If you take your map of Europe, and draw a line from the Gulf of Kandalax, in the White Sea, to the middle of the Loffoden Isles, on the Norwegian coast, you will cut off the country which is now properly called Lapland. The country at present inhabited by the people called Laplanders, will be found north of this line. It is a boundary more imaginary than real: for in truth there is no political division known as Lapland, nor has there been for hundreds of years. It is said there once was a kingdom of Lapland, and a nation of Laplanders; but there is no proof that either one or the other ever existed. There was a peculiar people, whom we now style Laplanders, scattered over the whole northern part of the Scandinavian peninsula, and wandering as far south as the shores of the Gulf of Bothnia; but, that this people had ever any general compact, or union, deserving the name of government or nation, there is no proof. There is no evidence that they ever enjoyed a higher degree of civilisation than they do at present; and that is not one iota higher than exists among the Esquimaux of North America,—notwithstanding the advantage which the Laplander has in the domestication of a ruminating quadruped and a knowledge of the Christian religion.
The tract of country which I have above assigned to the modern Laplander, is to be regarded rather as meaning that portion of Northern Europe, which can scarcely be said to be in the occupation of any other people. True Laplanders may be found dwelling, or rather wandering, much to the south of the line here indicated,—almost to the head of the Bothnian Gulf,—but in these southern districts, he no longer has the range clear to himself. The Finn—a creature of a very different kind—here meets him; constantly encroaching as a colonist on that territory which once belonged to the Laplander alone.
It becomes necessary to say a few words about the names we are using: since a perfect chaos of confusion has arisen among travellers and writers, in relation to the nomenclature of these two people,—the Finns and the Laplanders.
In the first place, then, there is in reality no such a people as Laplanders in Northern Europe. The word is a mere geographical invention, or “synonyme,” if you wish. The people to whom we apply the name, call themselves “Samlash.” The Danes and Norwegians term them “Finns;” and the Swedes and Russians style them “Laps.” The people whom we know as Finns—and who are not Laplanders in any sense—have received the appellation of Finns erroneously. These Finns have for a long period been making progress, as colonists, in the territory once occupied by the true Finns, or Laplanders; and have nothing in common with these last people. They are agriculturists, and dwell in fixed settlements; not pastoral and nomadic, as the Laplanders eminently are. Besides, there are many other essential points of difference between the two,—in mind,—in personal appearance, in habits, in almost everything. I am particular upon this point,—because the wrong application of the name Finns, to this last-mentioned race, has led writers into a world of error; and descriptions given of them and their habits have been applied to the people who are the subjects of the present chapter,—leading, of course, to the most erroneous conclusions. It would be like exhibiting the picture of a Caffre as the likeness of a Hottentot or Bushman!
The Finns, as geography now designates them,—and which also assigns to them a country called Finland,—are, therefore, not Finns at all. Where, they are found in the old Lapland territory as colonists, they are called Qüans; and this name is given them alike by Russians, Swedes, Danes, and Norwegians.
To return to our Laplanders, who are the true Finns. I have said that they are called by different names; by the Danes and Norwegians “Finns,” and by the Russians and Swedes simply “Laps.” No known meaning is attached to either name; nor can it be discovered at what period either came into use. Enough to know that these are the designations by which they are now known to those four nations who have had chiefly to deal with them.
Since these people have received so many appellations,—and especially one that leads to much confusion,—perhaps it is better, for geography’s sake, to accept the error: to leave the new Finns to their usurped title, and to give the old Finns that distinctive name by which they are best known to the world, viz Laplanders. So long as it is remembered, that this is merely a geographical title, no harm can result from employing it; and should the word Finns occur hereafter, it is to be considered as meaning not the Finns of Norwegian Finmark, but the Qüans of Finland, on the Gulf of Bothnia.
I have spoken of the country of the Laplanders, as if they had a country. They have not. There is a territory in which they dwell; but it is not theirs. Long, long ago the lordship of the soil was taken from them; and divided between three powerful neighbours. Russia took her largest slice from the east; Sweden fell in for its southern part; and Norway claimed that northern and western portion, lying along the Atlantic and Arctic Oceans. This afterwards became the property of Denmark: when Norway herself ceased to be independent.
The country, therefore, which I have defined as Lapland, in modern times is so styled, merely because it is almost exclusively occupied by these people: it not being worth the while of their Danish, Swedish, or Russian masters to colonise it. All three, however, claim their share of it,—have their regular boundary lines,—and each mulcts the miserable Laplander of an annual tribute, in the shape of a small poll-tax. Each, too, has forced his own peculiar views of Christianity on those within his borders,—the Russian has shaped the Lap into a Greek Christian; while, under Swedish influence, he is a disciple of Martin Luther. His faith, however, is not very rational, one way or the other; and, in out-of-the-way corners of his chaotic country, he still adheres to some of his old mythic customs of sorcery and witchcraft: in other words, he is a “pagan.”
Before proceeding to describe the Laplander, either personally or intellectually, a word about the country in which he dwells. I have called it a chaotic land. It has been described as a “huge congeries of frightful rocks and stupendous mountains, with many pleasant valleys, watered by an infinite number of rivulets, that run into the rivers and lakes.” Some of the lakes are of large extent, containing a countless number of islands; one alone—the Lake Enaro—having so many, that it has been said no Laplander has lived long enough to visit each particular island. There is a great variety in the surface of the land. In some parts of the country the eye rests only on peaks and ridges of bleak, barren mountains,—on summits covered with never-melting snow,—on bold, rocky cliffs or wooded slopes, where only the firs and birches can flourish. In other parts there are dusky forests of pines, intersected here and there by wide morasses or bogs. Elsewhere, are extensive tracts of treeless champaign, covered with the white reindeer-lichen, as if they were under a fall of snow!