except when a professional minstrel is hired. As an examplenbsp;we may refer to a widow’s lament from the Tatars of the Altai cited bynbsp;Radlov.“* Radlov also records a hunting song from the Tobol Tatars.’nbsp;Oddly enough the heroic manner is not prominent in this poem, whichnbsp;resembles rather the antithetical gnomic style of the strophic ‘contest’nbsp;poems.

Wedding songs are very widespread. Radlov gives us a bridegroom’s song from the northern Tatars,® and another song from the samenbsp;tribe,7 composed to be sung at a wedding. In all such literature thenbsp;emotion is traditional and conventional.

The formal part of the wedding celebrations everywhere seems to be conducted wholly in improvised poetry. Vambéry tells us® that amongnbsp;the Siberian Tatars generally on the first day of the wedding, the youngnbsp;people dance in circles and sing in chorus. On the second day, as the

’ A similar form of composition seems to be current also among the Malays. Dr Reinhold Rost speaks of “improvised poems, generally (though not necessarily)nbsp;of four lines, in which the first and third, and the second and fourth rhyme. They arenbsp;mostly love poems; and their chief peculiarity is that the meaning intended to benbsp;conveyed is expressed in the second couplet, whereas the first contains a simile ornbsp;distant allusion to the second, or often has, beyond the rhyme, no connection withnbsp;the second at all. The Malays are fond of reciting such rhymes ‘in alternate contestnbsp;for several hours, the preceding pantun furnishing the catchword to that whichnbsp;follows, until one of the parties be silenced or vanquished’.’” J.R.A.S. yiN (1885),nbsp;p. 99.

’ Türkenvolk, p. 271. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Proben IV, pp. 98, 277, 331.

A.S. I, p. 320. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Proben IV, p. 335.

Ib. IV, p. 384. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Loe. cit.

® Türkenvolk, p. 111 f.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;157

bride and bridegroom are conducted to their relatives, their intimate friends advance before them, dancing and celebrating the bridegroom’snbsp;future happiness, while to the bride they sing:

“You marry a man whom your father has selected for you, you are going with him now on a fine sledge. Be not homesick, conductnbsp;yourself well in the house of your husband’s family, and live innbsp;prosperity and peace yourself.”

Vambery cites three strophes of a conversation, carried on in poetry, from the commencement of the ceremony which takes place when anbsp;young suitor comes of age and first makes a formal proposal on his ownnbsp;behalf.’^

These and other wedding songs recited by the bride and bridegroom and by their friends appear to constitute a ritual which forms a fixednbsp;ceremonial at Tatar weddings just as among Russian peasants. Thenbsp;Abakan’ and the Kazakh wedding songs, and perhaps also the weddingnbsp;ceremonial, differ from one another considerably, however, and ournbsp;information as to the order and method of the recitations is not explicit.nbsp;Among the Tatars of the Altai also songs are sung at recognised stagesnbsp;in the wooing and wedding ceremonies. An interesting sketch of thenbsp;whole proceeding is given by Radlov, who also cites examples of thenbsp;song sung by the match-maker on first arriving at the house of thenbsp;prospective bride, the song sung by the bridegroom as he approachesnbsp;the house at a later stage in the proceedings, and an elaborate examplenbsp;of the blessing pronounced on the bride by her father-in-law.**

Similar customs prevail among the Kazaks, where an elaborate ceremonial takes place. This ceremonial resembles the Russian verynbsp;closely in its formality and in the similarity of the whole to a ritualnbsp;drama, and the two are probably not independent of one another. Annbsp;interesting account and several texts of actual wedding songs are givennbsp;by Radlov.5 On such occasions a professional minstrel is often engagednbsp;to compose extempore panegyric poetry. This, however, by no meansnbsp;excludes the singing contest, which, as we have seen, is a favouritenbsp;accompaniment of Tatar weddings. At a later stage in the proceedingsnbsp;the guests collect inside the yurt, the maidens and young women on onenbsp;side, and the young wooers on the other. The latter now competenbsp;with the maidens in improvisation, and any who refuses to do so, ornbsp;is unable to respond is mercilessly mocked and maltreated by the

’ Ib. p. 235 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Proben n, p. 658ff.

3 Ib. in, p. 8ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;¦* Radlov, A.S. i, p. 3löfF.

5 Ib.-p. 476 ff.

158 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

women.' On the arrival of the young wife at the tent of her father-in-law she sits down on the left of the door, and her relatives sing to her as follows :

“Honour your father-in-law —he is your father.

Honour your mother-in-law

—she is your mother. Be not irritable,” etc.*

It has already been mentioned that riddles form an important part of the social ritual of Tatar weddings, and that the riddle contest isnbsp;closely associated with the singing match, which is also popular atnbsp;weddings and other festivals. In this form of poetry the Kara-Kirghiznbsp;are said to excel.

“The singing fraternity generally take up their stand in two semicircles of youths and maidens, and after one of the former has chosen his rival from the latter he begins to give expression in a single or doublenbsp;verse to his feelings of tenderness or admiration in a rhythmical speech,nbsp;frequently adorned with metaphors drawn from external nature. This isnbsp;answered by the maiden in a similar vein.”3

In just such a way the hero of the Kazak saga of Erkäm Aidar is represented as holding a singing match with two maidens.'*

It is interesting to compare with these wedding ceremonies of the southern Turks the account of a Yakut wedding given by Shklovsky.nbsp;Here, although the young people indulge in a singing contest, like thenbsp;southern Tatars and the Russian settlers in the west, it is clear that thenbsp;old women are the best minstrels.

“ The young people... went out into the meadow and formed themselves into two separate ranks, men in one, and girls in the other. With decorous and mincing steps these two living walls slowly approachednbsp;each other.

‘ Ho, boys, ho ! Let us enjoy ourselves while we are young ! ’ chanted one of the men.

* Sing aloud, my throat ! ’ sang a girl.

‘ Boys, let us dance and laugh while we are still unwed ; ere yet the sinews of our strength are drawn out by a woman’s little tongue ! ’

‘ Girls, let us play while we are still unwed, while we are still uncaught by the coarse hands of men ! ’

’ Vambéry, Türkenvolk, p. 242 f.

3 Ib. p. 271.

ANTIQUARIAN AND GNOMIC LITERATURE nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;159

“This was all improvised. Jests, at times coarse, were freely bandied about. On hearing the merry voices some old women, mostly blind,nbsp;came out of the hut. Their extreme thinness, their unkempt grey hair,nbsp;their blind eyes and strange dress, gave them a most fantastic appearance, reminding one of the terrible Druid priestesses.... The old womennbsp;listened attentively to the young people’s jokes, and they also improvised songs in which they made mention of lost youth, the sweetness ofnbsp;man’s embrace, and the sorrow of infirmity. I quote one of these improvisations which I noted down at the time, as a specimen of the wildnbsp;poetry breathed by these untutored songs.

‘How welcome is the warmth of the sun to my aged bones! How joyful to dance with you, my children ! This may be the last time I shallnbsp;sing. Soon will the earth cover my sightless eyes. Next year again younbsp;will come here to play, but on my grave the young grass will be green.nbsp;Cold shall I be there, nor can the hearth fire warm my old body. Dancenbsp;and sing then, O youth ! ’

“She sang with wild energy: ‘And I too will dance with you for the last time. For the last time I shall drink the koumiss, and next springnbsp;you will gather here again in the sunlight. Then you will remember thenbsp;old woman, and she will rejoice in her cold grave. She will hear yournbsp;songs, and from the grave her darkened eyes will see you drink thenbsp;koumiss. And her happy bones will dance to your merry songs.’”

Besides improvisations, they sang the customary songs, some of which expressed unbridled licentiousness and sensuality, the utmostnbsp;plainness of language being employed. Others, on the contrary, werenbsp;delicate and sad.’

Shklovsky tells us’ that the party then proceed, at the suggestion of the old woman, to ask riddles.

It will be seen that the similarity between the poetry of social ritual in Russia and Siberia is very striking, more especially in that which is

* Shklovsky, p. 5 5 f. The custom of associating singing matches with marriage prevails also in the Himalayas north of Darjeeling. According to the Indian travellernbsp;Sarat Chandra Das, among the Limbus :

“When a man and a girl think of marrying, they meet, without consulting their parents, at some place—a market, if there be one near—in order to sing witty songs,nbsp;in which test the man is required to excel his fair rival. If he is beaten in this contestnbsp;by the maiden whose hand he covets, he runs away in deep shame at his defeat;nbsp;but if he wins, he seizes her by the hand and takes her to his home without furthernbsp;ceremony, but usually accompanied by a female companion. If the man has hadnbsp;some previous knowledge of the girl’s superior attainment in singing, he sometimesnbsp;bribes the maiden’s companion to declare him the winner in the singing competition.’’ Sarat Chandra Das, p. 13.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Loc. cit.

l6o nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

associated with weddings. In both we have singing matches and riddle contests, and in both improvisation on traditional lines is widelynbsp;practised. Indeed the formal part of the proceedings would seem to benbsp;wholly conducted in traditional form, and constitute something very likenbsp;a poetical ritual drama. Old people as well as young take part in thenbsp;composition and recitation of extempore poetry on these occasions.

CHAPTER VIII

THE TEXTS

The material offered by the Tatar poems in Radlov’s collection for a treatment of the texts and of variant versions is unfortunatelynbsp;not nearly so full or satisfactory as that which is available fornbsp;Russian and Yugoslav. In no case can we be certain that we possessnbsp;more than a single text of a given narrative poem, whereas in Russiannbsp;the great wealth of variant texts gives ample opportunity for comparative work, and for tracing tlie history of various oral traditions andnbsp;forms. We do not doubt that if the same amount of work in collectingnbsp;Tatar texts had been done by European scholars the discrepancy wouldnbsp;have been much less; but as it is, we are wholly dependent on Radlov’snbsp;single texts. Our study must therefore of necessity be confined to anbsp;comparison of the variant traditions occurring in different poems andnbsp;sagas, and of variant passages within a single poem. It is hoped, however, that the material available will be enough to show both that Tatarnbsp;oral tradition develops on similar lines to those of the literatures alreadynbsp;considered, and also that at the time when Radlov recorded the poemsnbsp;this oral tradition was still a living and vigorous growth.

In Chapter ii we have related at length the variant versions of the saga of Sunu Mattyr derived from the Sagai, Altai, and Teleutnbsp;Tatars. We have seen that these versions represent what appears to be,nbsp;in some measure at least, a genuine historical tradition relating to thenbsp;Jungarian princes of the close of the seventeenth and the early part ofnbsp;the eighteenth centuries. The tradition is somewhat disintegrated, andnbsp;we suspect that motifs have been incorporated from folk-tale or epicnbsp;poetry. Indeed a comparison of these texts is instructive as showingnbsp;the varied aspects which a series of genuine historical traditions cannbsp;assume when carried on orally in prose form for a century and a half.nbsp;This series of traditions has already been discussed in detail. They,nbsp;together with the two versions of Khan Shentai and Jirtüshlük.^ to benbsp;discussed later, afford the best material we have found for the study ofnbsp;Tatar prose variants.

Before leaving the subject of the variants of the saga of Sunu Mattyr^ we may mention the similarity of one incident contained in the Kysylnbsp;poem of Südäi Märgän and Joltai Märgän, which has been related more

CL iii

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

fully in the chapter on ‘Non-heroic Poetry and Saga’. The hero, it will be remembered, is represented as killing a tiger which has long troublednbsp;the people of his father-in-law.' His two brothers-in-law, who havenbsp;also gone to hunt the tiger, persuade him to allo’w them to claim creditnbsp;for the deed, giving him in exchange a strip of skin from their backs.nbsp;Fearing exposure, they subsequently cast him into a deep pit, whencenbsp;he is ultimately rescued by his wife. It will be seen that the story in itsnbsp;general outline bears a close resemblance to the incident in the Sagainbsp;saga of Sunu Mattyr in which the kongdaijy summons his men to go tonbsp;hunt a tiger which is harassing his dominions. The young hero Sununbsp;kills the tiger, but conceals the fact. When it is disclosed by a maiden,nbsp;his elder half-brothers, moved by jealousy, conspire against him, andnbsp;have him cast into a deep pit, from which he is freed at the end of threenbsp;years. It is possible that this incident in the saga is derived from heroicnbsp;poetry or folk-tale. The same motif occurs also in Kogutei ; but it isnbsp;interesting to find it associated with well-known characters of thenbsp;close of the seventeenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century.

We will now consider as briefly as possible three versions of what is undoubtedly a single story. We will take as an example the story whichnbsp;is recited among the Kara-Kirghiz as the poem Er Töshtük?' We willnbsp;call this version, for convenience, A. It has already been mentionednbsp;that one version of the story is current among the Kazaks as a saga, withnbsp;the title Khan Shentai^ which we will call B, and another version is alsonbsp;found in prose with the title Jirtüshlük^^ which we will call C. A briefnbsp;summary of each of these versions has already been given (pp. 109 f.,nbsp;111 f. above). We will therefore refer the reader to these passages fornbsp;the actual versions, and merely enumerate here very briefly the chiefnbsp;similarities and diflerences between the variants, and the characteristicnbsp;features of each version.

In all these versions a hero, who is the youngest of several brothers, is about to marry a lady, but is prevented from accompanying her to hernbsp;new home. In all versions the bridal party is attacked by a dragon innbsp;the bridegroom’s absence as they are camping for the night, and in allnbsp;the hero follows the dragon underground. In all he is forced to undertake a series of adventures before he is enabled to return to his ownnbsp;home. In all he is eventually able to return to his wife by the help of anbsp;bird or birds. Such, briefly stated, are the main points of similarity

* Proben 11, p. 1. 424fF. ’ Ib. v, p. 530fr.

3 lb. Ill, p. 297 fF,

¦lt; lb. IV, p. 443.

163 between the outlines of the three versions. A closer comparison wouldnbsp;bring out much more fully the numerous points of agreement in thenbsp;course of the narratives.

The differences between the various versions consist for the most part of omissions and transpositions. Thus in A and B the hero isnbsp;claimed as a son or foster-son by a supernatural woman dwelling in anbsp;hut or cave. In A no sons of hers are mentioned, but in B the hero’snbsp;father is raided at the opening of the story by her sons. No reason isnbsp;offered. In C the woman is not mentioned in this part of the story, butnbsp;a certain dragon hero shows himself inimical to the bridegroom, andnbsp;carries off the bride because he has previously desired to marry hernbsp;himself. It is clear that the ‘ old woman’ and Bek Toro (A) are the samenbsp;person, and it would seem likely, therefore, that in the original versionnbsp;of the story Bek Toro’s opposition to the marriage between Er Töshtüknbsp;and the maiden Kendshäkä was not wholly unmotivated. The femalenbsp;dragon of the Underworld claims the soul of Er Töshtük which hasnbsp;been promised to her. Her son, the dragon hero of the Underworld,nbsp;claims the soul of Kendshäkä. Perhaps the reason why the souls ofnbsp;Er Töshtük and Kendshäkä are especially coveted by the dragons of thenbsp;Underworld is that they are the youngest of their families, the childrennbsp;of their parents’ old age, and, as such, are gifted with supernaturalnbsp;powers. Er Töshtük is said to have been given by God, and in B he isnbsp;assisted in his encounter with the dragon in the Underworld by the godnbsp;Kydyr himself.

In many of the points of difference the versions serve to supplement one another. Thus in C alone we are told how the famous horse Chainbsp;Kuiruk comes into the hero’s possession. In A and C it is not clear whynbsp;the hero voluntarily follows the Jelmogus or female monster below thenbsp;earth, but B suggests that it is in order to rescue his wife who hasnbsp;already been stolen. In B there is no sufficient reason given why thenbsp;hero should leave the bridal party on their homeward journey; but innbsp;A and C it is clear that he never accompanied them. In A neither he nornbsp;his brothers go to woo, while the journey to the bride’s home is madenbsp;twice by the father. It would seem that in A two variant traditions havenbsp;been reconciled, in one of which the hero’s father goes alone to fetchnbsp;a bride for his youngest son—his eldest sons being hostile to him (B) ;nbsp;in the other he and the six eldest sons go together (cf. C).

In C the hero’s adventures in the Underworld differ from those in A. In A the hero carries out his underground tasks by his own efforts; butnbsp;throughout C his successes are ascribed to the advice which he receives

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164

from an old woman who lives in an earthen hut, and who, as we have said, can be no other than Bek Toro (A) and his adopted mother (B).nbsp;In B the only adventure mentioned in the Underworld is the slaying ofnbsp;the dragon prince, which is performed by Kydyr on his behalf. In B andnbsp;C, however, the hero and his party have a number of adventures afternbsp;leaving the Underworld, of which A knows nothing. This dragonnbsp;prince of B is no doubt to be identified with the dragon which attacksnbsp;the young eagles in A and C, and his previous crime against the heronbsp;is doubtless the reason why the hero slays him—an action which in Anbsp;and C is left unmotivated.

It may be noted further that in B the hero, on his descent to the Underworld, finds his wife sitting weeping beside the dragon prince,nbsp;who is known in this version as Kara Tiin. In C, however, the heronbsp;finds, not his own wife, but a snake, to whom he is forthwith marriednbsp;by a mullah. The snake, therefore, may be presumed to be, in thenbsp;original version, not a new wife, but the soul of his own wife who hasnbsp;been carried off by the dragon prince and transformed, but who regainsnbsp;her own human form on being reunited to her human husband.

Finally some minor transferences may be noted. In A and C the heroine precipitates the catastrophe by turning back to meet her father,nbsp;who rides after her, and again in A by turning back when Bek Toronbsp;calls after her. In C it is also added that the hero is warned by the oldnbsp;woman in the earthen hut not to look back when he has performed hisnbsp;first task. In A the hero returns to earth in the guise of a mullah. Thenbsp;other versions know nothing of this, but in B a mullah marries thenbsp;bridegroom to the snake-maiden. In A and B the hero returns to earthnbsp;on the back of an eagle, who subsequently restores him to his wife.nbsp;C knows nothing of the eagle, but a reminiscence of the part played bynbsp;a bird at the close of the poem would seem to lie behind the incidentnbsp;of the two doves who help to unite the husband and wife towards thenbsp;close of the story.

It is interesting to note that in its earlier portions A is fuller than B or C; but the closing portion would seem to be curtailed if we may judgenbsp;from the other two versions. This is quite in accord with what we havenbsp;noted elsewhere of the habit of the Kara-Kirghiz minstrel, who expendsnbsp;a wealth of art on the earlier and middle portions of a poem, and is aptnbsp;to grow fatigued, and either mar or curtail his conclusion. B and C are,nbsp;on the whole, freer from obscurities, and more complete in the concludingnbsp;portions; but the poet’s art is expended in A with a wealth of detail andnbsp;poetical imagination which lifts it, despite its faults, to a higher level

165 of art than either of the prose versions. A comparison of the threenbsp;versions makes it clear that in the original version or versions of thenbsp;tradition the story was a long and very elaborate one, rich in detail andnbsp;incident, a masterpiece of narrative relating to the worldly and spiritualnbsp;experiences of a person of shamanistic character, and his ‘wise’ wife.

There are many variant versions of the story of Kogutei^ but we have only had access to one of these. The story relates almost exclusively to incidents with which we are already familiar from other poemsnbsp;and sagas. In particular the story of the horses stolen by a monsternbsp;bird, the hero’s departure in search of them, his rescue of the fledglingsnbsp;from the snake, his treacherous brothers waiting around the pit whichnbsp;contains the hero, the hero’s descent below the earth, his rescue by thenbsp;grateful parent bird, and the previous departure of his brothers, are allnbsp;incidents which recur in the various versions of the story of Et Töshtüknbsp;(cf. pp. 84 ff., 162 ff. above), though the order of the events differsnbsp;slightly. In its general outline the whole story offers a still closernbsp;parallel to the first part of the poem of Südäi Märgän and Joltainbsp;Märgän from the Kysyl Tatars (cf. p. 96 ff. above). We may refernbsp;to the beast disguise assumed by the hero, his solitary life with hisnbsp;wife, the enmity of his brothers-in-law, his superiority in hunting,nbsp;including his courage in venturing alone against the predatory birdnbsp;khan, the finger joints given him by his brothers-in-law in exchange fornbsp;being allowed to claim credit for having brought down the quarry, thenbsp;pit into which they entrap him, his subsequent reappearance with thenbsp;incriminating finger joints, and his ultimate happy married life. All thesenbsp;constitute a story very close to the Kysyl poem, and there can be littlenbsp;doubt that some kind of relationship exists between them. We havenbsp;already seen that a chain of incidents similar in many respects recurs innbsp;the prose narrative of Sunu Mattyr, and in stories allied to this whichnbsp;have laid claim to be regarded as historical tradition. It is interesting tonbsp;see how wide a circulation such stories have achieved in Central Asia.nbsp;Kogutei is, however, not so much a version of stories known to us fromnbsp;other poems and sagas as a mosaic of themes and motifs which have anbsp;wide currency among the eastern Tatars, the Yakut, and the Mongols.nbsp;It has, in fact, been mentioned already (p. 102 above) that in the poemsnbsp;and ska^ki of all these peoples there is so much in common in motif,nbsp;phraseology, and diction with the details of Kogutei that it sometimesnbsp;seems as if it were ‘one big ska^^kad.

’ See Kogutei, p. 9.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Although we have no certain variants of a given poem as such, we have two poems, Altyn PyrkaA and At Mergan and Altyn Kus,^ whichnbsp;appear to be, in part at least, derived from a common original. Thesenbsp;variants are valuable as giving some idea of the kind of differentiationnbsp;which takes place in Tatar oral traditions. They are printed in Radlov’snbsp;collection as two totally different poems, and were recorded in differentnbsp;areas. Yet despite these facts, and despite the considerable differencesnbsp;which the poems show, the points of similarity in the early parts ofnbsp;both poems are so striking that it is difficult to doubt that they are innbsp;reality variants of a single theme.

Some account has already been given of the story of Altyn Pyrkan. A comparison of this story with the text of At Mergän and Altyn Kusnbsp;shows that in both the hero is the son of an aged couple, born after theynbsp;have received a message from a powerful enemy that he is coming tonbsp;carry them off with all their possessions. In both the old man promisesnbsp;compliance, and then seeks in vain to evade the fulfilment. In both thenbsp;enemy comes in due course and carries off the child and all the possessions, and the old couple perish while in his power. In both the youthfulnbsp;hero is saved by a foal who sucks him up into his nostrils and carriesnbsp;him away. In both the enemy pursues him for a long period of timenbsp;through earth, air, water, and even underground, employing as emissaries in the chase two dogs, birds, animals, etc. In both the foalnbsp;eventually succeeds in delivering the infant hero into the safe-keepingnbsp;of a maiden for his up-bringing—in one case his elder married sister, innbsp;the other a ‘swan-maiden’.

From this point onwards the resemblances between the two poems are less close. In Altyn Pyrkan the hero dies in youth, but is restorednbsp;to life by one of the three maidens who live in the third Heaven. Innbsp;Ai Mergän and Altyn Kus it is the hero’s benefactress, the swanwoman Ala Mangnyk, who is slain, and the hero himself restores her tonbsp;life. In both the hero slays his enemy, but in the former he swearsnbsp;brotherhood with his enemy’s son who has befriended him in hisnbsp;infancy; in the latter he slays him. In both poems, however, he marriesnbsp;a supernatural maiden who has assisted him—in the former, one of thenbsp;three maidens who live in the third Heaven; in the latter, the swanwoman Ala Mangnyk. In the latter poem the hero has a son whonbsp;marries a swan-maiden who appears to be a ‘ward’ of the nineycyan.nbsp;It would seem, therefore, that the marriage which in Altyn Pyrkan isnbsp;ascribed to the hero, is here ascribed to the hero’s son-—unless, indeed,nbsp;* Proben It, p. 89 ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ lb. p. 3851?.

THE TEXTS nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;167

Ala Mangnyk, herself a swan-maiden, is in reality a ward of the nine jajan also.

It will be seen that the first portions of the two poems resemble one another closely. We must suppose one of two things: either that thenbsp;same traditional story lies behind both poems, or that the poet in eachnbsp;case has utilised a common motif. The latter is not very likely, partlynbsp;because the similarities are found, not only in the outline of the stories,nbsp;but also in a considerable amount of the details and circumstances. It isnbsp;important to note also that although in the second part of the story thenbsp;resemblance is not so close as in the first, nevertheless these points ofnbsp;similarity, taken in connection with the early part of the stories, are bynbsp;no means inconsiderable. Such differences as exist are doubtless largelynbsp;due to the fact that the poem of Ai Morgan and Altyn Kus is muchnbsp;longer than Altyn Pyrkan^ thus allowing considerable room for thenbsp;introduction of more incidents, and consequently more variation. Wenbsp;have no doubt that the two poems are derived from a single originalnbsp;story.

We have just examined two distinct poems which appear to have been derived from a common origin and carried on by independentnbsp;tradition. Again, in our brief study of the versions of the story ofnbsp;Er Töshtük we have not only noted the existence of several variantnbsp;versions, more or less complete, but we have also pointed out that therenbsp;are reasons for suspecting that in several cases more than one variantnbsp;tradition of an individual incident has been incorporated in one of thesenbsp;complete versions of the story. In the Manas Cycle the existence ofnbsp;unreconciled variants of individual incidents is common as between onenbsp;poem and another, and even occurs from time to time within a singlenbsp;poem. Again in Joloi also we find incidents which are at variance withnbsp;the parallel versions in the Manas Cycle. We will now consider somenbsp;of the variant versions of an identical incident as it appears in differentnbsp;poems, and then pass on to consider some unreconciled variants of thenbsp;same tradition occurring in a single poem.

We will pass over the discrepancy in the accounts of the death of Bolot as we have them in the poems Joloi and Bok Murun. In the latternbsp;Bolot is killed in battle by Alaman Bet immediately after the death ofnbsp;Joloi at the hand of Manas, whereas in the former Bolot is apparentlynbsp;slain by a spirit army in the Underworld. The account is far from clear,nbsp;and the conclusion suggests that while the spirit battle is in progress,nbsp;a real battle is taking place in the world between a heather army and the

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

sons of Köchpös Bai. Bolot is slain, but is revived by the black shamanka^ Kara Chach, and as he has only recently left Joloi alive andnbsp;well, we may perhaps assume that the tradition of his death recorded innbsp;Bok Murun relates to a later period of his life.

The most striking variants in the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz are those which relate to Manas’ wooing, and his marriage with Kanykäi,nbsp;his raid on the Kalmucks, and his death at their hands. These threenbsp;incidents are told in two distinct poems, which we will refer to for thenbsp;sake of convenience as A and B. The first (A) is the third poem innbsp;Radlov’s collection, and is entitled: The Battle between Manas andnbsp;Kökchö. Manas marries Kanykäi. Manas Death and Resurrection. Thenbsp;second (B) is Radlov’s fifth poem, and is entitled Kos Kaman. The ordernbsp;of events is not the same in the two poems. In the first, Manas’ warnbsp;against the Kalmucks and their allies, the Uigurs, occurs before hisnbsp;marriage with Kanykäi; in the second the war with the Kalmucks occursnbsp;after the marriage.

A comparison of the brief summaries of these two poems given above (pp. 30-34) will show that they represent two traditions which differnbsp;considerably from one another, not only in the order of events narrated,nbsp;but also in the substance of the stories themselves. Some of thesenbsp;differences are due to omissions, but others appear to be due to quitenbsp;contradictory traditions. Others again are due to the introduction ofnbsp;important characters and episodes in one version of which the othernbsp;knows nothing. It is, indeed, surprising and instructive to see hownbsp;widely two poems recorded from oral tradition in the same communitynbsp;can come to differ from one another while relating what are practicallynbsp;the same events.

Both poems relate the marriage of Manas to Kanykäi. Both relate a raid by Manas against the neighbouring peoples. Both relate that Manasnbsp;is wounded by a prominent member of the raided peoples, though in Anbsp;this is the Uigur prince Er Kökchö, in B a member of the Kalmucknbsp;cortège whose name is not given. In both versions Manas makes hisnbsp;escape and returns home. In both he is poisoned by the Kalmuck princenbsp;Kökshögös as he is spending the night in a certain house on his homeward journey, and dies as a result, though in B Kökshögös despatchesnbsp;him with a wound after poisoning him. In both versions Kanykäinbsp;realises what has occurred—in A by means of a dream, in B by secondnbsp;sight—and goes to find her husband. In both the hero is restored tonbsp;life and returns to his family.

Despite the general identity of the events narrated, however, it is

169 certain that no close relationship exists between the actual texts of thenbsp;two poems. The order of events is quite different. The account ofnbsp;Manas’ wooing is also quite different, and, indeed, contradictory in thenbsp;two versions. Further, whereas in B the story of Kos Kaman and hisnbsp;sons occupies the greater part of the picture, in A it is omitted, save fornbsp;the brief reference to the poisoning of Manas in the house of ‘twonbsp;thieves’ as he is on his homeward journey (in B after his marriage withnbsp;Kanykäi). In A the names of the ‘ thieves’ are given as Kökchö Kös andnbsp;Kamang Kös,' which are manifestly identical with the names of Kösnbsp;Kaman and his son Kökshögös, the latter of whom poisons Manas in A.nbsp;Mengdi Bai himself, who plays so prominent a part in A, is not mentioned in B, and neither Ternir Khan himself nor his wife appear in thenbsp;latter poem. Indeed the wooing of Kanykäi is reported much morenbsp;briefly in B, and there is no reference to the preliminary mission bynbsp;Jakyp Bai. On the other hand the raid on the Kalmucks is much morenbsp;fully told in B.

The poems differ also in regard to other details, and in some of these a comparison of the two texts may serve to re-establish the originalnbsp;version. Thus in A Manas is said to be restored to life by angels; butnbsp;immediately afterwards we are told that it is Bakai Khan who arousesnbsp;him ; and again immediately afterwards, that he is restored to life by thenbsp;Forty Friends. The first two are not irreconcilable, for we know thatnbsp;Bakai acts as (Mussulman) priest to Jakyp and Manas,^ and he doubtlessnbsp;corresponds to Khan Kosha (Khan hodja, ‘pilgrim’.^), ‘Prince ofnbsp;Mecca’, who in B accompanies Kanykäi to heal and restore Manas.3 Thenbsp;angels, therefore, are merely supplementary. In B, however, it is Manasnbsp;himself who restores the Forty Friends, and this is probably the originalnbsp;version.

In A the raid on the Kalmucks precedes the wooing of Kanykäi, and if this were the correct position it would better account for Temir’snbsp;conditional consent to the marriage. It is clear that the hero wasnbsp;severely wounded in the raid which, in spite of initial success, appearsnbsp;to have ended disastrously. It is perhaps because of this defeat thatnbsp;Manas undertakes his mission to the tsar in A, in order to beg his support. Hence also, perhaps, the tsar’s severe injunctions to Manas to

' Proben v, p. 112, 1. 1683.

’ Cf. Ib. p. 241,1. 1156ff.

’ A detailed examination of both texts suggests that the version which we have called A was clearly composed under much stronger Mohammedan influencenbsp;than the other.

lyo nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

observe the peace. It is not unlikely that the Russian tsar would disapprove of any unsuccessful attack on the ‘Mongols’ which would be likely to arouse them to reprisals against the Kara-Kirghiz, who arenbsp;represented here as the eastern bulwark of Russia.

We have seen that in the poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz the Uigurs and the Kalmucks are not differentiated, and are sometimes actually identified. Now the name of the Uigur prince who wounds Manas in singlenbsp;combat during Manas’ raid on his neighbours in A is Kökchö. But thenbsp;name of the Kalmuck prince who poisons and stabs Manas in B is alsonbsp;Kökchö (Kökchö Kös or Kökshögös; cf. Kös Kaman). In A alsonbsp;Manas is poisoned by Kökchö. There can be no doubt, therefore, thatnbsp;the Uigur prince and the eldest son of Kös Kaman are identical. Thenbsp;name may, of course, be a common one; but it is most unlikely thatnbsp;Manas should be wounded in both versions by a man of the same namenbsp;and the same people if they are not identical persons. And such annbsp;identification would help to account for the single combat betweennbsp;Manas and Er Kökchö in A, which otherwise is somewhat vaguelynbsp;motivated.

The great problem which the comparison of the two versions fails to solve is whether Manas twice raids the Kalmucks or only once,nbsp;whether he is twice wounded by Kökchö or only once. In A the ordernbsp;of events is (i) Manas raids and is wounded by Kökchö; (2) marriesnbsp;Kanykäi by force; (3) is again mortally wounded by Kökchö and Kösnbsp;Kaman in their house on his homeward journey. Here we have onlynbsp;one raid and the hero is twice wounded. In B the order of events is:nbsp;(i) Honourable marriage with Kanykäi; (2) Raid intercepted; (3) Manasnbsp;wounded in Kös Kaman’s house, probably by Kökchö ; (4) Raid on thenbsp;Kalmucks; (5) Manas and his followers poisoned by Kökchö. It is verynbsp;tempting to suppose that (4) and (5) in B are a duplicate version of (2)nbsp;and (3) in the same poem, especially as the second raid is introduced innbsp;words which are identical with those which introduce the first (cf.nbsp;1. 1539 £F. with 1. 156fF.), and both are followed by the stabbing of Manasnbsp;as he is feasting in Kös Kaman’s house. If this is so, we must supposenbsp;that the duplication has taken place in an earlier version to which A alsonbsp;is indebted, for although only one raid is mentioned in A, Manas is twicenbsp;attacked here also by Kökchö.

Occasionally we meet with variants in matters of detail which have considerable significance. Thus in A Manas declares (1. 315 f.) that henbsp;has spent ‘twenty days and twenty nights under the earth’. In B,nbsp;however, it is definitely stated (1. 2455) that Manas

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I7I

Never descended into the earth, He was a man of heroic soul,nbsp;He was a hero created by God.

The two passages seem to be flatly contradictory, and the second suggests, both in the text quoted above, and still more in the context,nbsp;that a good Mussulman does not go underground. The first passage,nbsp;then, would seem to attribute to Manas a heathen observance, viz. anbsp;journey underground in order to rescue the souls of his poisonednbsp;retinue. The second passage denies this, and declares that Manas recovered the lives of his retinue by pilgrimage and prayer.

The Manas Cycle is evidently known also to the Kazaks, as we have already seen (p. 47 above). Here Er Kökshü (Er Kökchö) is said to benbsp;still a young man, in contradistinction to the Kara-Kirghiz version,nbsp;which represents him as aged. In the Kazak version the Uigurs are notnbsp;specifically mentioned. Er Kökshü being described as the head of thenbsp;tribes of the Nogai, and the ally of Manas. Here also his enemy is thenbsp;powerful Dshangbyrshy (Jamgyrchi). Alaman Bet appears as Örmönnbsp;Bet, but the events are represented as occurring after his death—anbsp;variant of his departure from the court of Er Kökchö, as the latter eventnbsp;is related in the Kara-Kirghiz version. The Kazak version treats of onlynbsp;a brief portion of the Manas Cycle. It narrates the story of the battlenbsp;in which Er Kökshü meets his death, and adds an account, which is onlynbsp;found in this version, of the death of Dshangbyrshy’s son. Ternir Bai,nbsp;at the hands of Er Kökshü’s son Kosai in vengeance for his father.nbsp;Unfortunately the account of the wounding of Manas and the death ofnbsp;Er Kökshü are hardly more lucid here than among the Kara-Kirghiz,nbsp;but there is more than a suspicion, as in the latter version, that Manasnbsp;behaves treacherously to his ‘spiritual kinsman’, and that he cheatsnbsp;Er Kökshü’s heir of his father’s share of the spoil which he has sharednbsp;with Dshangbyrshy after the battle.

It is probable that a fuller comparison of the numerous variant traditions relating to Manas which occur in this Cycle, both with one another, and also with traditions relating to the same hero but occurringnbsp;in other Cycles, such as in that of Joloi, and again with those of thenbsp;Kazaks, would do much to bring into a clear and ordered scheme thenbsp;persons and events of this great period of Kirghiz history. We havenbsp;seen from the evidence of other Kazak stories (cf. p. 47 above) thatnbsp;not only the heroes with whom we are familiar from the Kara-Kirghiznbsp;narrative poems, but other Kazak heroes, such as Er Targyn, andnbsp;possibly Dshelkildäk, are referred to the same epoch. If, therefore, by

172 a fuller study of the variants, we were able to reconstruct the course ofnbsp;events with greater exactness, and to equate these events with others,nbsp;contemporary but not necessarily connected, we should be in a positionnbsp;to establish in some measure the historical events to which they havenbsp;reference, and the exact period when the chief persons who figure in thenbsp;poems were flourishing.

Apart from the interest attaching to variant traditions, Tatar variant versions offer much that is of interest for the study of form and thenbsp;history of the development of literary features. The non-heroic saganbsp;of Ak Köbök is especially interesting from the point of view of form.nbsp;We have seen that this saga exists in three versions from the Teleut,nbsp;the Baraba, and the Kurdak tribes. The first consists mostly of songs,nbsp;with brief narrative passages forming connecting links. In the other twonbsp;versions the proportion of prose to verse is much greater. It is clear thatnbsp;in the Teleut version the narrative element has shrunk, while thenbsp;tradition of the verse element has been better preserved, whereas amongnbsp;the Tatars of the west and north the saga element is more fully retained.

The most interesting feature of the three variants of the story, however, is the fact that in all three, generally speaking, the poems follownbsp;a uniform scheme, and where the story seems to be well rememberednbsp;they are introduced at corresponding points in the saga, though thesenbsp;poems are in no cases themselves identical. Thus in the Kurdak versionnbsp;we find a riddle contest between Ak Kübäk and the messenger who isnbsp;sent by his enemy, Kidän Khan.* Two of these riddles occur in thenbsp;Baraba version,^ where they are propounded to Mangush, the son ofnbsp;Kidän Khan, by his servant. In the Teleut version, a similar riddlenbsp;contest takes place between Ak Köbök and his brother.^ But thesenbsp;riddle poems are quite different in each case. Again, all three containnbsp;panegyric poems by the hero on his horse, his hawk, and his generalnbsp;equipment, but these poems have nothing in common. Even the formnbsp;employed is quite different in each case. The Teleut and the Barabanbsp;versions each attribute a poem to Ak Köbök’s sister. But the poems arenbsp;not the same. In the.former“* she offers food to her brother, in thenbsp;latter,^ in a shorter poem, to her lover. It is clear that the outline of thenbsp;story was remembered and handed down by oral tradition, but thenbsp;poems would seem to have been either composed extempore, or selectednbsp;arbitrarily from the current traditional repertoire. In either case the

' Proben IV, p. i88ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. iv, p. 62.

3 Ib. I, p. 228ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Ib. I, p. 232.

173 cues at which poems were to be introduced seem to be the most rigidlynbsp;fixed and faithfully reproduced features in the plan; and the prosenbsp;passages in the version from the Tatars of the Altai seem to be in factnbsp;hardly more than such cues.

We will close this chapter with a brief consideration of the relationship between the poetry of the two versions of Idägä Pi, which, as we have seen (p. 49 above), are recorded from the Baraba Tatars and thenbsp;Kurdak tribes. The version from the former consists for the most partnbsp;of prose, though a considerable amount of verse is introduced, chieflynbsp;in the speeches. In the Kurdak version the prose is confined to a briefnbsp;introduction in summary form. This version consists, for the most part,nbsp;of a dialogue poem to which, it is clear, the prose at the beginning servesnbsp;merely as an introduction. A certain amount of variation exists betweennbsp;the two versions regarding the actual narrative of events; but apart fromnbsp;omissions and additions these are not important.

A comparison of the poems in the two versions is more interesting. These are sprinkled throughout the Baraba version, whereas in thenbsp;Kurdak version they follow one another continuously after the conclusion of the introductory prose narrative. The Baraba version givesnbsp;only two poems in the portion of the saga covered by the poems in thenbsp;Kurdak version. The Baraba poems consist of eleven lines of narrativenbsp;and fourteen lines of dialogue.' These poems do not occur in identicalnbsp;form in the Kurdak version, but the contents of the Baraba narrativenbsp;poem and a close paraphrase of the Baraba dialogue poem are includednbsp;in oratio recta in the long dialogue poem at the conclusion of thenbsp;Kurdak version, and it cannot be doubted that both versions—in thisnbsp;part of the saga at least—are derived from a common poetical prototype.nbsp;This does not, of course, necessarily mean that the story did not existnbsp;in an original prose form, but it makes it probable that if this was thenbsp;case it was interspersed with poems.

’ Proben IV, p. 52!?.

CHAPTER IX

forms are recited, not in a speaking voice, but in recitative. It is probably largely for this reason that we know hardly anything of the art of thenbsp;saga-teller among these people. Among the Tatars of the western andnbsp;north-western steppe, however, where narrative is carried on chieflynbsp;in the form of saga, the art of the saga-teller seems to be fully developed.nbsp;Levchine speaks of the elaborate mimetic art of the Kazak raconteur;’nbsp;and among the Turkomans prose traditions appear to have been preserved for the past three hundred years, and are now cultivated andnbsp;transmitted, by a professional class who are also responsible for thenbsp;recitation of poetry. Unfortunately, however, our information aboutnbsp;the art of the saga-teller is very slight even here.

For the composition and recitation of poetry our information is much fuller. The art of extempore composition is widely practised by bothnbsp;men and women all over northern and Central Asia. Among thenbsp;Turkomans and the Kara-Kirghiz heroic poetry is largely recited by anbsp;professional class of men; but further east, notably among the Yakut,nbsp;as also among the Mongols and the Tungus, such poetry is cultivatednbsp;by women who do not seem to belong to a professional class. For thenbsp;poetry of the Abakan steppe our information is less clear. There can benbsp;no doubt that narrative poetry is cultivated by men to some extent.nbsp;But there is reason to suspect that here also the art is practised by womennbsp;also. Our most interesting information for the poetry of the Altainbsp;relates to the dramatic recitations of religious poetry by the shamans.nbsp;For all these peoples except the Turkomans our chief source of information is Radlov’s collection of texts, though much can be learnt also fromnbsp;the casual observations of other travellers who have been present atnbsp;recitations. On the whole it must be confessed that the informationnbsp;available to us is fragmentary and, to some extent, of unequal value.nbsp;While it is comparatively full for the heroic poetry of the Kara-Kirghiznbsp;’ Levchine, p. 384.

175 and the Turkomans, we are very much in the dark about the composition of the non-heroic poems of the Abakan Tatars. We will take anbsp;brief survey of the conditions under which poetry is cultivated amongnbsp;each of these peoples, so far as the available material and the space at ournbsp;disposal permit, beginning with the Turkomans, and passing eastwardsnbsp;till we come to the Yakut.

The Kirghiz and the Turkomans are said to esteem music and poetry as their highest pleasure. After a fortunate exploit, says Vambéry, thenbsp;marauder, however tired and hungry he may be, will listen in the opennbsp;street with real delight to the baksha who comes to meet him. Returningnbsp;home from a foray, the young warriors are in the habit of amusingnbsp;themselves throughout the night with poetry and music.' The bakshasnbsp;are said to be very numerous,^ and even in the desert, where luxuriesnbsp;are practically unknown, they are seldom absent. They are sometimesnbsp;regarded as the representatives of the ancient shamans, who havenbsp;disappeared in the west since the introduction of Mohammedanismnbsp;(see p. 192 below); but Vambéry and others^ use the term of any minstrel, especially those in the former Khanate of Khiva.

In a striking passage the same writer describes the effect of heroic recitation on the Turkomans:

“ On festal occasions, or during the evening entertainments, some Bakhshi used to recite the verses of Makhdumkuli ! When I was in Etrek,nbsp;one of these troubadours had his tent close to our own; and as he paidnbsp;us a visit of an evening, bringing his instrument with him, there flockednbsp;around him the young men of the vicinity, whom he was constrainednbsp;to treat with some of his heroic lays. His singing consisted of certainnbsp;forced guttural sounds, which we might rather take for a rattle than anbsp;song, and which he accompanied at first with gentle touches of thenbsp;strings, but afterwards, as he became excited, with wilder strokes uponnbsp;the instrument. The hotter the battle, the fiercer grew the ardour of thenbsp;singer and the enthusiasm of his youthful listeners; and really the scenenbsp;assumed’the appearance of a romance, when the young nomads,nbsp;uttering deep groans, hurled their caps to the ground, and dashed theirnbsp;hands in a passion through the curls of their hair, just as if they werenbsp;furious to combat with themselves.”“*

* Sketches, p. 342. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 341.

3 E.g. Fraser n, p. 342; Sir A. Burnes n, p. ii4ff.

Vambéry, Travels, p. 322. With this passage we may compare the account given by Priscus of a banquet at the court of Attila, and the performance of minstrelsnbsp;which followed the feast. See K. Müller, Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum iv,nbsp;p. 92 (quoted in Vol. I, p. 575 f. of the present work).

176

Both the poet and the saga-teller among the Turkomans recite chiefly during the evenings.

“It is only during the evening hours, particularly in the winter time, that they love to listen to fairy tales and stories; it is regarded as annbsp;enjoyment of a still higher and more elevated nature when a bakshinbsp;(troubadour) comes forward, and to the accompaniment of his Dütaranbsp;(a two-stringed instrument) sings a few songs of Koroglu.”'

Here, as elsewhere, the feast is a favourite occasion for the recitation of poetry.* Sometimes the minstrels are blind.3

Among the Turkomans, the professional minstrel is often also a saga-teller. In regard to the songs the tradition seems to be one ofnbsp;verbal memorisation rather than of improvisation, and even in regard tonbsp;the prose stories the form seems to be strictly memorised. The minstrelsnbsp;and story-tellers are known as ausheks‘^ or khans. Speaking of the transmission of the stories and poem of the hero Kurroglou, Chodzko tells us:

“The Kurroglian rhapsodes are called Kurroglou-Khans., from khandauy ‘to sing’. Their duty is to know by heart all the mejjlisses ofnbsp;Kurroglou, narrate them, or sing them with the accompaniment of thenbsp;favourite instrument of Kurroglou, the chungur or sitar, that is to say,nbsp;a three-stringed guitar. Ferdausy has also his Shahnama-Khans, and thenbsp;Prophet Mohammed, his Koran-Khans. The memory of those singersnbsp;is really astonishing. At every request they recite in one breaths fornbsp;some hours, without stammering, beginning the tale at the passage ornbsp;verse pointed out by the hearers.”®

The same writer tells us that in regard to the recitation of the songs attributed to Kurroglou:

“It is the duty of the Ausheks, the privileged rhapsodes of Kurroglou, to fill up the picture by a narrative in prose, explaining where, when, and on what occasion he improvised such and such a stanza....nbsp;Such narrators can be found in every Persian village and town.”7

The authenticity of the traditions would seem to have been preserved with unusual care, to judge from Chodzko’s report:

“I insisted upon their writing. . .every line, word by word, of the narrative dictated by the Kurroglou-Khans. After long and tiring

’ Vambéry, Travels, p. 321.

’ Cf. Fraser n, p. 342. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Loc. cit.

lt; Professional singers who perambulate the towns and camps of northern Persia and attend at wedding ceremonies, festivals, etc. (Chodzko).

5 Chodzko means, presumably, that they sing without pausing to rest.

‘ Chodzko, p. 13 f., note. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. izf.

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177

inquiries, it appeared that, notwithstanding some differences in the narratives of various Ausheks and Kurroglou-Khans, they all agreed innbsp;their substance; and that the improvisations of Kurroglou especiallynbsp;were everywhere the same.”^

Finally it may be mentioned that Chodzko collected his ‘ Specimens of unwritten poetry’ from oral communications from people—generallynbsp;the lower classes—who did not know how to read or write?

It is obvious, therefore, that we are here dealing with a tradition which is both oral and verbal, and that this tradition appears to havenbsp;been preserved with exceptional fidelity for three hundred years.nbsp;Distinct cycles are kept strictly apart, and form the exclusive repertoiresnbsp;of professional reciters, whose memories are checked by those of theirnbsp;audiences, who are apparently by no means ignorant of the stories andnbsp;songs to which they are listening.

Radlov tells us that the Abakan Tatars excel all the other groups in the wealth of their poetry. Nowhere else are so many ‘singers’ to benbsp;found. Here, as among the Tatars of the Altai, the poems are recited innbsp;a low guttural voice (‘ brummend'^. The recitations take place in thenbsp;evenings or at night. As the minstrel recites by the light of the fire,nbsp;surrounded by the listening multitude, he is, says Radlov, a picturenbsp;worthy of an artist’s study.3

Speaking of the milieu and atmosphere of the Abakan poems Radlov observes :

“One can only fully understand this kind of poetry if one pictures to oneself the circumstances under which it is cultivated, and experiencesnbsp;the full effect which it has on the listener. This takes place chiefly innbsp;the Autumn and Winter evenings, when for weeks together in thenbsp;wooded mountains the nomadic hunting peoples prepare for their night’snbsp;rest in their huts constructed of branches. When the hunters, weary withnbsp;the chase, sit covered in their furs round the fire, and have just refreshednbsp;themselves at their meal, and are rejoicing in the warmth of the fire,nbsp;the singer takes his instrument in his hand and begins in a deep gutturalnbsp;voice the monotonous melody of a heroic lay. The dark night whichnbsp;envelops the whole scene, the magic of the fire-light, the roar of thenbsp;storm which howls around the hut, and accompanies the guttural tonesnbsp;of the singer, all these form the necessary framework for the highlynbsp;coloured shifting pictures of the songs.”'*

CLiii

178

Czaplicka speaks of the opposition which she everywhere encountered among these people in her efforts to buy a chatigan}

‘ ‘ I found it very difficult to persuade anyone to part with a chatigan.... One old woman who refused to part with a venerable dirt-caked instrument she showed me asked me whether I thought it likely she wouldnbsp;sell her chatigan now that it had ‘become musical’ from the touch of sonbsp;many hands.”^

The incident is interesting as lending some colour to a suspicion which we feel that the poetry of this group is largely of femininenbsp;provenance, though Radlov gives us no hint of this. It may be mentioned in this connection that among the Yakut and the Tungus poetrynbsp;is chiefly cultivated by old women.

It is said that the art of poetry is prized by the Kara-Kirghiz more than by any other of the peoples of Central Asia. No other accomplishmentnbsp;is held in such high esteem. Improvisation is widely practised, andnbsp;practically everyone is ready to perform to a small circle of listeners,nbsp;though only specialists and professionals are willing to perform to anbsp;large audience. Such specialisation is widespread, however, as the feastsnbsp;which are of very frequent occurrence among the Kara-Kirghiz,nbsp;especially at funerals, have given rise to a set of typical heroic minstrelsnbsp;known as akin, who make their living by passing from feast to feast,nbsp;singing in honour of the host and for the entertainment of the guests.nbsp;The Sultans consider it very necessary for their prestige to have one ofnbsp;these men attached to them, who will honour them by singing on allnbsp;public occasions.^

Atkinson was entertained by one of these minstrels during his journey through western Jungaria, in the neighbourhood of tlie Alataunbsp;Mountains. He was visited in his camp by the most powerful Kirghiznbsp;sultan in the district, who brought his minstrel with him, and whilenbsp;supper was preparing he ordered the man to sing. The minstrel chantednbsp;forth songs describing the prowess and successful plundering expeditions of the sultan and his ancestors, which called forth thunders ofnbsp;applause from the tribe.'*

Venyukov describes the performances of one of these minstrels of the Sary-Bagish tribe of the Kara-Kirghiz, who was attached to thenbsp;Russian expeditionary column in i860, and who was evidently equallynbsp;proficient as a reciter of narrative poetry and of extempore panegyric.

' For the chatigan see p. 22 above. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Czaplicka, Ó’.K. p. 237 f.

3 Radlov, Proben v, p. iv. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Atkinson, p. 563.

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179

“ He every evening attracted round him a crowd of gaping admirers, who greedily listened to his stories and songs. His imagination wasnbsp;remarkably fertile in creating feats for his hero—the son of some Khannbsp;—and took most daring flights into the regions of marvel. The greaternbsp;part of the rapturous recitation was improvised by him as he proceeded,nbsp;the subject alone being borrowed usually from some tradition. Hisnbsp;wonderfully correct intonation, which enabled everyone who even didnbsp;not understand the words to guess their meaning,’ and the pathos andnbsp;fire which he skilfully imparted to his strain, showed that he was justlynbsp;entitled to the admiration of the Kirghizes as their chief bard !

It is clear that the Russians were listening to the recitation of a heroic narrative poem such as Manas or Joloi. The same poet, it appears, wasnbsp;equally proficient in the art of extempore panegyric, for Venyukov goesnbsp;on to tell us that when the chief of the expedition gave an entertainmentnbsp;to the Kirghiz, the same poet extemporised a panegyric on the virtuesnbsp;of the giver of the feast—“probably with a view to a noble largesse”nbsp;(cf. p. 58 above). Passages such as these, which testify to the popularity of panegyric poetry among these people, are important becausenbsp;few texts of poetry of this type appear to have been recorded.

Radlov gives an interesting picture of one of these gatherings:

“ One sees from a Kirghiz reciter that he loves to speak, and essays to make an impression on the circle of his hearers by elaborate strophes andnbsp;well-turned expressions. It is obvious, too, on all sides that the listenersnbsp;derive pleasure from well-ordered expressions, and can judge if a turnnbsp;of phrase is well rounded off. Deep silence greets the reciter who knowsnbsp;how to arrest his audience. They sit with their head and shoulders bentnbsp;forward and with eyes shining, and they drink in the words of thenbsp;speaker; and every adroit expression, every witty play on words callsnbsp;forth lively demonstrations of applause.”^

In reading Radlov’s texts one is constantly struck by the many weak places in the narrative, the many repetitions, and unreconciled contradictions. These flaws are especially noticeable in the more ambitiousnbsp;texts, especially in the lengthy narrative poems of the Kara-Kirghiz.nbsp;His account of the manner in which the poems were recorded makes itnbsp;abundantly clear how these flaws in the narrative have come about, andnbsp;may perhaps serve to throw light on similar repetitions and discrepanciesnbsp;in other lengthy narrative poems.

“ The noting down of the songs according to dictation was attended ’ Cf. p. 186 below.

’ Michell, p. 290; cf. also ib. p. 81. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 p.

12-2

l8o nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

with great difficulty. The singer is not accustomed to dictate slowly enough for one to follow with the pen, and when this method is adoptednbsp;he frequently loses the thread of the narrative, and by omissions fallsnbsp;into contradictions which are not easily resolved by questions, whichnbsp;only confuse the singer more. There remained for me in these circumstances nothing to do except first to let him sing for me some episodes,nbsp;and then to make some notes during the course of the exposition, andnbsp;to abstain from recording until I had been entrusted with the contentnbsp;of the episode. Then if the singer allowed omissions to creep in throughnbsp;lengthy dictation I could easily bring them to his notice. It will benbsp;seen that in spite of this course, very many omissions have occurred.”’nbsp;A further difficulty was felt to lie in the absence of stimulus affordednbsp;by an applauding crowd,

“In spite of all my efforts I have not succeeded in reproducing the poetry of the minstrels completely. The repeated singing of one and thenbsp;same song, the slow dictation, and my frequent interruptions oftennbsp;dispersed the excitement which is necessary to the minstrel for goodnbsp;singing. He was only able to dictate in a tired and negligent way whatnbsp;he had produced for me a little before with fire. I did not allow encouragements and presents to be wanting, of course, in order to putnbsp;the minstrel in good heart; but this, of course, could not take the placenbsp;of natural stimulus. The verses written down have therefore lost innbsp;freshness.”^

There can be no doubt that Radlov’s explanation of the omissions and discrepancies in the recitations of the heroic minstrels is correct.nbsp;Zazubrin, the editor of the Altai poem Kogutei, writing in 1934, tellsnbsp;us that the standard of artistic composition among these people is verynbsp;high. Their native oral narratives are faultlessly composed and recitednbsp;among themselves. The minstrel is accustomed to recite in the yurtnbsp;before a very large audience. Such discrepancies as have crept intonbsp;recorded texts are due to two causes: (i) the lack of the stimulus andnbsp;excitement of a critical and appreciative public; and (2) the fact that thenbsp;slow process of writing or dictating causes him to lose his thread andnbsp;diverge into some different variant of the story, of which in all probability he knows several. He is apt to begin with one version, and tonbsp;end with another. But such so-called ‘typical discrepancies’ of popularnbsp;poetry are quite foreign to his performance when he is at ‘concertnbsp;pitch’. Were a minstrel-reciter of the Altai to lapse into contradictionsnbsp;’ Prohen. v, p. xv.

’ Loc. cit.

l8l or confusion of his episodes before a native audience he would be heldnbsp;up to mockery, and never listened to again?

In regard to the manner of reciting, Radlov tells us that the minstrel invariably employs two melodies, one executed in quick tempo, for thenbsp;course of the action, the other in slow tempo and as a solemn recitativenbsp;for the speeches. He had the opportunity of observing these changes ofnbsp;melody among all minstrels who had any experience at all. Otherwisenbsp;the melodies of the different minstrels are said to be almost exactlynbsp;identical.’ Radlov also tells us that in their clarity of enunciation thenbsp;minstrels excel those of all other peoples, ‘even the Kazaks’, and he addsnbsp;that their melodious recitation of the poetry interferes so little with thenbsp;significance of the words that it is easy even for a non-Kirghiz to follownbsp;the song. Vambéry adds that the Kara-Kirghiz minstrel accompaniesnbsp;his singing of heroic narrative poetry on the two-stringed kobo^.'^

The form in which oral tradition is carried on by the poets of the Kara-Kirghiz is singularly fluid. If we understand Radlov aright, notnbsp;only is there an absence of rigid verbal memorisation in the heroicnbsp;narrative poems, but even the stories themselves consist of a mass ofnbsp;material, a number of episodes, which can be arranged and selected fromnbsp;at will, and which are subject to infinite new combinations and groupings.nbsp;Thus it is that not only the words but the form of the narrative may benbsp;regarded as extempore, as is the case also in the Russian byliny. Radlovnbsp;points out that it would be impossible to make an exhaustive collectionnbsp;of the epic poetry of the Kara-Kirghiz. Not only do the same motifsnbsp;recur in an infinite number of combinations, but it is to be added thatnbsp;they will always recur in a different connection, producing a new formnbsp;of story with every subsequent recitation.

“Every minstrel who has any skill at all always improvises his songs according to the inspiration of the moment, so that he is not in anbsp;position to recite a song twice in exactly the same form; but one must

' See Zazubrin, Kogutei, p. yff.

’ It would, in our opinion, be a mistake to attach much importance to Radlov’s statement about the number of tunes known to the minstrel. We have seen (Vol. n,nbsp;p. 243 f.) that similar statements were made in the past as to the paucity of tunes ofnbsp;the Russian ska^itely, whereas it is now recognised that some at least of thesenbsp;men know a different tune to almost every bylina. The truth seems to be that thenbsp;Western scholar and recorder, whose ear was attuned in a different musical tradition,nbsp;was incapable of appreciating the distinctions of native tunes. We have heard ofnbsp;similar statements having been made in the past in regard to the paucity of tunes tonbsp;which the Spanish ballads were sung, whereas there is reason to believe that thesenbsp;tunes were numerous.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Türkenvolk, p. 272.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

not suppose that this process of improvisation involves composing a new poem every time. The procedure of the improvising minstrel isnbsp;exactly like that of the pianist. As the latter puts together into anbsp;harmonious form different runs which are known to him, transitionsnbsp;and motifs according to the inspiration of the moment, and thus makesnbsp;up the new from the old which is familiar to him, so also does thenbsp;minstrel of epic poems. Through an extensive practice in production,nbsp;he has whole series of ‘elements of production’,^ if I may so express it,nbsp;in readiness, which he puts together in suitable manner according to thenbsp;course of the narrative. Such ‘elements of production’ consist ofnbsp;pictures of certain occurrences and situations, such as the birth of a hero,nbsp;the growing up of the hero, the glories of weapons, preparations fornbsp;battle, the storm of battle, the conversations of a hero before battle, thenbsp;depicting of characteristics of persons and of horses, the characterisationnbsp;of the well-known heroes, the praise of the beauty of the bride.. . . Thenbsp;art of the singer consists only in arranging all these static componentnbsp;parts of pictures with one another as circumstances require, and innbsp;connecting them with lines invented for the occasion.

“Now the minstrel can utilise in his singing all the formative elements specified above in very different ways. He knows how to represent onenbsp;and the same picture in a few short strokes. He can depict it more fully,nbsp;or he can go into a very detailed description with epic fulness. Thenbsp;greater the number of different formative elements at the disposal of thenbsp;minstrel, the more diversified will be his performance, and the longernbsp;will he be able to sing without tiring his listeners by the monotony of hisnbsp;descriptions. The amount of the formative elements and the skill innbsp;putting them together is the measure of the skill of the minstrel. Anbsp;skilled minstrel can recite any theme he wants, any story that is desired,nbsp;extempore, provided that the course of events is clear to him. Whennbsp;I asked one of the most accomplished minstrels whom I had learnt tonbsp;know if he could sing this or that song, he answered me: ‘I can singnbsp;any song whatever; for God has implanted this gift of song in mynbsp;heart. He gives me the word on my tongue, without my having to seeknbsp;it. I have learnt none of my songs. All springs from my inner self.’nbsp;And the man was right. The improvising minstrel sings withoutnbsp;reflection, simply from his inner being, that which is known to him, asnbsp;soon as the incentive to singing comes to him from without, just as thenbsp;words flow from the tongue of a speaker without his producing

' We may compare the closely analogous method of the Russian ska^itel described in Vol. II, p. 246 f.

183 intentionally and consciously the articulations necessary to producenbsp;them, as soon as the course of his thoughts requires this or that word.nbsp;The accomplished minstrel can sing a day, or a week, or a month, justnbsp;as he can speak, and narrate all the time. As, however, the man of manynbsp;words talks himself out and becomes wearisome, because he repeatsnbsp;himself in the grouping of his thoughts, so also is it with the minstrel.nbsp;If you let him sing too long his store of descriptions comes to an end,nbsp;' and he repeats himself and becomes wearisome. This is shown by thenbsp;song Töshtük, which was repeated to me by the same minstrel who hadnbsp;dictated to me the song of Joloi. The minstrel wanted to recite to menbsp;also the song of Jügörü, but I had to break off in the middle of thenbsp;latter song, and I have not included this fragment in my literarynbsp;specimens, because it was merely a tiresome repetition of previousnbsp;descriptions, devoid of any interest.”'

The words in which the Kirghiz minstrel describes to Radlov the divine inspiration of his art carry us back to the Anglo-Saxon poetnbsp;Cædmon and the angel visitant who put music and poetry into hisnbsp;heart and to Hesiod, who claims to have obtained his poetic art bynbsp;inspiration from the Muses, who taught him poetry as he was keepingnbsp;sheep on the slopes of holy Heliconp to Phemios, the minstrel of Ithaca,nbsp;who claims that he is self-taught, and that poems of all kinds have beennbsp;implanted in his heart by a deity;“* and to Demodocos, of whom thenbsp;same is implied.^ And what follows in Radlov’s text is also very true.nbsp;The weariness of the singer, and the consequent lapses of memory andnbsp;flagging narrative are constantly brought home to us as we drawnbsp;towards the close of Radlov’s poems, which offer a striking contrast tonbsp;their brilliant opening scenes. Nevertheless we grudge the loss ofnbsp;JügÖTÜ.

The evidence suggests that among these people verbal tradition (i.e. exact verbal memorisation) is on an exceptionally low level, while thenbsp;standard of extempore composition is very high, making the doublenbsp;demand of extempore narrative and extempore verbal composition onnbsp;the reciter. As an illustration of the practice we may refer to the secondnbsp;episode of the Manas Cycle, which shows Manas as victorious over all

' Proben v, p. xviff.

’ The story is told by Bede, Ecclesiastical History, Book iv, cap. xxv (cf. Vol. I, p. 572 of the present work).

’ Tkeogony, 1. 22 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;lt; Odyssey XXII, 1. 347 f.

’ Ib. VIII, 1. 487 ff. All these have been referred to more fully in Vol. i of the present work.

184 nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

the surrounding peoples save only ‘the Russians and the White Tsar’, with whom he is represented as in close touch. It was Radlov’s opinionnbsp;that the Russian liaison formed no part of the original story, but hadnbsp;been introduced for the occasion by the reciter to show respect to thenbsp;Russian official, Radlov himself, who was, of course, present at thenbsp;recitation. Radlov also believed that the minstrel composed not onlynbsp;the poem, but also the actual story of Manas’ birth and early years onnbsp;the spur of the moment. He felt convinced that the story had nonbsp;previous existence, the poet being stimulated to instant composition ofnbsp;a poem on the subject by a chance question from Radlov with regardnbsp;to the birth of the hero.^ But if Radlov is right, we may safely assumenbsp;that the minstrel composed his poem along traditional lines. It will benbsp;seen that in the high development of extempore composition, as opposednbsp;1 to memorisation, the Kirghiz differ markedly from the Turkomans,nbsp;^among whom exact verbal memorisation is very highly developed.

Radlov has shown that the rank and temper of the audience have a very material influence on the content of a poem. In connection withnbsp;his account of the effect of stimulus and excitement on the Kirghiznbsp;minstrel which has been quoted above he adds further:

“The external stimulus comes, of course, also from the crowd of listeners surrounding the minstrels. Since the minstrel wants to obtainnbsp;the sympathy of the crowd, by which he is to gain not only fame, butnbsp;also other advantages, he tries to colour his song according to thenbsp;listeners who are surrounding him. If he is not directly asked to singnbsp;a definite episode, he begins his song with a prelude which will directnbsp;his audience into the sphere of his thoughts. By a most subtle art,nbsp;and allusions to the most distinguished persons in the circle of listeners,nbsp;he knows how to enlist the sympathy of his audience before he passes onnbsp;to the song proper. If he sees by the cheers of his listeners that he hasnbsp;obtained full attention, he either proceeds straight to the business, ornbsp;produces a brief picture of certain events leading up to the episodenbsp;which is to be sung, and then passes on to the business. The song doesnbsp;not proceed at a level pace. The sympathy of the hearers always spursnbsp;the minstrel to new efforts of strength, and it is by this sympathy thatnbsp;he knows how to adapt the song exactly to the temper of his circle ofnbsp;listeners. If rich and distinguished Kirghiz are present, he knows hownbsp;to introduce panegyrics very skilfully on their families, and to sing ofnbsp;such episodes as he thinks will arouse the sympathy of distinguishednbsp;people. If his listeners are only poor people, he is not ashamed tonbsp;’ Proben v, p. xiiff.

185 introduce venomous remarks regarding the pretensions of the distinguished and the rich, and actually in the greater abundance accordingnbsp;as he is gaining the assent of his listeners. One may refer to the thirdnbsp;episode in Manas which is intended to appeal to my taste solely.

“The minstrel, however, understands very well when he is to desist from his song. If the slightest signs of weariness show themselves, henbsp;tries once more to arouse attention by a struggle after the loftiestnbsp;effects, and then, after calling forth a storm of applause, suddenly tonbsp;break off his poem. It is marvellous how the minstrel knows his public.nbsp;I have myself witnessed how one of the sultans, during a song, sprangnbsp;up suddenly and tore his silk overcoat from his shoulders, and flung it,nbsp;cheering as he did so, as a present to the minstrel.”’

It is very curious what passages in the poems call forth most applause on the part of the audience. Radlov remarks that often most appreciationnbsp;was shown for passages which made not the slightest impression on him,nbsp;and which seemed to him merely a jingle of words and intricate interweaving of rhyme. One of the favourites in the Manas song was thatnbsp;of the catalogue of the ‘forty heroesa fact which explains why thisnbsp;list is introduced so frequently in the poems. It will be rememberednbsp;that among the Turkomans also the poem in which the points of annbsp;ideal horse are enumerated seriatim is among the most popular.

We would gladly have known more of the procedure of the Kirghiz minstrel, his preparation for his task, and his répertoire. But we havenbsp;no detailed information on these points. We know (cf. above) that thenbsp;same minstrel recited Joloi and Er Töshtük, and that his repertoire wasnbsp;not then exhausted. But we do not know how far his range and scopenbsp;actually extended, or how far they were typical of other minstrels; nornbsp;have we exact information, such as we possess for the Russians and thenbsp;Yugoslavs, regarding the speed of the reciter, or the length of timenbsp;during which he is able to give a continuous performance. Valikhanovnbsp;tells us that the Kirghiz say that three nights are insufficient for thenbsp;relation of Manas, and that as much time is required for Semätäi-^ andnbsp;indeed if the whole of the Manas in Radlov’s collection is recited, threenbsp;nights would, one would think, be far short of the time required.

’ Proben v, p. xviiif. With this and the preceding passages in which Radlov describes the effect of the minstrel’s art on the audience we may compare Layard’snbsp;descriptions of similar scenes among the Bedouin and other desert nomads. Seenbsp;Layard, Early Adventures in Persia, Susiana and Babylonia (London, 1887), p. 487;nbsp;ib. Nineveh and Babylon, 2nd Series, p. I53f.; and London, 1853, p. 319. Cf. alsonbsp;p. 58 above.

’ Proben v, p. xix. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Michell, p. loi.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

We have dwelt somewhat at length on the evidence afforded by Radlov relating to the recitation and composition of heroic poetrynbsp;among the Kara-Kirghiz, partly because it is peculiarly full and valuablenbsp;in regard to matters for which we have comparatively little informationnbsp;from other sources, and partly because Radlov is an exceptionally closenbsp;and sympathetic observer, and a very reliable authority. Moreovernbsp;much which he has told us of these people is manifestly true of heroicnbsp;minstrels among other peoples. Indeed this is demonstrable in the casenbsp;of some ancient literatures, as has been indicated above; and suchnbsp;evidence as we have for modern Russian and Yugoslav, as well as fornbsp;other Tatar peoples, corresponds closely to Radlov’s account. Innbsp;particular we may refer to Levchine’s account of recitation among thenbsp;Kazaks, in which he tells us that the words of the songs, far from beingnbsp;learnt by heart, are never transmitted from one Kirghiz (i.e. Kazak) tonbsp;another without variation, “for every Kirghiz is an improviser, andnbsp;narrates events after his own fashion’’.’

Among the Yakut of the north heroic poetry appears to be especially cultivated by women. On the R. Kolyma it seems to be morenbsp;particularly an accomplishment of old women, many of whom are blind.

“To this day,” writes Shklovsky, “in the farthest north-east of Siberia, you will still hear in some dark hut, lighted only by the fire,nbsp;the story of the dreadful Djennik told in monotonous recitative bynbsp;an old blind woman.” Djennik, it will be remembered, was thenbsp;Yakut leader of a disastrous revolt against the Russians in the seventeenth century (cf. p. 43 above). Shklovsky also tells us that the Yakutnbsp;epics are remarkable for their wonderful richness of imagery and wealthnbsp;of description. “The old woman”, he adds, “describes in minute detailnbsp;the terrible operation of flaying, and what kind of knives were used ;nbsp;and on the seats by the wall are the listening Yakuts, with pale terrifiednbsp;faces, too frightened to utter a word.”^

The minstrel’s task of extempore recitation and composition is made lighter, and the standard of his art is no doubt higher, owing to the widenbsp;practice of amateur poetical composition among the Tatars, and to thenbsp;general use of polished diction in ordinary conversation. It has beennbsp;made clear in the preceding chapters that the art of extempore composition is widely practised by all classes of the population among thenbsp;peoples of the Steppe. We are told that in these arts the Kirghiz excelnbsp;all neighbouring peoples.

’ Levchine, p. 380. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Shklovsky, p. 209.

RECITATION AND AUTHORSHIP

187

“The words of every Kirghiz”, writes Radlov, “roll tripping from his tongue. Not only has he such a command of language that he cannbsp;improvise long poems, but even his ordinary conversation shows tracesnbsp;of rhythm, and artificial arrangement. His language is figurative, hisnbsp;expressions are sharp and clear-cut. It need cause no surprise thatnbsp;among such a people a particularly rich oral literature has arisen.”’

It would seem that extempore composition is regarded as one of the polite accomplishments of a well-bred nomad. An amusing incident isnbsp;related by Valikhanov which illustrates very well the facile use of poetrynbsp;for ordinary conversational purposes among these people. When thenbsp;Writer was in the neighbourhood of the Alatau Mountains, the caravannbsp;was visited by the sultan of the Jalair tribe of the Kazaks :

“Suddenly lifting his head, and casting a penetrating glance around, he exclaimed in rhyme: ‘The Djalairs have many sheep, Jangazy hasnbsp;many thoughts.’... The Sultan meanwhile rolled his eyes about in anbsp;curious manner, giving occasional utterances to rhymes in couplets.”’

Valikhanov, and the Russian authorities, regarded the Sultan as ‘ imbecile’p but this practice of giving expression to one’s ordinarynbsp;thoughts in brief poems is very widespread on the Steppe (see p. 64 f.nbsp;above), and the Sultan was, in all probability, merely making politenbsp;conversation according to native standards. Erman tells us of thenbsp;Yakut that

“The songs of these people.. .pass away, for the most part, just as they arise, for whether on a journey, or in cheerful humour at home,nbsp;every one sings the new impressions made on him at the moment by thenbsp;objects around him.”“*

The same writer tells us that their poems often contain remarkable passages, for “they assume that the trees of the forest hold intercoursenbsp;with one another, and other inanimate things with men”.5

From this it would appear that the poetry of the Yakut is composed in an elaborate and figurative diction. Their manner of reciting isnbsp;equally remarkable :

“They have for that purpose a kind of song consisting of only two notes; these are reproduced in such a way that the higher note followsnbsp;the lower till towards the end of each part or verse, when their order isnbsp;reversed. The whole air sounds so melancholy that I often thought thatnbsp;I heard someone wailing aloud, when, in fact, it was only the extemporaneous song of the Yakuts.”®

’ A.S. I, p. 507. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Michell, p. 73.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Loc. cit.

Erman n, p. 401 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Loc. cit.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;® Loc. cit.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Cochrane also refers to the prevalence of the habit of extempore composition among the Yakut, apparently even when no audience isnbsp;present. He overheard a Yakut ‘prince’ walking his horse and singingnbsp;a song:

“There is”, he observes, “no regular meaning in what they sing, being made up of any incidental allusions to the weather, trees, rivers,nbsp;fatigues, horses, and the like, according to the immediate impulse of thenbsp;moment.”’

The widespread practice of extempore poetical composition among the Tatars, and the general use of polished, even poetical diction innbsp;ordinary conversation, must owe much to the contests in poeticalnbsp;improvisation which are popular everywhere, from the R. Kolyma onnbsp;the extreme confines of north-eastern Siberia, to the Turkomans in thenbsp;west. These contests or poetical competitions are held, as we have seen,nbsp;both between professional singers, and also between all young peoplenbsp;of both sexes. Sometimes two youths, sometimes a youth and a maiden,nbsp;strive which can outlast his rival in improvising witty or scathingnbsp;verses, or in asking and answering riddles. Among the Tatars of thenbsp;Altai such poetical contests must have a particularly stimulating effect,nbsp;for they are said to take place between famous singers of differentnbsp;tribes or groups.’ The practice appears to be an ancient one among thenbsp;Tatars, for already in the seventh century a.d. the celebrated Chinesenbsp;pilgrim, Hüan Chwang, describes them as much given to singing songsnbsp;in repartee and in China and India the custom of holding disputationsnbsp;in poetry appears to have been widespread at an early date.“^

It will be seen that while amateur recitation is practised by both sexes alike, the professional minstrel and reciter of heroic poetry is generallynbsp;a man, at least among the western Turks and the Turks of Central Asia.nbsp;Among the Yakut (cf. p. i86 above), and probably among the Tungusnbsp;also, narrative poetry is chiefly recited by women. We have already

“ Cochrane i, p. 342. This type of casual extempore conversational poetry is by no means confined to peoples of Tatar stock. We have seen (Vol. ii, p. 284^ of thenbsp;present work) that it is common also among the Russian peasantry; and the Tungusnbsp;seem to recite similar extempore poems relating to unnatural natural history. Seenbsp;Erman 11, p. 490; cf. p. 458, and, for the manner of singing, pp. 440, 474.

’ Radlov, Â.S. I, p. 493. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Parker, T.y. p. 136.

See Waley, C.P. p. 221, Thomas, p. 111. In the instance given by Thomas it is not actually stated that the contest takes place in poetry, but there is a considerablenbsp;body of evidence which seems to indicate that both teaching and controversy amongnbsp;the early Indian Buddhists and Jains was not uncommonly carried on in the form ofnbsp;verse. See Thomas, passim.

189 seen reason to suspect that the poetry of the Abakan Tatars and thenbsp;Kara-Kirghiz poem Joloi have formed a part of a feminine repertoire.nbsp;This is, of course, mere conjecture. It is interesting to note in thisnbsp;connection, however, that among the Mongols the recitation of ‘ songsnbsp;of love and war, of fabulous adventure, or heroic achievements’ are saidnbsp;to be recited by women in public at the great Mongol feasts.'

In regard to the widespread practice of extempore composition and recitation of poetry which we have been considering it is interesting tonbsp;turn to the evidence afforded by the texts. This is of a rather remarkablenbsp;character; for we do not recall a single clear reference to the professionalnbsp;poet or minstrel in either poetry or saga. Indeed so far as we are awarenbsp;the narrative poetry, whether heroic or non-heroic, gives no groundnbsp;for supposing the existence of any professional class except that of thenbsp;smith. Saga is equally silent on the subject.

On the other hand references to the recitation of poetry by private individuals are exceedingly common, both in prose and poetry, andnbsp;extempore poetical composition appears to be an art universallynbsp;practised by all classes. Not only in formal composition, but also innbsp;casual conversation the characters of the sagas are constantly representednbsp;as falling into metre. Some of the heroes, such as Ak Köbök (cf. p, 108nbsp;above), appear to be good musicians also. Ak Köbök could play bothnbsp;the chatigan and an instrument resembling a fiddle, and he is alsonbsp;represented as an intellectual poet. But he is a warrior and a prince, andnbsp;not, apparently, a professional poet or minstrel.

In the oral traditions of the Tatars, therefore, the part which is played in modern times by the professional poet is played by thenbsp;cultivated amateur, both on formal occasions, and in casual daily life.nbsp;When Manas feasts with his ‘forty heroes’ they are said to sing songs.^nbsp;Songs are also sung at the feast given by the Kuärik hero, Üdsäng Päg.nbsp;When the company begin to eat, Üdsäng Päg is said to go about amongnbsp;them crying: “Sing!” and we are told that they ‘sang and praisednbsp;Üdsäng Päg’.3 Heroes and heroines are also sometimes represented asnbsp;singing as they ride on long journeys together. Üdsäng Päg himself isnbsp;represented as laughing and singing with his companion Kara Mattyr asnbsp;they ride up the hills.“*

The most accomplished minstrel poet to whom reference is made in

190

the literature however, is Üdsäng Päg’s champion, Taska Mattyr. He is the only man in the retinue who can play forty different melodies onnbsp;the forty-stringed chatigan. He plays so that the old folks marvel, andnbsp;the birds turn in their flight and wheel three times round him listening !nbsp;When he returns in disguise after a long absence he reveals his identitynbsp;to Üdsäng Päg in extempore song:

“The forty-stringed chatigan lies on the black chest. The youth took the chatigan and placed the bridge under the strings, and began to play;nbsp;he played the melodies which he had played in the past... but he didnbsp;not play them well. Üdsäng Päg set brandy before him. When thenbsp;youth had drunk he played better. Again he poured out brandy and henbsp;played still better. When he had drunk brandy for the third time, henbsp;played admirably, and sang in accompaniment: ‘Taska Mattyr has gonenbsp;away from here. It is three years ago. He has seen another land. Evennbsp;now the hero, Taska Mattyr the Strong, is still not dead’.”'

In the past minstrelsy appears to have been highly cultivated among the Tatars and the Mongols. Pian de Carpini, writing of his sojournnbsp;with Batu Khan while on his way to Karakoram in northern Mongolianbsp;to visit the court of Kujuk Khan during the years 1245-7, tells us thatnbsp;the former never drank in public, save to the accompaniment of singingnbsp;and guitar playing,^ and that whenever the latter came out of his tentnbsp;the people sang to him.3 Speaking of the Kipchak Turks, the samenbsp;writer tells us that a great vat of kumyss'^ stood permanently before thenbsp;door of his tent, and beside it a ‘guitar player’ with his ‘guitar’; andnbsp;whenever the ‘master’ began to drink, then, one of the attendants wouldnbsp;cry with a loud voice, “Ha!” and the ‘guitarist’ would strike hisnbsp;‘guitar’.5

Ibn Batuta also speaks of the custom among the Kipchak Turks of drinking to the accompaniment of songs. When the sultan desired tonbsp;drink, his daughter is said to have taken the cup in her hand and salutednbsp;her father on bended knee; then she offered the cup to him, after whichnbsp;she offered it to the great Khatun, and then to the other khatunsnbsp;in turn according to their rank.—“Finally the inferior emirs rise andnbsp;serve drink to the sons of the sultan, and during all the time they sing

' Proben ii, p. yiyf.

’ Pian de Carpini, p. ii. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 p. 21.

'I A drink of fermented mares’ milk, much prized by the Tatars, and said to be very beneficial to health.

5 Pian de Carpini, p. 62.

RECITATION AND AUTHORSHIP nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;19I

nawaliyah (short songs).’” The passage calls to mind the Anglo-Saxon poet’s description in Beowulf of the young daughter of Hrothgar, kingnbsp;of the Danes, handing round mead at the feast of Heorot; here also anbsp;minstrel sang ‘with clear voice’. Friar William of Rubruck, who sojourned at the court of the Mongol prince Mangu Khan in 1254, observednbsp;similar formalities in vogue, and a similar love of music for ceremonialnbsp;purposes.*

' Quoted by Rockhill in his edition of William of Rubruck, p. 62, footnote i. ’ Rubruck, pp. 138, 247.

CHAPTER X

poetry and poetry of social ritual. There remains an important class of poets who are chiefly responsible for spiritual and intellectual poetry-These are the shamans, and the bakshas. The former are found chieflynbsp;in the mountains of Central Asia and in the eastern and northern steppes ;nbsp;the latter belong chiefly to the west. Generally speaking the shamansnbsp;are found among the Tatars and other Siberian peoples who do notnbsp;belong to any of the great religions such as Buddhism, Mohammedanism, or Christianity. The bakshas belong to the countries whichnbsp;have adopted Mohammedanism, such as the Kazaks and the Turkomans.nbsp;They are described by a recent investigator as “ singers, poets, musicians,nbsp;diviners, priests and doctors, the guardians of popular religious traditions, and the preservers of ancient legend”.’ Radiov^ and others havenbsp;held that the bakshas are the modern representatives of the earliernbsp;shamans of the west, and that the ancient religious functions of thenbsp;latter have been taken over by the Mohammedan mullahs, leaving tonbsp;the bakshas only the less spiritual and intellectual of their functions.nbsp;However this may be, there is no doubt that some of the bakshanbsp;recitations show a clear connection with shamanism (cf. p. 210), andnbsp;the studies of the bakshas published by Castagne^ in 1930, and bynbsp;Köprülüzade in 1931,4 show that this connection is even closer thannbsp;has been supposed.

In this brief study we shall concentrate chiefly, though not exclusively, on the shamans and female shamans or shamankas, of the heathen Tatars

“ Castagne, p. 59.

yi.S. II, p. 59ff.; Levchine, p. 334f. See further Köprülüzade, p. 19, and passim, where the original connection between shaman and baksha is more fully worked out.nbsp;See below.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;lt;

3 Castagne’s work is the result of eighteen years’ sojourn among the ‘Turko-Mongol peoples’ of Central and Western Asia, as well as in the libraries of Russia and Turkestan.

The conclusions of Köprülüzade are based mainly on literary and historical evidence, much of which is extremely full and interesting.

193 of eastern and Central Asia. The terms shaman and the Russianisednbsp;feminine form shamanka, ‘shamaness’, ‘seeress’, are in general use tonbsp;denote any persons of the native professional class among the heathennbsp;Siberians and Tatars generally, and there can be no doubt that theynbsp;have come to be applied to a large number of different classes of people.nbsp;The word shaman is said to be found in actual current use only amongnbsp;the Tungus, the Buryat, and Yakut,’ and to be native only to thenbsp;Tungus.^ The word in use among the Tatars of the Altai is kam. Thenbsp;Mongols, Buryat, Yakut, Altaians, Kirghiz, etc. all use the same wordnbsp;for a female shaman, whereas the term used of a male shaman is differentnbsp;in each of these groups.^

The word kam occurs first in the Uigur text Kudatku Bilik, written in the year 1069, where it is used several times.“* It occurs also in anbsp;glossary of the language of the Kumans, compiled in 1303 by annbsp;Italian.5 Shamanism is said to have been specially developed in the pastnbsp;near Lake Baikal and in the Altai Mountains, and to have reached thenbsp;height of its power ,in the time of Jenghiz Khan and his immediatenbsp;successors.^ We shall see that the shamans of this region today arenbsp;especially proficient in the art of extempore poetry and of dramaticnbsp;presentation. In the following brief observations, therefore, we shallnbsp;concentrate primarily on the natives of the Altai and the neighbouringnbsp;regions, taking into account the closely allied shamanism of the Yakut,nbsp;and of the neighbouring (Mongol) Buryat,^ and, to a lesser extent, thenbsp;practices of the bakshas of the west. In doing so we shall confine ournbsp;attention as far as possible to those shamans whose functions are priestlynbsp;and prophetic, and who are in the habit of embodying their intellectualnbsp;and spiritual concepts in literary and artistic form. It is greatly to benbsp;regretted that the shamanka is almost entirely omitted from this studynbsp;owing to the extreme scarcity of texts recorded from their recitation.

’ Among the Mongols and the Buryat, however, the words chiefly used are bo, huge-, among the Yakut, ojun (Stadling, p. 87).

* Mikhailovsky, p. 63. For a discussion of the current use of the terms shaman and shamanism, see an article by van Gennep in R.H.R. XLvn (1903), p. 51 ff.; andnbsp;for a study of its etymology, see Läufer, A.A. (N.S.), xix (1917), p. 361 ff.; cf.nbsp;further Stadling, p. 86; Donner, p. 224.

5 Stadling, loc. cit.

Radlov, K.B. pp. 371, 442; Vambéry, U.S. p. 136; cf. also Radlov, A.S. ii, p. 67.

5 Radlov, A.S. II, p. 67.

‘ Mikhailovsky, p. 69; Czaplicka, A.S. p. 191.

’ For a fuller treatment of the subject the reader may consult two papers by Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lxvi (1936).

ctiii

194

It should always be borne in mind, however, that apart from the professional shaman the intellectual life of the steppe is largely feminine/nbsp;The shaman’s function is not easy to define. He is the intermediarynbsp;between his fellow tribesmen and the spirit world. He offers up thenbsp;prayers of the tribe to the spirits, whether to the spirits dwelling in thenbsp;sixteen Heavens, or to Erlik Khan, the black ruler of the dead whonbsp;dwells in the Underworld. He conducts the tribal sacrifice, to Bainbsp;Ulgen, the highest god, who dwells in the uppermost Heaven; and henbsp;conducts the souls of the dead to their final abode in Erlik’s realm. Innbsp;both these capacities he acts as a psychopompos, and seems to representnbsp;in his official capacity the communal soul of his tribe, which is commonly symbolised in the form of a bird. In his spiritual journeys he isnbsp;frequently either mounted on a bird, or transformed into a bird himself;nbsp;but in these respects usage varies locally in details. But it is safe to saynbsp;that whatever the spiritual aspirations of the Tatars, and whatever thenbsp;precise form of their religious beliefs, all these are focussed and concentrated in the shaman as the chief executive spiritual force of thenbsp;community. He may be said to represent the tribe made spirituallynbsp;articulate.

The manner in which the shaman gives expression to his function of spiritual representative of his tribe is both interesting and spectacular.nbsp;So far as his manifestations have been recorded, they consist of anbsp;combined extempore performance of music—generally of the drum—¦nbsp;song, dancing, and a certain amount of mimesis. The dramatic elementnbsp;varies perhaps more than any other, ranging from ventriloquial andnbsp;voice-throwing feats, representing the voices of animals and birdsnbsp;coming naturally from various quarters, and the speech of dead relativesnbsp;and friends of those present, to elaborate scenic performances borderingnbsp;on genuine drama. The dance is generally rapid and exhausting, thoughnbsp;often sustained for a long period, and—it is important to remark—¦nbsp;perfectly controlled. The movements of the shaman appear abandonednbsp;and wild, partly because of the extreme rapidity of the dance, partlynbsp;because of the unfamiliarity of this type of dance to European andnbsp;native alike. It seems to have a close resemblance to the dances of thenbsp;bodhisattvas depicted in Buddhist paintings; but it undoubtedly bears

’ Stadling observes {S.N.A. p. 89) that among the Palaeo-Siberians shamanistic gifts are more frequently found among women than among men: “‘A woman is anbsp;shaman by nature, and requires no special preparation’, declare the Chuckcheenbsp;shamans.” According to Donner (p. 232) women shamans are common to thenbsp;east of the Yenisei, especially among the Tungus.

195 some relation to the fire. It is an important fact that the shamannbsp;never hits any of his audience, though the dance generally takes placenbsp;in the restricted space between the fire and the audience in the crowdednbsp;yzzrt.

The shaman’s powers are called into requisition both in public and in private. The greatest occasion when the shaman of the Altai and Lebednbsp;Tatars is called upon to officiate is the annual tribal horse sacrifice tonbsp;Bai Ulgen, the greatest of the gods, who dwells in the highest Heaven.'nbsp;On this occasion the shaman of the Lebed Tatar is assisted by nine mennbsp;stationed round the horse.^ A ceremony resembling that of the Altainbsp;Tatars in many respects takes place also among the (Mongol) Buryat. Onnbsp;these public occasions the audience are sometimes to a very limitednbsp;extent also participators. Another public occasion on which the servicesnbsp;of the shaman are called for is the autumn festival of the Yakut, whichnbsp;takes place at night, and is dedicated to the ‘black’ spirits. This festivalnbsp;is under the direction of nine shamans and nine shamankas.3 In privatenbsp;the shaman is often called in when anyone is ill, or when anyone dies.nbsp;The audience on these occasions consists only of the family of thenbsp;deceased or sick person, and a few friends and neighbours. They arenbsp;simply spectators, though the husband of the shamanka whose kamlanienbsp;Potanin witnessed rendered her some slight help at the beginning andnbsp;end of her performance.“*

The shamans may be said to constitute the professional class of the heathen Tatars. Apart from the smith, of whom we hear little, and annbsp;occasional mullah or trader, generally foreign, who is found now andnbsp;then in the following of the more important of the chiefs, the professional, and more especially the intellectual life, is almost wholly vestednbsp;in the shamans. Yet these men and women—-the latter comparativelynbsp;rare among the Tatars and the Tungus, though commoner among thenbsp;Yakut—do not differ to any marked degree in their way of life fromnbsp;other people. They do not constitute any separate class in the community, but live among their fellows, carrying on the ordinary avocations, and working like them with their hands. They are in general morenbsp;given to solitude, to spending periods alone in the steppe, and they arenbsp;said to have a strange look in their eyes—a feature which often comesnbsp;out clearly in their photographs5. But apart from those slight detailsnbsp;there is nothing to distinguish a Tatar shaman from the rest of thenbsp;community.

'¦ See p. 200 below. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Hildén, p. 139.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Czaplicka, A.S. p. 298.

“• Mikhailovsky, p. 72. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See e.g. Donner, plate 30.

13-2

196

One of the most distinctive features of shamanism, not only among the Tatars, but among the peoples of northern Asia generally, is thenbsp;absence of organisation. It is perhaps in this respect that the differencenbsp;between the shaman, or ‘seer’, on the one hand, and the priest ofnbsp;communities more advanced politically, on the other, comes out mostnbsp;clearly. The latter holds office, either inherited or derived, from anbsp;central authority; but the Tatars have no priests in this sense, thoughnbsp;the shaman’s function of conducting the sacrifices may be regarded asnbsp;sacerdotal. The shaman claims the respectful hearing of his communitynbsp;by virtue of his claim to divine inspiration. He maintains this claim bynbsp;his ability to convince both himself and his fellows of his superior giftsnbsp;—spiritual, intellectual, artistic. We are sometimes told that the office ofnbsp;shaman is hereditary, though not necessarily from father to son;^ butnbsp;it is not clear that among the Tatars this means more than that the tendency to a contemplative life is commonly found in the same family,nbsp;and that such a tendency is commonly noted in childhood and fosterednbsp;from an early stage. Very often, however, it happens that the ‘call’ tonbsp;shamanism comes during adolescence or early manhood, whether fromnbsp;some dead ancestor in the form of a vision or dream, or as the result ofnbsp;an illness. Once a shaman, always a shaman. One never hears of anbsp;shaman who abandons his calling, or allows it to lapse permanently.

In the absence of organisation, the shaman must maintain a certain standard in the execution of his calling, otherwise he would lose thenbsp;respectful attention of his tribe. Public opinion raises the standard ofnbsp;his performance, and the absence of a written text keeps his effort evernbsp;on the alert. He must be ready with a fresh mind and a well-storednbsp;memory to extemporise the libretto of a performance as the occasionnbsp;may require, on traditional lines, already familiar in their general outlinenbsp;to his audience, but composed afresh at every recitation. For verbalnbsp;memorisation has never crystallised the texts of the Tatar poets, whethernbsp;heroic poet or shaman. We may presume that the standard is furthernbsp;maintained by competition. In a Tungus tribe, when a new shaman isnbsp;needed, the choice is sometimes made by a kind of public examinationnbsp;of the rival claimants,’ and among other peoples also, both in Europenbsp;and in Asia, some kind of competitive system is often referred to innbsp;both ancient and modern literature. We have seen that Tatar oralnbsp;literature recognises the practice in the Saga of the Two Princesnbsp;(pp. 107 f. above). Moreover, the recognition of a standard ofnbsp;’ On this subject, however, see Hildén, p. 132.

’ Shirokogoroff, Shamanism.

197 performance is universally referred to among the Tatars, who speak ofnbsp;one shaman as ‘a little shaman’, of another as ‘a very great shaman’,nbsp;mentioning the extent of their spiritual and intellectual achievements.nbsp;Thus we are told’ that although all shamans can mount to Heaven, onlynbsp;very few of the greatest shamans can mount to the sixteenth Heaven.nbsp;Unfortunately the evidence for the education of the shaman and hisnbsp;preparation for his calling is very limited. It would seem that in generalnbsp;the outlines or principles of kamlanie^ or shamanism, are traditional,nbsp;and learnt partly by observation of other older shamans, partly by anbsp;period of special instruction from them. The training is said to includenbsp;singing, dancing, drum-beating, ventriloquism, and other ‘tricks’. Butnbsp;these are merely matters of external technique. According to thenbsp;shamans themselves, their principal teachers are the spirits, in somenbsp;cases the spirits of their forefathers.^ We have seen that among thenbsp;Lebed Tatars, the Yakut, and the Buryat, an old shaman is assisted innbsp;certain ceremonies by young men, sometimes nine in number. At thenbsp;inauguration ceremony of a young shaman among the Yakut, an oldnbsp;shaman furnishes him for the occasion with a number of attendants,nbsp;who may perhaps be regarded as his assistants,^ while the old shamannbsp;himself delivers an address to him consisting partly of mythologicalnbsp;and mantic information, partly of precepts as to how he is to conductnbsp;himself in his new calling.'* A similar ceremony takes place at thenbsp;investiture of a Buryat shaman,5 when the young shaman receivesnbsp;detailed injunctions from an older shaman as to how he is to comportnbsp;himself, especially in his professional relations with his fellow men.nbsp;Miss Lindgren mentions^ the interesting fact that a Tungus shamankanbsp;of her acquaintance, named Olga, after hearing the call of the spirits, hadnbsp;studied her profession thoroughly under an old shaman, whereas somenbsp;untrained members of her tribe, also claiming shamanistic powers, onlynbsp;exercised them, so the shamanka said, when intoxicated. Professionalnbsp;jealousy might account in part for Olga’s attitude. But there is reasonnbsp;to believe that a certain amount of special training is regarded as annbsp;indispensable qualification among the Tungus, and this is probablynbsp;general among the Tatars also.

For the most part, however, the shaman claims to receive his knowledge and his power, not by his own efforts, or from his fellow men, but

• * Radlov, A.S. n, p. 49f.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Hildén, p. 132.

• * The possibility of a different explanation suggests itself from early usage among

the bakshas. See Castagne, p. 15. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;'* See Czaplicka, A.S. p. i84f.

5 Ib. p. 185 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;‘ J.R.C.A.S. XXII (1935), p. 221 ff.

198

by inspiration. His knowledge is not learned, but ‘revealed’, and covers the whole field of human experience and consciousness. It includesnbsp;knowledge of the past, and the hidden present, as well as the future, andnbsp;embraces historical and scientific matter, according to the standards ofnbsp;native ‘learning’, as well as all knowledge of the hidden present, allnbsp;‘occult’ knowledge. Perhaps the shaman’s functions and powers arenbsp;best described by himself, as we find them in one of the stories givennbsp;by Castrén:

“ ‘ God has appointed that I must wander both beneath and upon the earth, and has bestowed on me such power that I can comfort and cheernbsp;the afflicted, and on the other hand I can cast down those who are toonbsp;happy. The mind of those who are too much given to striving can Inbsp;likewise change, so that they will love cheerful amusement. I am callednbsp;Kögel-Khan and I am a shaman, who knows the future, the past, andnbsp;everything which is taking place in the present, both above and belownbsp;the earth.’ ‘Let us know’, said Kanna Kalas, ‘what our people arenbsp;doing, far away in our own home ; but if you do not tell the truth wenbsp;will cut your head off.’ The old man put on his shaman’s dress, andnbsp;began to shamanise. He shamanised and told all of them the whole andnbsp;simple truth.”'

It is not easy to illustrate from Tatar texts the shaman’s claim to knowledge of the past through revelation, though in Polynesia we shall see that the seers are the chief repositories of historical and genealogicalnbsp;matter. In Siberia the elaborate and spectacular nature of the shaman’snbsp;performance of dance, music and mimesis, coupled with the unfamiliarity of their language to most Western observers, has overshadowed the intellectual aspects of the seer’s functions. These arenbsp;nevertheless important, as we gather from the native oral texts of thenbsp;poems and sagas in which they figure, or which are attributed to them.nbsp;We have already referred (p. 146 above) to Radlov’s statement thatnbsp;poetry and saga relating to the Heavens and to cosmogony and supernatural matters were largely obtained by him from the recitation of thenbsp;shamans. And we have seen that precepts and didactic matter are recitednbsp;at the inauguration of a new shaman among the Yakut and Buryat.nbsp;Among the latter’ the shamans are also said to be the chief preservers ofnbsp;narrative poetry, as well as of other songs. Tatar non-heroic sagas suchnbsp;as that of The Two Princes, and poems such as Kara Tygon Khan andnbsp;Suksagal Khan, represent the seer as maintaining his prestige by hisnbsp;' Castrén, iv, p. 256.

’ Sandschejew, Anthropos (1927), p. 306.

199 ability to excel in knowledge of elementary (native) natural science ornbsp;natural philosophy, and the skilled use of poetic diction. The use of anbsp;traditional poetical diction fills a large place in the equipment of a Yakutnbsp;shaman, whose poetical vocabulary is said to comprise some 12,000nbsp;words, as compared with 4000 words only in daily usage.' The freenbsp;introduction of the mantic catalogue in the recitations of the blacknbsp;shamanka in the poem Joloi indicates the importance attached to orderednbsp;knowledge, both geographical and ethnographical, by men and womennbsp;who, whatever the limitations of their knowledge, must certainly benbsp;regarded as the intellectual leaders of their community.

There remains to be considered another form of literature which appears to be practised exclusively by shamans—in modern life bynbsp;professional shamans. The Tatars of the Altai and elsewhere possessnbsp;something in the nature of dramatic literature, or rather dramaticnbsp;monologue. This genre includes to a limited extent some of the literarynbsp;forms already considered, such as hymns and prayers, blessings, precepts, and other forms already associated with the shaman. In thenbsp;dramatic monologue, however, these are associated or connected together by the shaman in an ordered sequence of an ambitious artisticnbsp;character and considerable dramatic skill.

The subjects are religious in all cases, and represent the journey of the shaman, sometimes to the realm of Erlik Khan, the god of thenbsp;Underworld and of the dead, sometimes to the upper regions, the severalnbsp;superimposed planes of Heaven, even to Ülgen himself, the god of onenbsp;of the highest Heavens.^ On these journeys the shaman representsnbsp;himself in his recital as riding variously on the back of a goose, or anbsp;horse, and as generally accompanied, at least for a part of his journey,nbsp;by one or more companions. The journey is frequently represented asnbsp;long and difficult, and the companions feel tired and flag by the way,nbsp;but the shaman helps and encourages them till they finally reach theirnbsp;goal. He then returns alone, rejoiced to be once more in the world.nbsp;It would seem that the true emphasis of the dramatic monologue liesnbsp;on the safe conveyance of the shaman’s companions to their goal. Thenbsp;shaman himself is but the guide or emissary, like Hermes Psychopompos.

The texts of these religious dramas consist wholly of songs and exclamations. They are sung exclusively by one shaman, who, however,nbsp;changes his voice mimetically to represent different persons and evennbsp;animals. The songs are accompanied by dramatic action and muchnbsp;’ Stadling, p. 130.

’ On Ülgen’s claim to supremacy, see p. 82 above, and footnotes.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

dancing, and the whole is performed to a highly developed and sympathetic accompaniment of the large shaman tambourine. The performance is long and elaborate, and the songs are at least partially extempore, the shaman being the composer as well as the reciter of hisnbsp;score, and also minstrel, actor, and dancer in one.

To this end he makes use of certain stimulants, such as intoxicating drink, and tobacco. He indulges in a long period of silence beforenbsp;beginning a performance, during which the audience assist him by theirnbsp;silence in his task of thinking away his material surroundings, and ofnbsp;concentrating on spiritual matters. All shamans wear a special costumenbsp;when performing, which is generally made in the semblance of a bird,nbsp;or less commonly of some animal. The form varies considerably, butnbsp;generally consists of special boots, hat, and coat, all decorated with ornbsp;resembling birds’ feathers. Other accessories are also common. Almostnbsp;invariably the shaman carries a drum or tambourine and a drum stick,nbsp;which play an all important part in his performance. Often the costumenbsp;is hung about with little iron pendants, or with coloured handkerchiefs,nbsp;which swing freely as he dances. The tribal sacrifice performed annuallynbsp;by the shaman of the Altai Tatars requires a large number of othernbsp;accessories amounting almost to a scenario. In general the principalnbsp;part of a shaman’s performance takes place in the yurt and at night.nbsp;Sometimes, however, it takes place out of doors in summer.

One of the fullest and most important accounts of a great kamlanie, as a shaman performance is called in the Altai, is the abridged versionnbsp;given by Radlov from that published by the missionary Verbitski in thenbsp;Tomsk Journal of 1870, consisting of material obtained in 1840.’ Thisnbsp;is a great religious drama which forms a part of the greatest of all thenbsp;tribal sacrifices among the Tatars of the Altai, that to Bai Ulgen, whonbsp;is here said to dwell on the Golden Mountain in the sixteenth Heaven.nbsp;The performance takes place in the evenings of two or three days, andnbsp;large numbers of people are present. On the first evening the kam, asnbsp;the shaman of the Altai is called, places a new ytzrr in a birch-thicket,nbsp;and surrounds it by a fence as if to pen cattle. Inside the yurt stands anbsp;young birch-tree, the lower branches of which have been stripped off,

’ Radlov has given a German translation of the greater part of Verbitski’s text in the second volume of Aus Sibérien, ii, pp. 19-51. A summary of Radlov’s version,nbsp;including many of the songs, was published by Prof. Mikhailovsky of Moscow, andnbsp;translated into English by O. Wardrop in the Journal ojthe Anthropological Institute,nbsp;XXIV (1894), p. 74 ff., and an abridged version is also given by Czaplicka in A.S-p. 298 ff.

THE SHAMAN

201

and in the trunk of which nine notches {tapty') have been cut, to serve as foothold for the kam when he must climb the tree during thenbsp;ceremony. A light-coloured horse, such as will be acceptable to Ülgen,nbsp;is selected for the sacrifice, and a certain man is also selected by the kamnbsp;to act as groom throughout the sacrifice. He is known as bash-tutkannbsp;kxski (‘he who holds the head’, i.e. of the horse), and the Altaians believenbsp;that his soul accompanies that of the horse into the presence of Bainbsp;Ulgen. Except the kam himself he is the only actor in this strangenbsp;drama. The whole of the libretto, except the imitative or ventriloquialnbsp;passages, is chanted in poetry.

The kam now enters the yurt, and, seating himself by the fire which has been kindled beside the birch-tree, he allows the smoke to envelopnbsp;his tambourine. He then proceeds to summon the spirits individually,nbsp;collecting them as they assemble in his tambourine. The words of thenbsp;conjurations are quoted by Radlov, and constitute a series of songs;nbsp;and as each spirit is caught in the tambourine the kam replies in a hollownbsp;stage voice, speaking as for the spirit: “A kam ai” (“Hail kam, here Inbsp;am”). The kam now goes out of the yurt to a place where a goose hasnbsp;been made of cloth and stuffed with hay, and on this scarecrow henbsp;takes his seat, flapping both arms like wings,' as if he were flying throughnbsp;the air, and chanting as he flies :

Below the white Heaven, Above the white clouds.nbsp;Below the blue Heaven,nbsp;Above the blue clouds,nbsp;Rise up to Heaven, O bird.

Whereupon the kam replies, imitating the cackle of a goose:

Ungai gak gak, ungai gak, Kaigai gak gak, kaigai gak.

And a considerable dialogue takes place between the goose and its rider, in which the shaman is the speaker throughout, though talking ‘goosenbsp;talk’ in a ‘goose voice’.

The object of the ride is to pursue and capture the soul of the pura, or sacrificial horse, which neighs “Myjak, myjak, myjak” on hearingnbsp;the shaman’s call, and the neighing is also done by the shaman. When atnbsp;last the pura is captured and secured to a post in the pen, the shamannbsp;neighs, kicks, and plunges like a horse till the pura is quieted and

’ One is instinctively reminded of the apparition of Indra riding on the eagle at the close of the Sanskrit play Çakuntalâ.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

fumigated with juniper ready for the sacrifice. The kam now dismisses his goose with the words:

Take food from Sürö-Berg,

Take drink from the White Milk Sea, Mother Goose, thou my cackler.nbsp;Mother Bird, Kurgai Khan,nbsp;Mother Bird, Engkai Khan;nbsp;Press close upon the people.nbsp;Call upon them, crying “Au, Au”,nbsp;Call them to you, crying “Jä, Jä”.

After this the shaman proceeds in his own person to sacrifice the horse. The first part of the ceremony is at an end.

The most important part of the performance takes place on the second day, after sunset, when the kam enacts in his own person an entirenbsp;religious drama, or ballet, representing his pilgrimage to conduct thenbsp;pura to Bai Ülgen. As the fire burns brightly the kam first chants anbsp;blessing to the bash-tutkan^ and then offers food and drink to the spirits,nbsp;the Tords of the tambourine’, on behalf of the assembled household,nbsp;chanting addresses to them as he does so. He also offers a rich presentnbsp;of clothing to Ulgen himself on behalf of the master of the household.nbsp;It is interesting to note that the lord of the fire is regarded as the personified power of the family of they«« providing the sacrifice.

Take it, O Kaira Kan,’ Three-headed Fire Mother,nbsp;Four-headed Maiden Mother,nbsp;When I call “Chok”’—bow.nbsp;When I call “Mä”3—receive it.

The diction in which the kam's songs are couched is identical with that with which we are familiar from the narrative poems, the clothingnbsp;being referred to as

Gifts which no horse can carry. Which no man can lift.nbsp;Garments with three-fold collars, etc.

The kam next proceeds to fumigate his drum, and now for the first time he puts on his shaman’s dress and remains quietly beside the Are,

’ See p. 82, footnote 2 above. He is said to be the originator of all existing things. See Hilden, p. 126.

’ Among the Altai Tatars the word cAoX: is the name of the libation, and is called out by the shaman during the sacrifice. See Radlov, Wörterbuch, s.v.

3 The exclamation mä in Tatar means ‘there!’ ‘take’, ‘accept’; loc. cit.

203 enveloped in smoke, after which he begins to beat his drum withnbsp;measured strokes, summoning to him many spirits, reciting a separatenbsp;invocation to each, and including an invocation to Bai Ulgen and hisnbsp;family. Towards the close of the invocation the kam invokes Merkyut,nbsp;the bird of Heaven, concluding significantly with the words :

Come to me singing. Come sporting to my right eye,nbsp;Settle on my right shoulder.’

Various other ritual acts are performed by the kam, and at last begins the climax of his kamlanie, namely, his ascent to Heaven. This is anbsp;gradual process, for he mounts his tapty slowly, and indicates by recitation and pantomime that each step represents one of the superimposednbsp;horizontal planes of Heaven, each with its separate scenery, personnel,nbsp;and experiences—all of which are described. To give verisimilitude andnbsp;variety to his performance various episodes are introduced as the kamnbsp;passes through the various superimposed Heavens. The kara-kush, anbsp;‘black bird’ in the service of the kam^ is treated to a pipe of tobacco;nbsp;the kam waters the pura, and imitates the horse drinking; he also sendsnbsp;his servant to course a hare; he interviews the greatytyzzcAz, who foretellsnbsp;to him the future. It is interesting to note that the latter incident takesnbsp;place in the fifth Heaven, while in the sixth the kam does honour to thenbsp;moon; in the seventh, to the sun. In the eighth and ninth Heavens wenbsp;have scenes enacted, prayers, prophecies, narratives, and blessings, etc.nbsp;recited. The greater the power of the kam^ the greater the number ofnbsp;Heavens through which he can penetrate—eleven, twelve, or even morenbsp;—in some cases as many as sixteen. At last, when he has reached thenbsp;limit of his power and knowledge, he calls upon Bai Ülgen himself,nbsp;and, lowering his drum, and bowing humbly before him, he addressesnbsp;him in a prayer. From Bai Ulgen the kam learns whether the sacrificenbsp;has been accepted, and receives prophecies relating to the weather andnbsp;the harvest, and injunctions regarding sacrifice. The karris ecstasynbsp;culminates in this last great scene, and he sinks down exhausted, whilenbsp;the bash-tutkan gently withdraws his drum and stick. For a time he isnbsp;motionless, and silence reigns in the yurt, after which the kam seems tonbsp;awaken as if from sleep. He rubs his eyes, smoothes his hair, spreadsnbsp;out his hands, wrings the perspiration from his shirt, and looks around

’ Cf. pp. 87, I IO above.

* Cf. the gigantic black bird which helps Kogutei, p. 100 f. above.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

him and greets those who are present, as after a long journey. The kamlanie is over.’

A comparison of this account with the narrative poems of the Abakan Tatars shows that the visits of heroes and heroines to thenbsp;Heavens resemble closely these journeys of actual shamans to the abodenbsp;of Bai Ülgen.^ The closest parallels are, however, to be found amongnbsp;the Yakuts and the neighbouring non-Turkish peoples, such as thenbsp;Yenisei Ostyak, and the Yurak.'* These ceremonies are so close to thosenbsp;of the Tatar shaman that though space will not permit of more than thenbsp;briefest reference here, it will be obvious from the most cursory glancenbsp;that they are valuable as supplementing our knowledge of the Tatarnbsp;ceremonies.

In the old days, say the Yakut, there were shamans who really did ascend to the sky, and the crowd of spectators were able to see thenbsp;sacrificial animal floating on the clouds, while the shaman’s drum spednbsp;after it, followed by the shaman in his mantic coat. 5 In the same way thenbsp;feat of mounting to Heaven on horseback is attributed to a greatnbsp;Mongol shaman of the time of Jenghiz Khan.®

A reference to the visit of the Yenisei Ostyak to the sky may give us some idea of the concluding portion of the Altai shaman’s visit to Bainbsp;Ulgen, though in Radlov’s account this part of the latter ceremony isnbsp;only briefly touched on. The Ostyak shaman sings that he is climbingnbsp;to Heaven by means of a rope? let down to him, pushing aside the starsnbsp;which block his way. He sails in the sky in a boat, and finally descendsnbsp;to earth with such rapidity that the wind blows through him. After thisnbsp;he makes a journey to the Underworld, assisted on his course by the aidnbsp;of‘winged devils’.^ Again we are told that among the Ostyak and the

’ For recent though far less detailed accounts of shaman ceremonies among the Altai Tatars, and the sacrifice of the horse among the Lebed Tatars, who are theirnbsp;near neighbours, see Hildén, p. 138 ff.

’ For a fuller treatment of this subject the reader may refer to Chadwick, J.R.A.L Lxvi (1936), p. 291 ff.

3 Sieroszewski, R.H.R. (1902), p. 331 f.

¦I There appears to be a certain dramatic appeal in the performances of Tungus Shamans also. See Lindgren, N.R.T. p. 19 f.; cf. also Shirokogoroff, Shamanism-

5 See Czaplicka, A.S. p. 238. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* See Köprülüzade, p. 17.

? We may compare the means by which the Polynesian heroes rise to Heaven (see Part II below).

8 Mikhailovsky, J.A.I. p. 67. Mikhailovsky was a professor in the University of Moscow. His two articles on shamanism, to which we make constant reference, are based on information derived from Russian travellers, and are verynbsp;useful as affording information not otherwise easily accessible.

205 Yurak the shaman rises to the sky and sings of his sojourn in varyingnbsp;types of country, among roses, and again among larches on the tundra,nbsp;where his grandsire formerly made his tambourine—an interestingnbsp;reference to the belief in the inheritance of the mantic gift from annbsp;ancestor in the second generation. He falls asleep among purple clouds,nbsp;and finally descends to earth by means of a river,’ and then, after doingnbsp;honour to the heavenly deity, the sun, moon, trees, and beasts of thenbsp;earth—in this order—he prays for long life, happiness, etc.

With these accounts of the journeys of shamans to the Heavens we may compare the accounts of the Buryat investiture of a new shamannbsp;and the ceremonial at the great sacrifice of the horse. The latter takesnbsp;place under circumstances closely resembling those of the Altai ceremony, except that from Curtin’s account of the Buryat ceremony itnbsp;appears that the shaman does not himself deal the death-blow to thenbsp;horse, but delegates this task to another. For the Buryat sacrificialnbsp;ceremonial a large tree is planted in the middle of the yurt, its topnbsp;projecting through the smoke hole. To this top are fastened silk stringsnbsp;representing the colours of the rainbow. The strings are carried to a treenbsp;called ‘the pillar’,’ at a little distance, and tied to its highest branch.nbsp;Some of the shamans go to the tops of the trees and make offerings to thenbsp;gods from there. “In old times”, adds our informant, “there were suchnbsp;mighty shamans that they could walk on the silk strings connecting thenbsp;top of the tree which comes up through the smoke-hole of the yurtnbsp;with the great birch-tree outside ; this was called ‘ walking on the rain-bow’.”5 In a similar procedure, which takes place at the investiture ofnbsp;a Buryat shaman, we are further told that the large tree planted in thenbsp;yurt represents the porter god who allows the shaman ingress intonbsp;Heaven. Red and blue ribbons are stretched from its summit to a row ofnbsp;other birches outside: “This is a symbolical representation of the pathnbsp;of the shaman to the spirit world.”'* The shaman climbs the birch-treenbsp;inside the yurt, and also at least one of those outside, sometimes leaping

‘ We may compare the procedure of the seeress of the Sea Dyaks, who conducts her party of souls to the Underworld in a boat along a river (cf. p. 490 below).

• * One instinctively thinks of the Irminsul, the sacred pillar of the Old Saxons,nbsp;which is described as universalis columna quasi sustinens omnia {Translatio S.nbsp;Alexandria cap. 3. Mon. Germ. 11, p. 676).

3 Curtin, p. 108. With this account of Siberian ritual it is interesting to compare the Polynesian sagas and poetry connected with such heroes as Tawhaki. See e.g. p.nbsp;298 f. below, and see also p. 338.

• * See Czaplicka, A.S. p. 188.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

from summit to summit along the entire row, claiming thus to pass from one Heaven to the next, till from the top of the last he claims to reachnbsp;the highest Heaven to which he can attain. It is easy to see how thisnbsp;symbolism has given rise to the statements that in the past the shamannbsp;could be seen in the sky.

We are inclined to suspect a reminiscence of some such ceremony as the Altai shaman’s journey to the presence of Bai Ulgen in a passage innbsp;the Uigur poem Kudatku Bilik, which was written in the eleventhnbsp;century in eastern Turkestan. The passage to which we refer is thenbsp;dream related by a certain Otkürmish to the prince Kün-Tokty-Elik.‘nbsp;Otkürmish relates how in a dream he saw before him a high ladder withnbsp;fifty steps.^ He climbed up these steps to the top of the ladder, which,nbsp;according to the version given by Vambery, amounted to seven stages.nbsp;At the top of the ladder a female attendant or guardian gave him anbsp;drink of water, and, refreshed by the draught, he was able to make hisnbsp;way up to Heaven, though he was unconscious, “perhaps from thenbsp;effort”.

This interesting passage seems to have given some difficulty to the translators, and several points still remain obscure. One naturallynbsp;thinks of the vision of Jacob’s Ladder seen also in a dream.3 But thenbsp;closest affinities of the passage seem to lie with the practices and beliefsnbsp;of the Altai shamans, and we think it likely that a closer study of thesenbsp;might throw light on the obscure passages in the Uigur text.

The second class of religious drama of the Altai represents a journey of the shaman to the abode of the dead, the realm of Erlik Khan.nbsp;Among the Yenisei Ostyak we have seen (p. 204) that this secondnbsp;performance sometimes follows immediately on the visit to Heaven.

Potanin“* has preserved a summary narrative of one of these dramas which he obtained from the Russian missionary Chivalkov. It representsnbsp;the journey of a shaman of the Altai Tatars, who is convoying a numbernbsp;of dead souls to the Underworld, to the region of Erlik Khan, the godnbsp;of Darkness. This work has not been accessible to us, and we are onlynbsp;able to give an account of the performance from the summaries pub-

' Vambery, U.S. p. 158; Radlov, K.B. p. 501.

’ The type of ladder referred to is no doubt that still in general use in Siberia today, which consists of a single pole with steps projecting alternately up each side, like a fir-tree stripped and trimmed, with the stumps of a few branches left on—nbsp;somewhat like the steps on our own telegraph poles.

3 Genesis xxviii. 12.

“• Potanin iv, p. 64 ff.

207 lished by M. A. Czaplicka' and Mikhailovsky? Unfortunately none ofnbsp;the songs are quoted, and very few of the actual words of the shaman.nbsp;Enough is given, however, to show that the performance is an elaboratenbsp;one, the vivid details of which show a close analogy to many passagesnbsp;in the narrative poems of the Abakan Tatars relating the supernaturalnbsp;journeys of heroes.

In his monologue the shaman describes his travels, beginning from the place where he is performing. The road runs southward over thenbsp;Altai, and then over the Chinese land with its yellow sand, over anbsp;yellow steppe “across which a magpie cannot fly”. The functionalnbsp;nature of the shaman’s aesthetic performance is made clear by his ownnbsp;words: “With songs we shall traverse them”, he cries, and the companynbsp;mount cheerfully, and accompany him in song. A wan-coloured steppenbsp;follows, “over which no raven has ever flown”, and again the kamnbsp;encourages his followers by his songs. After the steppe comes a mountain so high that the kam breathes heavily as he reaches the summit.nbsp;He does not fail to point out to his followers the bones of many unfortunate kams who have failed to make the ascent successfully: “Onnbsp;the mountains men’s bones lie heaped up in rows; the mountains arenbsp;piebald with the bones of horses.” It is in such passages as these thatnbsp;we see the traditional geography and general setting of the poems. Thenbsp;difficulties and hardships encountered by the shaman and his cortègenbsp;remind us forcibly of those encountered by all travellers over thenbsp;deserts and mountains of eastern Central Asia, from Fa-hien to von lenbsp;Coq, Fleming and Maillart.3

Having ascended the mountain, the cortège rides through a hole in the ground which leads to the Underworld, “the jaws of the earth”.nbsp;A sea must be crossed by a hair, and again the shaman gains credit tonbsp;himself by pointing out the bones of many fallen shamans at the bottomnbsp;of the sea. Once across, the kam makes his way to the abode of Erliknbsp;Khan, which bears a close resemblance to a Buddhist monastic

’ Czaplicka, A.S. p. 240 f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* J-A.I. xxiv, p. 72 f.

3 The Chinese Buddhist pilgrim Fa-hien, writing of the Taklamakan Desert c. A.D. 400, describes it as containing many evil demons, and adds that there arenbsp;“no flying birds above, no roaming beasts below... .It would be impossible tonbsp;know the way but for dead men’s decaying bones, which show the direction.”nbsp;(See Travels of Fa-hien, in Beal’s Buddhist Records of the Western World, London,nbsp;1884, I) p. xxiv.) Three centuries later another Chinese pilgrim, Huien-Tsiang, also mentions that the passes of the Hindu Kush were so high that the birdsnbsp;could not fly over the summits. (See Beal, Budd. Records, etc. II, p. 285 f., and seenbsp;further le Coq, Buried Treasures, p. i54fF.)

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

settlement, with its great dogs, its porter, by no means averse to presents, and finally the great khan himself. The kam with admirable dramaticnbsp;instinct goes through the ceremonial of an audience with the greatnbsp;potentate, who is depicted as a typical oriental, haughty, despotic, butnbsp;easily overcome with wine and presents. Comic relief is afforded by anbsp;telling representation by the shaman of the drunken god, who isnbsp;finally induced to give his blessing, and even imparts knowledge of thenbsp;future to the kam, who returns home joyfully, glad to be safely awaynbsp;from the abodes of the dead. He returns to earth, not on the horsenbsp;which had carried him to the Underworld, but riding on a goose—¦nbsp;doubtless symbolical of a dead soul'—and he walks about the yurt onnbsp;tiptoe as if he were flying, imitating a goose’s cackle. The kamlaniamp;nbsp;comes to an end, the tambourine is taken out of his hands by one ofnbsp;those present, and the kam rubs his eyes as if awakening from sleep. Henbsp;is asked what kind of a ride he has had, and how he got on. And henbsp;replies: “I have had a successful journey; I was well received.”

Sieroszewski has recorded much of the libretto of a Yakut shaman called in to heal the sick,^ which resembles in its general features thenbsp;preceding account of the Altai shaman’s journey to the Underworld.nbsp;Moreover, there can be no doubt that many of the kamlanie which havenbsp;been briefly described by European eye-witnesses are similar, sometimesnbsp;less elaborate, dramatic performances. Potanin witnessed a representation of a visit to the Underworld given by a young Altai shaman namednbsp;Enchu,3 and also a performance by a shamanka“* which resembled thatnbsp;of Enchu in some important particulars which we cannot enter into here.nbsp;Radlov witnessed a dramatic representation of a shaman’s visit to thenbsp;underworld which formed a part of a purification ceremony performednbsp;in a house on the fortieth day after the death of one of its inmates. Innbsp;Radlov’s account the kam represents himself as conducting the soul ofnbsp;the dead person to its last abode in the realm of Erlik, and mimics thenbsp;voice of the dead person—in this case a woman—in a falsetto squeak.nbsp;He also holds converse with the dead relatives of the deceased who arenbsp;already in the abode of Erlik. Radlov tells us that the wild scene, withnbsp;the magic illumination of the fire and the shaman’s dance, made such anbsp;strong impression on him that for a long time he followed the shamannbsp;with his eyes, and wholly and completely forgot his surroundings.nbsp;Even the Altaians, he adds, “were moved by the wild scene; their pipes

* See J.A.I. XXIV, p. 72f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ R.H.R. (1902), p. 331 f.

3 Mikhailovsky, p. 71 f.; Czaplicka, A.S. p. 240.

Mikhailovsky, p. 72.

209 sank to the ground, and perfect silence reigned for a quarter of an hour ” ƒnbsp;Stadling^ and Sieroszewski were equally impressed by the art which thenbsp;Yakut shaman put into his performance. The latter in particular callsnbsp;attention to the literary excellence of the performances of the mostnbsp;proficient among them, the skill with which they make silence alternatenbsp;with strange cries, the telling vibrations of the voice, now imploring,nbsp;now menacing, by turns harmonious and terrifying; the thundering ofnbsp;the tambourine, which is made to correspond exactly with the mood ofnbsp;the moment; the startling and skilled use of poetic diction, and figurativenbsp;language, the expressive turns of phrase, the bold metaphors, whichnbsp;would render translation impossible.’

Visits to the realm of Erlik closely resembling those of the Yakut shaman in his capacity of physician are also made by the shamans of thenbsp;Buryat, where again one of our best accounts is of a shaman called in tonbsp;heal a sick person. The shaman seeks the soul of the patient, which isnbsp;believed to have left the body. He searches in every part of the world—nbsp;in the deep woods, on the steppes, at the bottom of the sea; and havingnbsp;found it, he restores it to its body.'* If it cannot be found in the world,nbsp;the shaman must seek it in the Underworld, making a long and toilsomenbsp;journey thither, and offering costly presents to Erlik. Sometimes thenbsp;shaman informs the patient that Erlik demands another soul in exchangenbsp;for his, and ensnares the soul of a friend of the patient while the ownernbsp;is asleep. The soul turns into a lark; the shaman in his kamlanie takesnbsp;the form of a hawk, catches the soul, and hands it over to Erlik, whonbsp;frees the soul of the sick man. 5 The ceremony cannot fail to recall manynbsp;poems of the Abakan Tatars in which the soul of a hero is similarlynbsp;pursued throughout every region of the Universe, and in every elementnbsp;by an ‘earth hero’, a black man from the Underworld, who acts as annbsp;emissary of Erlik.

Visits to the abodes of Erlik and Ulgen such as we have just described by no means exhaust the dramatic presentations of the Tatar shamans.nbsp;Among the Yakut sacrifices are offered to the guardian spirit of huntsmen and fishermen, and these are said to be accompanied by dramaticnbsp;performances given by the shaman who, in acting the part of Baryllakh,nbsp;' Radlov, A.S. n, p. 53 f.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Stadling, p. 134.

• * R.H.R. (1902), p. 325.

• * We may compare Shirokogoroff’s statement (JShamanisni) of the Tungusnbsp;shaman, whose soul is said to be able to “go away to visit the Heavens, or distantnbsp;places on the earth, in order to find the spirits who caused the malady or misfortune ”.

’ So Potanin ; see Mikhailovsky, p. 69 f.

CL iii

14

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

the spirit of the chase, is said to laugh and smirk? The Yakut, we are told, represent this spirit as always giggling and fond of laughter?

Performances which resemble in their main features those of the shaman are commonly given also by the bakshas of the western Turks.nbsp;The important work of Castagné, published in 1930, who spent eighteennbsp;years among the Turko-Mongol peoples of Central and western Asia,nbsp;has added much to our knowledge of the bakshas, and enabled us to seenbsp;more clearly than was possible from the works of earlier scholars 3 thenbsp;close connection which exists between their mental equipment and thatnbsp;of the shamans of the eastern Turks and of the peoples of northernnbsp;Siteria. In particular we would emphasise here the important part whichnbsp;poetry and the music of the kobu:^^ the bakshas stringed instrument,nbsp;play in the performance. The baksha has no drum, but the articulatenbsp;part of his performance, which forms the greater part of it, is chantednbsp;throughout in poetry, and is largely accompanied by the kobu^, and itnbsp;appears to be exclusively, or almost exclusively, by the music of thisnbsp;instrument in the hands of the baksha himself that the latter brings himselfnbsp;into a state of ecstasy. It is interesting to note that in Castagné’snbsp;accounts of the performances of a number of men of this class there isnbsp;no mention of the use of stimulants, such as tobacco or other stimulatingnbsp;fumes, or of intoxicating drinks. The latter is, of course, only what wenbsp;should expect from Mohammedans. The stimulus and excitement appears to be produced wholly by the use of the musical instrument,nbsp;which is said to be endowed with magic power,5 and much time andnbsp;pains are devoted to the art of performing on its strings.®

In the elaborate baksha performance about to be described it is interesting to note that in some cases the jinns themselves are addressednbsp;as carrying musical instruments—one his kobut[^ another his musette^nbsp;covered with fine velvet. The importance in which music is held bynbsp;these mantic persons is aptly illustrated by the story of a famous baksha

‘ Mikhailovsky, p. 96. We may compare the portion of the ecstasy of the baksha recorded by Koustanaiev, Castagné, p. 103.

’ Mikhailovsky, loc. cit.

3 Much material has long been available for the study of the bakshas in Russian libraries, but this has, unfortunately, been inaccessible to most of us. Many valuablenbsp;references to publications on this subject in Russian and Asiatic periodicals will benbsp;found in Castagné’s work.

Cf. Shirokogoroff, Shamanism, where the same effect is attributed to the drum of the Tungus shaman.

5 Castagné, p. 67. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Ib. p. 68.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;? lb. p. 83.

8 lb. p. 88. The musette is a kind of bagpipe. Musical proficiency is also ascribed in Tatar oral literature to Jelbägän. See Radlov, Proben i, p. 298, 1. 103 ff-

THE SHAMAN

2II

of the past, named KJiorkouth, who was regarded as the founder of all the bakshas. He is said to have been at once a sorcerer, diviner, andnbsp;musician, and to have taught his people the art of singing and playingnbsp;to the kobu^. He was also the originator of a particular kind of epicnbsp;poetry. When he realised that his death was near, his first act was tonbsp;make a new kobu:^ for himself, after which he divided his time betweennbsp;reciting prayers and verses from the Koran, and singing to the accompaniment of his kobu^. After his death, his kobu^ laid on his grave,nbsp;and tradition asserts that for many years it played plaintive music everynbsp;Friday in memory of its master.'

From the point of view of oral literature, the most interesting accounts of baksha performances given by Castagné are those which relate to the healing of the sick. Castagné has published,^ with Frenchnbsp;translations, a number of the invocations and songs chanted by thenbsp;bakshas on such occasions, and one series which he gives in extenso,nbsp;and which were recorded from the recitals of native Kazaks, enable us tonbsp;see both the general character of such performances, and also their similarity to, and integral connection with, those of the Tatars of the Altai.

These performances open with the sacrifice of an animal, after which the baksha takes his kobu'i, or sometimes a domra, or even a tambourine,nbsp;in his hand, and entones a chant of great sadness.^ The chant opens, asnbsp;is to be expected, with a reference to the Koran, and proceeds to a seriesnbsp;of invocations to God, to Adam and the Patriarchs, and finally passes tonbsp;a series of invocations to Saitan and the jmns. It is in the latter that thenbsp;close connection between the bakshas and the shamans is most clearlynbsp;seen, for many of the jinns are the spirits whose acquaintance we havenbsp;already made as belonging to the realm of Erlik Khan, and as spiritualnbsp;beings hostile to the heroes and heroines of the narrative poems. Herenbsp;again we meet with the great black bird Kara Kus, and with the ‘ yellownbsp;maiden’, Sary Kus, and a number of other spirits, who are addressednbsp;under the guise of horses, dromedaries, serpents, and even tigers, andnbsp;sometimes as spirits mounted on such creatures, as we have seennbsp;Kara Chach mounted on Jelmogus in Joloi (cf. p. 87 above). Thenbsp;recital is broken from time to time by the voices of the audience andnbsp;the baksha’s assistants, who, by his invitation, add their own interjectionsnbsp;by way of corroborating the bakshas invitations to the various spirits.

It is clear that throughout the invocation the potent factor in assembling the spirits to the assistance of the baksha is his music.

' Castagné, p. 67. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 70 ff.

3 The text and musical score of this chant are given by Castagné, loc. eie.

14-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

“Voilà”, he cries, “la manière que j’emploie pour appeler les djinns...

Qu’est-il advenu de ma voix.

Qu’elle ne puisse accompagner mon kobouz.^

J’ai pris en main mon kobouz en bois de sapin.

Et me replie comme un serpent d’eau.

Mon kobouz ne se casse point.

Mon âme malheureuse ne connaît pas de repos.”

And he goes on to sing of how the jinn took possession of him at the age of fifteen, and became his friend at the age of twenty—the interveningnbsp;period evidently the length of time required for the training andnbsp;education of the baksha. He also makes it clear to us that his ‘call’ to benbsp;a baksha was not of his own seeking, but even against his own will; andnbsp;further that the ‘call’ was integrally connected with the art of minstrelsy.

Il (i.e. the djinn') m’a décidé, malgré moi, à m’occuper d’une affaire;

Il m’a rivé à cet arbre déjà sec (i.e. the kobuj).

These autobiographical details again remind us of the recital of the black shamanka^ Kara Chach, and are especially interesting as comingnbsp;immediately before the height of his frenzy, when the jinns are believednbsp;to take possession of him.

At this point the baksha begins to demonstrate the supernatural condition to which he has attained, by walking on red hot tools, placingnbsp;lighted tapers in his mouth, beating himself, or the patient, with clubsnbsp;or other heavy objects, without apparently feeling or inflicting pain.nbsp;This is held to be a certain test of shamanistic ‘virtue’, the lesser bakshasnbsp;feeling pain in proportion to their lack of supernatural achievement.’nbsp;Once more he takes his kobu^, and invokes a further series of destructivenbsp;jinns, mostly having animal forms, after which he waves his hands in allnbsp;directions, making it appear to the onlookers that everything towardsnbsp;which he waves his hands, or points, breaks or is destroyed. Workingnbsp;himself up into a frenzy of excitement, the baksha rushes around thenbsp;tent, imitating ‘with remarkable precision’ the movements and the criesnbsp;of various animals and birds, in whose guise the spirits evoked by thenbsp;baksha have come to the assembly. Taking his kobu^ he again begins tonbsp;play. Music and song become more and more rapid, the more rapid his

* Castagné, p. 94. We may compare the interesting statement made by Shiro-kogoroff of the Tungus shaman. “They can.. .jump as high as four or five feet, in spite of age and their very heavy costume (sometimes about eighty pounds);nbsp;they can cut their hands and faces in such a way that recovery takes a very shortnbsp;time; they can burn their hands and faces almost without leaving traces the followingnbsp;day... .All these experiments have no serious consequences so long as they arenbsp;made during ecstasy.” {Shammismk)

213 movements. He foams at the mouth, and his face assumes a savagenbsp;expression, while he slashes his face with a knife without leaving anynbsp;apparent trace of cuts. A final chant in which the assembled spirits arenbsp;dismissed to their own sphere closes this remarkable scene.

Castagne lays stress on the elaborate technique of the baksha s performance, both in regard to his mimetic gifts, and his musical skill.nbsp;The baksha himself evidently regards his kobii:^ as his most importantnbsp;accessory.

De la baguette d’une ulmaire Est fait I’archet de mon kobouz;nbsp;De la peau fine d’un “djelmaïa’”nbsp;Est orné mon kobouz, tout comme un petit miroir.nbsp;Des crins d’un bon coursiernbsp;Est fait l’archet de mon kobouz.’

It will be seen that the shaman and the baksha combine within their own persons the functions of priest and prophet. Their prophetic visionnbsp;is presented in an artistic production which combines music, poetry, thenbsp;dance, and mimetic performance—in fact a synthesis of all the arts,nbsp;resembling a ballet. The shaman or the baksha, as the case may be, isnbsp;the sole or almost the sole performer in this ballet, which is of a mostnbsp;exacting character, and makes the heaviest possible demands simultaneously on all his intellectual and artistic faculties. The entire performance, while following a traditional outline, or a traditional channel ofnbsp;thought and traditional artistic style, is nevertheless extempore. Itnbsp;seems clear that just as the heroic poet extemporises not only the actualnbsp;words, but even to some extent the form of his narrative during thenbsp;actual recitation, so the shaman, within a framework prescribed bynbsp;traditional theology, extemporises his dramatic songs, varying hisnbsp;motifs, and drawing from experience, personal or borrowed. Hisnbsp;diction is identical with that of the heroic poems. Phrases and descriptions and groups of lines, and much of the imagery, are familiar to usnbsp;from the narrative poems. But the actual process of composition takesnbsp;place during the recital.3 It is easy to see, therefore, why, when oncenbsp;the performance is over, the shaman is unable to recall the words whichnbsp;he has spoken.

’ According to Castagné’s note the djelmaïa would seem to be some kind of camel or dromedary. See, however, p. 84 above.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Castagne, p. 92.

3 According to Sandschejew, himself a Buryat of famous shaman stock, and trained in early life for the profession of shaman, the question has already been mootednbsp;in the Buryat press of adopting the shaman ‘with his aesthetic gifts, and his powernbsp;of improvisation’, into the state theatre. See Anthropos (1927), p. $76.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

The extent to which the seer acts and speaks as a voluntary agent during the manifestations of his divine inspiration is an importantnbsp;question which cannot be regarded as settled. The question is one ofnbsp;very wide bearings, and affects a large part of the world. Ultimately itnbsp;is a matter of psychology. But even from literary evidence it seemsnbsp;clear that at certain times, and in certain communities, the seer speaksnbsp;and perhaps ‘composes’ a coherent libretto in a state of mind in whichnbsp;there appears to be little or no consciousness of his material surroundings. This we shall see to be the case in certain communities ofnbsp;Polynesia and Africa, and the ancient literatures of Europe know ofnbsp;similar phenomena. In northern Siberia the evidence for this dissociated condition of the seer is particularly strong.’ Among the Tatarsnbsp;also it is undoubtedly found. Radlov tells us^ that it is on record thatnbsp;even the knout of the Cossack has failed to arouse the Tatar shamannbsp;from his trance. 3

On the other hand, in the great public performances at least, and probably to a great extent in Tatar performances generally, the procedure characteristic of the dissociated condition has crystallised into anbsp;ritual. This would be difficult to prove, and space hardly allows ofnbsp;discussion of the matter here, especially as the question does not directlynbsp;concern literature. One of us has, however, discussed the matter morenbsp;fully elsewhere.“* It is difficult for us to believe that the extremelynbsp;elaborate nature of the shaman’s performance, especially at the greatnbsp;tribal gatherings, could be achieved save by a mind in full possession ofnbsp;all its faculties, and with those faculties heightened and sharpened to theirnbsp;fullest pitch. While the traditional manner of ecstasy still governs thenbsp;Altai shaman’s manifestation of inspiration, his actual performancenbsp;would seem to be largely artificially regulated, and intellectuallynbsp;controlled.5

Many of the motifs in the literary traditions of the Tatars which have come to light in the preceding survey, and many of the corresponding

’ See Czaplicka, passim. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;A.S. n, p. 57.

5 An excellent parallel is furnished in The Veddas (p. 209 ff.) by the Seligmans, in which an elaborate mimetic ceremonial is performed by a seer who is undoubtedly in a condition of almost complete dissociation. If we have understoodnbsp;the text aright, however, it does not appear that the ‘shaman’ composes or recitesnbsp;elaborate invocations during his actual possession. The recital appears to precedenbsp;the fits of possession in every case where they are given by the ‘shaman’ himself.nbsp;J.R.A.1. Lxvi (1936), p. loi.

5 In this connection I must refer to a remarkably interesting observation made by Miss Lindgren, who has witnessed a number of performances by Tungus

215 elements in the religious beliefs and practices of their shamans, as thenbsp;latter have been briefly indicated in the present chapter, are to be foundnbsp;widespread also in the literary traditions of other peoples of Centralnbsp;Asia. Mention has already been made of certain traces of these beliefsnbsp;and themes among the ancient Uigurs, nor would it be difficult tonbsp;multiply these instances if space permitted ; and we hope to do so morenbsp;fully at a future date. We may, however, call attention here to annbsp;important parallel, both in form and content, to the poems and sagas, andnbsp;the religious observances of the Tatars and neighbouring peoples, whichnbsp;is to be found in the narratives and sagas of a certain Kesar, or Gesar,nbsp;King of Ling. These are current today in both oral and written formnbsp;throughout Mongolia, Tibet, and Ladakh.’ The Cycle, in its presentnbsp;form, has been thickly overlaid with Buddhist ideas and motifs, and wenbsp;are not in a position to say at present how far some at least of these maynbsp;have formed an original element of the whole. But the main outlines ofnbsp;the life-story of Kesar in the most widely known versions are undoubtedly heroic. It is especially interesting, therefore, to find that, likenbsp;the Kara-Kirghiz hero Bolot, Kesar goes to the Underworld in boyhoodnbsp;as a part of his initiation, and here also the entrance to the Underworldnbsp;is through a hole or cave in the rocks on the summit of a mountain.nbsp;Like Bolot he is guided on his way by his tutelary spirit, a womannbsp;{Manene, lit. ‘grandmother’), who rides, like Kara Chach (cf. p. 87nbsp;above), on an animal. And, like Kara Chach also, this tutelary spiritnbsp;appears to Kesar in the Underworld, and lends him assistance againstnbsp;a host of monster foes. Like Bolot, Kesar returns triumphant to thenbsp;and Mongol shamans. During the dance one of these shamankas wore a costumenbsp;to which forty pounds of metal were attached, largely in the form of bronze mirrorsnbsp;and bells attached to the dress. The dance takes place within the constricted spacenbsp;between the fire and the members of the audience, squatting round the inside of thenbsp;walls of the hut, and the shamanka’s movements appear abandoned and ‘wild*. Yetnbsp;although the pendants swing freely within an inch or two of the faces of the audience,nbsp;Miss Lindgren assures us that she never once saw anyone struck during the dances.nbsp;It is difficult to believe that such skill has not been acquired by long practice in anbsp;normal condition of mind, or that it can be mechanically applied by a virtual automaton in a condition of dissociation. Shirokogoroff insists that the Tungus shamannbsp;‘ cannot let himself fall into a nervous fit’ while shamanising,and also that the shamannbsp;must be a healthy person {ßhamanism) ; and Castagné points out (p. 99) that duringnbsp;the ecstasy of the Kazak baksha^ while he is flinging himself about with closed eyes,nbsp;he can nevertheless lay his hands on anything he may happen to require.

’ A general account of the Cycle as it is current in Tibet will be found in David-Neel and Yongden, Gesar. For details of the various forms and their distribution the reader is referred to the works of Francke cited on p. 48, footnote above, andnbsp;p. 220 below. Cp. also p. 218, footnote 2 below.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

world of men, bearing with him, like many of the heroes of the Abakan poems, the food of immortality and the water of life. Like the shamansnbsp;of the Altai, he mounts to Heaven on the back of a bird, in order tonbsp;secure healing herbs for his people. Many other features might be cited,nbsp;and in particular we would call attention to the autobiographicalnbsp;character of the narrative, so characteristic of Tatar narrative poetry andnbsp;of the Russian byliny, and so alien to early Teutonic and Greek heroicnbsp;poetry in general. The circumstances in which the narrative poems ofnbsp;Kesar are recited also seem to resemble closely those of the recitation ofnbsp;the Tatar nomads of the mountains and steppes of east Central Asia. Thenbsp;wide popularity of the story and its distribution throughout a large partnbsp;of eastern Central Asia suggest, of course, that it may have a long historynbsp;behind it. The hero is claimed both by Mongols and by Tibetans asnbsp;a native of their districts, and it is fair to suppose that the stories nownbsp;associated with Kesar were probably well known in eastern Turkestannbsp;before the downfall of the Uigurs.

It may be pointed out further that certain features of the shaman’s ceremonies have manifest affinities with customs and traditions currentnbsp;today among the civilisations of Central and southern Asia. In particular we may mention that the aerial adventures of Tatar, Yakut,nbsp;Tungus, and Buryat shamans can hardly be wholly independent of suchnbsp;forms of oriental dramatic art as we see in the aerial puppet showsnbsp;witnessed by Rock at the great annual Butter Festival in the lamaserynbsp;of Choni in the province of Kansu on the eastern border of Tibet,nbsp;where Buddhist deities were made to play their part in a realistic representation of the various regions of the Heavens, the whole being workednbsp;by means of wires stretched across the courtyard overhead.' Even closernbsp;analogies are to be found in the New Year and other important ceremonies held in the neighbourhood of the Potala Palace at Lhasa, such,nbsp;for example, as the ceremony of the ‘Flying Spirits’, in which a mannbsp;slides with the speed of lightning down a rope stretched from a pinnaclenbsp;of the lofty palace to a stupa in the courtyard, bringing with him blessings from Heaven to the people below. The dramatic form of the

’ J. Rock, N.G.M. (Nov. 1928), p. 6i2',I.L.N. (Oct. 12th, 1929), p. 639. Rock’s account may help to explain certain obscure statements made by native informantsnbsp;about their shamans of the past, such as that of the Yakut, who say that in the pastnbsp;their shamans really did ascend to the sky, and could be seen floating on the clouds.nbsp;(See p. 204 above.)

’For some account of these ceremonies see Waddell, Lhasa, p. 397 f- ; Macdonald, p. 202 ff. For a similar ceremony at the lamasery of Tashilhunpo, see Sarat Chandranbsp;Das, p. 77, and for one in Nepal, see Moorcroft, i, p. 17.

THE SHAMAN nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;217

shaman’s monologue can hardly be independent of dramas of the adventures of the human soul such as the play of Langdarma, held annually at the same time in Lhasa, in which, among many other incidents, goodnbsp;and evil spirits are represented as waging battle for the soul of man.'nbsp;Moreover, it is strange that the journey of the shaman and his caravannbsp;of souls should take them south over the deserts of Chinese Turkestan,nbsp;over the lofty mountains which border it on the southern frontier, andnbsp;finally that they should enter the Underworld by a hole in the groundnbsp;after making the ascent. In detail the regions which are reached throughnbsp;this hole or cave bear a striking resemblance to the Buddhist cave templesnbsp;of Turkestan, Korea, and Tibet, which in their turn are, of course, laternbsp;forms of the types of caves familiar to us from India, especially those ofnbsp;Gandhara in Kashmir and of Ajanta on the Deccan. It may be pointednbsp;out further that the subterranean sojourn of the shaman in Erlik’snbsp;realm, as well as of many heroes and heroines of the non-heroic poems,nbsp;calls to mind the ceremony of the ‘Scapegoat’, held annually in morenbsp;than one place in Tibet today,^ and referred to in Chinese sourcesnbsp;already in the eighteenth century.^ Here we see a man bearing the sinsnbsp;of the people chased into a cave or chamber of horrors, where he mustnbsp;sojourn for a time, and where the entire mise-en-scène, the entirenbsp;concrete paraphernalia, and the horrors which he must encounter,nbsp;remind us forcibly of those depicted in Erlik’s realm in the recitationsnbsp;of the shamans, and in the narrative poems, such as those of Kara Parnbsp;(p. 94 above). In general, in fact, Erlik’s realm may be seen on thenbsp;walls of many a cave temple explored by Stein, Grünvedel, and Le Coq,nbsp;as well as in those farther afield, such as Korea.

The literary themes and religious observances which we are studying are by no means new, nor are they confined to the Continent of Asia.nbsp;We have seen that among the Tatars visits of men and women to thenbsp;Heavens and the Underworld can be traced back to the time of Jenghiznbsp;Khan, and perhaps to the ancient Uigurs. Such visits were already wellnbsp;known in literary circles in Japan early in the eighth century in connection with the native (nor Chinese) mythology, and with the ancientnbsp;religious shrines of Izumo and Yamato.** Assyrian narrative poetry

' Waddell, Lamaistri^, p. 516; Gompertz, p. 202f.; Macdonald, p. 214; Knight, p. 201 ff.; cf. further Rock, N.G.M. (Nov. 1928), p. 606.

’ Waddell, Lhasa, p. 5i2f.; Macdonald, p. 213; Sarat Chandra Das, p. 252.

5 Rockhill, J.R.A.S. (1891), p. 221.

“’We may refer to the stories given in the Japanese chronicle known as the Kojiki, compiled in Japan from native sources in the early years of the eighth

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

relates the journey of the goddess Ishtar to the Underworld to rescue the soul of her son or husband Tammuz,’ and similar motifs occur innbsp;Homer and in Greek mythology. The theme is therefore very ancientnbsp;on the Eurasian Continent. On the other hand it is current today in anbsp;much wider area than this. We shall find it widespread in the oralnbsp;literature of the Sea Dyaks of north Borneo and throughout Polynesia.nbsp;Moreover, a modified cult of the sky-god is also known to Polynesiannbsp;mythology, and to that of the Sea Dyaks of north Borneo, while amongnbsp;the latter the seeress still conducts parties of the dead to the Underworldnbsp;in chanted song resembling that of the shamans of the Tatars andnbsp;neighbouring peoples. It may be reasonable to hope, therefore, thatnbsp;future research will bring to light the centre of distribution of the themesnbsp;and motifs which we can still trace at different points on the peripherynbsp;and in the inner rings of a great circle. One naturally thinks of India.nbsp;But we must postpone discussion of this matter till the Polynesiannbsp;evidence has been considered.’

century. This work has been translated into English by B. H. Chamberlain as a supplement to Vol. x of T.A.S.J. (1883); and Book i, which contains the story innbsp;question, has also been translated by Florenz into German. See List of Abbreviations below. For further references, see Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lx (1930), p. 428 ff.

’ See the metrical fragment of the story inscribed on the clay tablet from Nineveh, British Museum Guide to the Babylonian and Assyrian Antiquities (1908), p. 44.

’ In addition to the works relating to Kesar or Gesar cited on p. 21$, see also an article by N. Poppe, ‘O Nekoterykh Novykh Glavakh “Gesar Khana’”, innbsp;the Festschrift for Oldenburg published at Leningrad, 1927. We regret that thisnbsp;work has not been accessible to us.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Author and Title of Book

Castrén, M. a. Nordische Reisen und Forschungen. Vois. I—XII. Edited and translated from the Swedishnbsp;by A. Schiefner. St Petersburg, 1853-58.

Chadwick, N. K. Russian Heroic Poetry. Cambridge,

• 1932.

Chamberlain, B. H. The Kojiki. Translated into English as a supplement to Vol. x of the T.A.S.J.nbsp;(1883).

Chavannes, E. and Pelliot, P. ‘ Un Traité Manichéen retrouvé en Chine.’ In J. A., i ith Series, 1(1913).

Chodzko, a. Specimens of the Popular Poetry of Persia..., translated with... notes by A. Chodzko. London, 1842.

Clarke, E. D. Travels in various countries of Europe, Asia and Africa. 4th ed. 8 vols. London, 1816—18.

Cochrane, J. D. A narrative of a pedestrian journey through Russia and Siberian Tartary. . .performednbsp;during the years 1820-23. 2nd ed. (with an appendix). 2 vols. London, 1824.

Curtin, J. A Journey in Southern Siberia. Boston [Mass.], 1909.

Czaplicka, M. a. Aboriginal Siberia. Oxford, 1914. ----My Siberian Year. London, 1916.

---- The Turks of Central Asia in history and at the present day. Oxford, 1918.

David-Neel, A. and Yongden. The Superhuman Life of Gesar of Ling. London, 1933.

Dmitrev, N. K. ‘Les Chansons populaires tatares.’ In J.A. ccviii (1926).

Donner, K. Sibirien.- Folk och Forntid. Helsingfors,

• 1933.

Erman, G. A. Travels in Siberia. Translated from the German by W. D. Cooley. 2 vols. 1845, etc.

Florenz, K. Die Historischen Quellen der Shinto-Religion. Göttingen, 1919.

Francke, a. h. ‘Der Frühlingsmythus.’ In M.S.F. No. XV. Helsingfors, 1900.

----‘The Ladakhi Pre-Buddhist Marriage Ritual.’ In LA. XXX (1901).

----‘The Spring Myth of the Kesar Saga.’ In (1902).

----A History of Western Tibet. London, 1907.

-----Tibetische Hoch:^eitslieder. Übersetzt nach Handschriften von Tag-ma-cig, mit einer Einleitung über die Mythologie der Tibetischen Sagenweltnbsp;und Bildern, etc. Hagen and Darmstadt, 1923.

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

221

Author and Title of Book

Fraser, J. B. A Jointer’s Journey (Tartar') from Con- 1 stantinople to Teheran^ with travels through variousnbsp;parts of Persia, etc. 2 vols. London, 1838.

Gompertz, M. L. A. Magic Ladakh.. . . With illus- ' trations and map. London, 1928.

Handbook of Siberia and Arctic Russia. Vol. I. General. Compiled by the Geographical Section of thenbsp;Naval Intelligence Division, Naval Staff, Admiralty. Published by His Majesty’s Stationerynbsp;Office. London, 1920.

Hildén, K. ‘Om Shamanismen i Altai.’ In T.G.F.T. xxvin (1916), p. 123 ff.

Holmberg, U. Finno-Ugric, Siberian (Mythology}. Boston, 1927. [Mythology of all Races, Vol.nbsp;IV.]

Howorth, H. H. History of the Mongols, from the Ninth to the Nineteenth Century. 4 parts. London,nbsp;1876-1927.

Karamzin, N. Histoire de I’Empire de Russie... traduite par MM. St Thomas et Jauffret. ii tomes. Paris,nbsp;1819-26.

Katanov. See Radlov, Proben. (Katanov’s collection of poetry from the Abakan Steppe and the neighbouring district forms Vol. ix of Radlov’snbsp;Proben. No translation of this volume appears tonbsp;have been published.)

Kennan, G. Tent Life in Siberia. New York and London, 1910.

Klaproth, M. J. v. Mémoires relatifs à l’Asie, contenant des recherches historiques, géographiques et philologiques sur les peuples de l'Orient. 3 vols.nbsp;Paris, 1824-8.

Klementz. Article ‘Buryat’ in Hastings’ Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics.

Knight, E. F. JFhere Three Empires Meet: a narrative of recent travel in Kashmir, IFestern Tibet, digit, and the adjoining countries. London, 1893.

Kogutei: Altaiski Epos. Composed by M. Yutkanov; translated into Russian by S. Tokmashov; editednbsp;by V. Zazub’rin and N. Dmitrêv. Academia,nbsp;Moscow-Leningrad, 1935.

Köprülüzade Mehmed Fuad. Influence du Chamanisme Turco-Mongol sur les Ordres Mystiques Musulmans. (Mémoires de l’institut de Turco-logie de l’Université de Stamboul. Nouvellenbsp;Série, i.) Istanboul, 1929.

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Author and Title of Book

Kyq^Zhibek. Narodnaya Kazakhskaya Poema. Ka-zakhstanskoe Kraevoe Izdatelstvo. Alma-Ata, 1936. Moscow.

Läufer, B. ‘Origin of the Word Shaman.’ ïnÂ.A. (N.S.), XIX, No. 3 (1917), p. 361 ff.

Lavignac. Encyclopédie de la Musique. Edited by Lavignac. Our references are to the articlenbsp;‘Russie’, by René Delange and Henri Malherbe.nbsp;Partie i. Vol. v.

Le Coq, A. v. Buried Treasures of Chinese Turkestan. An account of the Activities and Adventures ofnbsp;the second and third German Turfan expeditions.nbsp;Translated by Anna Barwell. London, 1928.

Levchine, A. de. Description des Hordes et des Steppes des Kirghii-Kaqaks, ou Kirghiq-Kaïssaks. . .nbsp;traduite du Russe par Ferry de Pigny. Paris, 1840.

Lindgren, E. J. ‘Notes on the Reindeer Tungus of Manchuria.’ (Published in Abstracts approvednbsp;for the Ph.D., M.Sc. and M.Litt. Degrees in thenbsp;University of Cambridge, 1935-6, p. 19 f.)

----‘The Shaman Dress of the Dagurs, Solons, and Numinchens in N.W. Manchuria.’ In G.A.nbsp;(1935)» P- 365 ff-

----‘The Reindeer Tungus of Manchuria.’ In J.R.C.A.S. XXII (1935), p. 221 ff.

----‘Field Work in Social Anthropology.’ In B.J.P. (General Section), xxvi (1935), p. 174 ff.

Lubinski, Kurt. ‘Bei den Schamanen der Ursibirier.’ In B.I.Z. No. 48 (Nov. 25th, 1928).

Macdonald, D. The Land of the Lama.. . . With illustrations and a map. London, 1929.

Michell, J. and R. The Russians in Central Asia... by Valildianov, Venyukov and other Russian travellers. Translated from the Russian by J. andnbsp;R. Michell. London, 1865.

Mikhailovsky, V. M. ‘Shamanism in Siberia and European Russia.’ In J.A.I. xxiv (1894). Translated by O. Wardrop.

Moorcroft, W. Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab; in Ladakh and Kashmir; in Peshawar, Kabul, Kundug^ and Bokhara,. . .from 1819 to 1825. Prepared for thenbsp;press from original journals and correspondencenbsp;by H. H. Wilson. 2 vols. London, 1841.

Aston, W. G, The Nihongi. Translated into English as a supplement to the T.P.J.S (1896).

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

Author and Title of Book

Noel, J. B. L. Through Tibet to Everest. London, 1927. O’Donovan,E. TheMervOasis. 2vols. London, 1883.nbsp;Parker, E. H. A Thousand Years of the Tartars. 2ndnbsp;ed. London and New York, 1924.

-----C.R. xxin, p. 14 f.

Pelliot. See Chavannes and Pelliot.

Pian de Carpini, Johnof. TheJourney of FriarJohn of Pian de Carpini to the Court of Kujuk Khan, 1245—nbsp;i24y. Ed. by W. W. Rockhill, London, 1903.

Poppe, N. ‘Zum Khalkhamongolischen Heldenepos,’ in A.M. V (1930).

Potanin. Sketches of North-Western Mongolia. (Imperial Royal Geographical Society, St Petersburg, 1881—5. In Russian.) Vol. iv.

Prejevalsky. Mongolia and the country of the Tangut. Three years’ travels in Eastern High Asia. Translated by E. D. Morgan. London, 1876.

Radlov, V. V. Proben der Volks litteratur der Türkischen Stämme und der Dsungarischen Steppe. Edited by V. V. Radlov. 1866-1904. The collection comprises ten volumes. The material consists ofnbsp;Radlov’s own collections, with the exception ofnbsp;Vol. IX, which is the collection of N. T. Katanovnbsp;(not translated), and Vol. x, which contains thenbsp;collection of V. Moschkov (with translationnbsp;into Russian). Vols, i-vi have companion volumes translated into German by Radlov himself.nbsp;Vol. VII is not translated. Vol. viii has a Russiannbsp;translation.

--‘ Ueber die Formen der gebundenen Rede bei den Altaischen Tataren.’ In Z.V.-P. iv (1866).

--Aus Sibirien. Lose Blätter aus dem Tagebuche eines reisenden Linguisten. 2 Bde. Leipzig, 1884.

--- Das Kudatku Bilik des Jusuf Chass-Hadschib.. . . Herausgegeben von W. Radioff. 1891, etc.

--Die Alttürkischen Inschriften der Mongolei. 3 parts. St Petersburg, 1895—9. Anhang bynbsp;Barthold.

--Versuch eines Wörterbuch der Türkischen Dialekte. (Turkish-Russian-German.) St Petersburg, 1893-1911.

Rock, J. F. ‘Life among the Lamas of Choni.’ In N.G.M. (Nov. 1928), p. 569 ff. Abridged asnbsp;‘A Demon Dance by Tibetan Lamas’ in thenbsp;I.L.N. (Sept. 28th, 1929).

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Author and Title of Book

Rockhill. ‘Tibet from Chinese Sources.’ In J.R.A.S. (1891).

Rubruck, William of. See below.

Sandschejew, S. ‘Welt-Anschauung und Schamanismus der Alaren-Burjaten.’ Translated into German from Russian by R. Augustin. In An-thropos (1927).

Sarat Chandra Das. A Journey to Lhasa and Central Tibet.. . . Edited by the Hon. W. W. Rockhill.nbsp;London, 1902.

Schuyler, Eugene. Türkistan. Notes of a journey in Russian Türkistan^ Khokand, Bukhara, andnbsp;Kuldja. 2 vols. London, 1876.

Shaw, R. B. Nisits to High Tartary, Yarkand, and Kashghar. London, 1871.

----A Sketch of the Turki Language as spoken in Eastern Türkistan Part 1. Lahore, 1875.

----‘Grammar of the Language of Eastern Türkistan.’ In J.A.S.B. (1877), p. 242 ff.

Shirokogoroff, S. M. ‘What is Shamanism?’’ In C.J.S.A.

----Psychomental Complex of the Tungus. London, 1935-

Shklovsky, I. V. In Far North-East Siberia.. . . Translated by L. Edwards and Z. Shklovsky.nbsp;London, 1916.

SiEROSZEWSKi. ‘Du Chamanisme d’après les Croyances des Yakoutes.’ In R.H.R. (1902).

Stadling, J. Shamanismen i Norra Asien. Stockholm, 1912.

Stein, Sir A. The Thousand Buddhas. Ancient Buddhist paintings from the cave-temples of Tun-Huang on the IPes tern frontier of China. Recovered andnbsp;described by A. Stein.. . . With an introductorynbsp;essay by Laurence Binyon. London, 1921.

Thomas, E. J. The Life of Buddha as Legend and History. London, 1927.

Valikhanov. See Michell.

Vambery, a. Travels in Central Asia. London, 1864. -----Sketches of Central Asia. London, 1868.

quot; This paper was read before the Quest Society in 1924, and printed in the C. J.S.A. An offprint was kindly lent to me by Miss Lindgren. The year of publication, number of volume, and page references were not clearly indicated on thenbsp;offprint.

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

225

Author and Title of Book

Vambéry, a. Das Tiirkenvolk in seinen ethnologischen und ethnographischen Betpehungen geschildert.nbsp;Leipzig, 1885.

----Uigurische Sprachemonumente und das Kudatku Bilik [a didactic poem in the Uigur Dialect bynbsp;Yiisuf Khass Hâjib]. Uigurischer Text mitnbsp;Transscription und Übersetzung nebst einem. . .nbsp;Wörterbuch und. . . Facsimile aus dem Originaltexte. . .von H. Vambéry. Innsbruck, 1870.

Van Gennep. ‘De l’emploi du Mot Chamanisme.’ R.H.R. XLNÏÏ, 1903.

Verbitski, V. Altajskije Inororodtsyj. {Sbornik etno-graficeskix Statej i iisledovanij.} Moscow, 1893.

Waddell, L. A. Lhasa and its Mysteries. W'ith a Record of the Expedition of igoj-ic)04. 4th ed.nbsp;London, 1929.

--The Buddhism of Tibet or Lamaism. 2nd ed. Cambridge, 1934.

Waley, a. An Introduction to the Study of Chinese Painting. London, 1923.

William of Rubruck. Journey of Friar William of Rubruck. Ed. by W. W. Rockhill, London,nbsp;1903.

Williams, E. T. A Short History of China. New York and London, 1928.

PERIODICALS

CLÜi

ORAL LITERATURE OF THE TATARS

Author and Title of Book

The Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. Calcutta, 1832, etc.

The Journal of the Buddhist Text Society.

Royal Anthropological Society. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britainnbsp;arid Ireland. London, [1871, etc.]

Royal Asiatic Society. The Journal of the Society. London, 1834, etc.

Asiatic Society of Bengal. Journal and Proceedings. Calcutta, 1832, etc.

The Journal of the Royal Central Asian Society.

Royal Asiatic Society, Straits Branch. The Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society.nbsp;Published half-yearly. Singapore, 1898, etc.

Mémoires de la Société Finno-Ougrienne.

National Geographic Society. The National Geographic Magazine. Washington, 1923, etc.

Revue de l’Histoire des Religions. Paris, 1880, etc.

La Revue du Mois. Paris, 1906—20.

The Russian Review.

The Slavonic Review, 1922, etc.

Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan. Yokohama, 1872, etc.

Terra, Geografiska Foreninges Tidskrift. Helsinki, 1930, etc.

Transactions and Proceedings of the Japan Society of London, 1896.

Zeitschrift für Völkerpsychologie. Berlin, i860, etc.

PART II

the oral literature of

POLYNESIA

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

ITHERTO our surveys have been of continental areas, more or less extensive, and subject to influence from surrounding peoples. The area next to be considered is a maritimenbsp;area, much more extensive than any of the areas previously examined,nbsp;extending over a large part of the Pacific Ocean, from the Hawaiiannbsp;Group in the north-east to New Zealand in the south-west—somenbsp;4,000 miles; and from Easter Island in the south-east to Fiji in thenbsp;north-west—some 4500 miles. Comparatively little of this area isnbsp;composed of land, and the real unit is the sea; the people are anbsp;seaboard population. But the ocean is the least effective of barriers, andnbsp;in spite of the vast size of our area, the language and literature presentnbsp;on the whole great uniformity. Though there are, of course, variationsnbsp;of dialect and culture, these are, comparatively speaking, unimportant.nbsp;On the other hand, it is generally believed that for many centuries thesenbsp;islands have been subjected to little outside influence. The peoplesnbsp;of the continents which enclose the Pacific have not in general beennbsp;maritime peoples in recent times.

As an island people, however, the Polynesians themselves are essentially seafarers. They are free from the difficulties of communication or transport presented by lack of roads, or mountain ranges. As an islandnbsp;people also they enjoy a universal intellectual democracy. There are nonbsp;backward peoples—up-country or remote populations, or dwellersnbsp;among the mountains or remote valleys. Generally speaking suchnbsp;knowledge and enlightenment as is accessible to the chiefs is accessiblenbsp;also to the lower classes. The sea, with its wide horizon and its intellectual stimulus of arrival and departure, is accessible to all, the nativenbsp;element of all.

All evidence goes to prove that in the past the Polynesians have been among the great navigators and explorers of the world. In their doublenbsp;canoes and outriggers they made repeated voyages from Tahiti tonbsp;Hawaii—the latter the most isolated archipelago in the world. Fromnbsp;Tahiti in the Central Pacific several migrations reached New Zealand—nbsp;a distance of over 2000 miles. The journey was broken at Rarotonga;

230

but Rarotonga is about 1600 miles from New Zealand.’ Tradition suggests that some may even have reached the Antarctic, and returnednbsp;safely to hand on the traditions of the bull-kelp, icebergs, and walrusesnbsp;which they had seen there.’

The causes of this activity are a matter for speculation. As it took the form of colonisation and conquest as much as of discovery,^ we maynbsp;assume the principal incentive to have been economic; but othernbsp;motives undoubtedly entered in. In many cases these voyages can benbsp;traced directly, as in our own Viking Age, and as in Greece in thenbsp;seventh century b.c., to the disappointed ambition of discontentednbsp;chiefs.“* These long voyages were made in double canoes, sometimes asnbsp;much as 150 feet long, and capable of holding a large number of people,nbsp;and it appears that not only the men made the voyages, but the wivesnbsp;and families of at least the more important of the chiefs also.5 In morenbsp;recent times the islanders have not been able to make these greatnbsp;voyages, and the period known as the ‘Migration Period’, or thenbsp;‘Period of the Long Voyages’, is believed to have come to an end withnbsp;the colonisation of New Zealand about the middle of the fourteenthnbsp;century. But the double canoes have not long been out of use,^ andnbsp;there is abundant evidence that in modern times voluntary and involuntary exile of canoe crews has taken place from time to time ; andnbsp;both predatory and peaceful colonising parties have at all times leftnbsp;various islands in search of fresh homes.7

There can be little doubt that the intellectual level, and even the material culture, were on a higher level in Polynesia between the tenth

’ Occasionally, we are told (Best, Maori i, p. 31), a vessel in its course from Rarotonga to New Zealand sighted and sojourned a while at Rangitahua, Sundaynbsp;Island, one of the Kermadecs; but this does not appear to have been usual.

’ Smith, J.P.S. xxvni, p. 142 f.

3 See Best, P.V.-, Smith,/./’..V. xxii, p. 60.

See e.g. C. F. Wood, p. 25, and cf. Pomander Collection, First Series, Pt. I, p. 44f.

5 For an account of the canoes used in the past by the islanders for deep-sea navigation, and other matters relative to their seamanship, see Best, P.V. p. 35 ff.;nbsp;ib. Maori I, p. 30.

An excellent photograph of a double canoe of Samoa, taken before it fell to pieces, is published by Krämer ii, p. 262, and a number of pictures of models arenbsp;published in the same volume. Pictures of double canoes of Samoa, also fromnbsp;photographs of the actual canoes, are published by Best, Maori i, p. 123, and bynbsp;Smith, Hawaiki, opposite p. 264. A picture of a double canoe of Ra’iatea in 1769nbsp;is reproduced from a plate in Cook’s VTyages in ib. opposite p. 89.

’ Best, P.V. p. 13 fr.; but the instances here cited might be multiplied many times, as our own notes testify.

INTRODUCTION

231

and fourteenth centuries a.d. than at any subsequent period. The long voyages over thousands of miles of sea could only have been accomplished by people with a knowledge of astronomy, of winds andnbsp;currents and the general geography of the ocean and of meteorology,nbsp;far superior to that which they possess today. The double canoes innbsp;which the voyages were made, and of which a few relics have survivednbsp;to modern times,’ show a higher level of craftsmanship than the singlenbsp;canoes, built only for shorter voyages, now in general use. Moreovernbsp;we hear of religious innovations and building traditions, periods ofnbsp;busy legal enactment and social reorganisation resulting from the longnbsp;voyages. Indeed the constant contact with communities and culturesnbsp;hundreds and thousands of miles away must have acted as a culturalnbsp;stimulus difficult to overestimate.

In studying the civilisation of the Pacific in modern times, one is struck by the curious discrepancy between the material and the intellectual culture. Indeed at the beginning of last century the state ofnbsp;material culture among the islanders was analogous in many respectsnbsp;to that of the palaeolithic period in the Northern Hemisphere. Generallynbsp;speaking, the Polynesians were without pottery, metal, or grain, withoutnbsp;the loom, and almost without domestic animals. The ceremonial dressnbsp;of their aristocracy was composed of grass and feathers. Their littlenbsp;cultivation was that of nuts, fruits and roots, while they lived largely bynbsp;fishing. The mildness of the climate in general and the genial aspect ofnbsp;nature enabled a strictly limited population to live in ease and plentynbsp;with the minimum of exertion or enterprise, while the limited area andnbsp;resources of their islands did not call for special initiative.

The intellectual development of the Polynesians, however, is far in advance of their material culture. In natural intelligence and artisticnbsp;capacity, even in capacity for any kind of sustained thinking, they are innbsp;no way inferior to the civilised nations of Europe. The intermarriagenbsp;of Europeans or Americans with the Polynesians arouses no misgivings,nbsp;and where the latter have had opportunities of education and culturenbsp;similar to ourselves, we mix with them as equals. Even at a period beforenbsp;the natives had enjoyed such opportunities, the more enlightened of thenbsp;early voyagers and missionaries were awake to the high level of theirnbsp;minds.’

The islands have been, in general, more or less politically independent of one another, though in the larger groups, such as Samoa, Tonga,nbsp;’ See p. 230, footnote 6 above.

’ See e.g. Stewart, Visit ii, p. I27ff.; Residence, pp. loif., 103, 105, etc.

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Tahiti, and Hawaii, great monarchies have arisen which have at times extended their sway over the surrounding and neighbouring islands. In the Central Pacific at least this growth of monarchies has only been possiblenbsp;at the cost of much bloodshed, and has tended to develop a fierce andnbsp;warlike people. In Tahiti in particular the savagery of native warfare isnbsp;proverbial. But other influences even more potent have tended to makenbsp;the islanders a fierce race. Among the Maori, where the governmentnbsp;remained tribal to the end, warfare was a passion, and the Marquesans,nbsp;who probably represent the tribal organisation in its most perfect form,nbsp;have been among the fiercest warriors and cannibals in the Pacific. Innbsp;the little island of Mangaia in the Cook Group, which can never at anynbsp;time have numbered more than a few hundred souls, which was at allnbsp;times independent, and was for many centuries probably the mostnbsp;literary community of its size in the world, every page of early history,nbsp;and almost every poem composed was wet with blood.

The cause of this love of warfare and prevalence of bloodshed is undoubtedly economic. Nothing could be further from the truth thannbsp;the idea which formerly prevailed in Europe that Polynesia consists ofnbsp;the islands of the blest. The governing factor in the history of the racenbsp;has always been the food problem. In a large proportion of the islandsnbsp;the interior is mountainous and virtually uninhabitable. The populationnbsp;fringe the foothills and the seashore. It is true that the climate makes itnbsp;possible to live here in conditions which would scarcely support lifenbsp;elsewhere ; but where agriculture was hardly known, where no animal foodnbsp;existed, and where the population increased with exceptional rapidity, thenbsp;islanders were constrained before the advent of Europeans to restrictnbsp;the population artificially and continuously. This they did by variousnbsp;means. To a certain very limited extent, notably in the Tahiti Group, thenbsp;destruction of offspring was practised; compulsory expatriation andnbsp;‘casting adrift’ were also resorted to from time to time throughout thenbsp;Pacific; in Mangaia unwanted clans who had settled on the islands werenbsp;either exterminated or devoted as human sacrifices to the god. But bynbsp;far the commonest method of relieving the economic pressure wasnbsp;warfare. The population must be kept down. The food must be made tonbsp;go round.

Among a people so much addicted to bloodshed the strongest bond of unity was religion. The power of the priesthood was much strongernbsp;and more all-pervading in the Polynesian Islands than in any othernbsp;region with which we have been concerned. This power was greatlynbsp;supported in the central and northern Pacific by the existence of great

233 local sanctuaries of high antiquity, to which people repaired fromnbsp;distant islands. The person of the priest was not only sacred, but innbsp;some cases was believed to be, at times, the dwelling-place of thenbsp;particular god whose minister he was. The worship of the gods hadnbsp;lost none of its vitality when the missionaries first began their work innbsp;the Pacific. The Polynesians were essentially a religious and devotednbsp;people.

A general similarity prevailed throughout Polynesia in pre-European days in regard to social organisation. This organisation was everywherenbsp;tribal. Rank was based primarily on primogeniture, descent beingnbsp;normally through the male line. The highest rank was that of the ariki^nbsp;a term denoting the first-born male or female of a leading family ornbsp;tribe. The leading ariki chiefs were themselves descended from linesnbsp;tracing descent through an unbroken first-born line, at least theoretically.nbsp;A female of corresponding rank was also known as an ariki^ or arikinbsp;tapairu, or sometimes simply tapairu. All men and women alike whonbsp;were of good family were known as rangatira^ a term denoting ‘chief’;nbsp;but as the term ariki was habitually applied to the descendants in thenbsp;first-born line, the term rangatira commonly signifies in practice thenbsp;men and women of the rank of chief, but not the highest chiefs, thoughnbsp;theoretically the ariki may be said to be a rangatira also. In Englishnbsp;idiom we should call the ariki ‘nobility’, the rangatira ‘gentlefolk’.nbsp;The professional class were all known as tohunga^ though there werenbsp;many types of tohunga, of very varying social grades, as we shall see.nbsp;The commonest were the priests. A male ariki was often a tohunga,nbsp;and the principal families of tohunga often traced their descent to anbsp;collateral branch of an ariki line. Among the classes of tohungas metnbsp;with most commonly are the taura, or taura atua (Marquesan kaula,nbsp;Hawaiian kaua}, the seers or mediums of the gods.

In general the different island groups of the Pacific formed cultural and economic units, such as the Hawaiian Archipelago; the Tongannbsp;Islands; the Samoan group; the Cook Group—a very important groupnbsp;for literary purposes, despite its small size; the islands of the Tahitinbsp;Group, generally known as the Society Islands; the Marquesas, alsonbsp;extremely important for literary purposes because of their remotenbsp;position and consequent conservatism in artistic matters ; the Paumotunbsp;Archipelago; New Zealand, also virtually isolated; and perhaps mostnbsp;interesting of all, the Chathams about 400 miles to the east of Southnbsp;Island, with their Moriori, or pre-Maori population; and Easter Island,nbsp;remote from all others in the extreme east. All these groups have enjoyed

234

an active literary life for many centuries, and yield an astonishingly rich store of tradition for the student of oral literature. The two groups lastnbsp;mentioned have naturally few literary compositions to give us, partlynbsp;because of their small size, partly because their populations were alreadynbsp;greatly depleted before the advent of Europeans ; but the few Moriorinbsp;texts (oral) which remain are of great interest, and the fragmentarynbsp;traditions from Easter Island are valuable as throwing light on thenbsp;literary remains and customs of other more progressive island groups.

Writing was unknown throughout the Pacific Islands before the advent of Europeans.’ The literature and the knowledge of the past werenbsp;preserved only in oral tradition. It is all the more remarkable, therefore,nbsp;that the standard and range of their oral literature shows a greaternbsp;intellectual activity than that of any other people with whom we havenbsp;been concerned. In both prose and verse, aristocratic, priestly, andnbsp;popular, a wealth of compositions has been recorded from all parts ofnbsp;the Pacific. Oral literature is everywhere a living art, and both extempore composition and exact verbal memorisation are everywhere highlynbsp;cultivated. Every event of importance, whether in the life of thenbsp;individual or of the community, finds suitable celebration in song.

Perhaps the most remarkable feature of this intellectual activity is the vitality and longevity of the oral traditions, which have been the subjectnbsp;of wondering comment by almost everyone who has known and writtennbsp;about the islanders. In Hawaii until quite modern times there are saidnbsp;to have been ‘bards or story-tellers’ attached to the courts of chiefs whonbsp;were trained in the art of apo, or ‘ catching literature ’, that is to say ofnbsp;memorising instantly at the first hearing. Mr Rice, who has preservednbsp;for us a valuable collection of Hawaiian traditions, several times heardnbsp;these men reciting for two or three hours at a time, and we are told thatnbsp;when one had finished his auditor would begin at the beginning of thenbsp;chant or story, and go through the whole without omission or alteration.’nbsp;The same faculty is ascribed by other writers to the Maori.3 Ellis tells usnbsp;that in Tahiti the songs were a kind of ‘standard or classic authority, tonbsp;which they referred for the purpose of determining any disputed factnbsp;in their history’, and he adds that the variant versions of their traditionsnbsp;were adduced in any discussions which arose, and served as a means of

’ With the possible exception of the script (if such it be) of Easter Island, which has not yet been deciphered, and of which the affinities are unknown. This scriptnbsp;has been the subject of many articles recently in learned journals, such as Man. andnbsp;Antiquity.

’ Rice, p. 4.

3 See Johnstone, p. 39f. ; cf. Dieffenbach ii, p. 84!?.

235 checking the facts, and preserving the standard of accuracy? In precisely the same way Kotzebue found the natives in Micronesia referringnbsp;to their songs in settlement of disputed points in matters of nativenbsp;history,^ while Gill states that in the same way all record of the pastnbsp;has been handed down in Mangaia.^

Sir Basil Thomson has preserved some interesting details relating to oral tradition in the Tonga Islands. From ancient sagas he has succeedednbsp;in obtaining much information relating to the line of the Tui-Tongas,nbsp;the ancient sacred kings.'* Others relate to the long voyages made bynbsp;the Tongans themselves. He refers to sagas which relate to their visitsnbsp;to the Niuas, to Uvea and to Futuna, as early as the sixteenthnbsp;century, and to ‘a very ancient saga’ which relates to their visit to thenbsp;Line Islands at ‘a very remote date’.5 Historical events were recordednbsp;in song and handed down for centuries in oral tradition. Thomsonnbsp;refers again to a tradition, preserved in poetical form, which relates tonbsp;Kau-ulu-fonua, who lived in the early part of the sixteenth century.®nbsp;The visits of Schouten in 1616, and of Tasman in 1643, were bothnbsp;recorded in native songs, the latter heard in 1767 when Wallis visitednbsp;the islands.? Mariner knew of poetry recording the visits of Captainnbsp;Cook and D’Entrecasteaux.®

The memorising powers of the Maoris are no less remarkable. In 1896 Best recorded from an old native of the Ruatahuma district thenbsp;words of no less than 406 songs, together with much information ofnbsp;an explanatory nature about them. All these songs were recited fromnbsp;memory.^ Even more striking is the preservation of their historicalnbsp;and genealogical lore. Traditions which relate to the arrival and settlement of the Great Fleet of seven canoes in New Zealand some twentynbsp;generations ago are still preserved in the traditions of Tahiti and Rarotonga, together with the names of six of the canoes and their leaders.'“nbsp;When the Maori chief Tamarau Waiari appeared before the Land Commission at Ruatoki, ‘ in order to explain the claim of his clan to certain

’ Ellis’ I, p. 286 f.

’ Kotzebue iii, p. 102. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 S.L.P. p. 179.

Thomson, Diversions, p. 291 ff.

5 Ib. p. 307. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;® Ib. p. 293.

’ Ib. p. 310. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Mariner,3 ii, p. 217.

’ Best, M.S.L. p. 5 ; cf. further Smith, Hawaiki, p. 16 f.

” Best, P.P. p. 10; and.cf. Smith, Hawaiki, p. 265 ff.; cf. ib. p. 185. The reason why Rarotongan tradition knew only six canoes appears to be that while all thesenbsp;canoes sailed from Rarotonga the seventh, the Aotea, sailed from Ra’iatea shortlynbsp;before the others. See Smith, Hawaiki, p. 271.

236

lands, he traced the descent of his people from an ancestor who flourished thirty-four generations ago. The result was a long table ofnbsp;innumerable branch lines, of a multitude of affinitive ramifications. Thisnbsp;marvellous recital occupied the attention of the Commission for threenbsp;days. The old man gave much evidence as to occupation, extra-tribalnbsp;marriages, etc., and the genealogical table contained well over fourteennbsp;hundred names of persons’.' It was a part of the education of everynbsp;Polynesian of aristocratic rank to know his pedigree for at least twentynbsp;generations, and the family alliances to remote degrees.^

The cultivation of oral tradition has been carried on with great verbal exactitude, apparently for centuries. Poems and charms are very commonnbsp;which contain obsolete words, the meaning of which has been forgottennbsp;by the reciters, though the words themselves have come down bynbsp;tradition from the past. S. P. Smith professed himself unable to translate correctly much of the Rarotongan poetry contained in the nativenbsp;traditions, since both this poetry and that of the Maori, which it closelynbsp;resembles, is ‘extremely ancient, and full of obsolete wordsThe samenbsp;is true also of the poetry of Hawaii,'* Mangaia,5 and other groups. Whennbsp;Smith visited Rarotonga he was told of a ship in command of onenbsp;MakoTe which had called at the island many years before. This cannbsp;be no other than the name of McCoy,^ one of the ring-leaders of thenbsp;mutiny of the Bounty—a fact which shows that the vessel reachednbsp;Rarotonga after the actual mutiny, or in May 1788, for the ship hadnbsp;previously been under the command of Bligh.7

The most remarkable evidence of exact verbal tradition in the Pacific, however, is afforded by a comparison of the pedigrees of noblenbsp;families. It has been justly remarked that probably no race has morenbsp;highly valued their pedigrees or possessed so many.® Pedigrees whichnbsp;have been carried on wholly by oral tradition, and which extend back

‘ Best, M.S.L. p. 5. Doubt has recently been cast on the value of much of the Land Court evidence for Maori genealogical data (see Fletcher, J.P.S. xxxix,nbsp;p. 316); but while this should serve as a warning against uncritical acceptance of allnbsp;such evidence, there can be no doubt as to the value of many of the genealogiesnbsp;adduced in support of land claims, such as the one cited above.

’ Smith, Hawaiki^ p. 18; Arii Taimai, p. 17.

3 J.P.S. VIII, p. 62; cf. Best, Maori II, p. 136.

“* See Pomander Collection, First Series, Pt. i, p. i.

5 Gill, Myths, p. xixf.

® Makore is the Rarotongan pronunciation of McCoy.

I Smith, Hawaiki, p. 264.

’ Ib. p. 17.

237 for many centuries, have been collected in modern times from Hawaii,'nbsp;Samoa,^ Rarotonga,^ New Zealand,“* and elsewhere.^ A comparison ofnbsp;the various branches on these lines with one another within the samenbsp;island Group is of the utmost value in helping us to establish thenbsp;chronology of the group, and will sometimes yield data which can benbsp;relied on to establish a definite chronology for several centuries. As,nbsp;however, there are no dates in Pacific history, and we are dependent onnbsp;a computation of generations,^ the chronology of the early periods willnbsp;necessarily be more often relative than absolute. Maori scholars arenbsp;generally agreed that Maori chronology may be regarded as settled fornbsp;the period since 1300, for a comparison of the principal Maori lines backnbsp;to the chiefs who migrated thither in the Great Fleet twenty-one tonbsp;twenty-two generations before 1900 establishes a date, counting twenty-five years to a generation, at about 1300. In general, however, it wouldnbsp;be unwise to place reliance on an exact chronology much earlier thannbsp;the fifteenth century, though we can perhaps postulate the relativenbsp;sequence of events considerably further back.7

A still more severe test of the validity of the oral traditions was made by Fornander in Hawaii^ during the ’eighties of last century, and laternbsp;by S. P. Smith in New Zealand,^ in their comparisons of the genealogies,nbsp;not only of different families within a given island group, but also of thenbsp;different branches of the race, notably of the Hawaiians, the Tahitians,nbsp;the Rarotongans, and the Maori. It has generally been held that thenbsp;greater island groups had been wholly out of touch with one anothernbsp;since the fourteenth century. When, therefore, Fornander and Smithnbsp;were able to show an appreciable amount of agreement between thenbsp;genealogies of the arikis of these groups, and when, moreover, it wasnbsp;shown that these agreements were closer for the earlier periods than fornbsp;the later, the same names of well-known heroes often occurring in

’ See Fornander, P.R. I, p. i8iff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Krämer 1, passim.

’ S. P. Smith, J.P.S. II. See also W. W. Gill, A.A.A.S. (1890), p. 628 f.

The Maori genealogies are published in numerous volumes of J.P.S.

5 See e.g. for Tonga, West, p. 54.

* Fornander adopted the standard of thirty years to a generation (see Polynesian Race, II, p. 108) ; but the majority of Polynesian scholars hold that twenty-five yearsnbsp;is a nearer estimate, and this is the standard adopted by S. P. Smith and most modemnbsp;writers. We have, therefore, thought it best to adopt it in the present survey, thoughnbsp;even this may possibly be too long. See Stokes’s calculations, J.P.S. xxxix, p. i ff.,nbsp;and cf. Fletcher, ib. p. 189; cf. further Stokes, ib. xliii, p. 30.

’ See Buck, J.P.S. xlii, p. 330. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;® See Fornander, P.R. i, p. i8off.

’ See Smith, Hawaiki, p. 20. And cf. also J.P.S. xxxi, p. 85 £.

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groups thousands of miles apart, it was claimed that the common ancestry of these groups had been demonstrated, and that a corresponding chronology could be established. It was long before anynbsp;serious attempt was made to disprove this conclusion, though occasionally a voice of protest was raised.' But there is arising a feeling in ournbsp;own day’ that the conclusions drawn by Fornander and Smith fromnbsp;their valuable and most interesting comparative work on pedigrees hasnbsp;met with a too uncritical acceptance, at least in relation to the earliernbsp;periods. We ourselves suggest further that the negative evidence of thenbsp;traditions does not prove the absence of inter-island intercourse, andnbsp;that both the names of chiefs and stories which are known to the widestnbsp;area in the Pacific do not therefore necessarily belong to the oldestnbsp;stratum of tradition, but may, on the contrary, be comparatively recent.nbsp;Moreover the recent publication of much cosmogonic matter has tendednbsp;to show that a certain amount of cosmogonic genealogical material hasnbsp;been incorporated into the genealogical tables of the arikis, which innbsp;this respect naturally show considerable similarities among themselves.nbsp;The love of the tohungas for introducing lists of all kinds into theirnbsp;chants makes it peculiarly difficult to gauge how much of the genealogical material is intended to be regarded as even having reference tonbsp;human beings, especially in the earlier portions of the genealogicalnbsp;chants. The difficulty is still further complicated by the habit of thenbsp;Polynesians of changing their names during their lifetime, and, in somenbsp;Groups after death, as well as of adopting names which, when translated, do not necessarily suggest a human being.3 Yet when this has beennbsp;said, enough remains to enable us to feel on fairly safe grounds withnbsp;Polynesian genealogical computations for some four centuries or more,nbsp;and the sceptics have not as yet succeeded in destroying our faith innbsp;many genealogical lines which have reference to earlier periods.

These genealogies served as laws and charters alike to the Polynesians. According to the Arii Taimai, the social ranks of chiefs in the Southnbsp;Seas were so well known, or so easily learned, that few serious mistakesnbsp;could be possible.

“Chiefs might wander off to far-distant islands, and be lost for generations; but if their descendant came back, and if he could prove

' See Basil Thomson, J.R.A.I. xxxii, p. 83.

’ See Stokes, J.P.S. loc. cit.-, ’Quck^J.P.S. loc. cit. See also Williamson, S.P.S. i, p. 17.

3 W. W. Gill warns us {D.L.P. p. 317) of the danger of attaching importance to the meanings of proper names.

239 his right to a seat in the family Marae, he was admitted to all thenbsp;privileges and property which belonged to him by inheritance. On thenbsp;other hand, if he failed in his proof, and turned out to be an impostor,nbsp;he was put to death without mercy. Relationships were asserted andnbsp;contested with the seriousness of legal titles, and were often matters ofnbsp;life and death. Every family kept its genealogy secret (cf. p. 392 below)nbsp;to protect itself from impostors, and every member of the family unitednbsp;to keep it pure.”’

It will be seen later (p. 271 ff.) that in addition to the genealogies there are many stories attached to heroes mentioned in the genealogies whichnbsp;appear to be the common property of various Polynesian peoples, andnbsp;to have been preserved independently for several centuries.

The preservation of the oral traditions of the islanders was not entrusted to chance transmission. In the principal groups, such asnbsp;Samoa, Hawaii, New Zealand, Rarotonga, and in important islandnbsp;sanctuaries, such as Ra’iatea, institutions existed in which all the learningnbsp;of the people, both the traditional learning and the newly acquirednbsp;knowledge, was carefully preserved by the tohiingas of high grade,nbsp;specially trained for the purpose. These institutions were generallynbsp;lôiown by a special name. That of the Maori was known as the wharenbsp;wananga, which means literally ‘house of occult knowledge’; but allnbsp;knowledge was regarded as sacred, or worthy of veneration by thenbsp;Maori, and the broad meaning of the term is simply ‘institution for thenbsp;preservation and transmission of knowledge’. Similarly in Hawaii, andnbsp;in Samoa also, institutions existed for the preservation of the pedigreesnbsp;of the chiefs, which, though subject to modification and deliberatenbsp;falsification to a strictly limited extent, were nevertheless stringentlynbsp;controlled and censored by a jealous hierarchy of priests in the interestsnbsp;of the chiefs who were their principal supporters, and in many cases theirnbsp;near relatives. In Hawaii this institution was known as the aha aliinbsp;(‘the congregation of chiefs’).^ These institutions were of the utmostnbsp;importance in the intellectual life of the islanders, and are evidently ofnbsp;great antiquity, and we shall have occasion to refer to them constantlynbsp;in the following pages.

There does not appear to be any hard and fast line as regards form between Polynesian prose and poetry. Prose was spoken—^poetry

* Aril Taimai E, p, 17. The Arii Taimai (Mrs Salmon) was a native female chief of the highest rank in Tahiti. Her book is one of our best authorities for thisnbsp;Group.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Fomander, P.R. ii, p. 28 f.

240

sung, and the chanting of the words seems to constitute the principal essential difference between the two forms of utterance. But the ‘ songs ’nbsp;are described as rhythmical, which implies a certain artificial limitationnbsp;of the length of the line, though it is clear from reference to the textsnbsp;before us that great elasticity prevailed in regard to the actual length ofnbsp;the lines, and that no uniformity in this respect was either observed ornbsp;aimed at by the reciters, even within the limits of a single poem, or innbsp;lines recited in juxtaposition. The rhythm, therefore, must be suppliednbsp;partly by the music, and partly by the hianga, which consists of thenbsp;dying away of the voice at the end of a musical phrase, ‘ line ’, or sentence.nbsp;But the relation of the hianga to the ‘line’ seems to be rather like that ofnbsp;the hen to the egg. That is to say, the hianga marks the length of a line;nbsp;but the arrival at the end of a line is a signal for the chanting of thenbsp;hianga. The hianga is often represented by a single vowel-sound,nbsp;artificially lengthened by the voice e-e-z, ai-i. These sounds form anbsp;marked feature in the elegiac poems and mythological dramatic textsnbsp;recorded by Gill from Mangaia. Sometimes these vowel-sounds arenbsp;preceded by a consonant, as na-i-i. Rhyme is unknown, and the hianganbsp;precludes its use; but as every Polynesian word ends in a vowel, thenbsp;effect is one of universal assonance.

The point at which the singer stops to take breath is marked for the most part by the hianga., though it is said that the singer will recite for anbsp;surprising length of time without pausing for breath. Possibly thenbsp;hianga represents sometimes, therefore, a pause for thought. It occursnbsp;at times in the middle of a sentence, and appears to bear a directnbsp;relationship to the musical cadence even more than to the words.

The strophic form is unknown except in western Polynesia, and, to a slight extent, in Hawaii. To these instances fuller reference will benbsp;made later. Verse paragraphing, as we understand it, appears to be innbsp;common use, however. The word rangi means not only the air or tunenbsp;to which a song is chanted, but also a ‘stanza’, ‘verse’, or division of anbsp;song. The words whiti and upoko are also used of such a ‘verse’ ornbsp;‘division’. Best refers' to a lament for a dead child which covers sevennbsp;foolscap pages when written down, and which is divided into ninenbsp;whiti.

Of the music itself we are unfortunately not in a position to speak; and indeed hardly anything appears to be known of the technical side ofnbsp;this subject, even among Polynesian scholars.^ But all authorities are

‘ Maori n, p. 140.

’ Best, Maori 11, pp. 136, 137. Fortunately work is being done on this most

INTRODUCTION

241

agreed that poetry was habitually ‘chanted’, and that a speaker passed almost involuntarily from speech to song, i.e. from prose to poetry, innbsp;moments of emotion, and on occasions of formality. Formal speechesnbsp;and public addresses were very frequently chanted, and a Polynesiannbsp;orator would pass alternately from spoken to chanted speechnbsp;in a single delivery, according to the strength of his convictions, or ofnbsp;his emotion. Best tells us that the Maori have a strong tendency tonbsp;intone many expressions which by us would be delivered in an ordinarynbsp;conversational tone of voice. Even an enquiry as to the name of anbsp;stranger would be ‘intoned’ by an old-time Maori, while the replynbsp;would be given in the same manner. The same forms of expression arenbsp;observed even in connection with the most prosaic occurrences. It isnbsp;said that even a child will deliver the simplest recital with musicalnbsp;modulations of the voice.'

In addition to the musical cadence of the delivery, and the hianga^ Polynesian poetry is also distinguished by a highly artificial ‘poeticnbsp;diction’. Much of this diction is very archaic, and is full of metaphoricalnbsp;and figurative expressions, veiled and allusive phraseology, and aphoristic matter, which is the despair of the translator.^ Very frequently thenbsp;poet makes use of words of which the meaning is no longer remembered.nbsp;This is naturally to be looked for in the old traditional compositionsnbsp;more commonly than in those of modern times; but the diction andnbsp;phraseology in general are so conventional and archaic, that it is notnbsp;always easy in the shorter lyrical poetry to distinguish the older fromnbsp;the more recent compositions. In fact it would seem that here, as innbsp;other literatures which we have been considering, no hard and fast linenbsp;exists between extempore poetry and poetry orally transmitted. Thenbsp;occasions suited to poetic celebration or expression had been stereotyped in the past, and the form which such expression should take, andnbsp;the manner in which it could be fittingly expressed, were hallowed bynbsp;tradition. The diction and formulae of the past served as a rich storehouse on which the poets of later times could draw abundantly, andnbsp;those well versed in ancient lore could always be sure of finding plentynbsp;for their needs as these might arise.

interesting subject in some areas. See the article by E. G. Burrows on certain Paumotu chants, some of which have been transcribed by Burrows himself, innbsp;Stimson, L.M.T. p. 78 ff. After the present work had been completed for Press wenbsp;received notice of the first considerable general study of Maori music, by J. C.nbsp;Andersen (in M.M.P.B.}.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* Best, Maori n, p. 136.

' Ib. loc. cit. Cf. also p. 236 above.

CLUi nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;16

CHAPTER II

Almost every kind of prose narrative is represented in all stages of development—local legends, stories of the gods, of heroes, of priests,nbsp;of private individuals, stories of adventure, of domestic life, explanatorynbsp;stories. Creation myths. Sometimes the versions reach us in a rudimentary form. Very often they are highly elaborate specimens ofnbsp;narrative prose, couched in ambitious artistic diction, and containingnbsp;many speeches and a great variety of characters. These elaborate storiesnbsp;introduce us to many changes of scene, and the more ambitious specimens carry their narrative through several generations. Sometimes thenbsp;same story comes to us in variant versions from different parts of thenbsp;Pacific, and in very different stages of development and art. But alwaysnbsp;and everywhere we meet with a great wealth of saga, delight in narrative, well-stored and retentive memories among the natives, and a highnbsp;standard of art and technique.

The Polynesian sagas cover a long period of time. No absolute chronology is indicated in the texts (oral) for the events which theynbsp;record,’ any more than in the Norse or Irish sagas; and in consequencenbsp;we have no absolute chronology for the Pacific. The distance in timenbsp;from the speaker is suggested by vague expressions such as Tong ago’,nbsp;or T learnt what I have told you from my father and grandfather, andnbsp;they learnt it from their tupunas (ancestors)’, or ‘This history wasnbsp;handed down by the generations of our ancestors of ancient times, andnbsp;we continue to rehearse it to our children, with our incantations andnbsp;genealogies, and all other matters relating to our race’.^ In spite of thenbsp;absence of absolute chronology, however, we are often able to identify

’ On the subject of Polynesian chronology, see Smith, J.P.S. xxii, p. i. Speaking of one of his informants, W. W. Gill says Çib. xx, p. 146): “Maretu, like mostnbsp;Maori writers, is very sparing in his quotation of the years, though months and daysnbsp;are frequently mentioned—this is a characteristic feature of Polynesian narratives.’nbsp;Cf. further, p. 237 above.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Westervelt, L.M. p. 137.

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the heroes, and to synchronise them with others whose names have acquired an established place in the pedigrees, thus suggesting a relativenbsp;chronology for the periods of which the sagas treat. Computing thenbsp;periods by these genealogies, many of which have been preserved withnbsp;remarkable consistency and accuracy, it has been generally held that thenbsp;subjects of the sagas range from the eighth century down to the presentnbsp;day. In this matter there is, of course, great variation between onenbsp;group and another. In general, however, the finest sagas, and the longest,nbsp;relate approximately to the period which has been computed as rangingnbsp;from the eighth to the fourteenth centuries.' To the question of thenbsp;chronology of the ‘historical’ sagas we shall return later.

Many sagas have reference to individuals whose names are found with a considerable amount of consistency in the pedigrees of the rulingnbsp;lines in most of the principal island groups. The names occur relativelynbsp;early on the pedigrees, and in a fairly constant family relationship.nbsp;From their early position and their wide distribution it has been, andnbsp;still is, generally held that these heroes date from the period before thenbsp;Polynesian race—or at least the last wave of immigration of the race—nbsp;dispersed to their present island homes in the various Groups. Consistently with this view it is also generally held that these stories datenbsp;from the oldest stratum of Polynesian tradition, the period generallynbsp;referred to by students of Polynesian history as the ‘Mythical Period’.^nbsp;We ourselves are very much inclined to suspect that the consistency ofnbsp;the names and the wide distribution of tlie stories point to the oppositenbsp;conclusion, and that the names and stories, by their very consistency,nbsp;suggest a relatively late tradition. This is not the place in which tonbsp;embark on a discussion which would require much space and minutenbsp;detail, and the question must be regarded at present as still unsettled.nbsp;But whatever view we take as to the relationship of these stories tonbsp;genealogical tradition and to the early Migrations of the race, andnbsp;however we account for their distribution with only slight variationsnbsp;from Hawaii to New Zealand, there can be no doubt as to the consistencynbsp;with which persistent Polynesian tradition ascribes the heroes in questionnbsp;and their adventures to the earliest stratum of valid tradition, as distinctnbsp;from antiquarian speculation.

The chief preoccupations of the heroes of these early sagas are with the dead. Their most important adventures are undertaken to avengenbsp;the death of a relative, or to rescue his or her bones, even to rescue the

' So the older scholars; but we are inclined to suspect that the upper limit is too early.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Buck, E.T. p. 15 f-

16-2

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dead relative himself or herself from the home of the dead. It naturally follows that a large part of their adventures take place in the Heavensnbsp;or the Underworld, or in other supernatural spheres. Moreover, supernatural features form a very large—perhaps the predominant—proportion of the material of these sagas. These supernatural features havenbsp;generally been regarded as due to the early period to which the sagasnbsp;themselves have reference, and the growth of the marvellous to theirnbsp;long period in oral transmission. But it is to be doubted if this is thenbsp;most important factor in the relationship of natural and supernaturalnbsp;features, of historical and unhistorical elements, in these stories. To thesenbsp;subjects we shall return later.

Among the most important of the sagas of this early family we may mention those relating to Tawhaki, and his son or grandson Rata.nbsp;These heroes are generally represented as human beings, though possessed of supernatural powers. In this respect, however, the evidence isnbsp;somewhat inconsistent. Rata being known in Mangaia (in the formnbsp;Raka) only as a god of the winds, while in Hawaii Rata (in the formnbsp;Laka) is a goddess. As heroes, their place in the pedigrees has been heldnbsp;to entitle them to a date about the late seventh or early eighth century,'nbsp;and adopting Smith’s chronology as a working principle for the present,nbsp;this date may be accepted provisionally.

As we leave the early period behind, the character of these narratives of adventure changes. The subjects become more familiar, less bizarre.nbsp;They begin to assume at least a semblance of history. The sagas relatingnbsp;to tbe period of the Great Migrations, from the time of Kupe,’ who, itnbsp;is believed, was the first Polynesian to arrive in New Zealand c. 925,nbsp;down to about 1350, bear a striking resemblance to the sagas of thenbsp;Viking Age in Norway and Iceland, both in the nature of their subjects,nbsp;and in the naturalism and realism of treatment. In the majority of casesnbsp;this verisimilitude is greatly enhanced by the simplicity and directnessnbsp;of their style. Like some sagas of the Viking Age they relate to greatnbsp;heroes, whose fame was widespread throughout many island groups,nbsp;who ventured abroad on voyages of discovery, and led migrations on anbsp;large scale to other lands. As in the sagas of the Viking Age, however,

’ On the period of the heroes in question, see J.P.S. xix, p. 195. Cf. Andersen, p. 190. Cf. further, p. 271 ff. below.

’ There appear to have been two great navigators and explorers of this name. The first lived c. 39 generations ago, or computing, according to the general systemnbsp;of chronology, by 25 years to a generation, c. a.d. 925; the second c. 24 generationsnbsp;ago, or c. 1300. According to S. P. Smith {Hawaiki, p. 216), there can be littlenbsp;doubt that the first Kupe was the real discoverer.

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the heroes and their deeds are depicted with the reserve and moderation of sound historical narrative. They are not exalted to the heroic level ofnbsp;the Homeric heroes, nor yet viewed through the glamour of thingsnbsp;unfamiliar alike to reciter and audience, as in the early Cycle of Tawhaki.nbsp;On the other hand we miss in many of the Polynesian sagas of thenbsp;Migration Period the individuality and the study of personality andnbsp;emotional situation which give their unique human appeal to the Norsenbsp;sagas. The Polynesian sagas of this phase, at least in the central andnbsp;southern Pacific, are heroic rather than realistic; but it is a heroicnbsp;tempered by the enlightenment which comes of travel and widenbsp;experience of men and of the contacts of peoples, both peaceful andnbsp;hostile. We have no doubt that the difference between the heroic sagasnbsp;of Polynesia on the one hand, and the sagas of ancient Ireland and thenbsp;Homeric poems on the other, is due, in part at least, to the influence ofnbsp;their oceanic environment. It is a maritime ‘heroic’.

After the period of the Great Migrations, say after about 1350, another change takes place in the character of the narratives. The subjectsnbsp;become more local and circumscribed in their interests and the sphere ofnbsp;action is correspondingly narrowed. The great navigators give placenbsp;to the heroes of inter-tribal warfare, or even of family feud. The attitudenbsp;of the saga-teller to his hero and subject undergoes a correspondingnbsp;change. The central figure of the narrative is not necessarily in his eyesnbsp;a great man, and he views the events as interesting rather than important.nbsp;His attitude to his subject has become critical. The glamour of distancenbsp;and the unfamiliarity of the milieu of the early sagas, and the truenbsp;greatness of the men and events of the sagas of the later Migrationnbsp;Period, give place in the sagas of modem times to the verisimilitude ofnbsp;what is seen familiarly and known intimately.

It will be seen that the sagas of the Migration Period correspond in their main characteristics with those of Scandinavia of the Viking Agenbsp;and earlier. The sagas relating to the period of Tawhaki and hisnbsp;descendants, that is to say of the earliest period of which consistentnbsp;genealogical evidence has been preserved, correspond to the Fornaldarnbsp;Sögur of Iceland; those of the period from the tenth to the fourteenthnbsp;centuries to the Islendinga Sögur, referred to more fully in Vol. I,nbsp;p. 332f. of the present work. We will leave the earlier sagas, with theirnbsp;mythical or supernatural features, to be discussed in a later chapter, andnbsp;confine our attention here to stories of chiefs and priests which have thenbsp;appearance of valid historical tradition. No attempt will be made tonbsp;distinguish between heroic and non-heroic elements; for here, as in the

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Russian byliny, the preponderance of one or other of these elements often depends on the version which we happen to be following. The arikinbsp;(‘chief’) and the tohunga (‘priest’) were often united by ties of thenbsp;closest family relationship, and no event of importance was undertakennbsp;by the former without the full co-operation of the latter. From this itnbsp;naturally follows that in any unbiassed traditional account of suchnbsp;enterprises, heroic and priestly or mantic elements will be representednbsp;in more or less equal proportions. On the other hand it very oftennbsp;happens that we have variant traditions, in one of which the heroic, innbsp;the other the priestly interests are largely, or even exclusively present.nbsp;At times we have traditions which have been preserved exclusively innbsp;either a heroic or a priestly milieu. And again in one and the same storynbsp;we very frequently find both elements preponderating in different partsnbsp;of the story. We have therefore treated these historical sagas all togethernbsp;in this section, whether the hero be ariki or tohunga, and whether thenbsp;preponderant interest be secular or sacerdotal, only reserving for laternbsp;treatment such non-heroic stories as are definitely outside the chronological scheme of the present chapter, or such as are mainly occupiednbsp;with supernatural elements.

The earliest saga relating to New Zealand which appears to consist principally of historical material is the story of the discovery of thenbsp;islands by Kupe,’ to whom reference has been made above, togethernbsp;with his companion Ngahue. These two chiefs are reported to have sailednbsp;in two canoes from the Island of Ra’iatea in the Society Group. Ournbsp;information on this subject is preserved in the Maori ‘school’ of oralnbsp;learning, to which reference has already been made, and which will benbsp;discussed more fully on p. 458 ff. below. According to this account,nbsp;Kupe and his companion arrived at the North Cape, and then circumnavigated both North and South Islands, taking in supplies as neednbsp;arose, and afterwards returning to Ra’iatea. On their return voyagenbsp;they called at Rarotonga, and on arriving in the Society Group, theynbsp;reported what they had seen and done. A record of their adventures,nbsp;and of the sailing directions to be followed by any subsequent voyagersnbsp;sailing to New Zealand, was handed down in oral tradition by thenbsp;local tohungas of Ra’iatea also, and affords one of the texts of the saga ofnbsp;Kupe. Among the more interesting of Kupe’s reports was that of thenbsp;moa, the gigantic wingless bird, of which many remains have been foundnbsp;in New Zealand, and which, according to tradition, was not yet extinctnbsp;at that time. They also found and reported the jadeite which was laternbsp;' Mem. P.S. IV, p. 53 ff.; cf. also Smith, Hawaiki, p. 2i6f.; Best, Maori I, p. 40ff.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD

to become so important a commodity among the Maori. The most important of Kupe’s statements, however, and one which is consistently repeated in all versions of the saga, is to the effect that thenbsp;islands were uninhabited.’ None of Kupe’s party appears to havenbsp;remained behind in New Zealand. He belonged to what has been callednbsp;the ‘Exploratory Period’, as distinct from the ‘Settlement Period’,nbsp;which did not begin till some two centuries later.

Both the North and the South Islands of New Zealand preserve traditions of the tangata whenua^ or Mouriuri (Moriori),'* the firstnbsp;occupants of New Zealand, who appear to have arrived and occupiednbsp;the islands subsequently to the visit of Kupe,5 and whose descendantsnbsp;must have been in their homes for at least two hundred years when nextnbsp;we hear of the arrival of canoes from Polynesia some twenty-eight ornbsp;twenty-nine generations ago. These tangata whenua have been identifiednbsp;with the Moriori^ who appear at a later date in occupation of the Southnbsp;Island, and who still later migrated to the Chathams, where the lastnbsp;remnants of their descendants survived down to our own time. Thenbsp;stories relating to them are fragmentary, and resemble the brief notes ofnbsp;the Norse LandnamahóJr., ‘the Book of the Settlement of Iceland’,7nbsp;whereas the sagas of the Maori are far superior as pure narratives. Wenbsp;will pass on therefore to tell of the first occupation of the islands by thenbsp;Maori.

One of the best of the sagas of the Migration Period, and one of the best authenticated in tradition, is the story of the voyages of Toi andnbsp;Whatonga, and of their settlement in New Zealand.^ The date of this

’ See especially Mem. P.S. iv, pp. 63, 64. See, however, Best, Maori I p. 41.

’ For the three periods—the ‘ Mythical ’, the ‘ Exploratory ’ and the ‘ Settlement ’— into which the early history of a Polynesian community is commonly divided, seenbsp;Buck, E. T. p. 15 f.

3 Smith, Hawaiki, p. 218 fF.; Best, Maori I, p. 42 if.

• * Alternative names also used are Pakiwhara, Maruiwi. See Best, Mem. P.S. iv,nbsp;p. 71 if.; cf. ib. Maori I, p. 44, and cf. Downes, J.P.S. xxn, p. 156.

5 The evidence lies partly in the traditional statements that at the time of Kupe’s visit the islands were unoccupied; partly in the Moriori traditions of their arrivalnbsp;on the islands, and the genealogies of some leading Moriori families, supported tonbsp;some extent hy comparison with Maori genealogies. See Best, Maori i, p. 41;nbsp;Smith, Hawaiki, p. 218, and the papers on this subject contributed by Shand andnbsp;Beattie to the J.P.S.

For the Moriori and their traditions, see Shand, J.P.S. ii, 74if.; Smith, Mem. P.5.lV,p.i49ff.

7 For an account of this work, see Vol. i, p. 287 of the present work.

• * Smith, Mem. P.S. iv, p. 97 ff,; J.P.S. xix, p. 207; cf. also Hawaiki, p. 229 if.;nbsp;Best, Maori I, p. 48 ff.

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occurrence is said to be one of the most reliable in the history of this period, and to be thirty-one generations back from 1900, or c. 1125.nbsp;Toi is said to have been a great navigator. His home was in Hawaiki,nbsp;which is generally thought to refer in this story to Tahiti. The saganbsp;opens with a canoe race in Hawaiki, which was held for the most part innbsp;the shallow waters of the lagoon; but a number of canoes decided tonbsp;race in the open sea, and during their competition a gale sprang up, andnbsp;scattered the canoes far and wide over the ocean. Among the heroesnbsp;thus lost to their relatives was Whatonga, who was driven ashore in thenbsp;island of Ra’iatea, where he settled down among the inhabitants. Hisnbsp;grandfather Toi, hearing no news of him, resolved to set out in searchnbsp;of him. Having obtained the sailing directions left by Kupe with thenbsp;record-keepers of Ra’iatea (cf. p. 45 7 below), he set sail for the Cooknbsp;Group, and eventually reached New Zealand. “I am departing”, henbsp;said to the chief of Rarotonga, “to search for my grandchildren. Ifnbsp;anyone arrives here in search of me, tell them my canoe is directed toward New Zealand.. .. Perhaps I shall stay there, perhaps I shall return.nbsp;If I do not reach there, I shall have descended to the bottom of the greatnbsp;belly of Lady-Ocean.”* He sailed actually too far east, and seems tonbsp;have discovered the Chathams, at that time unoccupied ; but it did notnbsp;take him long to redirect his course to the east coast of North Island,nbsp;where he eventually settled down among the Moriori, whom he foundnbsp;in possession of the land.

Meanwhile the story tells us that Whatonga’s trained bird,’ carrying messages formed by knotted cords,^ succeeded in bringing news to hisnbsp;master from his relatives in Hawaiki, and by watching the directionnbsp;taken by the bird on its return flight, Whatonga succeeded in findingnbsp;his way home. On learning of his grandfather’s long quest, Whatonganbsp;resolved to seek him in New Zealand. The preparations for the voyage

* Mem. P.S. IV, p. 150. The dates are Smith’s, Hawaiki, p. 229.

’ For an interesting note on the use of trained birds as message-carriers, see Mem. P.S. IV, p. 104, footnote. An instance of the practice occurs in a saga from thenbsp;Paumotu Archipelago. See J.P.S. xxvii, p. 3of. See also Turner, p. 282.

3 This is generally identified with the qipu of the Mexicans; but is it not more probably some form of cat’s cradles such as we know to have been highly cultivatednbsp;in Polynesia.’ Is it possible that the latter form of pastime originated in some form ofnbsp;code.’ In the localities where it is most in vogue the figures represent well-knownnbsp;stories; i.e. the figures can be used to communicate or suggest narratives. Some kindnbsp;of code therefore seems to be possible. It is perhaps worth remarking in this connection that Chinese historians tell us in connection with the new form of writingnbsp;introduced by Confucius that before his time people communicated by means ofnbsp;knotted cords.

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are related in great detail and the course of the voyage also. At length Whatonga and his party were ready to start, and calling in the Cooknbsp;Group, as Toi had done, and learning that his grandfather had left fornbsp;New Zealand, he set sail, and eventually landed on the North Cape. Henbsp;succeeded in locating his grandfather, and settled down with hisnbsp;followers in the new land.

After the settlement of Toi and Whatonga a number of other parties made their way to the new land, some of whom made the return journeynbsp;to Rarotonga.' The most important of these expeditions is that of thenbsp;seven canoes, known as the ‘Great Fleet’, which sailed from the Societynbsp;Group, via Rarotonga, about 1350.^ This was a carefully organisednbsp;migration on a large scale, and it is clear that the expedition had beennbsp;planned for some years before the final departure of the Fleet took place.nbsp;There was no thought of return. The emigrants had come to stay, andnbsp;the North Island of New Zealand was settled and allocated to the variousnbsp;arrivals, more or less according to districts named after the canoes innbsp;which they are supposed to have sailed. The new arrivals did not effectnbsp;their settlement without many feuds and much bloodshed, and subsequent tradition is full of the battles fought, the stratagems invented,nbsp;and the feuds carried on for many generations, both among the newnbsp;settlers, and between them and the earlier population, the latter partlynbsp;Moriori, partly a mixed race, the result of intermarriage between thenbsp;pure Moriori and the earlier settlers under Toi and his successors.

The events which led to this migration from the Central Pacific are not clearly known, and vary greatly in detail according to the versionnbsp;which we happen to be following; but it is clear that it was in some waynbsp;owing to disturbed conditions in the home area, and that the chiefnbsp;object of the emigrants was to escape from the destructive wars whichnbsp;were being waged in the Society and neighbouring groups. Innbsp;Sir George Grey’s version of the story of tlie burning of the Arawanbsp;canoe,3 the leader of the Great Fleet, by the crew of the Tainui canoenbsp;after their arrival in New Zealand, we learn of the reluctance of thenbsp;Arawa crew to take vengeance for the insult, on the ground that it wasnbsp;chiefly in order to avoid these destructive wars that they had left theirnbsp;old home in ‘Hawaiki’; and they remind themselves of the partingnbsp;words of their father in which peace was inculcated at all costs. Nevertheless this did not prevail to prevent the Arawa people from eventuallynbsp;deciding unanimously in favour of vengeance.

’ Mem. P.S. IV. For a summary, see Best, Maori i, p. 56; cf. Smith, Hawaiki, p. 275-nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;' Mem. P.S. IV, p. 205 ff,nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Grey, p. 102 ff.

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The events which we have been describing are preserved in oral sagas of considerable length and detail both in New Zealand' and in thenbsp;Central Pacific, notably in Rarotonga? An immense number of versionsnbsp;have been recorded, which differ greatly in details, but are in almostnbsp;complete accord in regard to the main points of history. The Pacific,nbsp;like a great lake, was the scene of ambitious enterprises, and was peoplednbsp;with men and women whose likeness to those of the Viking Age in thenbsp;north of Europe is truly astonishing. In the more detailed of the sagasnbsp;even the personalities are developed in some measure like the men andnbsp;women of the Islendinga Sögur, and events and actions are describednbsp;down to the minutest detail, and with the most complete realism. Thesenbsp;characteristics will become more apparent as we proceed, and arenbsp;perhaps even more developed in the sagas of the Central and northernnbsp;Pacific. In the Maori sagas there has perhaps been a tendency for thenbsp;intertribal feuds of later days to bias the narrative of earlier times, andnbsp;set undue stress on boundary quarrels and hereditary feuds, on disputesnbsp;as to rights of ownership and of precedence. These somewhat jejunenbsp;and impersonal themes at times tend to outweigh the human elements innbsp;the sagas—which nevertheless are rarely absent. But is not this alsonbsp;true of the Islendinga Sögur themselves.^ In the briefer compass in whichnbsp;the Maori sagas have been transmitted, the proportions of the impersonal, and what we may term the family or tribal elements, to thenbsp;personal are probably not dissimilar on the whole to those in the sagasnbsp;of Icelanders, and the general resemblance between the sagas of Icelandnbsp;and those of the Antipodes has made a lasting impression on everyonenbsp;who is at all familiar with both literatures.

Among the best known of the saga cycles of the Central Pacific relating to the Migration Period are those of the great voyages of thenbsp;hero and navigator Tangiia^ of Tahiti, whose position in the pedigreesnbsp;seems to entitle him to a date somewhere in the thirteenth century. Itnbsp;is computed that his voyages must have covered well over twenty

' The most easily accessible popular account of these will be found in Sir George Grey’s Polynesian Mythology, but almost any good book on New Zealand recordsnbsp;a number of sagas of the Settlement.

’ See Smith, Hawaiki, p. 26jfF. and the references there cited. See also Mem. P.S. IV.

3 It is important to bear in mind that neither Tangiia nor Tu-tapu are proper names. The former is one of the titles borne by the high chiefs of Tautira, the inlandnbsp;district of Tahiti to which Honoura belonged (cf. p. 278 If. below), while Tu-tapunbsp;was formerly the regal name of the high chiefs of Vai’anae, Mo’orea, and Papa-tea,nbsp;a title inherited from their Tahitian ancestry. See Henry, A.T. p. 522 (footnote 16).

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thousand miles, and ranged from Samoa and probably Fiji to Easter Island. On the death of his father, or foster-father, Tangiia usurped thenbsp;chieftainship of Tahiti and earned the lasting jealousy and hatred of hisnbsp;cousin Tu-tapu. A series of wars followed in which Tu-tapu over andnbsp;over again pursued his cousin and attempted to destroy him. Tangiianbsp;also carried on hostilities for a long time with another chief Karika, butnbsp;eventually cemented a peace by marrying his daughter. After a numbernbsp;of long voyages, he eventually concluded his stormy career by a quietnbsp;old age devoted to the interests of peace and to the building of maraes,nbsp;as the native temples are called, and to the promulgation of somethingnbsp;like a code of laws in Rarotonga.’

Among the most fully reported and elaborate of the sagas of the Central Pacific relating to this period are the stories of Uenuku and ofnbsp;his son Rua-tapu.^ The stories have been preserved in many sources,nbsp;including that of the Rarotongan Whare W^ananga, and also among thenbsp;Maoris. Uenuku and his son Rua-tapu are believed to have lived in thenbsp;generation in which the Great Fleet left for New Zealand, and to havenbsp;been deeply involved in the feuds which were raging in the Centralnbsp;Pacific at that time. According to one Maori version, Uenuku slew hisnbsp;wife Taka-rita in punishment for an act of infidelity and cooked hernbsp;heart and gave it to his son to eat. Her brothers, chief of whom wasnbsp;Tawheta, in vengeance slew four of Uenuku’s sons and a number of hisnbsp;people; but a fifth son of Uenuku escaped without the knowledge ofnbsp;Tawheta and his followers, and reported the deed to Uenuku. Tawhetanbsp;and his party were actually feasting with Uenuku at the time when thenbsp;news reached him; but being of a chivalrous disposition he allowed hisnbsp;guests to depart in peace, promising that his full vengeance should fallnbsp;upon them later for their barbarous deed—a promise which he did notnbsp;fail to fulfil, sparing only Pai-mahutanga, the daughter of Tawheta.nbsp;But by doing so Uenuku had only sown the seeds of dissension in hisnbsp;own home. His son by Pai-mahutanga, named Rua-tapu, who wasnbsp;held in lower estimation by his father than his other surviving brothersnbsp;on account of his mother, desiring to avenge the insult both to her

’ See Smith, ‘History and Traditions of Rarotonga’, in J.P.S. Vols, xxvni, XXIX. Many versions of this story are extant. See Smith, Hawaiki, pp. 233 ff., 246.nbsp;See also Emerson, L.V. p. 2ff. Another version from Rarotonga is recorded bynbsp;Williams, M.E. ch. XIII, who also mentions a Tahiti version (p. 196).

“ We have followed the outline of the story in general as given in summary form from the Maori version by Andersen, p. 93 ff. For variant versions of this story, seenbsp;Grey, p. 92 ff. (also Maori); D. Low, J.P.S. xliii, p. 73 ff.; cf. ib. p. 171 ff.nbsp;(Aitutaki, Cook Group).nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Smith, Hawaiki, p. 249.

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and to himself, knocked a hole in the bottom of the canoe in which he and his brothers were sailing far out at sea. When she foundered, henbsp;held his brothers’ heads under water, each in turn, till all were drowned,nbsp;sparing only one to return home and tell the sorrowful news to Uenuku.nbsp;Rua-tapu himself was drowned with his brothers.

The Hawaiian sagas of the Migration Period are, in general, less warlike and more domestic in character than those of the Central andnbsp;Southern Pacific. The difference is generally attributed to the fact thatnbsp;Hawaii, owing to its remote position, was isolated from the stormnbsp;centre. But the heroes of the early period frequently cover the 2300nbsp;miles of open sea between Hawaii and Tahiti, and journeys from Samoanbsp;to Hawaii are also reported. During this period it is clear that Hawaiinbsp;shared the culture of the Central Pacific. Innovations in religiousnbsp;practices are traditionally stated to have been introduced from Samoa ornbsp;Tahiti by the great tohunga Paao,’ in tattooing and dress from Tahiti bynbsp;Olopana and Lu’ukia,^ in poetry and music by La’a-ma-i-kahiki, also fromnbsp;Tahiti.? All these people play a prominent part in the Hawaiian sagasnbsp;of the period, as we shall see. After about 1325, however, the longnbsp;voyages apparently cease here also,'* for we hear no more of them.

Among the saga Cycles of the great chiefs who constantly made the voyage between Hawaii and Tahiti during the twelfth and thirteenthnbsp;centuries, the Hawaiian Cycle of Moikeha and his descendants is onenbsp;of the most interesting.? The Cycle follows in intimate and elaboratenbsp;detail the fortunes and adventures of various members of this greatnbsp;family through three generations. The names of another hero Olopananbsp;and his wife Lu’ukia, who play an intimate part in the Cycle, appear onnbsp;both Hawaiian and Maori lines, their probable place being twenty-sixnbsp;or twenty-eight generations ago, or about 1200 or 1250.^ Olopananbsp;himself is a chief of southern extraction, though his father’s home was innbsp;Hawaii. His grandfather Maweke is said 7 to have made the voyagenbsp;frequently between Hawaii and Tahiti.

In the Hawaiian version of his family saga, the first hero of whom we have full record is Moikeha, who is here a contemporary of Olopana,nbsp;though in general there is no consensus among Hawaiian records as to

’ Emerson, L.V. p. 12. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Fornander Collection^ Vol. iv, p. i56ff.

3 See p. 388 below. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;See Smith, Hawaiki, p. 227.

5 See Fornander Collection, First Series, Vol. iv, p. ii2ff.

* Smith, Hawaiki, p. 22 f. Their probable connection with the Tahiti line has also been shown. See Smith, loc. cit.

7 Ib. p. 24.

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Olopana’s pedigree.’ Moikeha, who is said to have been paramount chief in Tahiti, was the father of La’a-ma-i-kahiki, who is traditionallynbsp;stated to have introduced the hula, ‘dance’, and the big drum intonbsp;Hawaii. The occasion of Moikeha’s leaving Tahiti was as follows. Whennbsp;Olopana and his wife Lu’ukia came to Tahiti from Hawaii, Olopananbsp;obtained a high administrative post under Moikeha, and the latter tooknbsp;Lu’ukia as his paramour, with the willing connivance of her husband.nbsp;A certain Mua, jealous of Moikeha, slandered him to Lu’ukia, whonbsp;thereupon debarred her lover from approaching her. Distracted withnbsp;grief, Moikeha set out for Hawaii with his two sisters, his two youngernbsp;brothers, and his priest. The daughters of the king of the Island ofnbsp;Kauai in the Hawaiian Group fell in love with the handsome youth asnbsp;he was surf bathing, and thus Moikeha became king of Kauai after theirnbsp;father’s death. The story of his son Kila is no less fully told. Afternbsp;following the hero through the training of his boyhood and his childishnbsp;games, it relates how he made the voyage to Tahiti to seek Moikeha’snbsp;son Loa, who had been left behind there. Kila’s adventures, both on thenbsp;voyage and in Tahiti, are fully set before us—how the crew almostnbsp;died of starvation on the voyage, how they searched in vain for Loanbsp;who was hiding in the mountains, how they eventually found him asnbsp;he was attending a religious service, and bore him back with them tonbsp;Hawaii. The later adventures of all these characters are related in thenbsp;same circumstantial manner.

Stories of domestic life often exist side by side with the stories of adventure. The Hawaiian story of Liloa’s amours with the womannbsp;in the Hilo district, and of the subsequent birth and recognition of hisnbsp;son Umi, afterwards supreme hereditary chief of Hawaii, belong rathernbsp;to the domestic journal of the Hawaiian royal family than to heroic saga,nbsp;and Fornander mentions that “The legends make no mention of anynbsp;wars or contentions having occurred during Liloa’s long reign to disturbnbsp;the tranquillity of Hawaii”.’ The travels incognito of Lono, an earliernbsp;supreme chief of Hawaii, in search of a certain kind of wood, hisnbsp;sojourn and entertainment whilst weather-bound on the island ofnbsp;Molokai, his jealousy of his wife and their ultimate reconciliation, formnbsp;the subject of a saga which has much in common with the sagas of thenbsp;Viking Age in Iceland.^ The preoccupations of the latter saga in particular are with private and domestic life, though the characters belong to

’ Fornander Collection, First Series, Vol. iv, p. 154.

’ Fornander, P.R. ii, p. 75.

’ Ib. p. iiyff.

2Î4

the royal families of the Hawaiian Islands, and we are conscious that momentous events are taking place around them.

The sagas which we have been discussing form a great contrast both to the sagas relating to earlier times, which we shall discuss more fullynbsp;in the next chapter, and to the Maori traditions already referred to. Thenbsp;supernatural features and the preoccupation with dead ancestors characteristic of the earlier Cycles, both in Hawaii and elsewhere, are eithernbsp;wholly absent, or confined to the mundane magical practices of normalnbsp;human beings, who show no tendency to fly skywards, or to descend tonbsp;the depths of the earth. On the other hand the tribal and topographicalnbsp;preoccupations, and the predominance of warfare and bloodshed whichnbsp;characterise Maori sagas, are equally absent. In the Hawaiian sagas of thenbsp;Migration Period we have an intense preoccupation with the affairs ofnbsp;the world of the living—its loves and domestic quarrels, its adventuresnbsp;and its dangers, its recreations and its artistic life, its great scope fornbsp;human activity on the grand scale. These activities are narrated with anbsp;combination of realism and romance which is at once rare and delightful;nbsp;for it is also convincing. We are the privileged intimates of the domesticnbsp;and public life of the leading families of two great island groups in annbsp;age of high adventure and romantic incident. Our introduction isnbsp;effected through oral prose narratives, which have been preservednbsp;by narrators whose standard is that of preserving and relating anbsp;record of the past as accurately and as fully as human memory isnbsp;capable of doing.

In addition to the sagas which we have been considering, and which may be said to relate to the great secular characters of the historic past,nbsp;the Pacific is also rich in sagas relating to the lives and characters ofnbsp;priests, and to the religious life of the islanders. It has already beennbsp;mentioned that in many of the stories of maritime adventure—storiesnbsp;which we may term the maritime heroic—the priests figure as prominently as the ariki, and are often of the same rank, and belong to thenbsp;same families. Among the most interesting of these essentially nonheroic sagas is that of the priest Paao already referred to, who is believednbsp;to have migrated during the early period (c. 1200) from Samoa tonbsp;Hawaii, where he succeeded in changing the native dynasty, introducingnbsp;a new line from Tahiti.* To Paao also is ascribed the introduction of thenbsp;cult of the volcano goddess Pele; but whether direct from Vavao ornbsp;Upolu—by which name Samoa seems to be designated^—or by way ofnbsp;’ See Fornander, P.R. ii, p. 33ff.; Malo, p. 24ff.; Emerson, p. 5ff.nbsp;’ So Fornander, P.R. n, p. 33f.; cf. Emerson, L.P. p. 5.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;255

Tahiti, is stated variously according to the version which we are following (cf. p. 324 below).

One of the most striking of these non-heroic sagas is that of Umi,’' who is believed to have lived during the sixteenth century. He is saidnbsp;to have been a younger son of Liloa, the hereditary paramount chief ofnbsp;the district of Waipio in Hawaii. We are told that before his death Liloanbsp;willed all the lands of Hawaii to his first son, Hakau; but left the templesnbsp;and the gods to his younger son, Umi’—a disposition which is interestingnbsp;as illustrating the typical relationship of the tohunga to the ariki at thisnbsp;period. Umi managed at an early age to secure the throne for himselfnbsp;by guile, and by the help of the priesthood, who utilised him for theirnbsp;own ends, and were in turn used by him for his own purposes. By hisnbsp;mild rule, and his political sagacity, he managed to extend his kingdomnbsp;until it included many other islands in the Group. He is a typicalnbsp;Polynesian priest-king, wily, unscrupulous, able and naturally peace-loving. In many respects the stories relating to him call for comparisonnbsp;with the traditions of the great priest-king Mautara, who during thenbsp;first half of the eighteenth century abrogated to himself supreme powernbsp;in the little island of Mangaia in the Cook Group in the Central Pacific,nbsp;and whose clan swayed the destinies of the island for c. 150 years.

After the middle of the fourteenth century we hear no more of the long voyages, such as those which have made the great names of thenbsp;Migration Period famous over almost the whole Pacific Ocean, andnbsp;throughout a period of some seven hundred years. After this period thenbsp;traditions of the various groups developed each on their own lines. Butnbsp;the vitality of these traditions seems to have been in no way impairednbsp;by this. Samoa, Hawaii and New Zealand have kept their island recordsnbsp;by means of carefully transmitted traditions down to the arrival ofnbsp;Europeans, and there can be little doubt that the same is true of mostnbsp;of the groups, whether these traditions have been recorded subsequentlynbsp;or not. But their history is henceforth local history.

Among the most remarkable of these later traditional histories is that of the island of Mangaia just referred to. Gill has recorded traditions'*nbsp;relating to the early settlement of the island by the Ngariki clan,nbsp;apparently from Samoa, and continuing through the sixteenth centurynbsp;down to the present day. Even in traditions believed to date from thenbsp;sixteenth century the element of the marvellous is restrained, while for

’ Fornander Collection, First Series, Vol. IV, p. 178.

’ Jb. p. 186. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Gill, Myths, p. 87.

¦’ S.L.P. passim.

256

the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries we have a series of brief personal and tribal sagas which enable us to reconstruct with a fairnbsp;amount of coherence the history of the entire island, with its warringnbsp;clans, its ruthless priests, its strange double or triple ‘kingship’,’ and itsnbsp;complicated ecclesiastical intrigues. Like the majority of Polynesiannbsp;sagas elsewhere, the Mangaian sagas are a record of events rather than anbsp;portrait gallery of individuals. The struggle for existence and the fightnbsp;for life was more calculated to develop heroic features than individualism ;nbsp;and in a community so torn by warfare, the tragedies and the heroism ofnbsp;the past have naturally made a more lasting impression on the storytellers than the individual traits of the men and women who play theirnbsp;parts in the stories. It is even to be suspected that comparatively fewnbsp;lived long enough to develop the individuality which comes of leisurenbsp;and a quiet mind.

The Mangaian heroes are often individuals of no particular rank or prestige. Such were the father (Temoaakaui) and son (Uriitepitokura)nbsp;who lived for years as fugitives among the rocks of Te Vaenga, manufacturing their beautiful feather garments and fish-nets till peacenbsp;reigned and enabled them to bring their rich stores out of their retreat.’nbsp;Such was Rori, the son of an immigrant craftsman from Tahiti, whosenbsp;thirty years of seclusion as a cave-man on the same barren rocks formnbsp;the subject of a long saga,3 which is referred to more fully belownbsp;(p. 366 if.). Among the favourite subjects of such stories are those ofnbsp;cannibals and their horrid banquets, such as that of Vete and hisnbsp;companions,'* and the notorious cannibal Tangaka.5 But it is to be notednbsp;that the very fact of such stories having survived shows that suchnbsp;practices were deprecated and remembered with execration.^

An interesting saga relating to early times is that recorded by Gill under the title of ‘The Twin Kites 'J The story relates to a kite-flying

' The secular rule of Mangala was in the hands of a chief whom Gill calls the ‘ temporal lord ’, and this temporal power had to be contended for afresh every fewnbsp;years. In addition there were also two hereditary high priests, whose rule wasnbsp;chiefly spiritual, and who had their official residences, one in the ‘interior’ of thenbsp;island, the other on the seashore on the west coast of the island. See Gill, Myths,nbsp;passim-, Buck, M.S. p. 112 f.

’ Gill, S.L.P. p. yff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Jb, p. ipff.

¦* Ib. p. 119 if. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Jb. p. 72 ff.

From notices in a MS. note-book made by the Rev. W. W. Gill it would seem that in modern times at least cannibalism on Mangaia and Rarotonga was almost, ifnbsp;not wholly, restricted to times of famine. The MS. is in the possession of thenbsp;London Missionary Society, by whose kindness we have been permitted tonbsp;consult it. Cf. further Cook’, i, p. 172.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Gill, S.L.P. p. i8f.; D.L.P. p. 39^-

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;257

competition, such as was formerly much in favour in the islands of the Cook Group and elsewhere. In these competitions not less than tennbsp;competitors took part. The kites, which were sometimes very large,nbsp;were all known hy individual names, and the object of the competitorsnbsp;was to see who could fly his kite highest. The sport is said to have beennbsp;especially popular among elderly men. On one occasion a chief namednbsp;Ake, of the island of Atiu, flew a beautiful pair of twin kites known asnbsp;‘The Sorrowful Ones’; but unfortunately the string broke, and thenbsp;kites were lost to view. The chief, knowing that the wind was favourablenbsp;for Mangaia, remarked that in all probability the kites would come downnbsp;there, and his son Akatere ariki accordingly manned a canoe and set sail.nbsp;In two nights^ he landed near the marae. or temple platform of Kongo onnbsp;the west coast, and enquired whether the twin kites of Ake had beennbsp;seen. He was assured that a pair of foreign kites had recently comenbsp;ashore on the eastern part of the island, which proved to be the pairnbsp;of which Akatere ariki was in search. The story is interesting, not onlynbsp;as showing the importance of kite-flying, and the singularly intimatenbsp;knowledge of winds and weather which is inseparable from this sport,nbsp;and which, in an advanced form, develops it into a science,’ but alsonbsp;for the manner in which the story itself has been recorded. The traditionnbsp;has been preserved in the form of a dramatic song of the kind to benbsp;referred to in Ch. vi below, and when the Rev. W. W. Gill visited thenbsp;island of Mauke in 1865 he and the natives who accompanied him werenbsp;met by an aged man of Atiu, who asked them if they had ever heard ofnbsp;Akatere ariki. The deacon who accompanied Gill replied that he hadnbsp;heard of his visit to Mangaia, and forthwith chanted the song which hasnbsp;reference to the saga related above. The old Atiuan declared that thoughnbsp;now naturalised in Mangaia, it was originally derived from Atiu, andnbsp;referred to his ancestors.

Owing to the important part played by the priesthood in Mangaia, heroic and priestly elements are generally combined throughout theirnbsp;saga history. The island is, indeed, especially rich in non-heroicnbsp;literature, which under the priest-king Mautara (cf. p. 352 if.) had greatnbsp;chance of development. Many of their sagas are concerned with thenbsp;tabusy the temple sacriflces, and the services of the god Kongo, and withnbsp;the relations of the various clans with the immigrant Tongan clan,nbsp;devoted by order of the god to furnish human sacrifices, as these

' The Polynesians usually sailed by the stars,

’ Foran account of the art of kite-flying in the Pacific, and the traditions associated with it, see Chadwick, J.R.A.1. lxi (1931), p. 45 5 if-

CLiif

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258

might be required. The works of Gill abound in examples of these Mangaian historical sagas, which have been preserved mainly asnbsp;the background and commentaries to the dramatic elegies to be considered later. Two interesting examples of stories in which the leadingnbsp;rôle is played by priests are the sagas and poems relating to ‘Thenbsp;Expelled God which are believed to date from the seventeenth century.^nbsp;In the first, Ue, priest of Tane, expelled from Tahiti, seeks to establishnbsp;a sanctuary for his god on Mangaia, but is at last forced by the hostilitynbsp;of earlier settlers from Tahiti to leave the island, in company with hisnbsp;friend Mataroi. In the second story, Ue (the priest mentioned above)nbsp;and his friend Mataroi depart from Mangaia and go to Aitutaki to aid innbsp;the deliverance of the king from a war-band of Samoan invaders. Theirnbsp;enterprise is successful, and in the division of lands which follows,nbsp;the enfranchised king bestowed great possessions upon Ue. Anothernbsp;story of this class, known as ‘A Poisoned Bowl’, relates how thenbsp;chief Marere of the royal Akatauira clan in the south of Mangaia poisonsnbsp;the cannibal priest Tangiia, who has demanded his little son as a relishnbsp;with his kava}'

It is of interest to enumerate the main points of resemblance between the Polynesian sagas and those of Iceland and Ireland.nbsp;Like the latter the Polynesian sagas are primarily stories of adventure related for the purpose of entertainment, though the politicalnbsp;and practical importance of keeping records of past events must havenbsp;acted as a strong incentive to their preservation. This, as Te Ariinbsp;Taimai points out (cf. p. 238 above), is of especial importance innbsp;conditions where a chief may live abroad for many years, and mustnbsp;prove his right to his property on his return without the aid of writtennbsp;records, charters, or wills. It is clear, however, that mere desire ofnbsp;scientific accuracy could never have produced the telling narratives of lifenbsp;in the Pacific in the Migration Period such as we have been discussing,nbsp;which show artistic literary features of an exceptionally high standard.

As in the sagas of Iceland and of Ireland, the longest and best of these sagas relate in general to the early periods. The majority of the finestnbsp;examples relate to a period before the close of the Great Migrations,nbsp;that is to say before c. 1350. But this cannot be pressed too closely,nbsp;especially for New Zealand or the Chathams, where we have manynbsp;ambitious sagas relating to later periods, while sagas from Mangaia

’ Gill, S.L.P. p. 32 ff.

’ Ib. p. 99 ff. Kava is the intoxicating drink of Polynesia, reserved for the high chiefs and the priests.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;259

chiefly have reference, as we have seen, to a period not earlier than the sixteenth century. It is true that our texts of these latter are in generalnbsp;much shorter than those relating to the earlier periods from Hawaii,nbsp;Tahiti, and New Zealand; but we have to bear in mind the circumstances under which the sagas of the various groups have been recorded,nbsp;and also published. It is natural to suppose that only comparativelynbsp;wealthy communities such as Hawaii and New Zealand can afford tonbsp;publish the texts of their longer sagas and Cycles in extenso ; whereas fornbsp;a small island like Mangaia such an enterprise would be out of thenbsp;question, even if there had been many ready to record them insteadnbsp;of a single missionary. The genius of the Rev. Wyatt Gill, on whom wenbsp;are dependent for almost all our knowledge of the sagas of the Cooknbsp;Group, has preserved in his brief summaries enough of the character ofnbsp;the texts to enable us to see that in their main characteristics they follownbsp;the same lines as the more ambitious texts of the Groups mentionednbsp;above.

Like the Norse and Irish sagas, those of Polynesia are all anonymous. In no case, so far as we are aware, do we know the author of any saga.nbsp;This is in striking contrast to the Polynesian poems. In regard to thesenbsp;we are very frequently told who composed them, and under whatnbsp;circumstances.

Finally, a word may be said as to the wealth of detail which characterises the narratives everywhere. In this respect Polynesian ‘historical’ saga offers a close parallel to the sagas of Iceland. We are told the motives which cause the chiefs to set out on their long voyages, andnbsp;something of their home life before they come to a final decision tonbsp;change their place of abode; the misfortunes which overtake them onnbsp;their voyage, their sojourn in foreign lands. In stories such as that ofnbsp;the migration of Paao to Hawaii (cf. p. 254 above), or of the launchingnbsp;of the Takitumu canoe, and its migration to New Zealand,* we enternbsp;into the discussion as to who should be included in the expedition andnbsp;who should be left behind, and why; the exact placing of the crew; thenbsp;dispute as to precedence and responsibilities; considerations as to thenbsp;most suitable weather for sailing; the provisioning of the boats; thenbsp;embarking of the gods. Conversations are related in full, and all withnbsp;great vivacity and variety.

All the sagas of the Migration Period, and practically all those of the later periods also, are individual in their interest, and are in the nature ofnbsp;personal anecdotes or biographies. The idea of a state, or of publicnbsp;’ J.P.S. xxiii, p. 28 ff.

17-2

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

responsibility, never develops, and we hear nothing of the people as a whole, save only of the individuals who play a part in the stories. Thenbsp;interest is wholly centred in people of the upper class. The priests arenbsp;no exception, for they seem generally to belong to royal or chieflynbsp;families. In these features the stories of the Migration afford a contrastnbsp;to those of the later periods, especially in Mangaia and New Zealand, innbsp;which, as we have seen, we often have sagas relating to people ofnbsp;relatively humble rank, and in which tribal interest is represented to anbsp;considerable extent.

Probably no race has ever held its history in higher esteem than the Polynesians. In their devotion to their early records they are comparable to the Chinese. The proportion of attention devoted to eventsnbsp;of centuries long past, and personalities long dead, is the more remarkable since these records have always been carried on without the aid ofnbsp;writing. Such a task could only have been accomplished by generationsnbsp;of specialists, saga-tellers highly trained in the art of memorising as wellnbsp;as in their critical faculty. And such a class of men could only exist wherenbsp;their art was held in high esteem and supported on generous lines. Wenbsp;have seen that the very absence of written records has afforded one ofnbsp;the main incentives among Polynesian chiefs towards the support ofnbsp;their oral record keepers. The result of this happy circumstance hasnbsp;been the production in Polynesia of one of the two finest oral historicalnbsp;literatures in the world.

In the Pacific as a whole, narrative poetry appears to be almost unknown. From Samoa and Tonga we have a fairly extensive collection of narrative poems; but the examples whicjb have come under ournbsp;notice do not relate to historical persons, but only to non-heroic storiesnbsp;and to individuals unknown from other sources. In saying this, however, we must mention the fact that the prose sagas are hardly distinctnbsp;from poetry; for as told by the old narrators they were chanted in anbsp;kind of recitative rather than recited in a speaking voice. To the mannernbsp;of recitation we shall return later.

It is important to emphasise the poetical (recitative) form of the recitation of narrative, and indeed of all formal speech, as well as thenbsp;undefined character of Polynesian ‘poetry’ as such, because Sir Basilnbsp;Thomson speaks of an ‘epic’ of Kau-ulu-fonua, who is believed to havenbsp;lived in the early part of the sixteenth century, and from whom Tongannbsp;history is said to date.' He also refers to other historical poems whichnbsp;’ Thomson, Diversions, p. 293.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD

celebrate and record one of the earliest visits of a European ship with a cat sitting on the fo’c’sle? The coming of Tasman in 1643 isnbsp;also recorded in poetry, even to the minutest details, including the ironnbsp;tools which he had presented to the natives? Thomson refers to Tongannbsp;traditions relating to the visit of the Dutch ships of Schouten and Lemairenbsp;in 1616, and he adds: “the fame of Schouten’s prowess, recorded in anbsp;rough poem, may have served to protect his great countryman Tasman”?nbsp;The importance of these historical traditions, whatever their precisenbsp;form, would be difficult to overestimate; but is it really true that theynbsp;are couched in ‘epic’ form, in the strict sense of the term? Ellis alsonbsp;speaks of ‘ballads’ in Tahiti which record historical matter? It isnbsp;possible that these resemble the ‘ballads’ of Tonga and Samoa relatingnbsp;to legendary subjects; but we have not seen such poetry from Tahiti,nbsp;and it is more likely that Ellis is referring to dramatic recitations onnbsp;historical subjects, such as those which have been recorded in Mangaia,nbsp;to which we shall refer later.

Speech poems are exceedingly common in all parts of the Pacific, and in the sagas relating to all periods. Many of these poems purport tonbsp;be spoken by characters in the sagas, and thus, in the case of such sagasnbsp;as are historical, claim to have been composed by the men and womennbsp;who are represented as reciting them. How far the poetry of the pastnbsp;has been verbally remembered, and how far it has been modified in thenbsp;course of transmission, it is difficult to say; there can be no doubt thatnbsp;in some degree the exact verbal tradition has been preserved (cf. p. 236).nbsp;On the other hand, we shall see that old forms and formulae arenbsp;re-utilised by modern singers in the composition of new poems, and thenbsp;extent to which this is done will, of course, vary with every singer andnbsp;every composition. It is probable, therefore, that while many of thenbsp;poems in the sagas were really composed—in nucleus—by the characters who speak them, others have actually been composed in morenbsp;modern times for the place which they now occupy. Examples of suchnbsp;poems are innumerable, and do not, in general, call for special mention.nbsp;A specially interesting form of speech poetry is the dramatic poetry, andnbsp;the elegiac poetry composed in dialogue and semi-dramatic form. Thisnbsp;class of poetry, however, is a more ambitious form of composition thannbsp;the speech poems or elegies commonly found in sagas. We havenbsp;reserved further discussion of it to a separate chapter.

’ Thomson, Diversions, p. ßSöf. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 312.

3 Ib. p. 311; cf. further Mariner’ ii, p. 217. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;'* Ellis' I, p. 53of.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

Poetry embodying formal speeches appears to have been widespread at all periods in the Pacific, and is found in all its principal varieties—panegyrics, elegies, addresses, and poems of celebration.nbsp;Many panegyrics are attributed to the Migration Period, and though itnbsp;is, of course, uncertain how far we have before us the text of a poemnbsp;as it was composed at that period, the evidence here again points to thenbsp;conclusion that tradition has often preserved the nucleus of the original,nbsp;and that the original would not have differed very materially from itsnbsp;modern representative. In many such cases, no doubt, transference hasnbsp;taken place. Only a few instances of panegyrics can be referred to here.nbsp;One poem which is recorded from the island of Aitutaki in the Cooknbsp;Group claims to have been recited by Moe-terauri, the father of anbsp;hero Iro, for Iro himself.^ We also possess the text of a poem whichnbsp;purports to have been sung at the anointing of one of the ancient kingsnbsp;of the island of Niue.^ Fornander records from the early period (aboutnbsp;the twelfth century) an instance of the recitation of a panegyric poemnbsp;for a female chief from Kauai as she was on a visit to Hawaii.^ A panegyric which appears to have been composed originally for Umi (cf.nbsp;p. 255 above) is said to be still sung as a sort of harvest home by thenbsp;priests and people as they bring the koa tree“* down from the mountains.^

One of the commonest forms of panegyric poetry in Hawaii to which we have reference in the sagas of the Migration Period and later timesnbsp;is the mele inoa (lit. ‘ name poem’). Emerson defines a poem of this typenbsp;as ‘ a eulogy or panegyric of the ancestral and personal virtues, real ornbsp;fictitious, of a king or princeling’, and there is no doubt that in suchnbsp;poems the chiefs recited their claims to be admitted as members of thenbsp;Hawaiian aristocracy. But the instances seem to show that the melenbsp;inoa had also a wider significance than this, and the phrase appears tonbsp;have been used, at least sometimes, of any poem by which a chief wasnbsp;able to distinguish himself, whether by the personal nature of itsnbsp;contents, or by the novelty of its theme (cf. p. 414 below). The melenbsp;inoa was not confined to men, and an interesting instance in the saga ofnbsp;Lono-i-ka-makahiki, grandson of Umi and king of Hawaii, refers to thenbsp;filching by the hero of the mele inoa belonging to the female chiefnbsp;referred to above. He is led to steal the poem by the attraction of

’ J.PS. xn, p. 139; cf. also p. 365 f. below. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ib. p. 118.

3 Fornander, P.R. n, p. 118; Fornander Collection, Vol. iv, p. 276ff.; cf. also p. 414 below.

* The koa tree supplies the wood of which a certain temple was built (Ed.).

5 Malo, p. 246f.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;263

its extreme novelty. The lady declares that it is ‘ a very late one, not heard in the country districts’. Later in the same saga we have anothernbsp;long mele inoa chanted by a female chief Kaikilani in honour of thenbsp;same hero as she approaches the house in which he is staying.’

Heroic panegyric poetry has been frequently recorded in modern times from the recitation of the natives on important occasions. Innbsp;Mangaia it was a part of the wedding ceremonies at the marriage of thenbsp;first-born in important families that the bridegroom should walk alongnbsp;a pathway composed of the prostrate bodies of the bride’s tribe fromnbsp;his own dwelling to that of the bride, while his near relatives accompanynbsp;him, walking on the ground, clapping their hands and ‘chanting songsnbsp;in his praise, or reciting the deeds of his ancestors’. On a later occasionnbsp;the bridegroom’s family did honour to the bride in a similar manner,nbsp;permitting her to walk over their prostrate bodies to the house of hernbsp;father-in-law, where she ate her meal seated on a couch formed of livingnbsp;bodies, to the accompaniment of songs which were chanted in praise ofnbsp;her beauty and accomplishments.^

The chanting of panegyric poetry was often accompanied by the dramatic dance known as the hula (lit. ‘ dance ’). Stewart witnessed thenbsp;performance of a ’’hura-hura' in Hawaii at the beginning of last century,nbsp;in honour of the arrival of the queen and princess.

“The theme of the whole was the character and praises of the queen and princess, who were compared to everything sublime in nature, andnbsp;exalted as gods.”3

In the Marquesas we hear of a special kind of poetry known as f z, which is said to have been composed by guests who come from anbsp;distance in honour of a female chief who gives a feast.“* We may refernbsp;also to the panegyrics composed in the same islands on the sons ofnbsp;chiefs and others, which are said to be frequently mimetic and choralnbsp;in character. 5

An interesting analogy to the panegyrics and elegies on favourite horses, hawks, etc. among the Tatars is furnished by the panegyrics onnbsp;fighting cocks, which are said to have been common in Tahiti. Thesenbsp;birds were kept for purposes of competitive sport, and appear to havenbsp;been treasured and cared for much as a race-horse is valued by its ownernbsp;in our own country. The prowess of these birds was celebrated innbsp;poetry like the great deeds of mighty champions, and the traditions of

’ Fornander Collection, Vol. IV, p. 302.

’ Gill, L.S.I. p. 6of. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Stewart, Residence, p. 190.

Handy, N.C.M. p. 338. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 p.

264

combats between districts were preserved like those of their greatest battles?

In Polynesia, as frequently also elsewhere, panegyric and elegiac poetry are often indistinguishable in form. Ellis calls attention to thenbsp;elegiac poetry of Tahiti, which seems to have been composed by professional poets, and to have been highly figurative in diction, whilenbsp;‘recounting, under all the imagery of song, the leading events in the lifenbsp;of the individual’. These poems, we are told, were remarkably interestingnbsp;when the life had been one of enterprise and adventure, and Ellis rightlynbsp;emphasises the importance of poems of this class for the preservation ofnbsp;saga and legend. “Many of their legends”, he tells us, “were originallynbsp;funeral and elegiac songs, in honour of departed kings or heroes”;^ andnbsp;he adds that he is disposed to ascribe the highest antiquity to poems ofnbsp;this class. In Mangaia also elegiac poetry appears to have been preservednbsp;for several centuries, and to be among the oldest literary records of thenbsp;island. Gill has recorded innumerable examples,^ some of which willnbsp;be referred to later (p. 3 54 ff. below). From the island of Aitutaki in thenbsp;same Group we have the lament which purports to have been composednbsp;by the son of the hero Iro (cf. above) for his murdered mother.“*

Among the most formal and ambitious of the elegies of modern times are those of the Maoris. Mention has already been made (p. 240 above)nbsp;of an elaborate Maori elegy on a dead child, which covers seven foolscapnbsp;pages when written down. A rich harvest has been reaped of Maorinbsp;elegies which were composed on chiefs slain during the Maori wars ofnbsp;the early part of last century.5 Some of them have reference to evennbsp;earlier times. As an example we may refer to a lament composed by annbsp;old Maori for his son who died about 1700, which, like all the oldernbsp;Maori poetry, is rich in mythological allusion.® These elegies werenbsp;recited with the greatest ceremony, both on the occasion of the deathnbsp;of a person of rank, and also on later occasions in his honour.7

Maning describes a funeral chant known as a pihe, which seems to correspond to the Mangaian pe\, and which is evidently a very ancientnbsp;and formal type of liturgical elegy, full of obsolete diction and allusionnbsp;to ancient traditions.* The pihe was sung standing before the corpse,

’ Moerenhout ii, p. i47f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Ellis’ I, p. 530.

3 See Gill, S.L.P. passim. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;J.P.S. xn, p. 136.

5 As examples we may cite J.P.S. xix, p. 35; ix, pp. 97, 148.

J.P.S. XXIX, p. 29.

7 For detailed accounts of some of these Maori funeral scenes, see Reeves, p. 73. * Maning, p. 223, footnote.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;265

and was followed by a series of panegyrics recited by the near relatives, and possibly also the friends of the dead. Maning has left us a singularlynbsp;striking description of the celebrations which took place after the deathnbsp;of the chief Hauraki, who was slain in the war in the north of Newnbsp;Zealand against the chief Heke.

“ When Hauraki died, and his body lay at Wirinake to be seen for the last time by his relations, there was a great gathering of the Rarawa andnbsp;Ngapuhi, to fulfil the last rites due to a chief. And when the pihe hadnbsp;been sung, then the chiefs arose one after another to speak in praise ofnbsp;the dead. This was the speech of Te Anu, he who is known as havingnbsp;been in his youth the best spearman of all the Ngapuhi tribes. Boundingnbsp;to and fro before the corpse, with his famous spear in his hand, henbsp;spoke as follows: ‘ Farewell, Hauraki ! go, taking with you your kindnessnbsp;and hospitality, your generosity and valour, and leave none behind whonbsp;can fill your place. Your death was noble; you revenged yourself withnbsp;your own hand; you saved yourself without the help of any man. Yournbsp;life was short; but so it is with heroes. Farewell, O Hauraki, farewell.’nbsp;At this time it was night, and the sister and also the young wife ofnbsp;Hauraki went in the dark and sat beside the river. They sat weepingnbsp;silently, and spinning a cord wherewith to strangle themselves. Thenbsp;flax was wet with their tears. And as they did this the moon arose. Sonbsp;when the sister of Hauraki saw the rising moon, she broke silence, andnbsp;lamented aloud, and this was her lament—the part I remember of it:

It is well with thee, O moon! You return from death.

Spreading your light on the little waves. Men say,

‘Behold the moon reappears’;

But the dead of this world return no more.

Grief and pain spring up in my heart as from a fountain. I hasten to death for relief.

Oh, that I might eat those numerous soothsayers

Who could not foretell his death.

Oh, that I might eat the Governor,

For his was the war !

“At this time men came who were in search of these women, and prevented the sister of Hauraki from killing herself at that time. Theynbsp;watched her for several days, but she died of grief. But the wife ofnbsp;Hauraki consented to live that she might rear her son, so that he mightnbsp;fight with the Kapotai, on a future day.... The lament of the sister ofnbsp;Hauraki was sung by all the divisions of all the Ngapuhi, from the westnbsp;coast to Tokerau.”*

' Maning, p. 222 ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

Poems embodying formal speeches or addresses are very common, especially among the Maori, from whom a large number of technicalnbsp;terms has been recorded which denote different types of poetry of thisnbsp;class, such as the ngeri, or derisive song, the puha, or song of defiance,nbsp;and many others? A large number of so-called ‘cursing songs’ havenbsp;been recorded, also from the Maori; but they are more preoccupied withnbsp;the celebration of the dead than with the cursing of the living? Poemsnbsp;composed in the spirit of Tyrtaios urging warriors to battle arenbsp;especially numerous. These may be addressed to a single warrior, or tonbsp;a whole band. But in the latter case it is usual for a number of individualsnbsp;to be singled out by name. Many poems have been recorded whichnbsp;celebrate victories, or taunt the returning warriors after a defeat. Thenbsp;former generally develops into a boasting poem,3 the latter into a threatnbsp;of vengeance.'* One example of the latter was composed as a part of thenbsp;ceremony of dedicating a Maori child to revenge, and was sung as anbsp;lullaby to the child.5 In contrast to this we have from Mo’orea island,nbsp;Rarotonga, a poem recited by a mother to her son to dissuade him fromnbsp;going to avenge his father—“She repeated an ancient ayory (‘song’) innbsp;favour of peace.” This remarkable appeal, which is apparently preservednbsp;in full, concludes as follows :

Let there not be war; for a man of war can ne’er be satiated;

But let my son be instead a man of wisdom and learning—-

A keeper of the traditions of his house.

Let there be no war.

Plant deeply the spirit of peace.

That your rule may be known—the land of enforced peace.

It is characteristic of Hawaii that the more interesting examples of the formal addresses generally have reference to civil life, and conditions ofnbsp;peace. This is especially true of those which relate to the early period ofnbsp;the history of the Group. We may refer to the invitation chanted bynbsp;Paao to Lonokaeho of Tahiti, when the former sailed to that island tonbsp;invite Lono to become king of Hawaii.

* An excellent account of the various types of Maori songs, with their native names, is given by Best, Maori n, p. 135 ff. Here (p. 144) the ngeri is defined as anbsp;‘derisive song’, and the puha as a ‘war song’. See further Tregear, Williams,nbsp;Dictionaries, s.v. The ngeri is not always of a bitter character, being sometimesnbsp;addressed to friends and relatives; see e.g. J-PS. xi, p. 142 If.

’ Examples will be found in J.P.S. i, p. 92ff.; ix, p. 138ff.

• 3 See e.g. J.P.S. vi, p. 119; cf. also vii, p. 24ff.

• 4 See e.g. ƒ P.5, xi, pp. 143, 146.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Jb. xi, p. 139.

lb. XXI, p. 59.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD

O, Lono, Lono, Lonokaeho. . .

Here are the canoes, come aboard,

Return (with us) and dwell in green-clad Hawaii. . .

When the canoes land, come aboard. Sail away, and possess the island Hawaii.nbsp;Hawaii is the island for Lonokaeho to dwell in.'

In the sagas of this Group the arrival at a strange island after a long voyage is invariably celebrated in song. On such occasions the islandnbsp;is usually apostrophised as if it were a man {kanaka). These poems werenbsp;chanted by the tohunga^ who, as we have seen, always accompaniednbsp;such expeditions, and occupied the position of highest honour after thenbsp;ariki. One of these poems purports to have been composed by Kama-hualele, who accompanied Moikeha from Tahiti to Hawaii (cf. p. 253nbsp;above), and who, on catching sight of the island of Hawaii, broke into

Here is Hawaii, the island, the man,

A man is Hawaii, —£3

A man is Hawaii,

A child of Kahiki,'*

A royal flower from Kapaahu, etc.5

Before leaving the subject of formal speeches a word must be said about oratory. This art is very highly developed in Polynesia, and hadnbsp;the speeches of the orators been preserved we should have possessed anbsp;fine body of prose of this class. Much of the oratory was chanted,nbsp;however, and therefore poetical or rhythmical in form. The high artisticnbsp;development to which formal speech attained is best studied from thenbsp;accounts of travellers who have heard the orators, and we have thereforenbsp;reserved fuller mention of this subject to the chapter on ‘The Tohunganbsp;and the Kaula.’

A considerable number of personal poems are ascribed in the sagas of the Migration Period to the great heroes of early times. It has alreadynbsp;been mentioned that owing to the large amount of genuine traditionalnbsp;poetry which has been preserved from the past, and the conservativenbsp;character of the style and diction of modern poetry, it is often impossible

“ Emerson, L.V. p. 10.

’ The Hawaiian form is kahuna. Tohunga is the Maori form.

3 This represents the long drawn sound Qûangd) made at intervals by the singer, and one of the chief characteristics of Polynesian chants ; cf. p. 240 above.

I.e. Tahiti.

3 Fornander, P.R. ii, p. lof.; cf. Emerson, L.V. p. i6f.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

to distinguish poetry which was actually composed by the heroes of early times from poetry composed in the traditional style and ascribednbsp;to them in later times. The great navigator Tangiia, who is believed tonbsp;have lived about the first half of the thirteenth century/ is said to havenbsp;composed a love-song to two girls on Mauke Island, in the Cooknbsp;Group,and also a song of farewell to Tahiti,^ both of which are stillnbsp;preserved. The latter is practically a catalogue poem enumerating thenbsp;natural features and places dear to his recollection around his old home.

Great is my love for my own dear land—

For Tahiti that I’m leaving.

Great is my love for my sacred temple— For Pure-ora that I’m leaving.

Great is my love for my drinking spring. . .

For my own old homes, for Puna-auia, For Papa-ete, that I’m leaving, etc.

Poems of this class are very common, and Mariner tells us that they are more widely current than any other in Tonga.* He quotes the words ofnbsp;a poem expressive of regret at leaving the Island of Vavao ‘with itsnbsp;beautiful prospects’, for the islands of Toofooa and Kao, noted fornbsp;making coarse mats.5 The words of the poem are singularly close to thosenbsp;of Tangiia’s.

Gill records a poem from Mangaia which we may call ‘A Wife’s Complaint’, and which is undoubtedly a personal poem, datingnbsp;probably from the famine in the early part of last century.^ It is said tonbsp;have been composed by an unfortunate woman called Rao as a dirgenbsp;for herself before she was eaten by her cannibal husband.7

“As with the marvellous stoicism of heathenism she watched the preparations for the horrid banquet, she vented her feelings in a dirge,nbsp;which was carefully treasured up by her afflicted sister-in-law, and thusnbsp;transmitted to Christian times. It is now for the first time written. Thisnbsp;pathetic death-lament is well-known to the natives of the Herveynbsp;Group.”^

’ See Emerson, L.V. p. 2; cf. Smith, Hawaiki, p. 233.

’ Smith, Hawaiki, p. 236; J.P.S. xxvm, p. 186.

3 Smith, Hawaiki, p. 238; ƒ. P.^.xxviii, p. 189. The poem is strangely reminiscent of the Irish poem of Deirdre’s lament for Alba, referred to in Vol. I, p. $$o ofnbsp;the present work.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;4 Mariners i, p. 244.

5 Mariners ii, p. 218; cf. other poems of this class in J.P.S. xix, pp. 51, 13Ö.

* See the MS. note-book of the Rev. W. W. Gill referred to on p. 256 above.

• 7 Other similar cases of cannibalism are recorded from this Group, but all,nbsp;seemingly, occasioned by famine conditions. See p. 256 above.

• 8 W. W. Gill, L.S.I. p. 165 ff.

LITERATURE OF THE MIGRATION PERIOD nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;269

The poem is interesting as showing with what care these personal poems were sometimes preserved and handed down.

Occasional poetry is very common, no event being too trivial for poetical treatment, which seems to depend rather on the mood of thenbsp;reciter than on the nature of the subject. As soon as the mood of thenbsp;speaker gains in emotional intensity, there is a tendency for the wordsnbsp;to assume a poetical form and for the voice to be raised in a chant. Thusnbsp;it comes about that Polynesian sagas, like the sagas of Iceland, containnbsp;a considerable proportion of conversation in poetical form. Gill refersnbsp;to this practice on the island of Atiu in his account of the visit of thenbsp;missionary Williams in 1823. The people resolved to take the littlenbsp;mission vessel, but Romatane, the leading chief of the day, was sonbsp;astonished at the big canoe, moving without paddles over the ocean,nbsp;that he forbade his followers to offer any violence to the strangers,nbsp;“uttering the following poetical words”:

By whose command shall an attack be made On a race of gods from nether-world.^nbsp;Shall a race of weaklingsnbsp;Dare to molest so wise a people.^nbsp;Look at yon vessel;nbsp;Gaze at its masts;

At its multitudinous, innumerable ropes.’

News is often passed on in the form of song, and the tendency for speeches made in moments of emotional intensity to be chanted may benbsp;illustrated by the fact that when Governor King returned two nativesnbsp;of New Zealand to their homes in 1793 he mentions that their friendsnbsp;related to them the tribal news in song.’ The practice had not died outnbsp;by last century, and occasional poetry was still extremely common. Itnbsp;was composed even on trivial subjects, apparently by all members ofnbsp;the community. Dieffenbach quotes a poem composed by the nativesnbsp;of the Awaroa Valley, in which they relate the want and hardships whichnbsp;they have undergone in cutting a bridle path for thirty-four milesnbsp;through the forest:

“The tobacco is gone: we have no food cooked in a pot: Etiki is hungry: Taewa is sick: Te Paki is hungry: all our good cheer is

* Gill, Jottings, p. 45.

’ Best, Maori II, p. 142. The reference is doubtless to the tangi. Cf. further p. 466 below.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

exhausted: we turn back towards the Reinga:' we are sick for some food.”^

It is impossible to do justice to Polynesian poetry, either by a general account, or by attempting to translate it? The unfamiliarity of the formnbsp;of the verse and its metrical freedom, the traditional and difficultnbsp;diction, the highly allusive and figurative phraseology, all make thenbsp;task of translation peculiarly difficult. Those who have spent a lifetimenbsp;on the study of Maori poetry are the most pessimistic in regard to thenbsp;possibility of doing anything like justice to the art in any other languagenbsp;than its own, and the most reluctant to undertake the task of translation.nbsp;On the other hand, the facility with which men and women of all typesnbsp;compose extempore poetry on all occasions in Polynesia may well mislead us into the supposition that the poetry is itself generally of a trivialnbsp;nature. This is belied by its extremely conservative character, as well asnbsp;by the testimony of those most familiar with Polynesian literature. Thenbsp;great wealth of short occasional poetry and the universal practice ofnbsp;composition are to be viewed in the light of the high development ofnbsp;Polynesian intellectual life, and the widespread cultivation of oralnbsp;literature everywhere throughout the Pacific. Facility of composition,nbsp;so far from indicating a low standard of art, is a part of the equipmentnbsp;of every cultivated Polynesian, among whom literary art is probablynbsp;held in higher esteem and more sedulously cultivated than among anynbsp;other people in the world.

’ The path to the spirit world, which was reached, according to Maori belief, by descending the sheer face of the cliff off the North Cape, North Island. See p. 315nbsp;below, and cf. p. 290.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Dieffenbach i, p. 220.

3 On this subject, see Best, Maori li, p. 135 f.

CHAPTER III

NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY RELATING TO LEGENDARY CHARACTERS OF THE PREHISTORIC AND LATER PERIODS

IT has already been mentioned that we have in Polynesia extensive Cycles of stories relating to persons whose names appear in thenbsp;pedigrees of the leading families of the various Groups in an earliernbsp;position than those of the heroes considered in the preceding chapter.nbsp;These Cycles have been recorded—sometimes, it is true, in a fragmentary form—in Groups as far apart as Samoa, Hawaii, Tahiti andnbsp;Rarotonga, in New Zealand, and even among the Moriori of thenbsp;Chathams. They relate to heroes whose names are found in thenbsp;pedigrees of the ruling families of Rarotonga and New Zealand, as wellnbsp;as those of Hawaii. In the latter case it was held by Fornander’ andnbsp;Smith’ that the southern pedigree had been grafted on to the Hawaiiannbsp;line in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, though Smiths and others'*nbsp;nevertheless emphasise rightly the full and circumstantial nature of thenbsp;Hawaiian saga tradition relating to Tawhaki and his descendants. Evennbsp;if the Hawaiian evidence is comparatively late and not independent ofnbsp;southern tradition, the consistency with which the legends and genealogical data have been preserved—more or less independently, accordingnbsp;to general belief—for at least five centuries over the entire Polynesiannbsp;area is sufficiently remarkable.

The earliest series of names which appear with reasonable consistency in the more important of the pedigrees, and to which an ambitious saganbsp;Cycle is attached, are those of Hema (Ema) and his sons Kariki (Karii)nbsp;and Tawhaki (Taaki), and their descendants.^ The Rarotongan pedigreesnbsp;derive their ancestry from Karii, who, according to their claim, was thenbsp;elder brother and the more important ariki of the two. The Maori, onnbsp;the other hand, claim descent from Tawhaki, to whom they ascribe

’ Pomander, P.R. l, p. 198 fF. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Hawaiki, p. 196.

’ Loc. cit. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;See e.g. Stokes, J.P.S. xxxix, p. 33.

5 The home of the Tawhaki Cycle has been located in Samoa. For some references and remarks on the subject, see Krämer i, p. 455 ff- Perhaps the mostnbsp;ambitious literary records of Tawhaki himself are the sagas and chants recorded fromnbsp;the Paumotu Archipelago by Stimson, L.M.T. See also p. 383 below.

272

seniority over Kariki. The most widely known and highly developed Cycle of these early sagas is that which relates to Tawhaki and hisnbsp;immediate descendants. Not only Tawhaki himself, but his son ornbsp;grandson Rata—the versions differ as to the exact relationship—andnbsp;their descendant Apakura, are known throughout the Pacific. A comparison of Maori and Rarotongan pedigrees with one another, and withnbsp;those of other groups, brought S. P. Smith to the conclusion that thenbsp;stories of Tawhaki and Rata relate to a period c. a.d. 700; and a comparison of the distribution of the stories and the position of the namesnbsp;in the pedigrees of the leading lines of the chief island groups has lednbsp;to the general belief among Polynesian scholars that the heroes innbsp;question had an historical existence about this period. These dates havenbsp;recently been called in question by more than one scholar (cf. p. 238nbsp;above), and there can be no doubt that the whole question of thenbsp;historicity of these early heroes requires revision in the light of modernnbsp;critical standards in regard to the evaluation of oral tradition.’ But thisnbsp;is not the place in which to discuss the question with the fulness whichnbsp;it deserves.

According to Maori tradition^ Tawhaki is a man of great beauty and a skilled builder of beautiful houses. Among his chief exploits are hisnbsp;journeys, first to rescue the bones of his father who has been killed bynbsp;a strange ocean race known as the Ponaturi, and then to the Underworldnbsp;and the Heavens. In most versions the journeys to the Underworldnbsp;and the Heavens are undertaken to rescue tlie soul of his wife, a ‘fairy’nbsp;from Heaven, who visits him in his home and remains with him till thenbsp;birth of their first child. But one day after this, feeling herself insultednbsp;by some casual remark made by her husband, she flies up to the rooftree of their house, and chants a farewell,^ and then returns to her homenbsp;in the skies, taking the child with her. Tawhaki determines to follow hernbsp;in company with his younger brother Kariki. The two brothers pay a

quot; It is not for a moment the intention of the present authors to imply the slightest doubt as to the value of Polynesian oral tradition for the purpose of reconstructingnbsp;history. They are of the opinion, however, that the traditions have been acceptednbsp;too literally and uncritically in some circumstances.

’ See e.g. Grey, p. 42ff.; Andersen, p. i6off.

3 In Polynesian tradition it is common for supernatural wives to fly up to the roof-tree, and from there to chant a farewell before taking their final departure tonbsp;their old home. It is interesting to compare the first strophe of the Sea Dyak dirgenbsp;recorded by Howell (cf. p. 489 ff. below), in which the land of the dead is referred tonbsp;as ‘the land of those who were cut off and took refuge on the roof-tree’. The spiritnbsp;of the dead person is clearly thought of in the form of a bird.

273 preliminary visit to their old blind ancestress in the Underworld.nbsp;Tawhaki succeeds in curing her blindness/ and in return she directsnbsp;them as to how they may reach the Heavens by climbing a vine, thenbsp;roots of which are in her own realm.^ Tawhaki succeeds in making thenbsp;ascent, but Kariki fails, and is obliged to return home. Tawhaki, however, succeeds in reaching the Heavens, where he is ultimately reunitednbsp;to his wife and child.

The versions of Tawhaki’s journeys offer considerable variation, as is, of course, natural in a widespread story preserved by oral tradition.nbsp;Thus the Ponaturi are sometimes represented as in Po, which in thenbsp;Paumotu version of the story 3 is the realm of Kiho, the supreme godnbsp;(cf. p. 307 If. below). The approach is variously described as up a highnbsp;rock,“* down a deep chasm, and across the sea.5 His ascent to thenbsp;Heavens is described in a variety of ways. According to one Rarotongannbsp;version he reaches his goal by climbing up a tall cocoa-nut tree.® In Newnbsp;Zealand he is variously described as ascending by means of a rope, anbsp;spider’s thread, a kite.7 One of the most interesting of these Maorinbsp;versions has it that when he tries to ascend by means of a kite made bynbsp;the hands of man, he fails, and only succeeds when he mounts on anbsp;hawk.® Moriori chants also speak of him as battling with the winds,nbsp;manifestly in the form of a kite.9 Hawaiian versions speak of him asnbsp;climbing painfully up the path of the rainbow.'“ In one version fromnbsp;Tahiti the hero merely journeys up a high mountain, and overtakes hisnbsp;wife on the path of death.” The hero’s experiences are often duplicatednbsp;in the accounts of his different journeys. During the course of thesenbsp;journeys he frequently encounters women—his female ancestors—whonbsp;direct him on his path. He also meets and converses with people whonbsp;are returning to earth by the same path as that on which he is travelling.nbsp;Evidently he is following a much used thoroughfare.

’ This motif is a very common one in Polynesian saga, and is attributed elsewhere to the god Tane, and to a number of other heroes; see pp. 319, 344 below. In the version of the story of Tawhaki—also Maori—recorded by Taylor (p. 141) thenbsp;curing of the old woman’s blindness is said to take plajp in the Heavens, in thenbsp;house of the Ponaturi; but the words ‘Heaven’ and ‘Underworld’ are misleadingnbsp;in reference to Polynesian eschatology and mythology, and are only used as anbsp;matter of convenience. For a discussion of the localities of the supernatural regions,nbsp;see p. 313 f. below.

’ So Reeves, p. 67; Grey, p. 51. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Stimson, L.M.T. p. 66. ,

* J.P.S. XXI, p. 11 ; cf. also Smith, Hawaiki., p. 194.

3 Gill, Myths, p. zjoff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Smith, J.P.S. xxx, p. 4.

’ Taylor, p. 141; see further Andersen, p. 432. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ J-P-S. p. 362.

’ Ib. VII, p. 78. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;See p. 298 below. “ Henry, A.T. p. 563if.

CLiii nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;18

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

In the versions which represent Tawhaki as ascending through several Heavens, as also elsewhere in Polynesian mythological andnbsp;theological tradition,’^ the Heavens are represented as a series of regionsnbsp;one above another, access being given to each Heaven from the onenbsp;immediately below. The resemblance to the Tatar conception of thenbsp;Heavens will be observed at once. Tawhaki’s journey through each successive Heaven to the highest Heaven also resembles in many respectsnbsp;the journey of the Tatar shaman to the abode of Bai Ulgen (cf. p. 200nbsp;above). Like the latter it is full of incident, and, as the hero pauses in eachnbsp;successive Heaven of his upward course, he encounters many adventures.

Tawhaki’s son by his first wife is Wahie-roa, who is murdered by a certain Matuku, the tohunga of the Ponaturi. One of the most widespread sagas of the Pacific is the story of the vengeance of Wahie-roa’snbsp;son Rata’ for his father’s death. The variant versions of this saga differnbsp;even more than those of Tawhaki; but all agree in attaching greatnbsp;importance to a certain canoe, by means of which the voyage of thenbsp;avenging party is made, and in attributing special circumstances to itsnbsp;fabrication. According to a version of the story current among thenbsp;MaorP Rata goes to the forest to cut down a tree in order to build thenbsp;canoe immediately on hearing from his mother of his father’s death; butnbsp;as often as he cuts the tree down it is again found standing in its placenbsp;on the following day. At last Rata catches some wood spirits, andnbsp;learns from them that he must perform certain ceremonies beforenbsp;cutting the tree, and when these have been duly carried out. Rata, onnbsp;returning to the spot, finds, not the tree, but the canoe already shaped,nbsp;and ready to be launched. He sails away till he comes to the island wherenbsp;Matuku dwells in a deep cavern at the top of a high mountain, and bynbsp;means of the magic of Rata, which is more powerful than that ofnbsp;Matuku, the latter is lured out of his cavern and slain. It is also by thenbsp;superior magic of Rata that his followers are enabled later to destroynbsp;a great host of the Ponaturi who attack them after their return home innbsp;vengeance for the death of their tohunga. A consensus of tradition,

’ E.g. Reeves, p. 65 ff.; Taylor, pp. 114, 141, 220; Grey, p. 60. See also Gill, Myths, p. 2, where a similar conception of the Heavens is given. There are said to benbsp;at least ten separate Heavens, one above another; but in certain diagrams theynbsp;envelop the upper half of the egg-shaped Universe, and seem, therefore, to benbsp;concentric rather than parallel. Cf. p. 313 below. In New Zealand the usual numbernbsp;of Heavens is twelve. See Best, Maori i, p. 88; Andersen, p. 352.

’ It has already been mentioned (p. 272 above) that Rata is sometimes represented as Tawhaki’s son, sometimes as his grandson. Cf. also pp. 313, 374 below.

3 Grey, p. ypff.; Andersen, p. 174fr.

275 therefore, represents Rata as a great navigator and a great magician—nbsp;in fact, a great tohunga.

The story of Rata is very widespread and is found in all the principal Groups, e.g. New Zealand, Rarotonga, Aitutaki and Paumotu (in thenbsp;dialect of Tahiti), and traces of the story are found also in Samoa? Innbsp;Hawaii Rata (Lata) is the goddess of nature and especially of the rainstorm;’ but elsewhere he figures, in general, like Tawhaki, as a greatnbsp;controller of the weather, and a great navigator. The versions differ alsonbsp;in regard to other details. Thus in the Rarotongan account 3 the brothersnbsp;of a certain Atonga attempt to escape from Atonga’s harsh treatmentnbsp;by building a canoe for themselves from a tree belonging to Rata. Innbsp;the Maori,'* Aitutaki5 and Paumotu^ versions, it is Rata himself whonbsp;attempts to cut down the tree to build a canoe, his object being, in somenbsp;cases to avenge his father, in others the exploration of new lands. Thusnbsp;while the story is the same in all cases, both the principal actors and thenbsp;motives vary.

It often happens in regard to these non-heroic and legendary sagas, as in regard to the historical sagas considered in the last chapter, that thenbsp;same story may be told with the chief emphasis laid, not on the ariki,nbsp;but on his tohunga. In such cases it naturally happens that the story isnbsp;related from a somewhat different point of view, or in a differentnbsp;literary style, which may at times give the effect of a totally differentnbsp;kind of narrative. For example, the Rarotongan version of the storynbsp;of Rata actually relates the mythical adventures of a tohunga namednbsp;Nganaoa, who accompanies Rata on his voyage to avenge the death ofnbsp;his parents. On the voyage the tohunga proves himself to be a man ofnbsp;supernatural powers, and by means of a magic calabash 7 is able to savenbsp;the crew from many dangers. At the beginning of the voyage, however, when Rata asks him what his calling is, he replies: “I fly kites.”

“Rata said, ‘You fly kites; and what then.^’

Nganaoa said, ‘I leap up to the heavens and extol my mother with exalting songs.’^

Rata said, ‘You extol your mother, and what then.^’

Nganaoa replied, ‘ O, I exalt our mother, and that is all.’

' J.P.S. IV, p. 239. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Emerson, U.L. passim.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;iv, p. 100.

* Grey, p. 81 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 Gill, Myths, p. i42ff. * J-P-S. xix, p. lyófF.

’ For the real nature of the ‘magic calabash’, and its actual scientific value in navigation, see Gill, Myths, p. 3191.; cf. Andersen, pp. 42, 358f. Cf. also p. 284nbsp;below.

® Perhaps a reference to the musical form of kite in use in certain parts of the Pacific.

18-2

276

Rata said, ‘I do not want you, you cannot come’, and it was with great difficulty that Nganaoa persuaded him to take him on the voyage.”'

Rata’s son Tu-whakararo takes as his wife Apakura, by whom he has a large family. The youngest is a son named Whakatau, who is adoptednbsp;by a sea ancestor and trained to be skilled in magic. He is especiallynbsp;skilled in the art of flying kites—an art in which all the members ofnbsp;Tawhaki’s family excel, and Whakatau is so proficient that he is said tonbsp;be able to fly kites even under water.’ Tu-whakararo is murdered andnbsp;eaten while on a visit to his sister, and Whakatau, who is an intrepidnbsp;warrior as well as a magician, makes a long voyage in Rata’s famousnbsp;canoe to avenge him. The account of his arrival at the house where thenbsp;tragedy has taken place, the disguise devised for him by his aunt whonbsp;meets him secretly on his landing, and the scene in which he revealsnbsp;himself to the murderers, extinguishes the fires, and under cover ofnbsp;darkness seizes his father’s bones and makes good his escape, togethernbsp;with his aunt, are all vividly described in the Maori version of the saganbsp;which we are following.^ The story of Apakura is widely known throughout the western and southern Pacific, notably in Samoa, Rarotonga,nbsp;Maori, and Moriori traditions. In these traditions she figures as anbsp;famous mourner, and many tangis * or mournful chants are attributednbsp;to her.5

' J.P.S. XIX, p. 149 f. With this version we may compare the one from Aitutaki recorded by Gill, Myths, p. 142 ff. Cf. also versions from Tahiti and Paumotu recordednbsp;by Henry, A.T. p. 481 ff.; and from New Zealand by Grey, p. 79 ff. and by Shortland,nbsp;p. 67 ff. In the Tahiti and Paumotu versions, the monsters of the deep are overcomenbsp;by Rata himself; in the Maori, by his son. An obscure reference to the use of thenbsp;kite by the tohunga in navigation doubtless lies behind the Mangaian traditionnbsp;recorded by Gill, Myths, p. 287; cf. also ib. p. 123.

’ A detailed account of the kite-flying activities of Tawhaki’s family and a discussion of their significance has been published by Chadwick in the J.R.AJ’nbsp;Lxi (1931), p. 455ff.; cf. also ib. lx (1930), p. 425ff.

3 Andersen, p. i8off.

¦* The tangi is often translated as ‘lament’, owing no doubt to the mournful tone in which the chant is sung; but it does not appear that the words recited necessarilynbsp;bear any sorrowful interpretation, though the tangi is very commonly recited onnbsp;solemn, and even mournful occasions, such as a death, or a parting. But it is equallynbsp;readily recited at the reunion of friends or relatives after long absence, though onnbsp;the latter occasions the impression made by the recital on the mind of a Europeannbsp;is no less mournful, owing to the tones of the chant. The word apakura is also usednbsp;in Maori to denote an ‘elegy’.

5 For a brief account of Apakura, and an enumeration of some of the variant versions of traditions relating to her, and her hardly less famous son Whakatau, seenbsp;Smith, Hawaiki, p. 201 ff.; J’./’.J’. xviii, p. i39ff.

NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY

277

It will be seen that all the heroes of the line of Tawhaki are great navigators and formidable adversaries. Their canoes are the mostnbsp;famous in Polynesian legend, and all the members of this great familynbsp;are ready to undertake journeys of the most difficult and dangerous kindnbsp;in order to rescue—dead or alive—their relatives who have beennbsp;carried off, or to exact vengeance for insults or injuries. Yet they are notnbsp;warriors in the true sense of the word. Their ends are achieved bynbsp;magic rather than by valour. It is by superior knowledge rather thannbsp;by prowess that they succeed in overcoming their enemies, especially bynbsp;knowledge of charms and of physical science. They are skilled innbsp;observations of the weather and in sailing directions, and especially innbsp;meteorics, and in the allied art or science of kite-flying, which, in its morenbsp;highly skilled forms, implies a knowledge of both. They are accordinglynbsp;said to be able to ‘control’ the winds. In Mangaian versions especiallynbsp;they are closely associated with the stars and the Heavenly bodies.

Apart from innumerable versions of the Cycle of Tawhaki and his descendants, we have also from different parts of the Pacific a number ofnbsp;stories which bear so close a general resemblance to this Cycle as almostnbsp;to constitute another series of variants in themselves. Whether this isnbsp;in reality the case, or whether these analogous stories are quite independent in literary origin, though similar in theme, could not benbsp;determined in a survey like the present. The question depends largely onnbsp;historical and theological data, and on considerations as to the extent tonbsp;which the customs and beliefs of the past are responsible for the mythnbsp;and ritual reflected in the traditions of the various Groups in the Pacificnbsp;today. This series of stories, and the interesting problem to which theynbsp;give rise, may be illustrated by a brief account of two of the more outstanding examples, that of Aukele from the northern and of Ngarunbsp;from the Central Pacific.

The saga of Aukele immediately precedes that of Moikeha in the Fomander Collection^ of Hawaiian sagas, and it may be assumed,nbsp;therefore, that he is traditionally believed to have lived about 1100.^ Henbsp;is the youngest of his brothers, whose envy he arouses by his beautynbsp;and prowess, and by whom he is cast down a deep pit. Here, however,nbsp;he finds his ancestress, who undertakes his education in all mattersnbsp;pertaining to a sage and mantic person; and when at a later date henbsp;emerges from the pit, and accompanies his brothers on a long voyage,nbsp;he acts as the tohunga, and overcomes the perils of the sea by his manticnbsp;powers, while his brothers perish through neglect of his counsel. Onnbsp;* Vol. IV, p. 32 If.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Smith, Hawaiki, p. 22 f.

278

coming ashore he marries a supernatural woman, the cousin of the goddesses Pele and Hiiaka, after which he undertakes various supernatural adventures. Among the chief of these are his encounters withnbsp;supernatural birds, which resemble Tawhaki’s adventures with thenbsp;Ponaturi, and his journey to the Underworld to steal the water of Kanenbsp;(Tane), which restores the dead to life. In the former adventure he isnbsp;assisted by the god Lono whom he invariably carries with him in a box,nbsp;and who acts as his tutelary genius throughout life; in the latternbsp;adventure he is advised by his supernatural wife, whose knowledge ofnbsp;the topography of the Heavens and the Underworld is evidently muchnbsp;greater than his own. Like many other heroes who make the journeynbsp;to the supernatural regions, he is also assisted by dead ancestors whomnbsp;he meets on his route.

In Mangaia the adventures of Ngaru* resemble those of Tawhaki and of Aukele in their main features. Like them, the hero is educated by annbsp;ancestor underground, and like theirs his adventures consist of an initialnbsp;encounter with monsters in this world, followed by a journey, first tonbsp;the Underworld, and then to the Heavens. Here also his destiny isnbsp;governed by his wives, the four daughters of Miru, who are representednbsp;as binding and trussing their husband as the Mangaians treated a bodynbsp;for burial, and as carrying him to the underground oven of Miru, thenbsp;blind ogress of the Underworld in Mangaian myth. The hero escapes,nbsp;like Tawhaki, by catching hold of a fibrous plant growing in thenbsp;Underworld, and making his way, first to a land known as Taumareva,nbsp;‘ where fruits and flowers grow profusely, and the inhabitants excel innbsp;flute-playing’, and thence to earth. His last exploit consists in allowingnbsp;himself to be drawn up to Heaven in the great basket of the sky demonnbsp;Amai-te-rangi, whom he slays with the help of a number of little lizardsnbsp;dispatched by his grandfather for the purpose.

The adventures of the hero next to be considered are of a totally different type from those of Tawhaki, Aukele, or Ngaru. The story ofnbsp;Ono-kura is known only in the Central Pacific. Like many of thenbsp;stories which we have been considering, it has been preserved in bothnbsp;heroic and non-heroic forms, according to the milieu from which it hasnbsp;been recorded. One version from Rarotonga is said to be among thenbsp;longest and most elaborate Polynesian sagas which we possess, and tonbsp;be interspersed with songs, many of which are couched in a form ofnbsp;diction so archaic as to render translation almost impossible.^ Another

’ Gill, Mytks^ p. 225 ff.

’ See Smith, Hawaiki, p. 223 f., where a brief summary of this version is given.

279 version from Ra’iatea is also a very elaborate piece of narrative,nbsp;consisting of an intermixture of prose and verse, even the prose beingnbsp;in a highly poetical and archaic diction? Important versions havenbsp;been recorded also from the Marquesas,^ the Paumotu Archipelago,^nbsp;and Mangaia? It is curious, therefore, that no version of the story,nbsp;and no occurrence of the name, seems to have been recorded from eithernbsp;Hawaii or New Zealand? The position of the hero in the Rarotongannbsp;pedigrees would entitle him, on the usual computation (cf. p. 237, footnote 6 above), to a date about 1100; but his absence from the northernnbsp;and southern Groups suggests that he was not known to the Centralnbsp;Pacific before the fourteenth century.

The version from Ra’iatea represents the hero as a sage and recluse possessed of supernatural powers, although a warrior of great prowess.nbsp;The story relates the arrival of his ancestors in Tahiti, and there seemsnbsp;to be a general agreement that Ono was not a native (see p. 280 below).nbsp;His childhood is such as is commonly ascribed to mantic persons in thenbsp;Pacific, both in custom and legend. He is the youngest son of hisnbsp;parents, born under peculiar circumstances, and placed in a cave wherenbsp;he grows to manhood, like the last high priest of Rarotonga.^ Here,nbsp;like Aukele (see above), he acquires a familiar spirit, which becomes hisnbsp;constant companion through life. His relations with his mother arenbsp;peculiar and obscure, but they seem to resemble those between Mauinbsp;and his own mother (cf. p. 284 f. below), and like Maui he is reproachednbsp;by his elder brothers for his disrespectful treatment of her, and perhapsnbsp;for his too great intimacy with her.7

' This version was published by W. W. Gill in J-P-S. iv, p. 2lt;j6S., where a translation by Miss Teuira Henry is also given. See also Henry, A.T. p. 516,nbsp;footnote.

’ Handy, M.L. p. io4ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 Henry, A.T. p. 5i6ff.

Gill, Myths, p. 81 ff.

3 Smith suggests that the hero was perhaps known to these Groups under another name; but if this were so the stories connected with him would have been recorded,nbsp;and this does not appear to be the case. There seems to be some evidence fromnbsp;Rarotonga that a certain Naea, a contemporary of Honoura, fled to Hawaii; seenbsp;Henry, A.T. p. 536.

See p. 452 below, and cf. the custom with regard to the youthful heir to the throne of the Gambier Islands, Smith, J.P.S. xxvii, p. 121 ; Caillot, Mythes, p. 150;nbsp;Dumont d’Urville in, p. 428; Cuzent, p. 73 fT.

’ Cf. the Paumotu version at this point, Henry, A.T. p. 523. He is even addressed as Maui (see Henry, A. T. p. 5 20). According to Henry the word means ‘ backwoodsman’, perhaps in relation to the seclusion in which he was brought up; cf. however,nbsp;Gill, J.P.S. V, p. 126.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

Honoura (Onokura) gives evidence of mantic powers already before his period of seclusion in the cave is completed/ and a series of youthfulnbsp;exploits follows, all of which partake of the marvellous. When Kingnbsp;Tangiia’ sails to the eastern islands on warlike expeditions, Honouranbsp;accompanies the ship, and by magic and single combat slays the monstersnbsp;of the deep and the human enemies of the king. When the king isnbsp;wounded Honoura cures him, sucking his wound, pouring medicinenbsp;into it and tending the patient; but he is not a tohunga, for we are toldnbsp;that a tohunga accompanied the expedition, taking with him the conchnbsp;shell trumpet of the god Oro, and the drum of Honoura.^ The distinction is interesting, and is made even clearer when meat is apportioned,nbsp;for we are told that while one portion only is given to the tohunga-,nbsp;Honoura has two portions, one for himself, and one for his familiarnbsp;spirit, whom he is always careful to feed. His association with the godnbsp;Oro is also interesting. His last chant concludes with the words:

O god of the Arioi, Thou art my god.

The areoi are a corporation of men and women closely associated with the god Oro, who by their gaiety and public performances of dance andnbsp;song made a great impression on travellers and missionaries early lastnbsp;century. They will be discussed more fully in a later chapter. In thenbsp;résumé of the story of Ono recorded by Handy from the Marquesas,nbsp;Ono is associated with a band of hoki, a class of people having much innbsp;common with the areoi (cf. p. 434 f. below).

In the version from Mangaia,5 Ono (Honoura, Ono-kura) figures, not as a warrior, nor yet as a magician, but as a foreigner possessed ofnbsp;superior implements and skill, and perhaps also superior intelligence,nbsp;but hardly of a supernatural character. His chief exploit in this brief

' On this passage, see Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lxi, p. 472.

’ For the title, see p. 250, footnote 3 above.

3 In the island of Mangaia and elsewhere the conch shell trumpet was sacred to Oro or Rongo, the drum to Tane. In Hawaii, however, the priest of Tane (Kane)nbsp;appears to have used a conch shell, the drum being introduced into the Group innbsp;relatively recent times from Tahiti (see p. 253 above).

Handy, M.L. p. 104.

5 According to Henry, A.T. p. 532, this version has been blended with the legend of Rata, to which it undoubtedly bears a very close resemblance; but corroborativenbsp;evidence for its association with Ono is not wanting from the western Pacific (seenbsp;above), and the songs relating to the hero are stated by Gill to be the oldest, andnbsp;presumably the best preserved in the island. According to the same tradition Ononbsp;came from Tonga (see Gill, Myths, p. 84).

NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY

281

but sober version consists in cutting down a giant casuarina or ironwood tree which had been imported from Tonga by the members of the immigrant Tonga clan, and which had previously been the dwellingplace of a demon who slew all who attempted to fell it. In this versionnbsp;Ono is represented as an immigrant from Tonga, where, according tonbsp;Gill, the story of Ono was also known. We have not ourselves beennbsp;able to trace the Tongan version, but corroborative evidence may benbsp;seen in the fact that in Tonga the casuarina or iron-wood tree, whichnbsp;figures promimently in the Mangaian version, is specially sacred, and isnbsp;spoken of in Tongan myth as under the guardianship of a man ofnbsp;priestly class, and as the means by which the gods descend to earth.^nbsp;Moreover in Samoa a very similar myth relating to One (Ono .^) andnbsp;certain sacred trees was well known, and apparently here also connected with Tongans.3 According to Gill the Tongan clan introducednbsp;the iron-wood tree into Mangaia.“*

The heroes whom we have hitherto considered may be regarded as having a possible claim to a historical existence in the past, despite thenbsp;fact that they figure as gods in certain versions of the stories with whichnbsp;they are associated, and also despite the large proportion of unhistoricalnbsp;and supernatural matter which appears in these stories. We do not thinknbsp;that any such claim can fairly be made for Maui, the hero of the Cyclenbsp;next to be considered, or for Hina, who is closely associated with him,nbsp;being sometimes represented as his wife, sometimes as his sister. It isnbsp;true that both Maui and Hina appear on the genealogies. The Raro-tongan history represents Maui as a son of Tangaroa, and Hina as anbsp;daughter of Vai-takere, and also wife of Tangaroa. If the Vai-takerenbsp;in question is identical with the person of this name who appears on thenbsp;Rarotongan genealogies, this would place Maui and Hina, according tonbsp;Smith’s computation, as early as the first century a.d.5 Without discussing the probability of this chronology, it may be pointed out thatnbsp;the close connection of Hina with Tinirau cannot be overlooked, andnbsp;that, according to Maori genealogies, Tinirau would have flourishednbsp;about A.D. 500.^ But it is greatly to be doubted if any reliance can benbsp;placed in their historicity, even in regard to the period to which they arenbsp;traditionally ascribed.

It might indeed be argued with a considerable degree of justice that

' Myths, hoc. cit. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Gifford, T.M.T. p. 25ff.

3 Turner, pp. 63, 66. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Myths, pp. 81, 274, footnote 3.

5 See Hawaiki., p. 154, and the table of Rarotongan genealogies, ib. ad fin. Smith, Hawaiki, pp. 166, 283.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

there is little more ground for the historicity of Tawhaki and his family than for that of Maui. Both heroes occur very early in the genealogies;nbsp;both are chiefly associated with supernatural rather than with normalnbsp;human adventures; in several cases their adventures are the same.nbsp;Nevertheless there is a difference. In the first place there is great inconsistency in regard to Maui’s place in the pedigrees, and in his relationship to other names, such as that of Hina, while collateral lines arenbsp;not forthcoming. Moreover, none of the leading royal or noble lines ofnbsp;the Pacific stress any claim to be descended from him, as they do fromnbsp;Tawhaki. It will be seen that Maui’s name generally occurs in a positionnbsp;which would place him many centuries before Tawhaki and his family.nbsp;This would be much earlier than any period for which we have evidencenbsp;for a stable relative chronology in the Pacific. Finally, it will be seen thatnbsp;the stories relating to Maui are very close in their general style to thosenbsp;of folk-tales; and though on a literal interpretation the stories ofnbsp;Tawhaki and Rata carry no conviction, and are fraught throughout withnbsp;the marvellous, a careful comparison of the variant versions fromnbsp;different parts of the Pacific suggests that this is to be attributed in somenbsp;measure to figurative diction, and traditional phraseology, while anbsp;further comparison with the stories contained in the early Japanesenbsp;chronicle known as the Kojiki., and with the oral literature of the shamansnbsp;of the Tatars and other tribes of Central and northern Asia, suggestsnbsp;that these motifs are ancient, and connected in some way with religiousnbsp;ritual. This subject has been discussed by one of us more fully elsewhere,^ and we must not dwell longer on it here, but pass on to give anbsp;brief account of the Cycles of Maui and of Hina.

The stories relating to Maui are recorded from all over the Pacific. Perhaps the largest and most complete Cycle is found in New Zealand,’nbsp;but extensive Cycles have also been recorded from Hawaii,^ the Paumotunbsp;Archipelago,“* and elsewhere. In general the versions of the stories arenbsp;comparatively uniform, the chief variants being generally due, in allnbsp;probability, to the extent and manner in which the highly figurativenbsp;diction of the more ambitious versions of the stories has been interpreted already in many of the native records, and transformed into

' Chadwick, J.R.A.I. loc. cit.

These Maori versions will be found scattered throughout the volumes of the J.P.S. See also Andersen, p. ijaff.

3 See Westervelt, L.M.; cf. further a review of this book by S. P. Smith in J.P.S. XX, p. 35 f.

The most ambitious version, from a literary point of view, is embodied in the narrative and chants from the Paumotu Archipelago recorded by Stimson, L.M.T-

NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY

literal form. In the western Pacific the stories are preserved in a more fragmentary form than elsewhere. Taken as a whole, however, thenbsp;stories of Maui are undoubtedly more numerous than those of any othernbsp;hero. This is no doubt partly due to transference. Many stories whichnbsp;are told in some islands of unspecified or unknown heroes are told innbsp;others of Maui, who has thus become the hero of many stories of which .nbsp;the original hero has been forgotten. When this is said, however, therenbsp;remain from a dozen’ to twenty’ stories of considerable length andnbsp;distinctive form which belong properly to the Maui Cycle. No completenbsp;corpus of stories is, however, recorded in any single repertoire.^

Maui’s ancestors are generally represented in the stories as supernatural beings. According to Maori tradition he is in the sixth generation in descent from a certain Mata-ora and his ‘fairy’ wife Niwa-rekanbsp;(cf. p. 294 below), and his mother is Taranga, a ‘fairy’ of the Underworld, while Rarotongan tradition represents his father as Tangaroa,nbsp;but whether the god, or the human voyager of the same name, is notnbsp;certain.5 In the Paumotu version recorded by Stimson, Ataraganbsp;(Tangaroa) is the name of Maui’s father,^ his mother’s name being Hua-hega. Maui himself is commonly stated to have been born prematurelynbsp;on the seashore, which probably accounts for the small stature constantly attributed to him.7 He is educated first by the sea-deities, thennbsp;by his ‘ancestor’, Tama-nui-ki-te-rangi, after which he rejoins hisnbsp;mother and his brothers.

As he sleeps at night at his mother’s side, he learns that she disappears every morning through a hole in the ground, and he determines tonbsp;follow her. Transforming himself into a wood-pigeon, he descendsnbsp;through the same hole to the Underworld, where he finds his parents.nbsp;His father purifies him at a running stream, and performs the namingnbsp;ceremony over him ƒ but in reciting the karakia or chant, he omits one

‘ See J.P.S. xxxvin, p. 22. This estimate is based principally on Maori material. A useful list of versions and data relating to Maui as published in this Journal is alsonbsp;given here.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;* See Westervelt, loc. cit.

3 An interesting series of Maui stories occurring in a single répertoire is recorded in J.P.S. XXXVIII (1930), p. iff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;'* Andersen, p. 192.

5 See Smith, Hawaiki^ p. 153; and cf. the Hawaiian legends of Maui’s parents recorded by Westervelt, L.M. p. i if.

See Stimson, L.M.T. p. 5 ff.

’ Polynesian tradition persistently associates premature birth and small stature with the ‘fairies’ (see p. 286 below).

* We may compare the performance of a similar rite by the tohunga in New Zealand over pupils in the Whare Wananga. See Best, Maori I, p. 75.

284

name, whence it comes about that Maui incurs the anger of the gods, which is the ultimate cause of his death. Meantime, however, he returnsnbsp;to earth, and teaches his brothers the arts of cultivation, and has manynbsp;further adventures, all tinged with the marvellous. One of the mostnbsp;widespread of these relates how he snares the sun with a noose;nbsp;another tells how he steals fire from a supernatural being in the Underworld. Other stories tell of his kite-flying, his long voyages, and hisnbsp;invention of the calabash of the winds—a native invention of combinednbsp;sextant and compass (cf. p. 275 above); Maui’s fishing exploits form anbsp;whole Cycle in themselves. They relate how he improves eel-spears bynbsp;the addition of barbs; how he invents a new and superior fish-hook;nbsp;how he steals his brothers’ fish. Almost all the Pacific islands relate thatnbsp;they were fished up from the bottom of the sea by Maui. In all thesenbsp;stories he gains his ends by cunning and guile and superior knowledge.nbsp;His sense of honour is very low, and he is the reverse of a heroic figure.nbsp;He rarely fights, and he is chiefly represented in his relations with hisnbsp;own family. Only occasionally is he brought into contact with othernbsp;human beings. His path hardly ever crosses with that of heroes ofnbsp;other Cycles.

The most remarkable of all Maui’s adventures is that in which he enters the Underworld to destroy death.* According to a widespreadnbsp;version of the story* he attempts to enter the body of his great ancestressnbsp;Hine-nui-te-Po, and to emerge through her mouth, passing throughnbsp;the very bowels of death. It is an attempt to be twice born, and therebynbsp;to achieve immortality, both for himself and for mankind as a whole.nbsp;But the attempt fails, and Maui meets his own death just when successnbsp;seems at hand. His failure is attributed by his father to the flaw in thenbsp;karakia or invocation recited at the naming of the hero (p. 283 above).^nbsp;It is interesting to compare with this story, however, that of the ariki

' See Westervelt, L.M. p. 128 ff.; but the myth is apparently best preserved and most widely current among the Maori. For a version differing widely from thenbsp;usual form of the story, see the Paumotu text, Stimson, L.M.T. p. 46 ff.

’ Mem. P.S. IV, p. lyóff.; Grey, p. 39ff.; Andersen, p. 212; J.P.S. xxxvin, p. 13 f.; Westervelt, L.M. p. i28ff.

’ There can be little doubt that the karakia in question is recited as an invocation, whether to the gods, or to Maui’s own ancestors, and that the omission of the namenbsp;brings down on the child the wrath of the ancestor or god whose name is omitted.nbsp;It is interesting to compare the motif in the early Norse saga of Nornagestr, accordingnbsp;to which, when the noms are invited to Nornagestr’s naming ceremony, the youngestnbsp;of them is inadvertently omitted, and in revenge pronounces a curse on him whichnbsp;ultimately proves his undoing. The motif is a common one. See Kershaw, Stonesnbsp;and Ballads of the Far Past (Cambridge, 1922), p. 36.

285 Ngata, son of Tangaroa, recorded from the recital of the last high-priestnbsp;of Rarotonga/ in which a number of relatives of a dead man are said tonbsp;attempt to pass through a corpse as it lies on a raised wooden platform, innbsp;the same manner as Maui. Here also they fail; but the feat is successfullynbsp;accomplished by the ariki^ and the corpse is restored to life.

This strange story contains many features which are also to be met with in other Polynesian traditions of supernatural and mantic personsnbsp;—the premature birth; the fairy mother who disappears at dawn; thenbsp;visit of a hero to the Underworld in search of his wife (for Taranga seemsnbsp;to be Maui’s wife as well as his mother); the contact with water in thenbsp;Underworld in circumstances which give it a peculiar power; the returnnbsp;to earth laden with knowledge and wisdom, especially knowledge ofnbsp;agriculture. Maui’s purification and naming by his father in a cave ornbsp;Underground look like some kind of initiation ceremony through whichnbsp;his elder brothers are not called on to pass, though they gladly availnbsp;themselves of his knowledge. The entire series of experiences has thenbsp;appearance of those undergone by mantic persons.

We do not know any very close parallel to the Maui stories in the Old World. He has some features in common with Brer Rabbit (or hisnbsp;equivalents) of the African folk-tales. He is like him in his smallness,nbsp;his restless activity, his mischievous tendencies, above all in his cunningnbsp;and resourcefulness. Brer Rabbit’s habits, however, are all directednbsp;towards self-interest. Maui’s, on the other hand, are by no means alwaysnbsp;dictated by such motives. Sometimes they are avowedly altruistic, asnbsp;when he snares the sun on behalf of his mother and her industries.^nbsp;Even when they appear to be almost motiveless, as when he steals fire,nbsp;or sails about fishing up islands, mankind in general is benefited by hisnbsp;exploits. He is something of a culture hero.

The Cycle relating to Hina or Ina, who is commonly represented as Maui’s sister, is also very widespread. Stories relating to her have beennbsp;recorded from Groups as far apart as Hawaii and the Chatham Islands,^

' J.P.S. XXVII, p. 180.

* There is probably no Polynesian mythical story in which the supernatural features can be traced so directly and certainly to the literal interpretation of poeticnbsp;figurative diction as this story of Maul’s snaring the sun. For the rational explanation of Maui’s real achievement, see below.

3 According to Tregear {Maori-Polynesian Comparative Dictionary, Wellington, 1891), Hina is ‘by far the best known of all Polynesian legendary personages’. Anbsp;number of variant versions of the whole Cycle of stories relating to Hina, Tinirau,nbsp;Koro, and a certain tohunga called Kae (see p. 288 f. below), etc., are given in annbsp;abridged form in an article by Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lx (1930), p. 425 ff.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

but she appears to be best known in Samoa’ and Tonga? Her exact nature is by no means clear. In certain Maori traditions she is Maui’snbsp;sister, apparently by the same parents.^ According to a tradition fromnbsp;Atiu in the Cook Group, she lived in the sky with her mortal husband.**nbsp;In Mangaia Ina is the name of one of the supernatural maidens inhabiting the sky, the eldest daughter of Kui-the-Blind, and here alsonbsp;one of her brothers is Rupe, ‘the wood-pigeon’;5 but variant traditionsnbsp;of the same island ascribe human parentage to her.® In Paumotunbsp;tradition she is Maui’s wife.’ In the Tahiti Group she is the mother bynbsp;the god Tangaroa of the first two areoi (cf. p. 318 below), the youngernbsp;brothers of the god Kongo.® The word Hina (Samoan Sina) meansnbsp;literally ‘moon’, and it is commonly stated by scholars that Hina is anbsp;moon goddess; but it is doubtful if this view is correct.’ In the greatnbsp;majority of versions her husband is Tinirau (see below).

A widespread tradition represents Hina as prematurely born, and cast into the sea by her mother, whence she is rescued and reared tonbsp;maturity,’® sometimes by her brother Rupe,” sometimes by strangers.nbsp;In Mangaia her parents are said to be the wealthiest people in the land,”

' See e.g. Krämer ii, p. i24ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Gifford, T.M.T. p. iff.

3 Tregear, loc. cit. s.v. Hina. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Andersen, p. 261.

5 Gill, Myths, p. 95 ff. Kui simply means an elderly woman.

lb. p. 88ff.; cf. Andersen, pp. 125, 260.

’ See Caillot, Mythes, p. 105 ff.; Stimson, L.M.T. p. 28ff.

8 Andersen, p. 432.

’ Maui is represented as snaring the sun with ropes made of Hina’s hair, or according to a variant, with ropes made of twisted stalks of green flax. Vegetationnbsp;of various kinds is often referred to as ‘Hina’s hair’, however, and probably Maui’snbsp;real achievement, literally stated, is the introduction of an improved form of artificial light, e.g. wicks formed from the twisted stalks of the flax plant. This wouldnbsp;be quite in accordance with Polynesian figurative diction, and would tally well withnbsp;Maui’s achievement in introducing fire-sticks.

” We may compare the details of the early days of Maui’s life (p. 283 above). This premature birth, and its completion, as it were, by the sea, is commonly foundnbsp;in stories of the offspring of parents of whom one is divine. We may compare thenbsp;Maori story of the premature birth of the daughter of the god Uenuku and thenbsp;human mother Iwi-pupu, recorded from the teaching of the Sage, Mem. P.S. IV,nbsp;p. 176.

“ Rupe is the name of a variety of wild pigeon. The word is said to be in widespread use in Paumotu poetry in a metaphorical sense, to denote the human soul. See Stimson, T.R. p. 125. It is also in common use as a proper name, at least in thenbsp;Cook Group. Elsewhere in Polynesia ‘Rupe’s people’ are synonymous withnbsp;‘messengers of death’, with reference to old women who in mythological traditionnbsp;habitually performed the Caesarian operation on the supernatural wives of the earlynbsp;heroes.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;“ Gill, Myths, p. 88.

287 and a story is told of their entrusting their rich personal ornaments tonbsp;her care; but owing to her indiscretion the treasures are stolen, and Inanbsp;is punished. She leaves the island, riding away on the back of a fish tonbsp;the sacred island of Tinirau,' the lord of all fish, whom she marries.nbsp;Maori and Paumotu traditions 3 assign quite a different reason for Hina’snbsp;departure from her own home.

The most widespread of all the stories associated with Hina is that which tells of her pursuit by the eel. The commonest form of the storynbsp;relates that she is struck by the tail of the eel (Tuna-roa) while she isnbsp;bathing. She tries to leave the place, but the eel follows her everywhere,nbsp;till at last a certain chief succeeds in poisoning him. Before he dies henbsp;bids Hina bury his head and watch the spot. She obeys, and a cocoa-nut tree grows from the head.‘gt; The story has certain features whichnbsp;clearly originate in an antiquarian speculation on the ‘ eyes ’ in the cocoa-nut; but these features seem to be merely incidental. In the Paumotunbsp;narrative and chants of Hina and the eel,5 which offer the most completenbsp;and elaborate statement of the story known to us, the erotic significancenbsp;of the narrative is clearly brought out. On the other hand, in thenbsp;Mangaian variant^ this is somewhat disguised, though there can be nonbsp;doubt as to its presence. Here Hina is brought up in seclusion, doubtlessnbsp;as a puhi (see p. 435 below), and her lover is represented as a humannbsp;being, a ‘ thief’ who comes during her parents’ absence and beguiles thenbsp;inexperienced girl by dressing up in the precious finery entrusted to hernbsp;care, and dancing before her till she is off her guard, after which henbsp;steals her treasures. It should be added that in the Paumotu versionsnbsp;Tuna (‘Eel’) is slain by Maui.

Tinirau is himself a person of great interest. He is almost as widely known as Hina herself, and stories are found relating to him in Tonga, 7nbsp;Samoa,® Mangaia,? New Zealand,'“ and elsewhere. In Mangaia he isnbsp;known as the lord of all fish, and is said to be a brother of Vatea,” and

’ Tinirau is said to mean literally ‘forty millions’, and is used figuratively to denote a large number, doubtless with reference to the fish in the sea round thenbsp;‘Sacred Isle’. See Gill, Myths, p. 95.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ See Grey, p. 35if.

3 See Caillot, Mythes, p. 95; Stimson, L.M.T. p. 28 if.

'• Among many other references to this form of the story we may refer to Turner, p. 242if. (Samoa); Caillot, Mythes, p. 104if. (Paumotus); cf. also Westervelt, L.M.nbsp;p. 96f.; for Maori variants, see ib. p. 9iff.

’ Stimson, L.M.T. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;‘ Gill, Myths, loc. cit.

’ Gifford, T.M.T. p. i8iff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Krämer I, p. iiyff.

’ Gill, Myths, p. 94. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Grey, p. 58ff.

“ Gill, nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;(1890), p. 633, footnote 3.

ORAL LITERATURE OF POLYNESIA

to have been himself partly of fish form? He is possessed of several pools of clear water in which he is accustomed to admire his ownnbsp;reflection. He also possesses two pet whales. Although married tonbsp;Hina, he also has other wives, for fear of whom he keeps Hina hiddennbsp;until the time their child shall be born. Some stories relate that thesenbsp;other wives learn of this, and come to kill Hina, who saves herself bynbsp;murmuring a karakia? In Moriori tradition we learn that Rupe’snbsp;people—the wood-pigeons—come and carry off Hina and her child asnbsp;well.3 Rupe’s beak is red with her blood, and in this version it is clearnbsp;that Hina belongs to the ‘fairy’ women who are forced to die on thenbsp;birth of their first child (cf. p. 286 above). The matter is set forth innbsp;plainer terms in a Marquesan variant,'* according to which Hina belongsnbsp;to a community consisting wholly of females, among whom old age andnbsp;natural birth are alike unknown, the child being taken from the mothernbsp;by two priests {tuhuna)^ also known as arzza, who use knives formed ofnbsp;sharks’ teeth. The death of the mother invariably follows. In this storynbsp;Kae, the husband of Hina, is the first to teach how a child may be bornnbsp;naturally, thus saving Hina’s life. A very similar version of the storynbsp;was current also in ancient Japan.5

The son of Hina and Tinirau is Koro. Koro’s naming ceremony is performed by the tohunga Kae, who is summoned from Tonganbsp;by Tinirau for the purpose. Kae has already been referred to as thenbsp;husband of Hina in Marquesan tradition and his story is relatednbsp;below. Koro sometimes lives with his father in the north ofnbsp;Mangaia, though the real home of both is on Motu-tapu, ‘ the sacrednbsp;isle’.^ ^One story relates how he secretly follows his father to thenbsp;seashore, and watches him summon all the fish by means of anbsp;karakia, and of cocoa-nuts ritually gathered. First the little fish of thenbsp;reefs, then the deep sea fish, and finally the island Motu-tapu itself, withnbsp;its ponds and tame fish, come to his call. All assemble on Motu-tapu,nbsp;and the fish proceed to change into a partial semblance of humannbsp;beings, and dance together with Tinirau the famous dance tautiti, anbsp;graceful dance much in favour in Mangaia and elsewhere, in whichnbsp;hands and feet move simultaneously J The origin of this dance is

’ Gill, Myths, p. 4f. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ J-P-S. V, p. 133.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;3 JhH,

Handy, M.L. p. 56ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 See J.R.A.I. lx, p. 437.

At Ngatangiia, Rarotonga, there is an islet overgrown with cocoa-nut trees so named; but according to Gill this is a modern identification, the true Motu-tapunbsp;being in ‘the shades’; Myths, p. 5, footnote i.

’ Gill, Myths, p. looff.

NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;289

ascribed to Tautiti, the son of the blind old woman of the Underworld.“

Before leaving the Cycle of Tinirau, a word may be said of the hero and tohimga Kae, who is closely associated with him, and who is himselfnbsp;a very interesting figure for various reasons. The story of Kae and hisnbsp;relations with Sinilau (Tinirau) is current in Tonga both in prose andnbsp;in poetry. According to the prose version,^ a certain king Loan takesnbsp;two tohungas with him on a voyage, one of whom is Kae. When thenbsp;canoe is in danger of being cast on a reef, Kae swims ashore, and reachesnbsp;the court of Sinilau, who is here represented as the ruler of Samoa,nbsp;though he is more often represented in the Pacific as a sea-god. Whennbsp;Kae desires to be sent back to Tonga, Sinilau has him conveyed on twonbsp;pet whales on condition that the whales shall be sent back loaded withnbsp;tribute; but Kae deals treacherously, and, on arriving in Tonga, henbsp;instigates the islanders to kill and eat the pets. One of the whalesnbsp;escapes to Samoa, however, with spears and axes sticking in its back,nbsp;and Sinilau, naturally enraged, has Kae captured in his sleep, andnbsp;eventually killed and eaten. Many supplementary details might be addednbsp;to this story, both from the Tongan poem, and from the many variantsnbsp;current in Samoa,^ Rarotonga,“* New Zealand,5 the Marquesas,^ andnbsp;elsewhere, and a fuller discussion of the whole story and its ramificationsnbsp;and variants has been published elsewhere.7 The story is told withnbsp;rich humour, especially in Tonga, and is one of the best pieces ofnbsp;Polynesian story-telling known to us.

We would, however, call the reader’s attention once more to the very interesting and close parallel to our story afforded by a portion of thenbsp;Japanese chronicle known as the Kojiki, to which reference has alreadynbsp;been made, as well as to a story which occurs in the modern mythologynbsp;of Ongtong Java. A story resembling our story of Kae and his relationsnbsp;with Sinilau, even down to minute particulars, is related in the former innbsp;connection with the hero ‘Fire-fade’. In this narrative many othernbsp;incidents closely resembling the stories of Sinilau and Hina also occurnbsp;in close juxtaposition, including a close parallel to that of the birth ofnbsp;Hina’s child, and of the origin of the dance tautiti, and there can be nonbsp;doubt that the Japanese and the Polynesian traditions are merely variantnbsp;versions of a single story or Cycle.nbsp;Spacenbsp;willnbsp;not permit us to discuss

' Ib. p. 186, footnote i; cf. ib. p. 256. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’nbsp;Gifford, T.M.T. p.nbsp;4of.

* Turner, p. no; Krämer I, p. 128. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;*nbsp;J.P.S. vill, p. 172.

5 Ib. loc. cit. footnote i; Grey, p. 65 ff. ; Shortland, p. 64 ff.

Handy, M.L. p. 56 ff. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Chadwick, J.R.A.I. lx (1930), p. 433 f.

CLiii

19

290

these variants and their relations to the Polynesian tradition more fully here. These have been discussed in some detail elsewhere/nbsp;and here we must content ourselves with merely emphasising oncenbsp;more the importance of the study of early Japanese texts—both thenbsp;Kojiki and others—in connection with Polynesian oral literature. Itnbsp;is to be doubted if the isolation of Polynesia has been as great in thenbsp;past as has been generally supposed, and there can be no doubt that anbsp;comparative study of early Japanese and modern Polynesian literaturenbsp;would be illuminating to both.

The heroes whom we have hitherto considered in this chapter may be described, with the exception of Aukele of Hawaii, and Ngaru ofnbsp;Mangaia, as international. That is to say, they are widespread overnbsp;the Pacific. We will conclude with some references to heroes whosenbsp;traditions we have not met outside a single Group, or a restricted area.nbsp;In general their adventures will not differ materially from those alreadynbsp;discussed, though they are for the most part more restricted in scope.nbsp;The majority consist of adventures in the Heavens or the Underworld.nbsp;Journeys to the Underworld are undertaken in order to rescue the soulnbsp;of a dead person. Stories are not uncommon, however, in which anbsp;person makes the journey to the land of the dead and returns to earthnbsp;without the help of a living person. A story is recorded by Shortlandnbsp;from the Maoris near Lake Rotorua of a woman who entered the abodenbsp;of spirits and then returned to her relatives and related her experiences.nbsp;The story is of especial interest as relating to the aunt of Shortland’s ownnbsp;servant.

An aunt of this man (Te Wharewera) died in a solitary hut near the banks of Lake Rotorua. Being a lady of rank she was left in her hut, thenbsp;door and windows were made fast, and the dwelling was abandoned, asnbsp;her death had made it tapu. But a day or two after, Te Wharewera withnbsp;some others paddling in a canoe near the place at early morning saw anbsp;figure on the shore beckoning to them. It was the aunt come to lifenbsp;again, but weak and cold and famished. When sufficiently restored bynbsp;their timely help, she told her story. Leaving her body, her spirit hadnbsp;taken flight toward the North Cape, and arrived at the entrance of Reinga.nbsp;There, holding on by the stem of the creeping akeake-plant, she descended the precipice, and found herself on the sandy beach of a river.nbsp;Looking round, she espied in the distance an enormous bird, taller thannbsp;a man, coming towards her with rapid strides. This terrible object sonbsp;frightened her, that her first thought was to try to return up the steepnbsp;¦ See the references on p. 289, footnote 7 above.

NON-HEROIC SAGA AND POETRY nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;29I

cliff; but seeing an old man paddling a small canoe towards her she ran to meet him, and so escaped the bird. When she had been safely ferriednbsp;across, she asked the old Charon, mentioning the name of her family,nbsp;where the spirits of her kindred dwelt. Following the path the old mannbsp;pointed out, she was surprised to find it just such a path as she had beennbsp;used to on earth; the aspect of the country, the trees, shrubs, and plantsnbsp;were all familiar to her. She reached the village, and among the crowdnbsp;assembled there she found her father and many near relations; theynbsp;saluted her, and welcomed her with the wailing chant which Maorisnbsp;always address to people met after long absence. But when her fathernbsp;had asked about his living relatives, and especially about her own child,nbsp;he told her she must go back to earth, for no one was left to take care ofnbsp;his grandchild. By his orders she refused to touch the food that the deadnbsp;people offered her, and in spite of their efforts to detain her, her fathernbsp;got her safely into the canoe, crossed with her, and parting gave hernbsp;from under his cloak two enormous sweet potatoes to plant at home fornbsp;his grandchild’s special eating. But as she began to climb the precipicenbsp;again, two pursuing infant spirits pulled her back, and she only escapednbsp;by flinging the roots at them, which they stopped to eat, while shenbsp;scaled the rock by help of the akeake-stem, till she reached the earth andnbsp;flew back to where she had left her body.’

Stories are common in the Marquesas also which relate the journeys of heroes to the realms of the dead to rescue the souls of their wives.nbsp;The hero Kena makes the journey twice, bringing his wife back to earthnbsp;in a basket. In order to reach the spirits of the dead which ‘dwell’ innbsp;the fourth Hawaiki, Kena has to make a long journey with a companionnbsp;through three previous Hawaikis in a canoe. Here he meets with manynbsp;adventures, being detained by strange women. On one occasion hisnbsp;mother descends as far as the second Hawaiki to rescue him and hisnbsp;companion from the female chief of this region who is about to stranglenbsp;and roast them. He narrowly escapes death at the entrance to the fourthnbsp;Hawaiki from “ two great rocks which continually clash together andnbsp;swing apart, so that anyone trying to pass is in danger of being crushed.”nbsp;Kena escapes, but his companion is crushed to death.^ The atmospherenbsp;of this Polynesian canoe voyage is strangely similar to that of thenbsp;adventures of Odysseus. Haha-Poa is another hero who journeys tonbsp;Hawaiki to rescue his wife, but this time the journey is made downwards,nbsp;through the ground. The stages of the journey are described with anbsp;’ Shortland, p. 150.

* Handy, M.L. p. iiyff.

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similar wealth of incident.’ All these journeys of mortals to the abode of the dead bear a striking resemblance to stories of the visits of mortalsnbsp;to the Underworld in the oral literature and ritual of the Tatars (cf.nbsp;pp. 81 ff. and 206 ff. above), and to the stories related in the Japanesenbsp;Chronicle, the Kojiki.

Bastian relates a story of a certain Hawaiian chief who journeys to Miru’s realm to rescue the soul of his wife.^ In order to do this he enlistsnbsp;the help of a priest who furnishes him with a god called Kane-i-kon-aliinbsp;to guide him. The god rubs him all over with stinking oil so that he maynbsp;pass unobserved as a corpse in Miru’s realm. The chief finds the deadnbsp;engaged in noisy and tumultuous sports in which he joins, and by a rusenbsp;succeeds in temporarily blinding them and rescuing his wife from thenbsp;realm of Akea or Wakea. In this story the realm of Akea appears tonbsp;lie beyond Miru’s realm, through which however it is necessary to pass.

Samoa, on the other hand, abounds in stories of the visits of mortals to the Heavens. In these the object of the visit is different from that ofnbsp;the visits of mortals to the Underworld, for the heroes generally returnnbsp;to earth, not with a rescued wife, but loaded with useful fruits andnbsp;vegetables. A local legend of Lefanga^ recalls one of these visits, relatingnbsp;how nine men journey to the Heavens, and are challenged by the gods tonbsp;a series of ordeals, in which they themselves are to compete as rivals. Innbsp;ail of these ordeals the men are successful, and the gods have to pay thenbsp;forfeit. The story has points of close resemblance with the Dyaknbsp;account of‘Klieng’s War Raid to the Skies ’ (see p. 480 ff. below), and withnbsp;many Tatar stories in which the hero enters into competitive sports withnbsp;divine or supernatural beings dwelling in the various spheres of thenbsp;Heavens. Strictly speaking this story should be treated among thosenbsp;which relate to unknown heroes; but its affinities clearly lie with thenbsp;present series, and more especially with the next story to be considered.

This legend** relates how two of the Tangaloans, or gods dwelling in the skies, steal some birds belonging to a chief named Lu, whonbsp;pursues them through nine Heavens; but when they reach the tenthnbsp;Heaven Tangaloa (Tangaroa) appears, and warns them that the placenbsp;which they have reached is a great sanctuary, where no strife is permitted. Lu tells him of the theft, and in compensation Tangaloa grantsnbsp;him his daughter in marriage on condition that he will return with hernbsp;peaceably to earth. The picture of the successive Heavens, with thenbsp;sanctuary ruled by the highest god, and his bestowal of his ‘daughter’,nbsp;’ Handy, M.L. p. iziff. ’ Bastian, p. 265f.; cf. Frazer, Belief, p. 430.nbsp;3 Turner, p. 249ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;lb. p. izf.

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is again strikingly similar to motifs which recur frequently in Tatar poetry, and to the Tatar conceptions of the Heavens? Anothernbsp;Samoan story,perhaps a variant of the last, relates a war raid to thenbsp;skies made by a chief named Losi, who returns to earth victorious,nbsp;bringing with him toro, cocoa-nuts, and ’ava? In this story, however,nbsp;as in all Samoan stories of this class, the heroes are successful by guilenbsp;and not by violence. The Tangaloans are able to keep warfare at leastnbsp;out of the tenth or uppermost Heaven. We may compare the Maorinbsp;conception of the tenth Heaven as the place where lived Rehua, thenbsp;‘Lord of Loving-kindness’, with a large host of attendant deities.“*

A large class of non-heroic stories treats of the relations of mortals with supernatural beings known by various names—e.g. in Newnbsp;Zealand turehu, patu-paiarehe^ etc., in Mangaia tapairu. The wordnbsp;twehu^ is often translated by English writers as ‘ fairies ’,® but it seemsnbsp;to be used in a wide sense of supernatural beings, generally, though notnbsp;invariably, distinct from gods or divine beings. These ‘fairies’ are oftennbsp;small and fair, and are said to haunt the hills,? even when their home isnbsp;underground. In Mangaia the tapairu are sometimes spoken of as thenbsp;daughters of Miru, the mistress of the Underworld, and their dwellingsnbsp;are sometimes underground, sometimes in Heaven.^ The habits of allnbsp;these supernatural beings are nocturnal, and they themselves arenbsp;generally ignorant of cooked food. The two last features are very prominent in both Maori and Marquesan stories. In these Groups also thenbsp;‘fairies’ are commonly said to be ignorant of the natural means of birth,nbsp;having always been subjected to the Caesarian operation, which is saidnbsp;to have involved the death of the mother with the birth of the first child.nbsp;In the Marquesas tradition relates that a god teaches them how the lifenbsp;of a mother may be saved by natural birth.9 The Mangaian andnbsp;Marquesan ‘fairies’ are cave-dwellers; but the Maori ‘fairies’ are a verynbsp;varied class of beings, and are sometimes represented as minute in size,nbsp;and as living in the trees like birds. It is clear therefore that there are manynbsp;distinctive features associated with these strange beings, which requirenbsp;explanation, but we must reserve further discussion to a later chapter.

’ See the study of ‘ The Religious Beliefs and Experiences of the Tatars of Central Asia’, by Chadwick in J.R.A.I. lxvi (1936), p. 320ff.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;’ Turner, p. 105.

’ 'Ava is the Samoan form of kava, for which see p. 258, footnote 2 above. Reeves, p. 65.nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;5 See p. 328 f. below.

See Tregear, Dictionary, s.v.-, Williams, Dictionary, ‘Ghost’, ‘fairy’. See also p. 328 f. below.

’ See Cowan, P.H. and F.F.T. passim-. Gill, Myths, p. 256fr.

’ Gill, loc. cit. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;9 See Handy, M.L. p. 56 ff.

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The most interesting and the most numerous class of stories of this kind relate to the rescue of a fairy wife by her husband. Such is thenbsp;Maori story of Mata-ora, who is held to be the ancestor of the Taranakinbsp;tribe in the sixth generation from Maui, and whose wife, the beautifulnbsp;Niwa-reka, like Maui’s mother, belongs to the tuTchu, or ‘fairies’. Onenbsp;day, Mata-ora strikes her in anger, and she flees to her father in thenbsp;Underworld. As her husband follows her, he is met on his route by thenbsp;fan-tailed bird, who tells him that a woman has passed by, downcastnbsp;and sobbing. Later he is met by his father-in-law, who, in punishment,nbsp;has him tattooed in a peculiarly painful manner; but Niwa-reka hearsnbsp;his cries, and nurses him back to health, and the two return to earthnbsp;together.’

In the story of Tura,^ also from New Zealand, the situation is reversed, the hero going to live with his fairy wife. Tura is a friend and companionnbsp;of the voyager Whiro, who is believed to have lived about the thirteenthnbsp;century, and the hero therefore belongs to the period of the Greatnbsp;Migrations. He lands alone on an island called Otea, where he meets thenbsp;blind woman, Ruahine-mata-morari, who seems to be acting in thenbsp;capacity of chaperon to the fairies, and who grants him permission tonbsp;marry one of them, her own daughter. These fairies are described asnbsp;atua, ‘spirits’, and are said to be very small and kindly, and to dwell innbsp;the trees like birds. In their land both natural birth and natural death arenbsp;unknown. When a child is to be born, it is cut from its mother’s sidenbsp;by old women; and old men are never seen in that land, nor grey hairsnbsp;on anyone. And when Tura’s hairs begin to go grey he is forced tonbsp;depart to the coast and live in seclusion. We may compare the Marquesannbsp;version of the story of Kae (see p. 289 above), in which it is related thatnbsp;when grey hairs appear, Kae leaves his wife Hina, and the communitynbsp;of women—evidently ‘fairies’—among whom he is living, and returnsnbsp;to his own land. It is clear that in spirit land there is no old age.

In the Rarotongan story of Ati and Tapairu,^ as in Mangaian traditions,“* the land of spirits is separated from that of mortals by water,nbsp;the fairy in this case coming from the Underworld through a spring.nbsp;Here also the ‘fairy’ wife, the tapairu,^ who is a daughter of Miru, tellsnbsp;her husband that in her own land children can only be born by means ofnbsp;the Caesarian operation, causing the death of the mother. In certain

’ Mem. P.S. HI, p. i82ff,; cf. Reeves, p. 66f.; Andersen, p. 288f.

’ Andersen, op. cit. p. 115 f.

3 Gill, Myths, p. 265ff.; cf. Andersen, p. iiQff. ¦* Gill, Myths, p. 2^6f.

5 For the word tapairu, see p. 293 above, and p. 328 f. below.

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Maori traditions a fairy husband marries a mortal wife, and lives with her on earth. Thus in certain stories,^ Hina is the mortal wife of Miru,nbsp;who is here represented, not as a woman, but a man, a chief in thenbsp;Underworld, the principal teacher in the supernatural counterpart ofnbsp;the Maori -whare kura, or house of learning, to which fuller referencenbsp;will be made later. Strangely enough, however, Miru returns to hisnbsp;own supernatural sphere after the birth of the second son; and he takesnbsp;with him as his permanent wife, not the mother of his sons, who is leftnbsp;behind on earth with her two boys, but her younger sister. This is tonbsp;some extent in accordance with the original design of the parents ofnbsp;the girls; for we are told that the elder sister had been set apart by hernbsp;parents as a puhi, a virgin, and had lived in a separate house by herselfnbsp;before Miru discovered and fell in love with her. Possibly her unionnbsp;with him and the birth of their children did not entirely release her fromnbsp;this restriction.

It will be seen that the personnel of this chapter falls in the main into two classes. The first consists of heroes known throughout an extensivenbsp;area, the second of heroes whose fame is more or less restricted to anbsp;single group. All the heroes of whichever group acquire their fame innbsp;virtue of supernatural achievements, or at least of marriage with anbsp;supernatural being. Of these achievements the most frequent and thenbsp;most striking are the journeys to the Heavens and to the realm of Miru,nbsp;or some other region often located below ground; but sometimesnbsp;journeys to the land of supernatural beings are said to be taken undernbsp;water, or across the sea, and in some of these the spirits are representednbsp;as living on the same plane as ourselves. In general the journeysnbsp;possess many striking features in common. In fact a marked similaritynbsp;characterises the stories of this class as a whole. For the most part,nbsp;however, the achievements of the heroes known throughout a wide areanbsp;are more grandiose and varied than those known only to their ownnbsp;Group. It is from these more resplendent characters that the ruling linesnbsp;of chiefs are proud to trace their descent.

The heroes themselves are closely associated with the gods, or the ‘fairies’, either by parentage, or marriage, or both. Marriage within thenbsp;first degree is not infrequently stated or implied. The heroes are not as

“ Cowan, F.F.T. p. 24 ff.; cf. Best, Maori i, p. 323 FF. It is interesting that among the Dyaks we hear of‘fairy goddesses’ who live among the waterfalls, and who, likenbsp;the tapairu (cf. Gill, Myths, p. 256), are noted for their long hair; see Howell,nbsp;Sarawak M.J. I, p. 25 and footnote 31, where they are referred to among thenbsp;occupants of the land of the dead.

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a rule stated to be gods themselves, at any rate during their lifetime; but this is not an invariable rule by any means, and on this point the evidencenbsp;is obscure and inconsistent. Their birth and earliest appearance amongnbsp;mankind is often abnormal and premature, and they are never describednbsp;as dying—never, that is to say, save in the case of Maui. Maui’s greatestnbsp;adventure is a failure; for he dies in seeking rebirth. Death amidnbsp;normal surroundings appears to be unknown.

It has been said that the names of heroes and heroines of these stories are frequently found in the genealogies of the chiefs, even when theynbsp;are said to be of divine parentage. Such names generally occur early innbsp;the lines—earlier than those of the chiefs of the Migration Period. Butnbsp;such heroes are never primarily warriors or leaders of men. They rarelynbsp;fight with weapons. They achieve their ends by supernatural means.nbsp;They possess knowledge in a greater degree than their fellows, and use itnbsp;in general for the public good. They do not, however, figure to anynbsp;considerable extent in relation to the community, or to large bodies ofnbsp;people. The stories are purely individual in their interest, and the personal interest rarely extends beyond the family.

The knowledge acquired by the heroes is not attained by application or experience, but by revelation, generally in the Heavens or the Underworld. A period of seclusion often takes place, either in a cave or innbsp;the ‘Underworld’ in early life, sometimes accompanied by ritualnbsp;observances. The Maui stories make it clear that these initial ceremoniesnbsp;are analogous in some essential features to those which were undergonenbsp;by the last high priest of Rarotonga, and by certain rulers in the Paumotunbsp;Archipelago, as well as to those undergone by the pupils of the Maorinbsp;Whare Wananga, or school of sacred learning, to which fuller referencenbsp;will be made below. Our stories make it clear that this early period ofnbsp;seclusion and special ‘education’ is not allotted to all, and that only anbsp;small proportion of men undergo it, though the basis of selection is notnbsp;actually stated. It seems to be most commonly associated with thenbsp;youngest son, and very frequently with abnormal birth.

The knowledge in which these heroes excel consists largely of physical science. Tawhaki, Rata, Maui are all experts in meteorics, and are allnbsp;good kite-fliers. Tawhaki has power over the rain-storm, and the winds.nbsp;To Maui is attributed the innovation of the calabash of the winds, whichnbsp;is now known to possess an actual scientific value in navigation. Ratanbsp;also succeeds on his voyages by means of a magic calabash. He alsonbsp;has control over the winds and is associated with a sacred tree or grovenbsp;over which also he possesses supernatural control, and we cannot

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doubt that he was originally conceived of as the guardian of a sacred forest, such as we know to have existed in Samoa. In Mangaian mythsnbsp;especially the stars and heavenly bodies are very prominent, and heroesnbsp;are commonly associated with them in various ways. Aukelenuiaikunbsp;easily finds his way from one heavenly body to another. Many heroesnbsp;make use of the path of the rainbow.

In addition to their knowledge of the Universe, and command over the elements, the heroes also frequently bring back with them fromnbsp;their sojourn in the Heavens or the Underworld knowledge of a morenbsp;practical, or at least a more concrete kind, such as knowledge of newnbsp;food plants, new kinds of timber, improved methods of agriculture, newnbsp;methods of tattooing. They also bring back knowledge of times andnbsp;seasons and the calendar. While in Heaven they frequently engage innbsp;contests against the gods in games of skill and in warfare—these, however, only on the lower planes of the Heavens. The heroes are oftennbsp;victorious; and sometimes they bring a divine wife back to earth tonbsp;dwell with them among mortals ; but whatever their object, they alwaysnbsp;return to earth wiser in natural science than they were before.

It will be seen that the arts which these heroes are represented as acquiring with such difficulty and danger, and which they use for thenbsp;benefit of society, are the arts of peace and prosperity. No benefitsnbsp;could be greater to islanders living without metal in scattered islandsnbsp;than improved food supplies, improved timber, and knowledge ofnbsp;forestry, and improved knowledge of the elements and the sea. Thenbsp;evidence therefore suggests that these heroes owe their prominence tonbsp;intellectual and spiritual pre-eminence, their power over the visible andnbsp;invisible Universe. They are great seers and sages.

And what of their wives, the ‘fairies’, supernatural beings who come from their homes in the Heavens and the Underworld, the caves, thenbsp;forests, and the springs, and who return mysteriously to their ownnbsp;homes, generally on the birth of their first child.^ It is very often statednbsp;or suggested that these ‘fairies’—whether men or women, for bothnbsp;are found—represent various ethnic population groups with whom thenbsp;Polynesians have come into contact at various times and in variousnbsp;places. It is, however, extremely doubtful if the ‘extinct aboriginalnbsp;race’ theory meets the case in New Zealand at least. We shall seenbsp;presently that many of the features associated with them have affinitiesnbsp;in certain Polynesian institutions which were perhaps already dying outnbsp;when the islands were first opened up to European influences during thenbsp;latter part of the eighteenth century, and which have therefore been only

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