Stories and the Art of Story-Telling
by E. Tappan Adney
Editor’s Note: The following essay was found among the Adney manuscripts. It was not in final form. In fact, there were at least two separate typescripts, the pages of which had become confused (probably by Adney himself) to the extent that it was not always possible to determine which version was which or which version Adney meant to be the “final” one. Obviously some editing was necessary, and where the same paragraph or section appeared in two different forms I have simply chosen the best the one I would have chosen had I been Adney. Nothing has been added to or left out of the substance of the essay, and all my editorial changes have been indicated by brackets and italics.
[Among the Indians] there are two kinds of stories or tales and two manners of relation (if we may simplify the matter so much). [First, there are] old tales that have (or had) the content of poems, and, in the originals, a noticeable rhythm. Such as these have been polished and brought into [that] rhythmic form that in all primitive narration has been found as the surest means of remembering [them] and passing them along verbatim to generation after generation of story-tellers, professionals we might call them, known by the name No-dji-tak-win, “Man who makes an occupation of going about talking.” But the Malecite gives this as the name for singer. Beyond doubt in the olden time the narrator accompanied verbal narration with some kind of intoned melody, a recitative with melodic content greater or less, in the manner of the old bards and Scandinavian scalds. Melody proper the Indian did not develop far. And in the old Malecite narration there was gesture—we will not say dancing. Translation has lost the rhythm of the Indian, and where a rhythm or `poetic’ form of translation is given the true meaning of the original is lost.
A second kind of story, though it may relate to the olden time “when men were animals and animals were men,” may be called anecdotal. A formal cast might be given to the language when Glus-kap and Mi-kum-wes (ordinary normal forms) are replaced by Gluskab-e and Mi-kum-wes-u, the suffixes indicating, in Malecite, that they are no more, are of a past time. Many of these anecdotal stories have been recorded in translation by Rand in Micmac, and Leland in his Algonquin Legends (and later by Mechling for the National Museum of Canada Malecite Tales). But these stories, though recorded and admirably “adapted” in the lively spirit of such narration (For Charles Godfrey Leland had long had experience in the study from life of European folk-lore before he came upon the virtually unknown Malecite-Micmac tales), lack something of the originals in both form of content and manner of telling. I venture to make this statement on [the] strength of a surprisingly critical opinion given by my co-worker Peter Paul after [his] careful reading of the stories in the Algonquin Legends of Leland, many of which he has heard told. He says of recordings in general, that when the teller knows that the story is being recorded (even by dictograph it would be the same) he greatly shortens the tale, though not to the extent of giving an abstract or summary of its contents. But he omits a great amount of detail describing the actions of characters that in life are well known to his Indian hearers. Thus a telling of, say, half an hour will be spun out to a length perhaps of hours, for the narrator is not hurried and so devotes his whole mind [to] one object, that of making every word of the tale entertaining in the highest degree. A good storyteller will throw such animation into the relation as to make the enthralled listeners see the whole picture of a scene before their eyes. He not only goes into details of actions, when these are of an astonishing character (such as those concerned with magic) but dwells upon each extraordinary, unusual or unexpected action.
[To help him gain emphasis, the good story-teller often introduces two expressions that serve as prologues to extensive repetitions. Neither can be exactly translated into English, and neither is apt to occur in recorded versions of the tales. The first of these] is exclamatory and is employed when some marvelous action is told about. When Rabbit [needs] to escape a pursuer, Black-Cat (B’gumpk), he is compelled to draw upon his medeulin, of which Rabbit possesses a great store. Rabbit is always getting into trouble but manages by his wits and magic powers to save himself. For how else could the weakest of creatures that [even] the little weasel Sig-wes can kill be able to survive and flourish? For such protection Rabbit turns himself white in winter so as to make himself invisible on the winter snow. When escaping from B’gumpk (who is sometimes called Fisher) he runs as far and as fast as he can; then, knowing Black-Cat will be right on his trail, [he] turns himself, say, into a gray-haired old Indian at his bark wigwam, and when B’gumpk arrives [Rabbit] works further magic upon him with food and drink that puts him to sleep. And so on in a string of episodes. [1] So when the story-teller had told of a remarkable transformation made by Rabbit, he followed with a repetition: “And Rabbit actually did—whatever it is,” strongly stressing the fact that Rabbit actually did such and such astonishing thing. Again, [in] a tale of Turtle, who was Gluskap’s uncle, Turtle is disposed to take himself a wife, get married, and prove what a valiant person he is. [Although he is] known to be a lazy fellow spending his time sunning himself on a log or rock and unable to move quickly even if he wants to, [Turtle] is given magic power by his nephew so that, as the tale goes, he leaps into the air over the poles of the wigwam or pointed camp. “He actually did jump over the wigwam” or made a good attempt—a most astonishing thing. [2] With this vivid mode of telling, the narrator putting himself wholly into the tale, no wonder the listeners listened spellbound, all worked up and excited as the whole scene and its astonishing incidents were brought before them.
There is another expression, akin to the last, to which scant justice is done in the usual translation. It expresses scorn. For example, “Just imagine how the announcement of Turtle’s intention to get married would strike the rest of the villagers who well know Turtle and his lazy habits and not prepossessing appearance! Just imagine Turtle getting married! The very idea of such a thing! The very idea of a man like Turtle thinking any girl would be willing to marry an object like him!” This expression, unlike the first, is still in common use. It can be given various translations into terms in everyday English conversation.
Once the imagination is brought into play, detail and elaboration [offer] endless possibilities [for] holding the rapt attention of the listeners [like] children listening to the unfolding of the marvelous in a really well told fairy tale. In narration it is only by employment of specific terms and judicious selection of minute details that [the story] becomes graphic, that a vivid picture is presented to the mind’s eye. Stevenson understood this; so do our best short story writers.
When a story done in this fashion of highest artistry is abridged and its details rendered in general terms, its literary value is so greatly reduced that one can almost say the life is done out of it. In these recordings of the Indian tales—valuable though they be in their way—as judged by the Indian who has heard them told with absence of the slightest self-consciousness, we have lost the high artistry, the fine literary touch, of the Indian. We might judge him as prosaic and dull and lacking even of a sense of humor (which he possesses in high degree but conceals from the stranger) from these folk-tales as they have come to be recorded.
Of the old No-dji-tak-win there are none left. Of the old real narrators on the River, the last one died ten years ago (about 1934) except one at Makanakwak, who is stone deaf! With the hints we have given, however, the manner of the true relation (by a naturally gifted story-teller) of the recorded stories can be imagined, somewhat, by the intelligent reader.
Woodstock, New Brunswick
December 19, 1944
Footnotes
[1] For versions of this particular tale, see Leland, 213-222; Speck VIII, 102-103. It is, of course, a very common European episode. Motif D671 Transformation flight.