By Duke Cariadoc of the Bow
One of my favorite activities
at events is to wander from table to table at a feast or from campfire to
campfire at a camping event, telling poems and stories. I know of no better way
of pulling people out of the twentieth century, if only for a few minutes–
especially if the story is presented as a medieval story told by a medieval
storyteller. While I am telling a story, I am their environment–especially at
night around a bardic circle, with nothing in sight that is obviously
inappropriate to the twelfth century. A further attraction of storytelling is
that it is an art with a real function in the SCA world, one that gets done not
because someone has announced that we ought to promote the arts but because
people want to do it.
By “in-persona storytelling”
I do not mean telling stories about your persona, an activity I regard with
considerable misgiving. I mean telling stories as your persona–from his point
of view, not yours. This article is about how to do so.
Consider a simple example–a
short period anecdote about the bird that is the world:
The
Commander of the Faithful was sitting with his nadim, his cup companions. One
of them said, “Commander of the Faithful, did you know that the world is a
bird?” “No,” he answered, “tell me that tale.”
“Ah,”
he said, “The world is a bird. Syria
is its body; Iraq and Yemen are its wings.
The Orient is its head–and the Maghreb, that
is its tail."
Sitting
among the cup companions there was a Maghrebi, a Berber of the Maghreb like myself.
“It
is a true tale,” he said. “And do you know what kind of a bird the world is?”
“No,”
replied the Commander of the Faithful.
“Ah,”
said the Maghrebi. “It is a peacock.”
There are a number of things
worth noting about that story–aside from the observation that neither ethnic
prejudice nor one-upmanship is a modern invention. I do not explain what
“Commander of the Faithful” means–because the information is not necessary to
understand the story and because my persona would take it for granted that his
hearers already knew. Nor do I explain where the Maghreb
is. I do, however, make it clear that I am myself a Maghrebi, and thus make
myself part of the frame of the story. All of these are ways in which I try to
project the illusion that both I and my hearers are medieval people. I do
explain, in passing, what “nadim” means, on the theory that my listeners are
foreigners, and so, although they will of course recognize such obvious terms
as “Maghreb” (the Islamic west–North Africa and Muslim Spain), they might not
know what “nadim” means. And even in that case, my explanation
(“cup-companions”) takes for granted the social setting–a ruler surrounded by
his favorites.
More subtly, I do not explain
the social context of the story–that the Berbers, being neither, like the
Arabs, the originators of Islam nor, like the Persians, major contributors to
Islamic civilization, are viewed as second class citizens, natural targets for
other people’s denigration. That is implicit in the story–and is precisely the
sort of thing that people take for granted about their own situation and are
unlikely to explain to others.
In-persona storytelling, like
other forms of in-persona activity, involves changing your normal behavior in
two ways. The first is by omitting elements that positively identify you as a
person born in the twentieth century–not, for example, preceding the story with
the explanation that it is a medieval North African anecdote from the 14th c.
Kitāb Mafākhir al-Barbar.[1] The second is by adding touches that identify you
as a medieval person–ideally, as a particular sort of medieval person from a
particular time and place.
My describing myself as a
Maghrebi and telling the story with the obvious pleasure of someone on the
winning side of the exchange is a simple example. Another occurs when I recite
Malkin Grey’s poem “The Raven Banner,” based on an incident in Njalsaga. The
poem contains a reference to Odin. While there is no strong reason why a
medieval Muslim should not tell foreign stories–I have a period reference to
one telling a story from India,
and there are surviving records of Muslim visits to both east and west
Norse–there are good reasons why a believing Muslim would have reservations
about references to a pagan God. The beginning of the Muslim credo is “There is
no God but God,” and while medieval Islam was a reasonably tolerant religion,
there were limits. Hence when I tell that poem, I follow it with an
explanation– that “Odin” is the name of a Djinn, demon, or some such creature
that the Northmen, ignorant of the Unity of Allah (the Compassionate, the
Merciful), worship as a god. In much the same way, a Christian storyteller
telling an Islamic story might make some comment concerning the false doctrines
of the Paynim. The point is not to start a religious argument but to make the
teller’s world-view into a medieval frame for the medieval tale. This is a
period device; both the Indian collections described below and the Nights are structured many layers deep,
with stories inside stories inside stories.
As the example suggests, I
also sprinkle my conversation with stock phrases that would come naturally to a
medieval Muslim but not to a modern American. When I refer to God it is “God
the Most Great,” or “Allah (the Compassionate, the Merciful).” Mohammed is “Our
Lord the Prophet (blessings to Him, his Kindred, and his Companion Train).”
Solomon is “Suleiman Ibn Daud, King and Prophet, God's peace and blessing upon
him.”
What You Should Know and Where to Find It
In order to do this sort of
story telling, you need three sorts of information:
1. You need to know what
modern acts and words are inappropriate to your persona–and for the most part,
you already do know that. It does not require extensive research to realize
that a 12th century North African Berber would not introduce himself to people
with “Hello, I am a North African Berber from the 12th century,” any more than
I introduce myself to people mundanely with “Hello, I am an American of Jewish
descent from the 20th century.” Some other examples are more subtle–I try, for
instance, to avoid terms such as “O.K.” that have an obviously modern ring to
them. But the more subtle they are, the less it matters if you get them wrong;
if you don’t recognize a term as modern, most of your listeners probably won’t
either.
A related point to remember
is what things your persona does not know. David, for example, knows that by
Cariadoc’s time (c. 1100) Muslim Spain has begun its long decline. Cariadoc’s
view is that, while the Franks to the north of al-Andalus have been troublesome
of late, they have been driven back before and will be driven back again– just
as soon as the Andalusian princes stop fighting each other long enough to deal
with them. And if the party kings don’t, Yussuf the Almoravid will. Again.
2. You need background
information– information about how your persona would have viewed the world
around him. The best way of getting that is to find readable primary sources
from about the right time and place–books written by your persona’s Page 290
neighbors. Such books, in my experience, are both the most interesting and the
most reliable source of information about past points of view. Of course, some
of what they tell you may be false–Alexander the Great was not a Muslim, for
instance, and did not, so far as I know, have a wise vizier named al Khidr–but
the people who read the Iskandernama and told stories from it thought he was
and did. What matters is not what is true but what your persona thinks is true.
3. You need period stories.
You could make them up, but since you are not really a medieval person the
stories you make up are likely to feel more like modern stories about the
middle ages than like real medieval stories. That is especially likely if you
start by making up stories instead of starting with stories actually told by
medieval people and learning from them what sorts of stories they told. Hence
my view, at least, is that most or all of your repertoire should consist of
period stories. For sources, see below.
Learning to tell Stories
Most of us can talk much
better than we can recite. Hence my approach to storytelling is to learn
stories, not to memorize them. To learn a story, I read it over one or more
times. Then I tell it. After I have been telling a story for a while, I like to
go back and reread the original. Often it is a humbling experience–because I
discover that I have misremembered some elements, or omitted details that make
it a better story. The next time I tell it, I am a little closer to the
original. I do not expect to ever end up with exactly the same words–nor is
there any particular reason I should. But I do try to get steadily closer to
the original.
One piece of advice I always
give to new storytellers is to start with short stories. One reason is that it
is easier to remember all of the contents of a short story. Another is that it
is easier to do a competent job of presenting it. A final reason is that if you
tell a short story badly, you only bore your audience for a short time. A long
story, told badly, can come close to killing a bardic circle.
Start with very short
stories, such as the example at the beginning of this article. Tell them to
anyone who looks interested–not only around a bardic circle but waiting in line
to get into Pennsic or when conversation flags around the dinner table. The
function of storytelling is to entertain– especially to entertain people who
would otherwise be bored. It is, along with singing, the most portable of arts;
since you always have it with you, you might as well use it. If you find that
people like your short stories– ask for another instead of politely holding
still until you are finished and then remembering a prior appointment somewhere
at the other end of the event–you are ready to learn longer ones.
Who Are You and Why Are You Telling These Stories?
There are a variety of
contexts in which medieval people might tell medieval stories. Some story
tellers may have been wandering mendicants, hoping to collect enough from their
listeners to pay for dinner and a roof over their heads. Others may have been
professional entertainers, supported by patrons. One of the most famous works
of medieval Arabic literature, the Assemblies
of Hariri, revolves around Abu Zaid, a gifted poet, storyteller and con man
working his way across al-Islam. None of those fits very well with either my
persona or my SCA history.
For an alternative, consider
one of my favorite sources–al-Tanukhi’s Tenth Century Tabletalk of a Mesopotamian Judge. The author starts his book by
complaining that the anecdotes told in polite company nowadays are not nearly
as good as the ones he remembers from his youth–and proceeds to recount every
story he can remember, presumably in the hope of improving the situation. The
context is upper class men Page 291 entertaining each other with anecdotes,
mostly about contemporaries. In a world without radio, television, or electric
lighting, such casual storytelling must have played a much more important role
than in our world–especially in a climate where sensible people rested during
the midday heat and did much of their socializing in the cool of the evening.
There are a lot of places
where period stories can be found. Some are collections of stories, others are
histories, memoirs or long tales containing incidents that can be told as
separate stories. Many of the sources are available in a variety of
translations. Some can be found in almost any bookstore, others may require a
search through a good university library or, nowadays, the web.
For the convenience of story
tellers who prefer stories that their personae could have known, I include
information on dates and places. It is worth noting, however, that stories
traveled far and lasted long. Stories from the Indian collections appear in the
Thousand Nights and a Night, the Gesta Romanorum, and the Decameron; the Gesta Romanorum was, in turn, a source for both Chaucer and
Shakespeare. Similarly, Apuleius plagiarized parts of his plot from an earlier Greek
work and contributed one story to the Decameron, published some twelve
centuries after his death.
Sources
The Golden Ass
by Apuleius. A lengthy and episodic story written in the second century.
Katha Sarit Sagara (aka The Ocean of Story). A
very old and very large Indian collection, containing many of the stories found
in the Panchatantra.
Panchatantra
(aka Fables of Bidpai, Kalila wa-Dimna,
The Tales of Kalila and Dimna). A very old Indian collection, possibly
dating to 200 B.C. It was translated into Persian in the 6th century, into
Arabic (as the Kalila wa-Dimna) in
the 8th century, from Arabic into Greek in the 11th century and, a little
later, into Hebrew, and from Hebrew into Latin in the 13th century. The first
English translation was in the 16th century.
The Thousand and One Nights. The story of Scheherazade, which provides the frame
story for the Nights, is mentioned by
alNadim in the 10th century, but the surviving texts are considerably later,
possibly 15th century. The Burton
translation (16 volumes!) is a delight; Payne is also supposed to be very good.
Anything under eight hundred pages and calling itself the Arabian Nights is likely to be an abbreviated and bowdlerized
version intended for children.
The Table-Talk of a Mesopotamian Judge, by al-Muhassin ibn Ali al-Tanukhi, D. S.
Margoliouth, tr. Al-Tanukhi was a tenth century judge who found that the
anecdotes people were telling were no longer as good as the ones he remembered
from his youth, and decided to do something about it. The book is full of
retellable stories, many about people the author knew.
An Arab-Syrian Gentleman and Warrior in the Period of
the Crusades: Memoirs of Usamah ibn-Munkidh, Philip Hitti tr. Usamah was a Syrian Emir; his memoirs, dictated in
his old age, describe events during the period between the first and second
crusades. They are entertaining and episodic, hence can easily be mined for
stories.
The Travels of Ibn Battuta, H.A.R. Gibb tr. The author was a 14th c. North
African world traveler who certainly made it to India, may have made it to
China, and wrote an extensive account of his travels, some of whose incidents
work as stories.
The Subtle Ruse:
The Book of Arabic Wisdom and Guile.
(Raqa’iq al-hilal if Daqaiq al-hiyal,
author anonymous, Rene R. Hawam, tr.) Anecdotes about tricks, classified
according to their perpetrators: God, Satan, angels, jinn, prophets, Caliphs,
Kings, Sultans, Viziers, Governors, administrators, judges, witnesses,
attorneys, Page 292 jurisconsults, devout men, and ascetics.
The Shah-nameh
of Firdausi, the Khamseh of Nizami,
the Sikander-nama. These are all
famous works of Persian literature, and should have bits that can be excerpted
as stories. I do not know them well enough to recommend particular
translations.
The Tutinama, “parrot tales,” is a 14th century Persian collection of
stories based on an earlier Sanskrit work. Imagine the 1001 Nights with
Scheherazade replaced by a parrot.
Mohammad’s People, by Eric Schroeder. A history of the early centuries of al-Islam, made
up of passages from period sources fitted together into a reasonably continuous
whole. It contains one of my favorite stories (the death of Rabia, called Boy
Longlocks).
The Book of The Superiority of Dogs over many of Those
who wear Clothes by Ibn alMarzuban. A
10th century collection of Arabic dog stories.
The Bible. It was extensively used as a source of stories in the Middle
Ages.
The Koran.
The Travels of Marco Polo.
Gesta Francorum.
An anonymous firsthand account of the first Crusade, extensively plagiarized by
12th century writers.
Gesta Romanorum.
A collection of stories with morals, intended to be used in sermons; the Latin
version dates from about 1300 and the English from about 1400. Its connection
with real Roman history is tenuous at best.
The Mabinogion. A collection of Welsh stories written down in the 13th
century, apparently based on much earlier verbal traditions.
Boccaccio, The Decameron. 14th century.
Chaucer, Canterbury Tales. 14th century.
Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur. 15th century.
Marie de France, The Breton Lais. Popular 12th century
poems, based on Celtic material.
Njal Saga, Egil Saga, Jomsviking Saga, Gisli Saga,
Heimskringla, etc. Histories and
historical novels, mostly written in Iceland in the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries. All of those listed, and no doubt many others with which
I am less familiar, contain incidents that can be excerpted as stories. My own
favorites include the killing of Gunnar, from Njal Saga, Egil’s confrontation with Eric Bloodaxe at York, from Egil Saga,
the avenging of Vestan by his young sons, from Gisli Saga, and the encounter between Harold Godwinson and his
brother Tostig just before the battle of Stamford Bridge,
from Harald Saga (part of Heimskringla).
The Tains: Written sources
for the Irish romances go back to the eleventh century, but much of the
material is clearly much older. One of the most famous is the Táin bó Cuailnge,
whose hero is Cuchulain.
The Life of Charlemagne by the Monk of St. Gall
(aka Notker the Stammerer), included in Two
Lives of Charlemagne (Penguin). This is a highly anecdotal “life” written
in the ninth century and covering many subjects other than Charlemagne.
The Chansons de Geste. French
“songs of deeds.” The Song of Roland,
the earliest and most famous, dates from the late 11th century; the translation
by Dorothy Sayers is readily available from Penguin and very good. Other
chansons include Ogier the Dane and Huon of Bordeaux. A version of the
latter by Andre Norton was published as Huon
of the Horn.
Orlando Innamorato (1495) by Boiardo and Orlando Furioso (1516) by Ariosto. A single story, started by one
poet and completed by another. They are a Renaissance Italian reworking of the
Carolingian cycle, the stories of Charlemagne and his Paladins. The story (and
characters) jump from Paris to London to Tartary, with or without
intermediate stops. The tale is well supplied with magic rings, enchanted
fountains, flying steeds, maidens in distress, valorous knights, both male and
female, and wicked enchanters, also both male and female.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses. A source of Greek and Roman myths for Renaissance
writers.
De Nugis Curialium, by Walter Map, an English courtier of Welsh origin, is an
entertaining 12th century collection of anecdotes with the feel of an after
dinner speech to an audience not entirely sober.
[An earlier version was in Tournaments Illuminated, No. 81, Winter
1986. This version of the article is from A Miscellany, 10th edition,
by Cariadoc and Elizabeth (David Friedman and Elizabeth Cook), 2011.]
[1] Quoted in H.T. Norris, The Berbers in Arabic Literature.
Longman 1982
