Part 33

And again he beat his drum and sang his incantation, concluding both song and accompaniment as before.

“I see two emperors before me; they will send you a writing,” spoke the messenger of the gods through his lips.

So Yamaul had been kind enough to appear in the tshum to oblige his favourite. Then the individual sentences of the heavenly message, with the invariable prelude of drumming and song, were uttered as follows:--

“Once again, next summer, you will traverse the same route as this year.”

“Then you will visit the summit of the Ural, where the rivers Ussa, Bodarata, and Shtchutshya begin their course.”

“On this journey something will befall you, whether good or evil I cannot tell.”

“Nothing is to be achieved at the Bodarata, for wood and pasture are lacking; here something might be accomplished.”

“You will have to render an account to your superiors; they will examine you and will be satisfied.”

“You will also have to answer to the three elders of your tribe; they also will examine your writings, and then come to a decision about the new journey.”

“The course of your journey will henceforward be happy and without accident; and you will find your loved ones at home in the best of health.”

“If the statements of the Russians who are still at Bodarata corroborate yours, two emperors will reward you.”

“I see no other face.”

The performance was at an end. On the Ural Mountains lay the last glow of midnight. Everyone left the tent, the faces of the Russians showing the same credulity as those of the Ostiaks and Samoyedes. But we invited the shaman to accompany us to our boat, loosened his tongue and that of his disciple with brandy, and plied him with all manner of cross-questions, some of them of the subtlest kind. He answered them all, without exception, without ever getting into a difficulty, without hesitation, without even reflection; he answered them full of conviction, and convincingly, clearly, definitely, tersely, and to the point, so that we recognized more clearly than before the extreme craftiness of the man with whom we had to deal.

He described to us how, even in his boyhood, the spirit had come upon him and had tortured him till he became the disciple of a shaman; how he had become more and more intimate with Yamaul, the messenger of the gods, who appears to him as a friendly man, riding on a swift horse, and carrying a staff in his hand; how Yamaul hastened to his help, and even, if need were, called down aid from heaven when he, the shaman, was struggling with evil spirits often for several days at a time; how the messenger of the gods must always communicate the message to him just as he received it, for that otherwise he felt every drum-beat as a painful stroke; how Yamaul, even to-day, though visible to him only, sat behind him in the tshum and whispered the words in his ear. He also informed us that, by his own art, or by the grace bestowed upon him, which even his conversion to Christianity could not weaken, he could reveal what was hidden, find what was stolen, recognize diseases, prophesy the death or recovery of the sick, see and banish the ghosts of the dead, work much evil, and prevent much evil, but that he did nothing but good, because he feared the gods; he gave us a clear and detailed, if not quite correct picture of the religion of the Ostiaks and Samoyedes; he assured us that all his people, as well as the Ostiaks, came to him in their troubles to ask advice, or to have the future unveiled, and that they did not doubt, but trusted in him and believed him.

The last statement is not correct. The great mass of the people may regard the shaman as a wise man, perhaps even as an intermediary between men and the gods, and possibly as the possessor of mysterious power; but many believe his words and works as little as other races do those of their priests. The real faith of the people is simpler and more child-like than the shaman approves of. It is here as elsewhere; the priest, or whoever acts as such, peoples heaven with gods, and councillors and servants of the gods, but the people know nothing of this celestial court.

According to the belief of the people there is enthroned in heaven Ohrt, whose name signifies “the end of the world”. He is an all-powerful spirit, who rules over everything but Death, and he is benevolently inclined towards men. He is the giver of all good, the bestower of reindeer, fish, and furred animals, the preventer of evil, and the avenger of lies, severe only when promises made to him are not fulfilled. Feasts are held in his honour, sacrifices and prayers are offered to him; the suppliant who prostrates himself before a sacred symbol thinks of him. The symbol, called a longch, may be of carved wood, a bundle of cloth, a stone, a skin, or anything else: it possesses no powers, affords no protection, it is in no sense a fetish! People assemble before a longch, place it in front of the tshum, lay dishes of fish, reindeer flesh, or other offering before it, place valuables before it, or even pack them inside it; but they always look up to heaven, and both their offerings and their prayers are intended for their god. Evil spirits dwell in heaven as on earth; but Ohrt is more powerful than they all; only Death is mightier than he. There is no everlasting life after death, and no resurrection; but the dead still wander as ghosts over the face of the earth, and have still power to do good or evil.

When an Ostiak dies his spirit-life begins at once; so his friends proceed immediately to arrange for his burial. They had all assembled before his death, and as soon as life is extinct they kindle a fire in the tshum in which the body lies, and keep it burning until they set out for the burial-place. A shaman is called to ask the dead where he wishes to lie. This is done by naming a place, and attempting to raise the head of the corpse. If the dead man approves he lets his head be raised; if he does not, three men cannot move it. Then the question must be repeated until the man gives his consent. Skilled persons are despatched to the chosen spot to prepare the grave, for this work often requires several days.

The burial-places are always in the tundra, on elevated spots, usually on a long ridge; the coffins are more or less artistically wrought chests, which are placed above the ground. Failing solid planks to construct the coffin, a boat is cut up and the corpse is laid in that; only the very poor people dig in the ground a shallow hollow in which to bury their dead.

The corpse is not washed, but is arrayed in festive garments, the hair anointed, and the face covered with a cloth. All the rest of the deceased’s clothing is given to the poor. The Ostiaks never touch the dead body of a stranger with their hands, but they do not hesitate to touch a loved relative, and even to kiss his cold face with tears in their eyes. The corpse is brought to the burial-place on a sledge, or in a boat, and is accompanied by all the relatives and friends. A reindeer-skin, on which the dead is to rest, is laid in the chest or coffin. At the head and sides are placed tobacco, pipes, and all manner of implements which the dead man was wont to use in his lifetime. Then the corpse is lifted with cords, carried to the chest, and laid on the bed thus prepared; the face is covered for the last time, a piece of birch-bark is spread over the open top of the chest, which, if the family be a rich one, is perhaps first covered with costly skins and cloths, the lid of the chest is put on above the sheet of bark, or at least heavy branches are laid close together upon it. Around and under the chest are laid such implements as could not be placed within it, but they are first broken up and thus rendered useless for the living, or, according to Ostiak ideas, made the ghosts of what they were.

Meanwhile, a fire has been kindled in the neighbourhood of the grave, and one or more reindeer slaughtered, and now the flesh is eaten, raw or cooked, by the funeral company. After the meal, the skulls of the slaughtered reindeer are fixed upon a pole, their harness is hung on the pole or on a tree, the bells they have worn on this, as on all solemn occasions, are hung on the top of the coffin itself, the sledge is broken to pieces and thrown beside the grave as its last ornament. Then the company travels homewards. Mourning is now silenced, and the daily round of life begins again.

But in the shades of night the ghost of the dead, equipped with his ghostly tools, begins his mysterious spirit-life. What he did while he walked among the living, he continues to do. Invisible to all he leads his reindeer to pasture, guides his boat through the waves, buckles on his snow-shoes, draws his bow, spreads his net, shoots the ghosts of former game, catches the ghosts of former fishes. During night he visits the tshum of his wife and children, causing them joy or sorrow. His reward is to be able to show beneficence to his own flesh and blood; his punishment, to be obliged continually to do them injury.

Such in outline is the religion of the Ostiaks, whom the Greek Catholics despise as heathen. But a just estimate of these honest people, with their child-like nature, inclines us rather to wish that they may ever remain heathen, or at least may never be other than they are.

THE NOMAD HERDSMEN AND HERDS OF THE STEPPES.

Though the steppe of Central Asia is really rich, and may even seem gay to one who visits it in spring, and though it contains much fruitful land, it is nevertheless only its most favoured portions which admit of a settled life, of a continued residence on any one particular spot. Constant wandering, coming and going, appearing and disappearing, is the lot of all the children of the steppe, men and animals alike. Certain portions submit to the labours of the husbandman; in others, towns and villages may be established, but the steppe as a whole must for ever remain the possession of the nomadic herdsman, who knows how to adapt himself to all its conditions of life.

Among these nomadic herdsmen the Kirghiz take the first rank, by virtue both of numbers and of civilization. Their domain extends from the Don and the Volga to the mountains of Thianshan, and from the middle Irtish to south of the Balkhash Lake, indeed, almost to Khiva and Bokhara; they are divided into tribes and hordes, into steppe and mountain herdsmen, but they are one in descent, in language and religion, in manners and customs, however much the various tribes may appear to differ. The smallest or youngest horde wanders throughout the steppe of Orenburg; a branch of the same, calling itself the Buka tribe, traverses the steppe between the Volga and Ural rivers, especially in the governments of Turgai and Ural; the middle or elder horde inhabits the steppes and mountains of the Irtish and Balkhash regions; and finally, extending from beyond the river Ili towards Khiva and Bokhara are to be found the ever-changing dwelling-places of the mountain Kirghiz, who describe themselves as the great, or eldest horde. No branch of these people applies the name Kirgis or Kirghiz to itself, for that is a term of infamy equivalent to “freebooters”. The proper designation of our people is Kaisak, Kasak, or, as we should read it, Cossack, although even the Russians apply the name Cossack to a people quite distinct from the inhabitants of the steppe.

The Kirghiz, as I shall call them nevertheless, are a Turkish people, about whose racial affinities different opinions are held. Many, if not most, travellers look upon them as true Mongolians, while others regard them, probably more correctly, as a mixed race, suggestive of the Mongolians in some particulars, but, on the whole, exhibiting the characteristics of Indo-Germans, and especially resembling the Turkomans. All the Kirghiz I saw belonged to the middle horde, and were well-built people, small, or of medium height, with faces, not beautiful indeed, but not of the caricature-like Mongolian type, neat hands and feet, clear or transparent light-brown or yellowish complexions, brown eyes, and black hair. The cheek-bones are seldom so prominent, or the chin so pointed, as to give an angular or cat-faced appearance; the eye, of medium size, is usually most arched centrally, and drawn out horizontally at the outer angle; it is thus almond-shaped, but not obliquely set; the nose is usually straight, more rarely hooked; the mouth moderate in size and sharply cut, the beard thin, without being actually scanty. True Mongolian features are certainly to be met with also, more especially among the women and children of the poorer class; but, though I have seen very few really beautiful Kirghiz women, I have met with quite as few of the grotesque faces so common among other undoubted Mongols. The characteristics are unmistakably more suggestive of a mixed race than of any one sharply defined stock. I have seen men whom I should unhesitatingly have pronounced to belong to the nobler Indo-Germans if I had known nothing of their kinship, and I have become acquainted with others about the Mongolian cut of whose faces there could be no possible doubt. The members of the older families usually possess all the essential marks of the Indo-Germans, while men of lower descent and meaner extraction often remind one of the Mongols in many details, and may sometimes resemble them completely. The power of Islam, which permits to slaves who have become converts all the rights of the tribe, may in the course of time have made Kirghiz out of many heathen Mongols, and thus not only have influenced, but actually destroyed the racial characteristics of the Kirghiz.

Although the chief features of the Kirghiz dress are Turkish, it is, as a whole, by no means suited for displaying their figure to advantage. In winter the fur cap, fur coat, and thick-legged boots hide all the details of the figure, and even in summer these do not come into prominence. The poorer Kirghiz, in addition to his fur coat and the inevitable fur cap, wears a shirt, kaftan, and wide trousers; the higher class rich man, on the other hand, wears a great many articles of dress one above the other, like the Oriental; but he stuffs all those which envelop the lower part of his body, with the exception of his fur coat, into his wide trousers, so that he may not be impeded in riding. Consequently, the more richly attired he is the more grotesque he looks. They prefer dark colours to light or bright ones, though they do not despise these, and they are fond of decorations of gay embroideries or braiding. Nearly every Kirghiz wears at his girdle a dainty little pocket, richly decorated with iron or silver mountings, and a similarly ornamented knife; beyond these, and the indispensable signet-ring, he wears no decoration unless the Emperor has bestowed one upon him, in the shape of a commemorative medal.

Of the dress of the women I can say little, first, because modesty forbade me to ask about more than I could see, and secondly, because I did not see the women of the upper class at all, and never saw the others in their gala attire. In addition to the fur coat, boots and shoes, which are exactly like those of the men, the women wear trousers which differ very slightly, a shift, and over it a robe-like upper garment, falling below the knee and clasped in the middle; on the head they wear either a cloth wound in turban-fashion, or a nun-like hood which covers head, neck, shoulders, and breast.