One of our party, a poet in his own way, frequently took advantage of the impression thus produced. He always addressed our coolies in verse, and though his knowledge of the language was only elementary, he was better understood and more speedily obeyed than others of us who spoke the dialects fluently. He united with this gift of rhyme a facility of metaphor which was remarkable. His conversation was sown thick with images, many of them quite ridiculous, but yet not so absurd as to prevent even our appreciation of them.
I have already remarked that in the infancy of society æsthetic manifestations were confined to choral dances representing simple subjects of an impersonal character, and no more than the reflection of the current life and thought of the group. But in course of time that way of life and thought became profoundly modified by new influences and movements, resulting from conflicts between rich and poor, master and slave. A new literature arose which expressed other feelings and aspirations, a literature which found voice in the popular artists who invented a new profession in all countries. The rhapsodists of Greece, the scalds of Scandinavia, and the Celtic bards, furnish familiar examples.
Everywhere these wandering minstrels presented the vague popular traditions in set forms. Their works reflect quite faithfully the movements and aspirations of their own day, and being transmitted by oral tradition, they form to-day a body of material which is virtually our only source of information as to the folklore of primitive races.
Accordingly, no study of a group can be complete which takes no account of its legends, myths and fables; if a group has no written records they form our only historical evidence. It has often been remarked that the non-existence of such records has served the purpose of improving the memories of those who have only oral tradition to rely on.
Recent research among primitive peoples in this very subject has demonstrated that the average duration of the recollection of an event is six generations, or about one hundred and fifty years. During that period, if the event is one of importance but yet in the natural order of things such as an earthquake or a flood, or even a political occurrence, such as a change of dynasty or a revolution, its memories will remain practically unmodified. Of course this applies only to groups among which the use of writing is unknown. Otherwise, the absence of any necessity for oral tradition greatly diminishes the length of its life. During our expedition we had many occasions to observe the ease with which the Moï Chiefs recollected events long since past and generally forgotten. Father Durand made the same discovery during his long residence in Annam. He told me of historical events in the eighteenth century of which the Moï had spoken to him with the most circumstantial detail. For example, they remembered the revolt of Thang Khoi in 1834 as if it had been an occurrence of only yesterday, and recounted an exploit, long since forgotten, of two Cochin-Chinese adventurers.
[ A Court of Trial on an Annamese Stage. ]
By the courtesy of Mme Vassalle.
[A Group of Amateur Actors in Annam.]
