By Julia Seton
I have "seen the Red Man dancing
To sustain the World Throb penned
Alive between his ribs,
Not like a ballerina's, in her toes,
But next to where his life is,
Heart, breath, and bowels of him; moved
With the desire to make the world work well with God."
MARY AUSTIN, The American Rhythm.
Dancing is a universal instinct, a zoologic, a biologic impulse, found in animals
as well as in man. At first thought, one would say the higher animals; but most of
us have watched the whirligig water-bugs on a hot summer afternoon, pirouetting wildly
about, winding in and out among each other on the surface, in every direction and with the
greatest speed, yet never colliding. The mayflies, creatures of a day, enjoy their
brief, merry love-dance in the air, and at its climax, die.
Among the birds, there are the sage grouse, the pinnated grouse, the cock o' the
rock, the woodcock, the teals with their stately minuet, and the ruffed grouse which not
only parades, but drums his own accompaniment.
A still more interesting incident is furnished by Ernest Thompson Seton in The
Dance of the Pintailed Grouse. I quote from his unpublished autobiography:
"In the summer of 1883, at Carberry, Manitoba, I had some fifteen baby
Prairie Chickens hatched under a hen. When they were two weeks old, we were visited
by a cold driving storm of sleet. The chicks were in danger of perishing.
"I brought the whole brood into the kitchen. Keeping the hen in a cage
close by, I put the chilled and cowering little things under the stove, on the tin which
protected the floor. Here, after half an hour, they were fully warmed. They
recovered quickly, fluffed out their feathers, preened their wings, and began to look very
perky.
"Then the clouds broke. For the first time that day, the sun shone
brightly. It came through the window, down onto the stove, and partly under, on the
assembled brood.
"It seemed to stir them with some new thought and feeling of joy. One
of the tiny things, no bigger than a sparrow, lowered his head nearly to the tin, with
beak out level, raised high the little pimple where in time his tail should be, spread out
at each side his tiny wings; then ran across the tin, crowing a little bubbling crow,
beating his wings, and stamping with his two pink feet so rapidly that it sounded like a
small kettledrum.
"The result was electrical. At once, the rest of them leaped up and at
it. Every one took the same position-head low, wings out, beating, tail-stump raised
and violently vibrated, the feet pounding hard, as the little dancers crowed and careered
in, about, over, and amid the otherscrowing, leaping, bounding, stamping, exactly as is
done by the old birds on the dance hill at love-time.
"For a minute or more it lasted; then they seemed tired, and all sat down for
a rest.
"In half an hour, they were at it again; and did it several times that day,
more especially when the sun was on them, and they were warm and fed.
"Then I found that I could start them when the conditions were right, by
rattling on the tin a tattoo with two fingers. They responded almost invariably;
during the three days that I had them in the house, I started them dancing many times for
myself or the neighborhood to see. A number of my friends made a buggy drive across
country those days to come and see the tiny downlings 'do their war dance,' whenever I
chose to start them by beating the drum.
"It is noteworthy that these chickens danced exactly as their parents do,
without ever having seen those parents; therefore, the performance was wholly instinctive.
All--and undoubtedly both sexes were represented--danced with equal spirit.
It was not at the breeding season, and could not, in any sense, be said to have any sex
urge. It was evidently and unquestionably nothing more nor less than a true dance--a
vigorous, rhythmic, athletic expression of health and joy."
Dance in the Animal World
So far, it is chiefly the birds that are credited with song and dance. But
added observations continually extend the field. Many, if not all the higher animals
have some related exercise.
You remember Kipling's elephant, which escaped from camp at night, and trotted on
and on till he came to the appointed place of meeting. Here he and his kind danced
the greater part of the night--a true social gathering. The story of Mowgli may be
fiction; but there is good evidence that this incident is founded on fact.
The wapiti have been seen by several hunters to engage in a circle dance, which
has no obvious explanation other than the pleasure of the motion. They have been
reported "in a band of from twelve to twenty . . . trotting quite rapidly, with
occasional awkward plunges, in a circle perhaps thirty feet in diameter. They were
all going in the same direction as the hands of a watch" (H. W. Skinner, quoted by
Ernest Thompson Seton in his Lives, III, p. 42).
The most remarkable of all, perhaps, is the Kanjo of the chimpanzees, described by
R. L. Garner. The chimpanzees select a spot in the jungle about two feet across,
where the surface of the ground is peat. They secure some clay along the banks of a
nearby stream, carry it by hand, spread it over the place, and let it dry. When all
is hard, the chimpanzees gather in great numbers. One or two violently beat this
hard clay which gives out a loud sound. The others "jump up and down in a wild
and grotesque manner. Some of them make long rolling sounds, as if trying to sing.
When one tires of beating the drum, another relieves him, and the festivities
continue in this fashion for hours" (Gorillas and Chimpanzees, pp. S 9-60).
Dancing Among Natives
Among men, natives are nearly all great dancers, imitating every animal they know,
and dancing out their own legends. The South Sea Islanders, the Zulus, the negroes
of Central Africa, and the native Australians, are all practicing it now exactly as it was
in the earlier stages of every civilized race. In its natural, primitive form,
dancing is vigorous muscular action to vent emotion. Originally, it was the natural
expression of the basic impulses of a simple form of life. Triumph, defeat, war,
love, hate, desire, propitiation of the gods--all were danced by the hero or the tribe to
the rhythm of beaten drums.
History of Dancing
The history of dancing goes back farther than we can accurately trace it.
But we do know that in very ancient times, in China, the spring was ushered in with dance
and ritual; all boys after the age of thirteen were taught dancing as an important part of
their education.
In Japan, in ancient Rome, in Egypt, and in Greece, dancing was a form of worship.
The old philosophers ranked it with poetry and drama. The Spartans made it a
compulsory part of the education of all children from the age of five.
At a very early period, the Hebrews gave dancing a high place in their ceremony of
worship. Moses bade the children of Israel to dance after the crossing of the Red
Sea. Miriam danced to a song of triumph, and David danced in a procession before the
Ark of the Covenant.
Among the early Christians, it was universally introduced into religious services.
The bishops of those days led the sacred dance around the altar.
It has been shown that the choral processions, with all the added charm of costume
and song, have had far more to do with Christianizing primitive tribes, than has
preaching.
During the Dark Ages of history, dancing was taken under the protection of the
Church, through which it survived during the greater part of a thousand years. The
vehicle which carried it through this period was the Spectacle and Miracle or Mystery
plays.
After this, dancing gradually withdrew from the Church, until, under Louis XIV, it
reached a high development as a secular and social amusement.
Value of Dancing
The power of the dance is universal, both in time and place. It is confined
to no one country of the world, to no period of ancient or modern history, and to no plane
of human culture.
Its value has always been felt, though often used without conscious appreciation
of its worth. It is a powerful agency to conjure up emotion of one kind or another.
Ferocious war dances were practiced by savage tribes, in order to beget the war
frenzy which should carry them irresistibly on to victory. The dancing and spinning
dervishes of the East hypnotize themselves with a delirium of physical excitement as a
stepping stone to excesses of religious zeal and self-sacrifice.
I have frequently used dancing with classes of obstreperous children, to induce
mental states more in harmony with my purposes of teaching.
There was a time when we had to fight for the principle that dancing was a
desirable activity--essential, inevitable. We had to argue for the right to
manifest, or even to possess, the joy of living. But that day is gone.
Psychologists and educators in all fields appreciate the power and necessity of dancing,
wisely selected. It is surely safe to say that the only persons who now disapprove
of dancing, rightly inspired, are those who have never studied it, nor its reaction upon
the physical, mental, spiritual and social well-being of the individual and group.
The problem now is what to select as the best kind of dancing for our
developmental purpose. To the outdoor educator, after nothing less than world-wide
search, there can be no question that the ideal we seek is found in but one type of
dancing-the dancing of the American Indian.
In the Redman's dance, or its adaptation, we find the physical exercise, the
dramatic and imaginative possibilities, the impelling rhythm, and the picturesqueness, all
combined, which the youth of our country are groping for m their blind way, among other
schools of the art.
Indian Dancing
The importance of the dance in the life of the Indian is shown in the fact that
his most elaborate ceremonies are commonly known as dances.
The Indians teach a child to dance as soon as it can be held erect, training it to
lift its little feet with the motion of a dancer, and instilling a sense of rhythm from
the very beginning. In the CORN DANCE which we witnessed at Santo Domingo, one of the
chorus carried a baby, perhaps three months old, upright against him all day, as he kept
vigorous time to the rhythm of the music.
In the early stages of thought, the dance was inseparable from the song or chant.
Now, the songs are usually sung by the men who play the accompanying instruments.
If the dancers move in a circle, the instruments are placed in the center of the
circle; otherwise they are in a row at one side.
The dances are many; but each has its name, its steps and movements, and its
special songs; each has its history, and usually its symbolism, though much of this latter
has been lost in civilization and self-consciousness.
There are dances for men and women together; and other dances in which men and
women dance by themselves; still others in which individuals dance alone.
There are comic dances, and dances in costumes that disguise the persons taking
part. Many employ masks symbolic in both form and color. In some tribes
feathers are the principal decoration; in some, the men dance nearly nude.
But, however diverse the dancing regalia may be, or how marked its absence, no
matter what the purpose of the dance, or the steps used, the Indian dance always presents
two characteristics-dramatic action and rhythmic precision.
Dances of great activity are done exclusively by the men. Usually the dance
is performed in a small space, or even on one spot. The changes of attitude,
however, are sometimes rapid and violent. When the Indian dances, he dances with
freedom, and every movement is vivid and natural. This is, perhaps, the most
significant difference between the dances of the Red and White man. Our dance action
has become conventional to the last degree--in all except the modern ballroom dancing,
where a little more convention might be desired.
An Indian has said: "The White man dances with his legs; the Indian with his
individual muscles." His dance, is, certainly, rather a body vibration than a limb
motion.
The Makah Indians of Washington have a great number of what we would call
interpretive dances; and it was not unusual in this tribe for a woman to dance alone.
But, in most tribes, the women were not solo dancers, and did not employ the
violent steps and forceful attitudes of the men's dances.
Hartley B. Alexander says: "The steps [of the women] are mincing, feet hardly
lifted from the ground, the elbows close to the body and the hands barely shaken, the face
impassive; yet noted closely, it will be seen that the whole flesh is quivering with the
rhythm of the drum. Such dancing can be imitated only in a sketchlike fashion; the
art itself is not the white man's" (Manitou Masks, p. 15).
Alice Corbin Henderson says: the dances "are the heart and core of Pueblo
life; they represent the incarnation of the Pueblo soul. When the Pueblo Indian
fights for his dances, he is fighting for his soul . . . . If we help the Pueblo artist to
find his soul, we may find our own."
And again: "The spirit of these dances is so pure, so genuine; they spring so
inevitably from a primal source, that a comparison with our more artificial art is almost
impossible" (Dance Rituals of the Pueblo Indians).
When a certain Wild West showman was putting on Indian dancers, doing weird
barbaric hopping, yelling, and brandishing of spears, he was asked by one who knew how
false such a demonstration was: "Why do you do that? You know that that is not
the real Indian dancing." He replied: "Sure, I know. But that's what
the public thinks is Indian dancing, so I must give it to them."
It is from such sensational sources that most of us obtained our first ideas of
the art. How absurdly false such presentations are, and what a real loss they
inflict, I slowly realized. It was not until the summer of 1927 that I had the full
opportunity of seeing for myself what a new world of joyful art was open to those who
study Indian dancing. Before that memorable trip was over, we had seen among the
Indians not only the steps of nearly all other nations, but many that were peculiar to the
Redman; as well as these steps combined into numberless characteristic and beautiful
dances. We saw, in all, sixty-eight dances and had twenty more described to us by
authorities. There are literally hundreds of different dances among the Redmen.
It is safe to say of these that they embody all the advantages of our social and
exhibition dances, and eliminate the grosser faults.
In the dances which follow, those that I have actually recorded, are as true to
their presentation as is in my power to make them. The adaptations are combinations
of authentic steps, woven into routines which may appeal to our White modes of thought.
In such, I have generally made the story more apparent than it was in the Indian
dance which suggested the adaptation. To the Indian, the symbolism of his gestures
is clear. But these have been handed down through generations, and have become so
stereotyped that they are difficult, and in many cases, impossible, of translation.
In these adaptations, I have endeavored to be faithful to good Indian attitudes of
mind and pose; but have made little attempt to be ethnologically correct. I have
freely borrowed and combined material, aiming to present a racial rather than a tribal
dance; desiring also, from a study of the characteristics, to create a dance form which
will be pregnant with suggestion to our individual dancers, a dance impression of
authentic interpretation rather than slavish photographic reproduction.
I wish to offer sincere thanks to the many publications listed in my bibliography;
they have been of inestimable value in the formulation of the book; also to Dr. G. Clyde
Fisher of the American Museum of Natural History, and to Carol Stryker of the Staten
Island Museum, and to the Mack Photo Service of Santa Fe, for the use of their photographs
of Indian dances.
But, at this point, I make most grateful acknowledgment to the two women who, in
my mind, have done more to bring the Redman into his own than all the rest of his
advocates put together--and this, by recognizing the fact that the best defense for the
Redman's art was to faithfully reproduce it in language that even Whites can understand.
Frances Densmore and Natalie Curtis, in their books of Indian songs, have helped us
to an appreciation of the art that is illuminating. I have literally lived with these
books for the past year; and have been inspired again and again to a new dance thought by
their presentation of a song or a legend. I urgently recommend them to all
interested in Indian lore, as storehouses of otherwise unavailable treasures.
Rhythm of the Redman
