Burton Holmes, the man who brought the world home
Excerpt from the book "Burton Holmes Travelogues"
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
The Snake Dance of 1898 was performed in August at Oraibi. Though Oraibi is the largest town of Moki Land, it is at the same time the one least in touch with the white man's civilization. In 1898, however, at least forty white visitors toiled up the trail and roamed through the broad street of the big village, peeping into Hopi houses, frightening the timid children, and affording a new subject of conversation for the elders, who so rarely see a white stranger.
The final invocation begins, this is a symbolic ceremony, not a dance. The Antelope and Snake Fraternities begin a low peculiar chant, swaying their bodies, waving their feather wands, pointing them to the ground. The humming chant is almost wordless; it represents the sighing of the winds, the rushing of the storm-clouds, while the accompanying rattles play an obligato as of thunder. There is in it all a mystery and dignity which cannot be described.
As the ceremony continues, you will see some of the priests take snakes of various kinds from the kisi; then, holding the neck between the teeth and the body in the hands, dance slowly round and round, followed by other priests whose duty is to aid the carrier in case of need, and to gather up the wriggling snakes and prevent their escape after they have been dropped to the ground. One by one, the snakes, about sixty in number, many of them venomous rattlers, are carried round the plaza.
Meantime, women with baskets of cornmeal assemble near at hand. A priest draws with the sacred meal a circle on the ground. Into this circle all the snakes are hurled, forming a coiling pyramid of horror. For an instant, the dancers pause, and then on a signal will rush forward, plunging their arms into the writhing heap, and seize as many reptiles as the hand will hold, and then away dash the frenzied bearers with the garlands of intertangled serpents, down the steep trails toward the desert which has grown dark and somber, for the sun has set. Far and wide the priests have scattered, lost in the dimness of the world below.
When half an hour later they return, their hands are empty, the snakes, messengers sure of as hearing with the spirits of the underworld, have been set at liberty and are now bearing the petitions of the people to the rulers of the rain.We do not know why the holy men of Moki Land do not fear the rattlesnake or how they render its dreaded fangs innocuous. The secret of immunity remains a Hopi secret, jealously guarded by the successive generations of the brotherhoods.
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
The Snake Dance of 1898 was performed in August at Oraibi. Though Oraibi is the largest town of Moki Land, it is at the same time the one least in touch with the white man's civilization. In 1898, however, at least forty white visitors toiled up the trail and roamed through the broad street of the big village, peeping into Hopi houses, frightening the timid children, and affording a new subject of conversation for the elders, who so rarely see a white stranger.
The final invocation begins, this is a symbolic ceremony, not a dance. The Antelope and Snake Fraternities begin a low peculiar chant, swaying their bodies, waving their feather wands, pointing them to the ground. The humming chant is almost wordless; it represents the sighing of the winds, the rushing of the storm-clouds, while the accompanying rattles play an obligato as of thunder. There is in it all a mystery and dignity which cannot be described.
As the ceremony continues, you will see some of the priests take snakes of various kinds from the kisi; then, holding the neck between the teeth and the body in the hands, dance slowly round and round, followed by other priests whose duty is to aid the carrier in case of need, and to gather up the wriggling snakes and prevent their escape after they have been dropped to the ground. One by one, the snakes, about sixty in number, many of them venomous rattlers, are carried round the plaza.
Meantime, women with baskets of cornmeal assemble near at hand. A priest draws with the sacred meal a circle on the ground. Into this circle all the snakes are hurled, forming a coiling pyramid of horror. For an instant, the dancers pause, and then on a signal will rush forward, plunging their arms into the writhing heap, and seize as many reptiles as the hand will hold, and then away dash the frenzied bearers with the garlands of intertangled serpents, down the steep trails toward the desert which has grown dark and somber, for the sun has set. Far and wide the priests have scattered, lost in the dimness of the world below.
When half an hour later they return, their hands are empty, the snakes, messengers sure of as hearing with the spirits of the underworld, have been set at liberty and are now bearing the petitions of the people to the rulers of the rain.We do not know why the holy men of Moki Land do not fear the rattlesnake or how they render its dreaded fangs innocuous. The secret of immunity remains a Hopi secret, jealously guarded by the successive generations of the brotherhoods.
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
Burton Holmes Travelogues, The Greatest Traveler of His Time
Hardcover, 30.5 x 26 cm (12 x 10.2 in.), 368 pages
$ 59.99
$ 59.99
Wanderlust: Burton Holmes, the man who brought the world home
Glacier Point, Yosemite, California, 1903