But it would not necessarily condemn a tale’s claim to antiquity that it had in it modern words. Such words as “gun,” “pistol,” “stairway,” “canvas,” and others may be interpolations. It was probably true long ago, as is now the case, that narrators added to or changed words uttered by the characters. Where in the plot some modern weapon is named, long ago it was perhaps a spear, club, or bow and arrow. When Dutch and Portuguese built their forts on the African shore three hundred years ago, some bright narrator could readily have varied the evening’s performance by introducing a cannon into the story. Such variations necessarily grew; for the native languages were not crystallized into written ones until the days of the modern missionary.
In recitation great latitude is allowed as to the time occupied. Brevity is not desired. A story whose outline could be told in ten minutes may be spread over two hours by a vivid use of the speaker’s imagination in a minute description of details. A great deal of repetition (after the manner of “This is the house that Jack built”) is employed, that would be wearisome to a civilized audience, but is intensely enjoyed by the African, e. g., where the plot calls for the doing of an act for several days in succession, we would say simply, “And the next day he did the same.” But the native lover of folk-lore will repeat the same details in the same words for the second and third and even fourth day. In my reporting I have omitted this repetition.
I have purposely used some native idioms in order to retain local color. African narrators use very short sentences. Africans in many respects are grown-up children. One of their daily recognized idioms finds its exact parallel in the speech of our own children. Listen to a civilized child’s animated account of some act. They repeat. The native does so constantly. He is not satisfied, in telling the narrative of a journey, by saying curtly, “I went.” His form is, “I went, went, there, there,” etc. His dramatic acting keeps up the interest of the audience in the twice-told tale.
I. Queen Ngwe-nkonde and her Manja.
A king, by name Ra-Mborakinda, had many wives, but he had no children at all. He was dissatisfied, and was always saying that he wanted children. So he went to a certain great wizard, named Ra-Marânge, to get help for his trouble.
Whenever any one went on any business to Ra-Marânge, before he had time to tell the wizard what he wanted, Ra-Marânge would say, “Have you come to have something wonderful done?” On the visitor saying, “Yes,” Ra-Marânge, as the first step in his preparations and to obtain all needed power, would jump into fire or do some other astonishing act.
So, this day, he sprang into the fire, and came out unharmed and strong. Then he told Ra-Mborakinda to tell his story of what he had come for.
The king said, “Other people have children, but I have none. Make me a medicine that shall cause my women to bear children.” Ra-Marânge replied, “Yes, I will fix you the medicine; and after I have made the mixture, you must require all of your women to eat of it.” So the wizard fixed the medicine, and the king took it with him and went home.
His queen’s name was Ngwe-nkonde; and among his lesser wives and concubines were two quite young women who were friends, one of whom lived with the queen in her hut as her little manja, or handmaid.
As soon as Ra-Mborakinda arrived, he announced his possession of the medicine, and ordered all his women to come and eat of it. But Ngwe-nkonde was jealous of her young maid, and did not wish her to become a mother. So, early in the morning, she purposely sent the manja away to their mpindi (plantation hut) on a made-up errand, so that she might not be present at the feast.