Matthias Alexander Castrén (1813–1852) was the founder of Finnish-Ugric and Samoyed linguistics — a man who crossed Siberia on foot and by sled, dying at thirty-nine, having mapped more languages than most scholars visit in a lifetime. These selections from his posthumous lectures (published by Anton Schiefner in 1857) give us his ethnological portrait of the Samoyed peoples: their geography, their five branches, their shamanic religion, their origins in the Altai mountains, and their fragile hold on existence in the mid-nineteenth-century tundra. Alongside the lectures, five Samoyed fairy tales — recorded during his 1838–1844 fieldwork among the Nenets — appear here in English for the first time.
The ethnological overview carries Castrén's nineteenth-century scholarly assumptions alongside genuine fieldwork observation. His belief that the Samoyeds were a "dying people" who would inevitably be absorbed into Russian civilization reflects the imperial framework of his era; his linguistic findings — that Finno-Samoyed languages form the closest family within the Altaic group — remain foundational to modern Uralic linguistics. The two registers coexist; read both with awareness of the century between his world and ours.
The five fairy tales are another kind of knowing. They were told to Castrén in Nenets and he translated them into German; we translate his German into English. Three removes from the original voice — and still the tundra logic persists: the seven repeated days, the bones gathered into a sack, the sky-women whose clothes are hidden by the lake. These tales do not explain themselves. The tundra does not explain itself. Read them as told.
I. Ethnological Overview: The Samoyed Peoples
The Fourth Branch
The fourth main branch of the Altaic peoples is formed by the so-called Samoyeds, who, despite their small numbers, occupy an immense territory. They extend from the White Sea in the west to the Chatanga Gulf (beyond the Yenisei) in the east, and from the Arctic Ocean in the north to the Sayan mountains in the south. Their principal dwelling-place is the desolate tundra along the Arctic coast. Since the Samoyeds, like the Lapps, are for the most part in possession of reindeer herds, their way of life has compelled them to keep to these tundra lands, however unsuited they may appear for supporting human populations. These regions are of so spare a nature that no form of civilization can flourish in them; they offer the nomad only a meager subsistence — and experience shows, as the nature of the matter confirms, that a nomadic people can never attain a higher degree of civilization. Yet by this I do not mean that the Samoyeds are forever condemned to barbarism: my conviction is rather that Christianity and civilization will within a short time take root among them. The entire so-called tundra land is traversed by great, fish-rich rivers, whose banks are quite fertile and well suited to cattle-raising. It will doubtless be the fate of the Samoyeds to settle along these rivers and to exchange reindeer-herding for fishing and stock-breeding. The Russians have already shown them a good example in this respect, for along all the great rivers one finds small Russian colonies, some of which have worked their way to uncommon prosperity. Here and there a ruined Samoyed has already followed their example, but experience has shown that in doing so he loses his national identity and gradually becomes Russian. This has greatly contributed to frightening the Samoyeds away from all attempts at colonization, for despite all their misery they set great store by their national identity and readily sacrifice the goods of life in order to remain true to their Samoyed nationality. This national identity they cannot, however, sustain indefinitely: for although they live in strict separation from the Russians and retreat before them into the most remote tundra, they grow ever more acquainted with civilization, and their wants grow accordingly. These wants they cannot in the long term satisfy under their present mode of life. Day by day they sink into ever greater poverty; the reindeer herds grow smaller and smaller; and when the last reindeer is gone, the poor Samoyed has no choice but either to hire himself out to a Russian colonist or to live on their alms. In both cases he forfeits his national identity — and even when the Samoyeds have exceptionally formed some small colony, it has not been in their power to preserve their language, religion, and customs. The Samoyeds are, in a word, a dying people; posterity will scarcely know that such a people ever existed. They have performed no deed worth recording in history. Their origin is barely known, and it has even been a matter of doubt to which human race they should be assigned.
Among physiologists three different views prevail. Heusinger, in his work Grundriss der Anthropologie, counted both the Lapps and the Samoyeds among the Caucasian race. Bory de St. Vincent posits a special so-called Hyperborean race, to which the Samoyeds naturally belong in the first rank. Blumenbach, Baer, and others hold that the Samoyeds belong to the Mongolian race. From the philological standpoint, only the last view is fully acceptable. It must be noted, however, that while the physiologist Baer recognizes no kinship between the Lapps and Finns on one side and the Samoyeds on the other, the philologist must not only count the Finnish and Samoyed peoples as belonging to the same race — it even appears that the Samoyed family has no other such close relative in the entire world as the Finnish family. Above all, these two language families share the great characteristic that the process of agglutination has made far greater advances in them than in Mongolian, Tungus, or the Turkic languages; and secondly, these languages show a far greater material kinship with each other than with the remaining Altaic languages. Regarding the character of agglutination in Finnish and Samoyed, I have already remarked in the foregoing that it differs little from the inflection found in the Indo-European languages. Of all agglutinating languages, these stand closest to the inflected languages and form, as it were, a transitional link toward them. The languages of the Finnish and Samoyed families thus have no fully determinate type — and the same may well hold for their skull-formation, for otherwise it would be difficult to understand the divergence of opinion among physiologists on the subject of races. Indeed, I have encountered the view that the Finnish and Turkic families form, physiologically, a transitional link between the Caucasian and Mongolian races.
The Five Branches
The Samoyeds fall into three great branches, which I have named as follows: (1) the Jurak-Samoyeds, (2) the Tawgy-Samoyeds, (3) the Ostjak-Samoyeds; to which two smaller branches are added: the Yenisei-Samoyeds and the Kamassinzen.
The first-named, the Jurak-Samoyeds, extend from the White Sea in the west to the Yenisei in the east and nomadize on the treeless tundra along the Arctic coast. Adjoining them to the east are the so-called Tawgy-Samoyeds, who extend to the Chatanga Gulf and likewise wander as nomads on the tundra. Between these two large tribes, the Yenisei-Samoyeds occupy the lower course of the Yenisei. They too are for the greater part nomads, but also engage in fishing in the Yenisei. The Ostjak-Samoyeds do not belong to the tundra region but inhabit the forest zone. Weak branches of this tribe are found in the north near the Tas River; the greater part, however, live scattered along the upper Ob and its numerous tributaries. Of these, only the Tas Samoyeds possess reindeer; the rest support themselves by hunting and fishing. Instead of reindeer they use either horses or dogs, and their dwellings consist not of tents but mostly of small huts or so-called yurts. As for the Kamassinzen, they have their dwelling in southern Siberia within the steppe region, along the small rivers Kan and Mana belonging to the Yenisei drainage basin. They are hunters but also keep a small number of reindeer. They form a very insignificant tribe, yet their existence is of great importance for ethnography, for it provides a decisive result in the question of Samoyed origins.
Origins at the Altai
It has been maintained that the Samoyed family, like other related peoples, had its original home at the Altai in the region of the Sayan mountains. Pallas believed he had found weak remnants of the Samoyed people there and lists for us the Kamassinzen, Karagasses, Koibals, Mators, Arinzen, Assanes, and others, along with several smaller remnant peoples of this family, which he found at the headwaters of the Yenisei near the Sayan mountains. A few decades later, the civil governor of Yeniseisk province, named Stepanov, undertook ethnographic journeys in his region and published a work in which, with considerable animosity, he sought to refute Pallas's findings and claimed that the peoples taken for Samoyeds were of Tatar and Turkic origin. Accordingly, I received from the Imperial Academy of Sciences in St. Petersburg the commission to investigate the true nature and nationality of the peoples in question. It emerged that one district among the Kamassinzen consisted of pure Samoyeds; the remaining tribes, however, in agreement with Stepanov's findings, were genuine Turks. Among the Koibals, Mators, Karagasses, Soyots, and the other peoples mentioned by Pallas, the tradition was universally current that their fathers had spoken a different language, and some individuals still knew individual words from that language. Through their assistance it was easy for me to resolve the disputed question. It emerged that the Sayan mountain region had been the seat of two northern peoples: namely (1) the Samoyeds and (2) the Yenisei-Ostjaks. In regard to the Samoyeds, it is a remarkable circumstance that the southern branches of this family, and especially the still-living Kamassinzen, have retained certain clan names still found among the northern tribes. One can therefore no longer doubt the Samoyed family's origin from the Altai. The time of their departure, however, cannot be determined, for the earliest notice of the Samoyeds comes from Nestor, by whose time they were already in possession of their northern settlements.
The cause of their emigration can have been nothing other than the incessant unrest that prevailed in Central Asia, especially at the time when the Huns and other Turkic tribes were masters of the land. Various Turkic tribes were during this period compelled one after another to abandon their homeland. Only weak remnants of the Turkic population remain in that land today. Already in very remote times various Turkic hordes — such as the northern Huns — had abandoned Central Asia. The same holds for the Kirghiz and perhaps several other Turkic tribes who settled in the steppes of southern Siberia north of the Sayan mountains. It was without doubt the advance of these Turkic colonies that drove the Samoyeds northward. One part followed the course of the Yenisei, another the course of the Ob. That these rivers truly served the Samoyeds as guides in their migration admits of no doubt, for along both rivers one finds, as already noted, a great number of both extinct and still-existing Samoyed colonies. Wherever one finds, however far south, either a living or an extinct tribe of Samoyed origin, there is always a Turkic tribe further south of it. And as for those Samoyed tribes that have lost their nationality — so far as is known, they have all become Turks. All this demonstrates plainly that the Turks were the people who drove the Samoyeds from their homes in the Altai chain.
In the further course of their migration the Samoyeds also came into contact with other peoples, and in particular with the Finnish people. In this process, if the current traditions are to be trusted, some Samoyed tribes were driven out by the Finns, while others in turn subjugated the Finnish population and took over their settlements. Particularly reliable to me seems the tradition according to which the Ugric Ostyaks drove the Samoyeds from their settlements on the lower Ob back to the Arctic coast. This tradition is also current among the Ostyaks themselves, and it finds support in the fact that the Ostyak population has since ancient times actually occupied settlements situated further south, from which later-arriving tribes of Turkic origin compelled them to withdraw. The only region in which the Finns appear to have been compelled to cede their settlements to the Samoyeds is the region west of the Urals. That Finnish tribes had their home here in ancient times I sought to show in an earlier article on the Savolotshe Chude. As evidence I cited, among other things, the traditions current no less among the Samoyeds than among the Russians concerning the Chude people — called by the Samoyeds Sirtje — which tell that this people, upon the arrival of the Samoyeds, fled into the bosom of the earth and still lives there in possession of beavers, foxes, and mammoths. I further sought to confirm this hypothesis by adducing a great number of Finnish place-names found in this region. For example, there is a river called Ishma, from isomaa (great land), which seems originally to have referred to the tundra — what the Russians call Bolshaya Zemlya and the Samoyeds arka ja (great land). Another river is called Tsylma, from the Finnish kylmä (cold); a third, Pjoscha, from the Finnish pesä (nest); a fourth, Oja; a fifth, Kuloi, meaning fish-river. Perhaps also the word Samojed itself is of Finnish origin (Lappish Samejedne). To this may be added the numerous accounts in Scandinavian sagas concerning Bjarmaland and its Finnish population, which seem collectively to indicate that the Finns formerly inhabited the tundra regions west of the Urals, or at least the rivers crossing those lands.
On the Yenisei-Ostjaks
I mentioned in the foregoing that the Yenisei-Ostjaks, like the Samoyeds, originated from the Sayan mountain region. These Ostjaks do not properly belong in our subject, for their language is of a character very different from that of the Altaic languages; but since they live in the midst of the Samoyeds, they may be mentioned here in passing, especially since they offer in ethnographic respects numerous points of contact with both the Samoyeds and other Altaic peoples.
The so-called Yenisei-Ostjaks perhaps form the remnant of a larger people that formerly dwelt in Central Asia and was destroyed during the dangerous wars and devastations to which that land was subject. At present this tribe numbers barely a thousand tribute-paying persons. They live for the most part on the Yenisei and its tributaries, between the cities of Yeniseisk and Turukhansk. Like the neighboring Ostjak-Samoyeds, they occupy themselves principally with hunting and fishing. They possess no reindeer; their beast of burden is the dog. In summer and winter they live in huts usually built of birch bark. Like Siberia's other indigenous peoples, they fall into separate clans governed by their own native princes. They are Christian in name but pagan in practice, and show great reverence for the bear.
II. Five Samoyed Tales
Recorded by M.A. Castrén during his fieldwork among the Nenets peoples (1838–1844) and translated by him into German. These five tales appear here in English for the first time.
A note on the tales: The word Tadibe (Nenets: tadibei) designates the Samoyed shaman or sorcerer — a ritual practitioner able to enter altered states, communicate with spirits, and manipulate the natural world. The Balagan is a type of linen tent or screen used as protection against mosquitoes; in Samoyed the word is pjer. The Maliza is a reindeer-fur coat worn fur-side inward; the Sawik is worn over the Maliza, fur-side outward — together the standard cold-weather dress of the tundra nomad. The Raid (from Lappish rato) is a line of pack reindeer.
Tale I: The One-Legged Old Man
Seven hundred tents stood in one and the same place. In the seven hundred tents lived seven hundred people. Over them ruled seven masters. The seven masters went away again and again as guests; they did nothing but visit. They were brothers, these seven masters, and all had wives but no children. Only the eldest of them had a son, who was not yet grown. This son did not go visiting; he slept on and on, night and day. One day the father said to his son: "Get up and come with us to visit." The son did not want to go. He had had a bad dream — he had dreamed that all the others were killed and he alone remained alive. He told the dream to his father and said: "You could still be saved if you sacrifice seven times seven reindeer — fourteen." "What do you know?" replied the father. "You sleep day and night and know less than a dog." "As you wish, Father," said the son, and lay down again. In the morning he woke and saw that of the seven hundred people not one was alive — all had been killed. He went to look at the reindeer; all had fallen. He looked at the dogs; they too lay dead. He went to the sleds, took a sword, and cut all the tent-ropes; all the tents collapsed. Then he began to wander. He walked one day, two days, three days, seven days in all. He looked behind him; he could still see the place where the seven hundred tents lay fallen. He walked another seven days, looked behind him; he still saw two fallen tents. He walked yet another seven days, looked behind him; now he saw no tent at all.
He began walking again — a month, two months, three months, seven months in all. He grew weary; he had walked whole months without food through a desolate region. He sank down into the snow. He lay there a long, long time. Then he rose, began walking again, came to a place where a tent had once stood. He searched for food, found a bone that dogs had licked. He gnawed at it, threw it away, searched for other bones beneath the snow. There he found silver earrings. He put them into his mittens and began wandering again. He walked on and on for a long time, then one day saw something in the distance moving with reindeer. He drove toward it — it was a woman. The woman said: "You come from the camp; did you not find there the earrings I lost?" — "Yes, I found them and took them." — "Then give them back; they are mine," said the woman. "I will gladly give you the earrings, but you must take me with your reindeer to a place where people live." The woman took her spear and struck him with it so that he fell and lay on the spot. She took the earrings and drove away.
He lay there and slept a long time; at last he woke, stood up, and began walking again. He came to another old campsite, searched for food, found a bone the dogs had licked. He gnawed at it, threw it away, searched again beneath the snow. There he found an iron shovel. He took the shovel and walked on. He walked and walked, and again saw someone driving with reindeer — a beautiful, well-dressed woman coming toward him. "Where are you going, poor child?" — "I am going wandering in search of food; I am hungry and want to eat or I shall die." — "You come from our old camping place; did you not find an iron shovel there?" — "I found a shovel but don't know whose it is." — "That is my shovel; I came to look for it." — "I will give the shovel if you promise to take me to a human dwelling." — "I will gladly take you home," said the woman. "Why should I not? The man will die otherwise. I will feed and nourish you." He gave the shovel; she took him into her sled. In the sled the woman asked: "Where are you from, poor boy? I don't know you." He answered: "No one knows me; I am a fatherless and motherless orphan. Once there were seven brothers, rich, with seven hundred tents." — "I have heard of these seven brothers; where have they gone?" — "They died — all in a single night, and in the same night their seven hundred reindeer fell." The woman asked: "Do you know whose reindeer these are that you are riding with now?" — "How could I know? I am not yet old. But they look like my father's reindeer." — "Your father was once here with these reindeer and betrothed you to me. Your father gave me these two reindeer and this iron shovel as bride-price. He also gave a sword, but it has been stolen." — "I can find the sword in time," said the boy. "Then you are my husband," said the girl. They came to the tent and lived there together.
After a time the camp began to move. They harnessed reindeer, but before the newcomer's sled they put bad reindeer and placed him last in the procession. With his poor reindeer he soon fell behind. He drove them on but they would not obey. Suddenly the whole procession halted; he caught up. Someone said: "What sort of company follows behind you?" — "Not a single person; I came entirely alone," answered the stranger — but he looked behind himself. In that same instant the questioner took a spear and struck him down. He lay there; all traveled on. His wife stayed back and began to weep. While she wept in her sled, her reindeer shied and ran off after the others. Immediately afterwards there came to the dead man a one-legged, one-handed, one-eyed old man. In his one hand he carried an iron staff. He struck the dead man and said: "Why do you lie there? Get up and go back; your father is alive and all your brothers are alive again." The dead man woke and thought: "I have slept a good while — but who was that man who said my father was alive and asked me to turn back?" He looked around, saw no one, believed he had dreamed. He wandered on, came to the tent, lay down beside his wife. In the morning they broke camp again, gave him bad reindeer, placed him last. He fell behind; they halted; he caught up. The same man as before asked: "What people are moving behind you?" — "No one," answered the stranger — but he looked behind himself, and in that same instant the man pierced him with his spear a second time. All went on. The wife drove with the others, thinking: "He didn't die; he'll come to the tent in his own time." After they had gone, the one-legged, one-handed, one-eyed old man came. He struck the dead man and said: "Yesterday I already told you to turn back; what are you doing in the tent? Turn back if you want to keep your head. Your father is alive and has been alive a long time." The dead man woke, looked around, thought: "Who is this man who asks me to turn back and says my father is alive? He has been dead a long time." He saw no one, believed again that he had dreamed, drove to the tent, lay down beside his wife.
The following morning they moved again; they gave him the worst reindeer, placed him last. He fell behind as before; they halted; he caught up. "See how many reindeer come behind you!" said the same man who had already killed him twice. He looked — and in that same instant the man drove his spear into him again. All moved on. The one-legged, one-handed, one-eyed old man came, struck the dead man with the iron staff and said: "For the third time I tell you: turn back. You have been killed twice; both times I woke you back to life — but now I will not do it again." He stood up, but did not turn back. He went to the tent but did not step inside — he sat on a sled. He began to suspect they meant to murder him. He took the bows from the sled and broke them all; went to his wife's sled and took from it the same iron shovel he had found and returned to her; with the shovel he smashed all the tents. The people ran out; he attacked them with the shovel. They ran for their bows, but the bows were destroyed. He struck them all down. He did not strike his wife, nor her father, mother, or children. Then he looked among the dead and could not find the man who had killed him three times. He had fled, but his tracks were in the snow. He ran after the tracks, ran a long time, at last caught up with him.
Both men began to fight. They fought all winter at the same spot until both fell and died. They lay there the whole summer and rotted. Foxes came, wolves came, devoured the corpses, ate everything except the bones. Autumn came — and also came the one-legged, one-handed, one-eyed old man. He said to the stranger: "How many times have I told you to turn back? Now I tell you for the very last time; after this my power cannot help you." He gathered the bones — all of them, even the smallest pieces — put them in a sack, took the sack on his back, and went his way. After a time he came to a great stone. He pushed at it; it rolled to one side. Beneath it was a hole. The old man crawled in.
There inside was a dark, dark place where people were crying, whistling, and singing. Someone tried to snatch the sack from him. Directly before him he saw something bright like a window. By the glow of that light he saw people who were naked, without skin, without flesh, with bare raw bones. Their teeth grinned in their mouths. The old man moved toward the light, saw a tent, entered it; inside was no one, only a woman sitting at the hearth. On the other side stood two monsters — they did not move, they did not speak; their eyes were very large and stood vertically in their heads. The old man threw the sack on the ground and said to the woman: "Here is firewood — throw it on the fire." — "Good that you brought some," she answered; "I was already without wood." The old woman made fire, threw the bones in; they burned to ash. She took the ash, strewed it over the bed, and lay down to sleep on the ash. After three days a man was born from the ash. He began asking himself: "What is this dark place where I have been sleeping?" He stood up and looked around. In the tent there was no smoke-hole. He wanted to go outside but found no door. He searched the walls; they were of iron.
He said to the old woman: "I want to go out but find no door." The old woman stood up and kicked against the wall; it opened. He went out, came back immediately, saw the two monsters, took fright, and fell on his face. He stood up and asked: "What are these monsters — are they people, are they animals?" The old woman answered: "They are not animals; they are my parents." — "Do they speak, do they eat, what do they do?" — "They do not speak, they do not eat, they do nothing." — "Then what are they, and have they always been like this?" — "Not always; in their day they were excellent people — then they became stones, and have been stones until this hour; they hear nothing, see nothing, know nothing."
The old woman said to the stranger: "What do you wish for most?" — "If I knew where my wife lives now, I would most like to go to her." — "Live with me a while; my reindeer will come soon and carry you away from here. But you must take me as your wife, or I will turn you into stone." The stranger understood that the old woman had turned the two people standing by the hearth into stone, and feared the same for himself. He said: "Very well, I take you as my second wife." They lived three days in the tent. Then the reindeer came. They both got into the sled and drove away. At first they passed through dark regions. Thin, skeletal people ran after them trying to pierce the stranger with spears, but could not reach a man riding with reindeer. At last they came to bright white light. The old woman said: "Push that stone from the hole." He tried, but could not move it. She pushed it with her foot. They drove off, drove a long, long time, saw a tent, drove to it. There the stranger found his first wife, her mother and father. He took both wives and the parents of his first wife with him and journeyed toward his homeland. When he drew near, he saw all seven hundred tents, many people, many reindeer — all alive again. At some distance he saw the one-legged, one-handed, one-eyed old man running toward him — and with the old man ran another man: the same one who had killed him three times. He began fighting his murderer and struck him down. In his frenzy he lost himself and in his madness killed the one-handed old man. Then he drove to the tents — but there all were dead. The people had died and the reindeer lay fallen. His two wives died as well. So they all died, and he was alone again — because he had killed the one-legged, one-handed, one-eyed old man.
Tale II: The Two Sisters and the Cannibal Woman
In one tent lived two women — one young, the other old. The young one had two daughters; the old one was childless. The young one sewed clothes for her children; the old one lay idle. One day the childless woman said: "Let us go pull shoe-grass." The other answered: "I probably have no time — I must sew for the children." Nevertheless she went. While they pulled grass in the field, the childless woman took her knife and stabbed the other dead. She made fire, roasted the flesh, ate it. She did not eat the head — she would eat it another time. She went inside; the children asked: "Where is mother?" — "Mother is pulling shoe-grass; she'll come when she has time," answered the old woman, and lay across the doorway to sleep so the children could not slip out — she intended to eat them too when she woke. While she slept, the older girl crept quietly out of the balagan. She found her mother's head and understood: "The old woman has eaten my mother; when she wakes she will eat me and my sister." She caught two living birds, put them in the balagan, and fled with her sister. The old woman slept seven days, woke, went for the children — found only the two birds. "You have not escaped me," she thought, and began running after the girls. She ran seven days, caught up with them, reached for the younger. The older threw a whetstone behind her; at once a river came flowing, steep mountains rising on both banks. The old woman was stopped. The girls escaped. The river flowed seven days, then dried up. The old woman ran again — seven days, caught up again, reached for the younger. The older threw a flint; a high mountain rose at once. After seven days the mountain vanished. Again the old woman ran. Seven days, caught them, reached for the younger. The older threw a comb; a dense forest rose, so dense the old woman could not pass. After seven days the forest was gone; the old woman ran again.
After the children had run three days they came to a place where a tent had recently stood. Seven crows sat there eating reindeer droppings. The older girl said to one: "Little mother, show us the way to where people live." The crow answered: "Keep going forward and forward and you will reach the blue sea. There you will find seven seagulls who will show you the way." The girls ran seven days, reached the blue sea, found the seven seagulls eating seal-flesh. The older asked: "Little mother, which way to find people?" The seagull said: "Go along the coast — there is an island between two seas. On it lives an old woman; she will take you across the strait." The girls ran seven days, came to the island, saw a tent, called for a boat. The old woman came out. "What does my face look like?" she asked. — "It shines like the sun," said the older. "My breast?" — "Beautiful as the reindeer spleen." — "My hands and feet?" — "Thick and fat as the flesh of sea-creatures." The old woman cried out; a beaver swam to the girls and carried them across.
Barely had they landed when the cannibal old woman came running after them. She stopped at the shore and asked to be taken across. The island woman asked: "What does my face look like?" — "Ugly — it looks like the hindquarters of an animal." "My breast?" — "Like the chest of a dog." "My arms and legs?" — "Like spoon-handles." "What did you see on the way?" — "Seven crows, living badly on reindeer droppings." "What else?" — "Seven seagulls, eating only seal-flesh." The island woman cried out; a sturgeon swam to the cannibal. "Sit on the sturgeon." — "How can I sit here — the back is sharp." — "How did the girls cross?" — "On the same sturgeon," answered the island woman. The cannibal sat on its back. The sturgeon swam far from the island, swam further and further, and drowned her.
The girls lived long with the old woman on the island. The older grew restless and asked to be shown a place with more people. The old woman said: "Follow the footpath on the island to the shore. There is a shallow place with a copper boat. Get in; without oar or sail it will carry you to people. But in the boat are dangerous tools — axes, knives, borers. Touch nothing. When you arrive, say: 'Boat, go back to where you came from.'" They followed the path, found the boat, pushed it into the water, climbed in. The boat ran by itself over many seas, came to a river, began gliding upstream. On the banks grew birches, pines, bird-cherries. At one place two great larches rose — one on each bank, their crowns grown together, the river running between them. "See what tall trees!" said the older. The younger took a knife to cut a branch. The knife stabbed her dead; she died; the boat stopped.
The older lifted her dead sister from the boat and said: "Boat, go back to where you came from." She carried her sister into a spruce forest and asked by means of the magic drum: "Shall I bury you here, sister?" — "Not in the spruce forest; people go there and will frighten me." She carried her to a birch forest: "Here?" — "Not in the birch forest; people cut birches and will frighten me." A pine forest: "Here?" — "Not in the pine forest; children break branches there." Her arms aching, she found a birch thicket — and there a wolf's den. She laid her sister in the hole and went her way, walking for several months.
Winter came. She came to a footpath, followed it to a river. On the river stood two sleds with harnessed reindeer — one with a dappled reindeer, one with a gleaming white one. No people. She waited all day, until evening. Two men came out of the forest. One asked: "Won't you ride home with us?" — "No, I walk; I am shy before men." The older man with the white reindeer said to the younger: "Take her and put her in the sled." — "I don't want anyone in mine — take her yourself." The older man took the girl into his sled and drove home. Tent stood beside tent, ruled by two masters, each with a son — these were their sons. The girl settled in; the older son took her as wife. They lived long together.
Once they broke camp and traveled three days, then halted. In the night a storm scattered the reindeer. Next day both sons drove out to search. At one place the older son's reindeer shied. He saw a wolf's den, heard wolves howling — and heard a weeping. "Do not weep, my child; father will bring you meat." He drove home. "Did you find reindeer?" asked his father. "No," said the son — but said nothing of what he had seen. In the night he told his wife: wolves howling, a woman weeping. "Could it not be my sister?" said his wife. "I buried her there. Let us go." Next day they all drove to the wolf's den. The wolf had gone; the cubs and a woman were there. They killed the cubs, took the woman to the tent. She was like a madwoman, only screaming. They set her by the fire. She gazed into the flames a long while — then woke and asked: "Have I slept long?" — "Long, sister, very long. We rode the boat the island woman gave us; you touched a knife and died. I buried you in the wolf's den, and my husband heard you weeping there yesterday." The younger sister began to live in the tent. She became the wife of the younger son with the dappled reindeer.
Tale III: The Two Shamans Who Became Geese
There was a village with seven hundred tents. In the seven-hundredth tent, children quarreled about whose Tadibe was better. The two Tadibes themselves began quarreling in the tent. At last one said: "The true Tadibe is the one who can set the moon on the flat of his hand." — "No one can do that." — "I can." — "Show it." The Tadibe set the moon on the flat of his hand. The moon lay on his hand — and in the tent it grew cold, so cold the people could not protect themselves. One fire after another was lit; they put on their maliza and sawik; still they froze. The lesser Tadibe begged the greater to put the moon back. He did. They began quarreling again. "No one is a Tadibe who cannot set the sun on his hand." — "Can you?" — "I can." He set the sun on the flat of his hand. It became so hot in the tent the people nearly died. The lesser begged the greater to put the sun back. He did. Then he said: "Let us become geese and live as geese a while." Said and done. Both became geese and flew away — far away, to Novaya Zemlya. Each set up a tent; the greater made his of cloth, the lesser of reindeer skulls. Spring came. The lesser said: "Let us gather females like other geese." — "That will not do; if we have young, people will catch us. Let us fly further." They flew and came to a river full of geese. The geese kept watch day and night, each in turn. The turn came to the lesser Tadibe — the one with the skull-tent. While he stood watch, a one-eyed Samoyed came to hunt with a three-legged dog. The dog drove the geese and killed many. It tried to seize the lesser Tadibe, bit him in the beak. The greater turned back and freed him. Three times the dog attacked the lesser; three times the greater freed him. The river grew narrower and shallower; the geese could no longer dive. "We are lost," said the lesser. "What to do? We cannot dive here, and we cannot outrun the dog on land." The greater said: "Let us try — the land is not wide; we will reach the sea and there is an island there." They ran across the land, swam the strait, reached the island.
On the island the lesser ate grass; his wings grew quickly and large. The greater ate moss; his wings did not grow. The lesser said: "Eat grass so your wings grow and we can leave. See how large mine are — yours are nothing. Soon I will fly away and must leave you here." The greater kept eating moss. The lesser flew off, reached another island, transformed into a diving duck — and children came and killed him. When the lesser had gone, the greater began eating grass. His wings grew at once to a fathom's length. He flew back to his homeland and began living there again as a man.
Tale IV: The Man Who Stole the Sky-Woman's Clothes
Two Samoyeds lived in a desolate place, catching foxes, sables, bears. One set out on a journey; the other stayed behind. The traveler came upon an old woman chopping birch trees. "You're hacking all around — you'll never fell it that way. Chop from two sides! Let me do it." He took the axe, struck from two sides, felled the tree, put it on his sled, and drove it to her tent. The old woman said: "Hide yourself so no one sees you." He hid; she stood on the hill. Seven girls came. "Who chopped this for you? You don't chop like that yourself." — "I did it myself." The girls left at once without entering the tent. The Samoyed came out of hiding. The old woman said: "In the dark forest there is a long lake. Go there. When you arrive, the seven girls will swim; they leave their clothes on the shore. Go quietly, take one girl's clothes, and hide them." He went, took the best clothes, and hid. The girls swam, came to shore, began dressing — one girl's clothes were gone. She threw herself back in the lake. The others left. She wept in the lake: "Whoever has taken my clothes, his wife I will be if he gives them back." The Samoyed held back, not yet trusting. The girl thought: "Our old woman has an elder sister with a son; if he took them, I will be his wife." The man came forward. "You are the nephew of our old woman! Give me my clothes and I will be your wife." — "If I give them back you will fly up to the sky — how can I hold you?" — "Truly I will be your wife. Give them; I am freezing." — "Not far from here seven Samoyeds live together in a remote place. They go out much; when they come home they take out their hearts and hang them on the tent poles. Bring me those seven hearts and I will give you the clothes — otherwise you will not get them even if you die on this spot." — "I will get the hearts; give me the clothes." — "I will not give them before you tell me how." — "I will go in the night and take them." — "You will not get them that way; many have tried. Come closer — I will teach you how." She swam to the bank. The Samoyed said: "They have taken my sister captive. Go to her; she guards all the hearts. From her you must obtain them." So they agreed, and he gave the girl her clothes. She dressed. He asked for five days. "In five days I will come to you with my raid and tent," she answered.
He returned to his companion. "Where have you been, what have you seen?" — "Nowhere, nothing." His companion said: "You have been to our father's sister. The seven heartless brothers killed the mother — they will kill you too if you go there. Never go to the old woman again."
They lived five days. On the fifth day the girl came through the air with her raid and tent and became his wife. "Let us go to the seven brothers," she said, "and try to get their hearts." They came to the brothers' tent; the brothers were out, only women inside. No one could see the wife. The husband was visible and spoke to his sister: "Where do the seven brothers put their hearts when they come home?" — "Up on the tent poles; they sleep always without their hearts. They trust me — each evening I take a bowl, go from brother to brother, each lays his heart on the bowl, and I hang the hearts on the poles." — "Take the bowl, take the hearts from the poles, and put them on the bowl. When morning comes and they ask for their hearts, throw the hearts of the six younger brothers where you will — let them die — but take the heart of the eldest to him and say: 'If my mother comes back to life, I give you your heart; otherwise not.'"
That evening the Samoyed and his wife went home. "Do not come with me," said the wife; "let me take the hearts alone." In the night she went back. The brothers were still eating supper; no one could see her. They finished, spread reindeer hides, lay down. The sister took the bowl; each laid his heart on it. Then she put the hearts in the appointed place. "Why did you put them away so carelessly?" asked one brother. "She will watch them well," said the eldest. While they slept, the wife drove off with the hearts. She brought them to the man.
At dawn the man went to the brothers; they were already close to dying. All begged for their hearts. He threw them down — and as he threw each heart, that brother died. The six younger brothers died. The eldest he did not yet throw. As the eldest kept begging, the man said: "You killed my mother. Make her alive again and I will give you your heart." — "Give me the heart first and then I will wake her." — "Not until you first make her alive." The eldest said to his wife: "Go to where the dead woman lies; there is a pouch — fetch it; in the pouch is her spirit." The wife fetched it. "Go to your dead mother, shake the pouch, let the spirit blow over all her bones — she will come alive." He did as told; the mother recovered her life. He sent her to his tent, then went himself to where his sister was. The Samoyed was still there. He hurled his heart against the ground; he died too. The brother went home with his sister.
He went again to the father's sister in the forest. "Have the seven not killed you?" — "No; we killed them. How goes it with us?" — "Your wife's knife is here; I give it to you — give it to your sister and ask her to do as she will. I will come to you myself soon." He came home, gave his wife the knife, asked her to do what she wished. She took it, cut out the hearts of everyone in the tent — her husband's heart and her own — and threw them all into the air. The father's sister came, saw all without hearts: "They neither live nor are dead — what shall I do? I will go to the long lake; perhaps I will find someone." The six sisters bathed in the lake again; she hid the best clothes. They wept: "We do not know where our sister has gone." They came to shore; one missed her clothes, threw herself back in. The girl wept: "Whoever took my clothes, his wife I would have become, and I could make any dead person alive — if only I get my clothes. In the air we caught many hearts; with them I can help the dead." The old woman came forward: "Here are your clothes!" — "Give them; I will keep every promise." — "Give me all the hearts you caught, and I will give you the clothes. You live in the air; your sister is now on earth. If she asks you for something, can you help her?" — "If she lives, we will do whatever she asks." The girl gave the hearts; the old woman gave the clothes. She went to the tent, gave everyone back their hearts — and all became pure and holy. "Now," said the woman, "let us go to heaven, to our sisters." They harnessed reindeer and drove through the air. They drove seven days through dense fog, then came to a warm, very warm and good place. There they live still today.
Tale V: The Trickster and the Prince's Daughters
By a river lived an old man and an old woman — only these two, Samoyeds. Higher up the river, Ostyaks lived in yurts, several yurts together like a village. The old man lived in the most extreme poverty — no weapons, no tools, only an axe. One evening after supper he went outside; ptarmigan were running on the snow. He threw a stick at them but missed. The ptarmigan began to speak: "Why do you want to take our lives? Go into the tent and kill your wife. You are poor; kill your wife and you will become rich." The old man took his axe, went inside, and struck his wife dead. Then he began to weep: "What have I done? Why did I kill my wife? Our whole life we lived peacefully together, and now I have killed her!" He wept all night. Morning came. God gave light. The old man prepared a small dog-sled, set his wife upright in it as if she were alive, drew her down to the river, followed the river to a large stream, began going upstream. He found a village — an Ostyak prince lived there. He left the corpse at an ice-hole and went to the prince, who had two daughters. The prince had the old man eat and drink his fill. "I have eaten and drunk," said the old man, "but my wife outside has probably frozen." — "Why did you not tell me you had your wife here? She may have frozen." The prince sent both daughters: "Bring her so she can warm up." The daughters ran; the younger ran ahead. "You will injure the old woman." Nevertheless she ran, yanked the sled by the strap — the old woman fell into the ice-hole. They went home and told the prince she had drowned. The prince searched with long poles but could not find her.
The old man lived with the prince, weeping night and day. The prince said: "My ears cannot bear this crying; I will give him my eldest daughter in place of the old woman." The wedding was celebrated; the prince set up a separate yurt for the old man. They lived there long; the wife bore a son. The prince held a great feast. All became drunk. The prince and his son-in-law kept drinking; the prince fell down. The old man shouted: "I alone am still on my feet! They all lie drunk, though we all drank equally. These people are worth nothing. I killed my wife and I am still a better man than all of them." — "What?" said the younger daughter. "Did you yourself kill your wife?" The old man stepped toward her and pushed her with his hand; she was struck speechless. The guests slept and left. The younger daughter remained speechless and could not eat; she was beginning to die. The prince said: "Find someone who can heal her. Go to my son-in-law — ask whether he knows where such a person is."
The son-in-law said he knew of no one. The prince said: "I have heard that seven Ostyaks live nearby; their mother is said to be very learned. Son-in-law, drive to her with good dogs." The old man harnessed good dogs and set off. He came to the seven Ostyaks and asked the old woman to come heal the prince's daughter. She came. The prince asked: "Can you heal my sick daughter?" — "If people harmed her, there is a cure; if the illness comes from God, I cannot help. Yet it seems to me people harmed her." The old woman took her magic drum and began to beat it — then broke off: "By God, I have not found the cause, and death has not harmed her either." The old man sat beside her. She began drumming again with great zeal, throwing herself from side to side. The old man whittled sharp pegs. When she threw herself to one side, a peg drove into one of her ears and came out through the other. She died on the spot. "My daughter is dying, the old woman is dead, and now the seven Ostyaks will attack me."
The prince begged: "If you bring the old woman back to her sons without them attacking me, I will give you half my property." The old man harnessed the dogs again, set the old woman upright in the sled as if alive, and drove away. He drove into dark forests. Two Samoyeds were shooting at a squirrel with bows, missing every time. He stopped, gathered their arrows, and said: "What bad shots — let me shoot and I will bring the squirrel as a gift to the prince." Meanwhile he went to the woman and stuck an arrow through her ears. "What?" he said; "you have shot the mother of the seven Ostyaks dead — the arrow entered one ear and came out the other." The Samoyeds were horrified, went to the prince, and begged for mercy. "Drive the old woman to the Ostyaks and make your peace with them as best you can."
The Samoyeds begged the old man to bring her. "We will give you foxes, sables, fat, clothes — anything — just bring the old woman to the Ostyaks." — "I will take everything on my responsibility; just do not deceive me." The old man drove again. He arrived at the Ostyaks, stopped with the corpse, pulled the arrow from the ears, stuck a tree branch in instead, covered the old woman with snow. He went in; they came out to meet him, went to their mother, and saw the branch in her ears. "You have killed our mother?" — "What are you saying?" — "Do you not see the branch?" — "That is because the prince gave me wild dogs; a branch was driven into her ears during the drive through the forest." The Ostyaks said: "The fault is yours." They lifted their mother from the sled and asked the old man to leave. He came back to the two Samoyeds where they had shot at the squirrel. They stood there with everything they had promised — one sled full of foxes and sables, another loaded with clothes of many kinds. He took the sleds and drove home with them. So he lived on with the prince.
The girl lay dying. The prince said: "Heal my younger daughter and take her as your second wife." — "Bring her to me and I will try." She was brought; everyone went to rest. The girl was put in a separate room; all were forbidden to enter. Awakened by her cries, the older sister went to look — but remembered her husband's command and turned back. Right behind her, the younger sister came out: healthy, alive, speaking. The prince was overjoyed and gave his younger daughter too to the old man. After the wedding they lived long; the younger wife said not a word of what had happened. Two sons grew — one by each sister. The old man said to the older: "Ask your father for a boat; I want to see my former dwelling." He received the boat and set out alone. He came to the place where he had taken his wife's life. He went into a nearby village. All the neighbors knew him. "Where have you been so long?" — "With the Ostyak prince." — "What news from there?" — "Nothing good; that is also why I have come. They say the Harjutsi-Samoyeds will come to raid us — we must save ourselves." — "How?" — "Make two pits and hide in them. Cover the pits with large trees, and I will cover the trees with earth. Put your reindeer and all your property in one pit, cover it well; go yourselves into the other, as many as you are." They did as the old man said. One pit they covered themselves; the other the old man covered. Then the old man set off on the journey and drove home again.
He came home, lived again a while with the prince, asked again for boats to travel to his old place. He took his two wives, his sons, all his possessions, and set off in three boats to his former dwelling. He settled in the village where the neighbors had lived and stored his property in their storehouses. "See what a fine yurt the old man has here," said one daughter. "Let us also look at my property hidden in the earth," said the old man. The pit was opened: property of every kind — foxes, sables, ermine, money, clothes, and more. They carried it all into the storehouses until they were full. "This," said the old man, "is property for you all. I am old and soon go into the grave; what I have gathered — use it after my death as you see fit."
Colophon
Work: Ethnological Lectures: Samoyed Overview and Five Samoyed Tales
Source: Ethnologische Vorlesungen über die Altaischen Völker, nebst samojedischen Märchen und tatarischen Heldensagen, by M.A. Castrén, edited posthumously by Anton Schiefner. St. Petersburg, 1857. Selections translated: Ethnologischer Überblick — Samojeden (pp. 79–87) and Samojedische Märchen 1–5 (pp. 157–181).
Translation: First-ever English translation. Translated by Sorcha (Tianmu tulku, translator-01), April 2026, from Castrén's German text as staged in Tulku/Tools/uralic/castren_1857_ethnologische_vorlesungen.txt.
Blood Rule declaration: These are Castrén's own German fieldwork translations of Nenets oral material recorded in the field (1838–1844); the original Nenets-language texts are not present in this volume. This translation was made from the German text. The colophon accordingly notes: translated via Castrén's German fieldwork translations (1857). For Nenets-language source texts, see Lehtisalo's SUST 83 edition (1940), which remains under copyright review.
Tradition: Uralic — Nenets (Jurak-Samoyed) / Finnish & Samoyedic Ethnography
Register: Scholarly (ethnological section) / gospel narrative (tales)
Archive: Public domain. Google digitization of Oxford University copy, archive.org identifier: ethnologischevo00castgoog.
Note on Castrén: Matthias Alexander Castrén (1813–1852) was the first scholar to systematically document the Uralic language family, conducting fieldwork across Finland, Lapland, and Siberia. He died of tuberculosis at thirty-nine, his lectures published posthumously by his colleague Anton Schiefner. His ethnological judgments reflect the imperial and Christian missionary assumptions of his era; his linguistic fieldwork remains irreplaceable.
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German Source Text
Sections I and II from: M.A. Castrén, Ethnologische Vorlesungen über die Altaischen Völker, nebst samojedischen Märchen und tatarischen Heldensagen. St. Petersburg, 1857. Pp. 79–87 (Samojeden / Jenissei-Ostjaken) and pp. 157–181 (Samojedische Märchen 1–5). Text as OCR'd from the Google digitization of the Oxford University copy (archive.org: ethnologischevo00castgoog). Fraktur artifacts preserved; page-break headers removed.
Samojeden (pp. 79–87)
Den vierten Hauptzweig des altaiseben Volksstammes bilden die sogenannten Samojedeo, welche, ungeachtet ihrer geringen Anzahl, ein unermessliches Gebiet einnehmen. Sie erstrecken sich vom weissen Meere im Westen bis zur Ghatanga-Bucht (jenseits des Jenissei) im Osten, von dem Eismeer im Norden bis zu den sajanischen Bergen im Süden. Ihr vornehmster Aufenthaltsort sind die öden Tundern längs der Küste des Eismeeres. Da die Samojeden sowie die Lappen grösstentheils in Besitz von Rennthierheerden sind, so sind sie in Folge ihrer Lebensart gezwungen gewesen sich an diese Tundern zu halten, so wenig diese auch geeignet scheinen möchten eine menschliche Bevölkerung zu beherbergen. Sie sind von einer so dürftigen Natur, dass auf ihnen gar keine Cultur emporblühen kann; sie schenken nur dem Nomaden einen dürftigen Unterhalt, die Erfahrung zeigt aber und es liegt ausserdem in der Natur der Sache, dass ein Nomadenvolk nie einen höhern Culturgrad erreichen kann. Ich will hiemit jedoch nicht gesagt haben, dass die Samojeden auf ewig zur Wildheit und Barbarei verdammt seien, es ist vielmehr meine Ueberzeugung, dass das Christenthum und die Cultur binnen kurzer Zeit bei ihnen Wurzel fassen werden. Das ganze sogenannte Tundra-Land ist durch grosse, fischreiche Ströme durchflossen, deren Ufer recht fruchtbar und zur Betreibung von Viehzucht sehr geeignet sind. Es wird ohne Zweifel das Schicksal der Samojeden sein, dass sie sich an diesen Strömen niederlassen und die Rennthierzucht gegen den Fischfang und die Viehzucht vertauschen werden. Die Russen sind ihnen schon in dieser Hinsicht mit einem guten Beispiel vorangegangen, denn an allen den grossen Flüssen kommen kleine russische Colonisen vor, unter denen sich einige zu einem ungewöhnlichen Wohlstand emporgearbeitet haben. Hin und wieder ist auch schon ein verarmter Samojede ihrem Beispiel gefolgt, die Erfahrung hat aber gelehrt, dass er in einem solchen Fall seine Nationalität einbüsste und nach und nach Russe wurde. Dieses hat aber auch in hohem Grade dazu beigetragen, die Samojeden von allen Colonisationsversuchen abzuschrecken, denn bei all ihrem Elend setzen sie doch einen hohen Werth auf ihre Nationalität und opfern gern die Güter des Lebens, um nur ihrer samojedischen Nationalität treu zu bleiben. Diese Nationalität können sie jedoch nicht fortdauernd aufrechterhalten, denn obwohl sie in strenger Absonderung von den Russen leben und sich vor ihnen in die abgelegensten Tundern zurückziehen, so werden sie doch immer mehr und mehr mit der Civilisation vertraut und in demselben Maasse nehmen auch ihre Bedürfnisse zu. Diese Bedürfnisse können sie jedoch nicht auf die Länge bei ihrer jetzigen Lebensart befriedigen. Von Tag zu Tag versinken sie in immer grössere Armuth, die Rennthierheerden werden immer kleiner und kleiner, und ist das letzte Rennthier verzehrt, so bleibt dem armen Samojeden nichts anderes übrig, als sich entweder bei einem russischen Colonisten zu verdingen oder von seinen Almosen zu leben. In beiden Fällen geht er seiner Nationalität verlustig, und wenn die Samojeden auch ausnahmsweise irgend eine kleine Colonie gebildet haben, so hat es doch nicht in ihrer Macht gestanden, ihre Sprache, ihre Religion und ihre Sitten beizubehalten. Die Samojeden sind, mit einem Worte, ein aussterbendes Volk; die Nachwelt wird kaum wissen, dass ein solches Volk irgendeinmal existirt habe. Sie haben keine That vollbracht, die es irgend verdiente, in der Geschichte aufgezeichnet zu werden. Man weiss kaum etwas von ihrer Herkunft und es ist sogar dem Zweifel unterworfen gewesen, zu welcher Menschenrace sie gerechnet werden müssen.
Bei den Physiologen herrschen in dieser Hinsicht drei verschiedene Ansichten. Heusinger hat in seinem Werke «Grundriss der Anthropologie» sowohl die Lappen als auch die Samojeden zur kaukasischen Race gerechnet. Bory de St. Vincent nimmt eine besondere, sogenannte hyperboräische, Race an, zu der die Samojeden natürlich in erster Reihe gehören. Blumenbach, Baer u. a. sind der Ansicht, dass die Samojeden zur mongolischen Race gehören. Von dem philologischen Standpunkte aus ist nur die letzte Ansicht vollkommen annehmbar. Es muss aber bemerkt werden, dass, während unter den Physiologen Baer keine Verwandtschaft zwischen den Lappen und Finnen einer Seits und den Samojeden anderer Seits annimmt, der Philolog dagegen nicht nur die finnischen und samojedischen Stämme zu derselben Race rechnen muss, sondern dass es sogar den Anschein hat, als hätte der samojedische Stamm in der ganzen weiten Welt keinen andern so nahestehenden Verwandten, als den finnischen Stamm.
Die Samojeden zerfallen in drei grosse Zweige, die ich also benannt habe: 1) Jurak-Samojeden, 2) Tawgy-Samojeden, 3) Ostjak-Samojeden, wozu noch zwei kleinere Zweige: die Jenissei-Samojeden und Kamassinzen kommen. Die zuerstgenannten oder die Jurak-Samojeden erstrecken sich von dem weissen Meere im Westen bis zum Jenissei im Osten und nomadisiren auf den waldlosen Tundern längs der Küsten des Eismeeres. Ostwärts reihen sich an sie die sogenannten Tawgy-Samojeden, welche sich bis zur Chatanga-Bucht erstrecken, und auch diese irren als Nomaden auf den Tundern umher. Mitten zwischen diesen grossen Stämmen halten sich die Jenissei-Samojeden an dem untern Lauf des Jenissei auf. Die Ostjak-Samojeden gehören nicht zum Tundragebiet, sondern halten sich innerhalb der Waldregion auf. Was endlich die Kamassinzen betrifft, so haben sie ihren Aufenthalt im südlichen Sibirien innerhalb der Steppenregion an den zu dem Flussgebiet des Jenissei gehörigen kleinen Flüssen Kan und Mana.
Es ist behauptet worden, dass der samojedische Stamm ebenso wie andere verwandte Völker seinen Stammsitz am Altai in der Gegend des sajanischen Gebirges gehabt habe. Pallas glaubte sogar hier schwache Reste des samojedischen Volksstammes entdeckt zu haben. In Folge dessen erhielt ich von der Akademie der Wissenschaften in St. Petersburg den Auftrag das wahre Verhältniss und die Nationalität der betreffenden Völker zu untersuchen. Es ergab sich, dass ein District unter den Kamassinzen aus reinen Samojeden bestand, die übrigen Stämme aber wahrhafte Türken waren. Es ergab sich, dass das sajanische Gebirgsland der Sitz zweier nördlicher Volksstämme gewesen sei, nämlich 1) der Samojeden und 2) der Jenissei-Ostjaken. In Bezug auf die Samojeden ist es ein bemerkenswerther Umstand, dass die hier in Rede stehenden südlichen Zweige dieses Stammes und zumal die noch lebenden Kamassinzen gewisse Geschlechtsnamen beibehalten haben, die noch bei den nördlichen Stämmen gefunden werden.
Die Ursache ihrer Auswanderung kann keine andere gewesen sein, als die unaufhörlichen Unruhen, welche in Hochasien stattfanden, zumal zu der Zeit, als die Hiongnu und die übrigen Türkenstämme Herren dieses Landes waren. Es war ohne Zweifel das Vorrücken dieser türkischen Colonien, welches die Samojeden vermochte sich aufzumachen und in nördlichere Gegenden vorzudringen. Hiebei folgte ein Theil dem Laufe des Jenissei, ein anderer dem Laufe des Ob.
Die einzige Gegend, in der die Finnen genöthigt gewesen zu sein scheinen ihre Wohnsitze den Samojeden abzutreten, ist die Gegend westlich vom Ural. Die Sage meldet, dass das Tschuden-Volk (Samojedisch: Sirtje) bei Ankunft der Samojeden in den Schooss der Erde geflohen sei und dort noch in reichem Besitz von Bibern, Füchsen und Mammuththieren fortlebe. So giebt es hier einen Fluss, Namens Ishma von isomaa; ein anderer Fluss heisst Tsylma von dem finnischen Wort kylmä, ein dritter Pjoscha, finnisch pesä, ein vierter Oja, ein fünfter Kuloi, d. h. Fischfluss. Vielleicht ist auch das Wort Samojed finnischer Herkunft (Läpp. Samejedne).
Jenissei-Ostjaken (pp. 86–87)
Ich erwähnte in dem Vorhergehenden, dass gleich den Samojeden auch die Jenissei-Ostjaken aus der Gegend des sajanischen Gebirges hervorgegangen seien. Eigentlich gehören diese Ostjaken nicht in unser Gebiet, denn ihre Sprache hat einen von dem der altaischen Sprachen sehr verschiedenen Charakter, da sie aber mitten unter den Samojeden wohnen, können sie hier im Vorbeigehen genannt werden. Die sogenannten Jenissei-Ostjaken bilden vielleicht einen Rest eines grösseren Volksstammes. Gegenwärtig beträgt die Anzahl dieses Stammes kaum 1000 tributpflichtige Personen. Sie wohnen zum grössern Theil am Jenissei und seinen Nebenflüssen, zwischen den Städten Jenisseisk und Turukhansk. Sie beschäftigen sich vornehmlich mit Jagd und Fischfang. Rennthiere besitzen sie nicht, sondern ihr Lastthier ist der Hund. Sie sind dem Namen nach Christen, in der That aber Heiden und erweisen zumal dem Bären grosse Verehrung.
Samojedische Märchen 1–5 (pp. 157–181)
I.
An einer und derselben Stelle standen siebenhundert Zelte. In den siebenhundert Zelten wohnten siebenhundert Menschen. Ueber sie herrschen sieben Wirthe. Die sieben Wirthe gehen fort und fort zu Gast; nichts thun sie, sie gehen nur zu Gast. Sie sind Brüder, die sieben Wirthe, und alle haben sie Frauen, aber keine Kinder. Nur der älteste von ihnen hat einen Sohn, der nicht gross ist. Dieser geht nicht zu Gast, er schläft fort und fort; Nacht und Tag schläft er. Einmal sagte der Vater seinem Sohne: «Steh auf und geh mit uns andern zu Gast!» Der Sohn will nicht zu Gast gehen, er hat einen bösen Traum gehabt, er hatte geträumt, dass alle andern getödtet worden wären und er allein am Leben geblieben. Er offenbart seinen Traum dem Vater und sagt: «Ihr werdet jedoch leben können, wenn ihr sieben und sieben (vierzehn) Rennthiere opfert.» — «Was weisst du?» erwiedert der Vater, «du schläfst Tag und Nacht und weisst weniger als ein Hund.» — «Wie du willst, Vater», spricht der Sohn und legt sich wiederum schlafen.
[Source text continues through all five tales as recorded in Castrén's German fieldwork translations (1857), pp. 157–181. Full OCR text available in Tulku/Tools/uralic/castren_1857_ethnologische_vorlesungen.txt, lines 490–1703.]
Source Colophon
Title: Ethnologische Vorlesungen über die Altaischen Völker, nebst samojedischen Märchen und tatarischen Heldensagen
Author: Matthias Alexander Castrén (1813–1852)
Editor: Anton Schiefner (posthumous publication)
Published: St. Petersburg, 1857
Language: German
Archive identifier: ethnologischevo00castgoog (archive.org, Google digitization, Oxford University copy)
Rights: Public domain (NOT_IN_COPYRIGHT)
Notes: The Samoyed tales were recorded by Castrén in the field during his 1838–1844 expeditions among the Nenets peoples; the German text is his own translation from the Nenets originals, which are not preserved in this volume. Tatarische Heldensagen (Tatar hero-sagas) beginning on p. 181 are not included in this selection.
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