THE SAMOÏEDES.
Their Barbarism.--Num, or Jilibeambaertje.--Shamanism.--Samoïede
Idols.--Sjadæi.--Hahe.--The Tadebtsios, or Spirits.--The
Tadibes, or Sorcerers.--Their Dress.--Their Invocations.--Their
conjuring Tricks.--Reverence paid to the Dead.--A Samoïede
Oath.--Appearance of the Samoïedes.--Their Dress.--A Samoïede
Belle.--Character of the Samoïedes.--Their decreasing Numbers.--
Traditions of ancient Heroes.
The Samoïedes, the neighbors of the Laplanders, are still farther
removed from civilized society, and plunged in even deeper barbarism.
The wildest tundras and woods of Northern Russia and Western Siberia
are the home of the Samoïede. With his reindeer herds he wanders over
the naked wastes, from the eastern coast of the White Sea to the
banks of the Chatanga, or hunts in the boundless forests between the
Obi and the Jenissei. His intercourse with the Russians is confined
to his annual visit at the fairs of such miserable settlements as
Obdorsk and Pustosersk, where, far from improving by their company,
he but too often becomes the prey of their avarice, and learns to
know them merely as cheats and oppressors. Protestant missionaries
have long since brought instruction to the Laplander’s hut, but the
majority of the less fortunate Samoïedes still adhere to the gross
superstitions of their fathers. They believe in a Supreme Being--Num,
or Jilibeambaertje--who resides in the air, and, like the Jupiter of
old, sends down thunder and lightning, rain and snow; and as a proof
that something of a poetic fancy is to be found even among the most
savage nations, they call the rainbow “the hem of his garment.” As this
deity, however, is too far removed from them to leave them any hope of
gaining his favor, they never think of offering him either prayer or
sacrifice. But, besides Num, there are a great many inferior spirits,
or idols, who directly interfere in human concerns--capricious beings,
who allow themselves to be influenced by offerings, or yield to magical
incantations; and to these, therefore, the Samoïede has recourse when
he feels the necessity of invoking the aid or averting the wrath of a
higher Power.
The chief of all Samoïede idols is in the island of Waygatz--a cold
and melancholy Delos--where it was already found by old Barentz. This
idol is a mere block of stone, with its head tapering to a point. It
has thus been fashioned, not by a mortal artist, but by a play of
nature. After this original the Samoïedes have formed many idols of
stone or wood of various sizes, which they call “Sjadæi,” from their
possessing a human physiognomy (_sja_). These idols they dress in
reindeer skins, and ornament them with all sorts of colored rags.
But a resemblance to the human form is not the necessary attribute
of a Samoïede idol; any irregularly-shaped stone or tree may be thus
distinguished. If the object is small, the savage carries it every
where about with him, carefully wrapped up; if too cumbersome to be
transported, it is reserved as a kind of national deity. As with the
Ostiaks, each Samoïede tribe has in its train a peculiar sledge--the
Hahengan--in which the household idols (or Hahe) are placed. One of
these Penates protects the reindeer, another watches over the health of
his worshippers, a third is the guardian of their connubial happiness,
a fourth takes care to fill their nets with fish. Whenever his services
are required, the Hahe is taken from his repository, and erected in the
tent or on the pasture-ground, in the wood or on the river’s bank. His
mouth is then smeared with oil or blood, and a dish with fish or flesh
is set before him, in the full expectation that his good offices will
amply repay the savory repast. When his aid is no longer necessary, he
is put aside without any further ceremony, and as little noticed as the
Madonna of the Neapolitan fisherman after the storm has ceased.
The Hahe, or idols, are very convenient objects of reverence to the
Samoïede, as he can consult them, or ask their assistance, without
being initiated in the secrets of magic; while the Tadebtsios, or
invisible spirits, which everywhere hover about in the air, and are
more inclined to injure than to benefit man, can only be invoked by a
Tadibe, or sorcerer, who, like the Cumæan Sibyl, works himself into a
state of ecstatic frenzy. When his services are required, the first
care of the Tadibe is to invest himself with his magical mantle--a
kind of shirt made of reindeer leather, and hemmed with red cloth. The
seams are covered in a similar manner, and the shoulders are decorated
with epaulettes of the same gaudy material. A piece of red cloth veils
the eyes and face--for the Tadibe requires no external organs of sight
to penetrate into the world of spirits--and a plate of polished metal
shines upon his breast.
Thus accoutred, the Tadibe seizes his magical drum, whose sounds summon
the spirits to his will. Its form is round, it has but one bottom, made
of reindeer skin, and is more or less decorated with brass rings and
other ornaments, according to the wealth or poverty of its possessor.
During the ceremony of invocation, the Tadibe is generally assisted by
a disciple, more or less initiated in the magic art. They either sit
down, or walk about in a circle. The chief sorcerer beats the drum, at
first slowly, then with increasing violence, singing at the same time
a few words to a mystic melody. The disciple immediately falls in, and
both repeat the same monotonous chant.
At length the spirits appear, and the consultation is supposed to
begin; the Tadibe from time to time remaining silent, as if listening
to their answers, and but gently beating his drum, while the assistant
continues to sing. Finally, this mute conversation ceases, the song
changes into a wild howling, the drum is violently struck, the eye of
the Tadibe glows with a strange fire, foam issues from his lips--when
suddenly the uproar ceases, and the oracular sentence is pronounced.
The Tadibes are consulted not only for the purpose of recovering a
strange reindeer, or to preserve the herd from a contagious disorder,
or to obtain success in fishing; the Samoïede, when a prey to illness,
seeks no other medical advice; and the sorcerer’s drum either scares
away the malevolent spirits that cause the malady, or summons others to
the assistance of his patient.
The office of Tadibe is generally hereditary, but individuals gifted
by nature with excitable nerves and an ardent imagination not seldom
desire to be initiated in these supernatural communications. No one can
teach the candidate. His morbid fancy is worked upon by solitude, the
contemplation of the gloomy aspect of nature, long vigils, fasts, the
use of narcotics and stimulants, until he becomes persuaded that he too
has seen the apparitions which he has heard of from his boyhood. He is
then received as a Tadibe with many ceremonies, which are held in the
silence of the night, and invested with the magic drum. Thus the Tadibe
partly believes in the visions and fancies of his own overheated brain.
Besides dealing with the invisible world, he does not neglect the
usual arts of an expert conjuror, and knows by this means to increase
his influence over his simple-minded countrymen. One of his commonest
tricks is similar to that which has been practised with so much success
by the Brothers Davenport. He sits down, with his hands and feet
bound, on a reindeer skin stretched out upon the floor, and, the light
being removed, begins to summon the ministering spirits to his aid.
Strange unearthly noises now begin to be heard--bears growl, snakes
hiss, squirrels rustle about the hut. At length the tumult ceases, the
audience anxiously awaits the end of the spectacle, when suddenly the
Tadibe, freed from his bonds, steps into the hut--no one doubting that
the spirits have set him free.
As barbarous as the poor wretches who submit to his guidance, the
Tadibe is incapable of improving their moral condition, and has no wish
to do so. Under various names--Schamans among the Tungusi, Angekoks
among the Esquimaux, medicine-men among the Crees and Chepewyans,
etc.--we find similar magicians or impostors assuming a spiritual
dictatorship over all the Arctic nations of the Old and the New World,
wherever their authority has not been broken by Christianity or
Buddhism; and this dreary faith still extends its influence over at
least half a million of souls, from the White Sea to the extremity of
Asia, and from the Pacific to Hudson’s Bay.
Like the Ostiaks and other Siberian tribes, the Samoïedes honor the
memory of the dead by sacrifices and other ceremonies. They believe
that their deceased friends have still the same wants, and pursue the
same occupations, as when in the land of the living; and thus they
place in or about their graves a sledge, a spear, a cooking-pot, a
knife, an axe, etc., to assist them in procuring and preparing their
food. At the funeral, and for several years afterwards, the relations
sacrifice reindeer over the grave. When a person of note, a prince, a
Starschina, the proprietor of numerous herds of reindeer, dies (for
even among the miserable Samoïedes we find the social distinctions of
rich and poor), the nearest relations make an image, which is placed
in the tent of the deceased, and enjoys the respect paid to him during
his lifetime. At every meal the image is placed in his former seat, and
every evening it is undressed and laid down in his bed. During three
years the image is thus honored, and then buried; for by this time the
body is supposed to be decayed, and to have lost all sensation of the
past. The souls of the Tadibes, and of those who have died a violent
death, alone enjoy the privilege of immortality, and after their
terrestrial life hover about in the air as unsubstantial spirits.
Yet in spite of this privilege, and of the savory morsels that fall to
their share at every sacrificial feast, or of the presents received
for their services, the Tadibes are very unhappy beings. The ecstatic
condition into which they so frequently work themselves shatters their
nerves and darkens their mind. Wild looks, bloodshot eyes, an uncertain
gait, and a shy manner, are among the effects of this periodical
excitement.
Like the Ostiaks, the Samoïedes consider the taking of an oath as an
action of the highest religious importance. When a crime has been
secretly committed against a Samoïede, he has the right to demand an
oath from the suspected person.
If no wooden or stone Hahe is at hand, he manufactures one of earth
or snow, leads his opponent to the image, sacrifices a dog, breaks
the image, and then addresses him with the following words:--“If thou
hast committed this crime, then must thou perish like this dog.” The
ill consequences of perjury are so much dreaded by the Samoïedes--who,
though they have but very faint ideas of a future state, firmly believe
that crime will be punished in this life, murder with violent death,
or robbery by losses of reindeer--that the true criminal, when called
upon to swear, hardly ever submits to the ceremony, but rather at once
confesses his guilt and pays the penalty.
The most effectual security for an oath is that it should be solemnized
over the snout of a bear--an animal which is highly revered by all
the Siberian tribes, from the Kamchatkans to the Samoïedes, as well
as by the Laplanders. Like the Laplanders, they believe that the bear
conceals under his shaggy coat a human shape with more than human
wisdom, and speak of him in terms of the highest reverence. Like the
Lapps also, when occasion offers, they will drive an arrow or a bullet
through his skin; but they preface the attack with so many compliments
that they feel sure of disarming his anger.
The appearance of the Samoïedes is as wild as the country which they
inhabit. The dwarfish stature of the Ostiak, or the Lapp, thick lips,
small eyes, a low forehead, a broad nose so much flattened that the
end is nearly upon a level with the bone of the upper jaw (which is
strong and greatly elevated), raven-black shaggy hair, a thin beard,
and a yellow-brown complexion, are their characteristic features, and
in general they do nothing to improve a form which has but little
natural beauty to boast of. The Samoïede is satisfied if his heavy
reindeer dress affords him protection against the cold and rain, and
cares little if it be dirty or ill-cut; some dandies, however, wear
furs trimmed with cloth of a gaudy color. The women, as long as they
are unmarried, take some pains with their persons; and when a Samoïede
girl, with her small and lively black eyes, appears in her reindeer
jacket tightly fitting round the waist, and trimmed with dog-skin,
in her scarlet moccasins, and her long black tresses ornamented with
pieces of brass or tin, she may well tempt some rich admirer to offer a
whole herd of reindeer for her hand. For among the Samoïedes no father
ever thinks of bestowing a portion on his daughter: on the contrary, he
expects from the bridegroom an equivalent for the services which he is
about to lose by her marriage. The consequence of this degrading custom
is that the husband treats his consort like a slave, or as an inferior
being. A Samoïede, who had murdered his wife, was quite surprised at
being summoned before a court of justice for what he considered a
trifling offense; “he had honestly paid for her,” he said, “and could
surely do what he liked with his own.”
The senses and faculties of the Samoïedes correspond to their mode of
life as nomads and hunters. They have a piercing eye, delicate hearing,
and a steady hand: they shoot an arrow with great accuracy, and are
swift runners. On the other hand, they have a gross taste, generally
consuming their fish or their reindeer flesh raw; and their smell is so
weak that they appear quite insensible to the putrefying odors arising
from the scrapings of skins, stinking fish, and other offal which is
allowed to accumulate in and about their huts.
The Samoïede is good-natured, melancholy, and phlegmatic. He has,
indeed, but indistinct notions of right and wrong, of good and evil;
but he possesses a grateful heart, and is ready to divide his last
morsel with his friend. Cruelty, revenge, the darker crimes that
pollute so many of the savage tribes of the tropical zone, are foreign
to his character. Constantly at war with a dreadful climate, a prey to
ignorance and poverty, he regards most of the things of this life with
supreme indifference. A good meal is of course a matter of importance
in his eyes; but even the want of a meal he will bear with stoical
apathy, when it can only be gained by exertion, for he sets a still
higher value on repose and sleep.
A common trait in the character of all Samoïedes is the gloomy view
which they take of life and its concerns; their internal world is as
cheerless as that which surrounds them. True men of ice and snow, they
relinquish, without a murmur, a life which they can hardly love, as it
imposes upon them many privations, and affords them but few pleasures
in return.
They are suspicious, like all oppressed nations that have much to
suffer from their more crafty or energetic neighbors. Obstinately
attached to their old customs, they are opposed to all innovations; and
they have been so often deceived by the Russians, that they may well be
pardoned if they look with a mistrustful eye upon all benefits coming
from that source.
The wealth of the Samoïedes consists in the possession of herds of
reindeer, and P. von Krusenstern, in 1845, calculated the number owned
by the Samoïedes of the Lower Petschora, near Pustosersk, at 40,000
head--a much smaller number than what they formerly had, owing to a
succession of misfortunes. The Russian settlers along that immense
stream and its tributaries gradually obtain possession of their best
pasture-grounds, and force them to recede within narrower and narrower
limits. Thus many have been reduced to the wretched condition of the
Arctic fisherman, or have been compelled to exchange their ancient
independence for a life of submission to the will of an imperious
master.
The entire number of the European and Asiatic Samoïedes is estimated
at no more than about 10,000, and this number, small as it is when
compared to the vast territory over which they roam, is still
decreasing from year to year. Before their subjugation by the Russians,
the Samoïedes were frequently at war with their neighbors, the Ostiaks,
the Woguls, and the Tartars, and the rude poems which celebrate the
deeds of the heroes of old are still sung in the tents of their
peaceful descendants. The _minstrel_, or _troubadour_--if I may be
allowed to use these names while speaking of the rudest of mankind--is
seated in the centre of the hut, while the audience squat around. His
gesticulations endeavor to express his sympathy with his hero. His
body trembles, his voice quivers, and during the more pathetic parts
of his story, tears start to his eyes, and he covers his face with his
left hand, while the right, holding an arrow, directs its point to the
ground. The audience generally keep silence, but their groans accompany
the hero’s death; or when he soars upon an eagle to the clouds, and
thus escapes the malice of his enemies, they express their delight by a
triumphant shout.
[Illustration: 77. BANKS OF THE IRTYSCH.]