Intellectual Culture of the Iglulik Eskimos/Chapter 7

Of all sources of power, magic words are the most difficult to get hold of. But they are also the strongest of all, for it was a word — a magic word — which in the olden days, when mankind lived in the dark, gave them light; and it was by means of a magic word that death was brought into life at the time when human beings were beginning to overcrowd the earth.

Magic words, magic songs or magic prayers are fragments of old songs, handed down from earlier generations. They can be bought, at a high price, or communicated as a legacy by one who is dying; but no other person save the one who is to use them may hear them, otherwise they would lose their force. They are called ᴇrinaliᵘ·t, pl. ᴇrinaliu·tit.

ᴇrinaliu·tit may also be apparently meaningless sentences heard once in the days when the animals could talk, and remembered ever since through being handed down from one generation to another. Sometimes also a seemingly senseless jumble of words may derive force by a mystic inspiration which first gave them utterance. On the day when a man seeks aid in magic words, he must not eat of the entrails of any beast, and a man when uttering such words must have his head covered with his hood; a woman must have the whole spread of the hood behind thrown forward over her face.

Reference is constantly made to the inconceivable and wonderful effect of magic words in the stories, but the words themselves are not to be ascertained from such sources, being invariably omitted. The person who once knew them has kept them as a private source of power for his own use, and the story-teller has therefore to content himself with describing the effects. These particular stories in which magic words alter men's destiny or change their lives, turning men into animals and vice versa, are mostly told to children in order to give them an idea of how mighty a power lies hidden in words. Best ​known is the story of the old grandmother, who, in order to find food for her grandchild, changed herself into a young man by means of magic words. This story is also known throughout the whole of Greenland, and is invariably given as a remarkable instance of what words could do in the olden days. But the drastic manner in which the grandmother was changed into a man must not be regarded as in any way indecent in its conception; it must be borne in mind that obscenity was unknown among the Eskimos, and all parts of the body equally decent. Whenever I heard this story told it was always as an admiring expression of the power of human beings to help themselves out of difficulties, and though one might perhaps laugh heartily at the means employed, these were nevertheless only taken as an outcome of imagination:

Once people left their village and went off on a hunting expedition, leaving an old woman and her grandchild behind all by themselves. The grandchild was a girl, and old enough to be married, but there was no husband to be found for her. The old woman was in despair at their loneliness, and had no idea what to do for food. So she decided to turn herself into a man. She knew about magic words, and sang over her body. The stick which she used for trimming the moss. wick of her lamp she made into a penis, testicles she made out of her drinking bowl, and her own genitals she removed and turned into a sledge. So great was the power of her words, that when she was out at the call of nature, she made dogs out of the bits of snow she had used to wipe herself behind with. She made a harpoon and a kayak out of her meat skewer. And thus she became a man; a young man, moreover, with all a man's hunting implements. And now she went out hunting and got all manner of game. On her return home, she would stand her sledge up outside the house. But one day when she was out hunting on foot, there came a man to the house. The girl asked him in, and when he came in, he enquired whose sledge it was standing up outside.

"It is my grandmother's" said the girl.

"Then whose dogs are those outside, and whose is that kayak?"

"All my grandmother's" answered the girl.

"And who has been a husband to you, seeing that you are plainly great with child?"

"My grandmother!"

The man was still there when the grandmother came home, and ​he heard her moving about outside, shouting orders to the dogs and now and then striking them. At last she came into the passage, but on catching sight of a stranger, she felt so ashamed, that she suddenly grew old again, and became her former self, an old woman such as she had been before the magic words had changed her into a young man. And stooping with age as she stood by the passage, speaking in the voice of an aged woman, she said:

"Dear little grandchild, come and help me."

And the grandchild went to help her, for she was now so exhausted that she could not get in without help.

Thus the old woman became her former self once more for shame at being surprised by a stranger. And here ends this story.

The communism which necessarily prevails in Eskimo society in order that all can manage to exist renders it a duty for the family to care for all helpless persons: among such are reckoned fatherless children, widows or old men and women who on account of age are no longer able to keep up with the rest on the constant hunting expeditions. In the absence of immediate relatives, the village as a whole is charged with the care of those who are unable to provide for themselves. But although such might often be inconceivably modest in their demands, they might sometimes be left to their fate. This applies more especially to old women, who could no longer render any useful service. Often pure heartlessness was the cause, but it might just as often be the severity of the struggle to make ends meet, which forced the head of a household to restrict the number of mouths to be fed, in times of scarcity, when despite all efforts he could not even procure food enough for those nearest of kin. Orphan children were blocked up in snow huts and left there, buried alive. They were called "mato 'rufät": "those who have been covered up". Old and worn-out folk would be left behind on the road when unable to keep up with the rest on a journey; one day the old creature would lag behind, and be left, in the track of the sledges, no one troubling to fetch the laggard in to camp when the snow huts were built. These were called "qimatät": "those who were left behind". Sometimes also, the party would simply neglect to take them along when first setting out from the cld site, and they might then freeze or starve to death often a lingering death, unless they chose to hang themselves rather than suffer so long. But though the severe conditions of life were responsible for these cruel customs, it was nevertheless always reckoned a shameful thing to be guilty of ​such heartlessness. And the stories, which have always a moral touch, and point very clearly the difference between right and wrong, generally provide some miraculous form of rescue for such unfortunates, with a cruel and ignominious death for those who abandoned them. Here again the miraculous element is introduced by magic words, as the following stories will show. Some tribes, for instance, have a tradition that thunder and lightning were two poor children, sisters, whom no one cared about, or troubled to help. And one day when their fellow-villagers moved away to another place, the two were mato·ruʃ·ät: they were buried alive in a house. And the evil that had been done them gave their tongues force; they wished to become fire and roaring in the heavens, in order to take vengeance on their heartless neighbours, and their words had power; they became thunder and lightning, and frightened all their former fellow-villagers to death, Sila helping them to take vengeance upon those who had wished them to perish. Among the Iglulingmiut, however, there is another variant of this story of the two thunder sisters, and this is therefore given in another place. As an instance of how magic words could help those who were cast out by their fellows may here be given the following:

There was once an old woman, with her little grandchild, whom the neighbours had left behind at a village. All the others went away to new hunting grounds, and none would take these two with them. So they remained behind among all the empty snow huts, and had nothing to eat, and only worn-out clothing, and no sinew thread to mend their poor rags. The old woman did not know what to do, and thought she must die of hunger together with her little grandchild. But one day she suddenly remembered that she knew a magic song which was good for calling animals to a village. The words were old and powerful, good for calling up game, and she set herself down on the sleeping place and began to recite the magic words. And when she had finished, she told her grandchild, a little girl, to go outside and see if there were animals in sight. The little girl went out and came rushing in a moment after and said that she could see a host of little animals trotting along over the snow, all small creatures, the lemmings in front and after them the ermine. And when the old grandmother heard that, she said to her grandchild: "These creatures are too small. Go out and say to them: 'My grandmother says you must pass on'." And the little girl did so, and all the lemmings and ​the ermine passed by the house. Then came the other animals, one after another, bigger and bigger ones came, even wolves and bears; these they were afraid of, and always the little girl went out and said: "My grandmother says you must pass on." And so they passed by, and after the dangerous animals came others. There came great hosts of hares, but these also the little girl told to pass on. Then there came a herd of caribou, and to these at last the old grandmother said: "You are to come inside; come right into the house!" And the caribou came trotting up to the passage and tried to get in, but it was too small, and there was no room for them to get in. At last they too had to pass by. Then there came a huge band of foxes, and again the old grandmother said to her grandchild: "Tell them I ask them to come in!" And the foxes jumped in through the passage, and kept on pouring in, and so many were they that soon there was no room for any more, and again the old grandmother said to her grandchild: "Go out and say the rest are to pass on.". Now the house was full of foxes, and the grandmother and her little grandchild began killing them, but there were so many that the ones underneath were suffocated already before they could get at them. Afterwards they skinned all those foxes, and laid up great stores of meat, and made clothes and sleeping skins and rugs of the skins, but the long sinews of the tails they used for sewing thread.

Thus they escaped with their lives, because the old grandmother knew a magic song which had power to entice the animals.

Magic words can be of such power that they will create life out of dead things; they can make old clothes come to life. This is related in the story of:

Itimarajughugjuaq lived far from the dwellings of men, far from his relatives, alone with his wife and children. Once when they were short of food, he killed his children and ate them. His wife cooked the children for him, and when their little hands suddenly clenched while they were cooking, she would always burst out crying. Thus Igimarajughugjuaq ate his children, and now that only his wife was left, he felt he would like to eat her as well. His wife, who was a shaman, ​grew suspicious, and one day when her husband was out, she stuffed out her clothes with odd bits of skins, laid out the whole on the sleeping place and called the thing to life, by reciting magic words over the garments, which gave them life and the power of speech.

"When he stabs you, be sure to cry out Ow, Ow," said the woman. when she had finished the bundles.

Igimarajughuggjuaq came home, and stabbed his wife all in a moment as he came leaping in through the passage. "Ow, Ow!" cried the bundle of skins, and fell down on the floor. Then said Igimarajughugjuaq: "One might think it was a human being, since it said 'Ow, ow'." Then he sat down to consult his spirit, for he also was a shaman. His wife had hidden herself in a room at the side of the house where they kept skins and meat, and when the spirit informed him of this, Igimarajughugjuaq tried to stab his wife in the little side room, stabbing about in all directions. He just grazed her little finger, and that was all.

Next morning, when Igimarajughugjuaq had gone out, his wife fled away home to her parents.

Her husband came home, saw her footmarks and went off in chase. When he came up with her, she placed herself with her back to a precipice, and as he tried to grasp her she threw herself out over the precipice, uttering a magic word as she did so. Then there was soft snow down below, and she fell without hurt. Her husband looked down after her over the precipice, but as he could not see her anywhere he turned back and went home. The woman continued her flight and got safely home to her parents. They hid her away at once, and it was not long before her husband appeared in the village. His father-in-law took a side of walrus meat into the house to thaw, for he intended to behave as if nothing were the matter, and entertain his son-in-law with food, and so a feast were made ready, and the father-in-law said: "It is said that Igimarajughugjuaq eats his children."

"Who said that, who said that?" asked Igimarajughugjuaq.

"Your wife!"

"Where is she?"

"She went off in an umiᴀq that came by here."

Igimarajughugjuaq then ate nearly the whole of that side of walrus meat. After the meal, they fastened straps across the ceiling of the house, and began doing exercises with them. Igimarajughugjuaq would not join in at first, but his brother-in-law kept urging him to do so, and after a time he took part in the game. But hardly had he caught hold of the straps when the others rushed at him as he hung ​there, bound him, and killed him. This vengeance was taken upon the evil brother-in-law, and his wife saved her life by magic words.

Powerful words could not only give life to dead things and save human life, but could also transform or kill or annihilate as in the following story:

Once a band of children were playing near a ravine close to Naujan. A little distance from land, out on the ice, stood a man by a blowhole, watching for seal. Again and again the cries of the children disturbed him, and at last he grew angry, and so cried out, turning towards the land:

"May the ravine close over them!"

Hardly had he uttered those words when the ravine closed over the children.

The parents could not understand what had become of the children, and when they went out to look for them, they discovered that the ravine had closed over them. In vain they tried to break an opening in the closed ravine; the rocks were not to be hammered asunder. Then suddenly they caught sight of a man out on the ice, listening at a blowhole for seal, and realising that it was he who was the cause of the disaster, they were furious, and cried:

"May you be changed into frost!"

His wife waited a long time for her husband, who was out after seal, but when he did not come, she went out to look for him. She found him completely covered with rime, and so she set to work to brush it off. She kept on brushing it off, but as she did so, the man grew smaller and smaller, and at last there was nothing left of him at all. He had been altogether changed into frost. And rime frost turns to nothing when it is brushed away.

But the bereaved parents constantly returned to their children who were shut up in the ravine. All they could hear was the sound of the children weeping. They could also hear a song from a girl with a child in her amaut:

The children kept on crying, but as they did so, they were suddenly changed into guillemots, which came flying out through crevices in the rocks.

And that is how guillemots were first made. And that is why they always keep to narrow crevices in the rocks.

There was once an old grandmother who was left alone with her grandchild in a double house. And they lived each in one part of the double house when their village was deserted.

One evening the little girl said to her grandmother:

"Oh, grandmother, do tell me something."

But her grandmother answered:

"I have nothing to tell you. You just keep quiet. You just go to sleep."

But the grandchild went on:

"Dear grandmother, tell me, do tell me a story."

And as the child would not be quiet, the grandmother at last began:

"Look, out from the cave there come many little naked lemmings; they are coming towards us, they are such horrible things, it makes one shiver all over. Tju, tju, tju."

The grandchild was so frightened that she leapt out through the passage of the snow hut, and that so quickly that her grandmother could not stop her. The little girl turned into a snow bunting out of sheer fright, and now her grandmother sat there in despair at not having been able to catch her. And she sat there alone on the sleeping place and kept on saying:

"Oh, my dear little grandchild, oh, my dear little grandchild." And she sat there weeping, and kept on wiping her eyes. At last her eyes were all red and bloodshot. Then she took her sewing bag and fastened it round her neck, and put the needles into her kamiks, ​and then suddenly she fell to cackling and became a ptarmigan. Then she spread her wings and flew away. And from her come all the ptarmigan.

As will be seen, in all these stories, only the actual happenings are recorded; not in a single instance are the magic words given; for they would lose their power in a moment if repeated.

Obviously, it is almost impossible to elicit any ᴇrinaliu·tit from people who themselves believe in the miraculous power of the words. Those who possess the words will not part with them, or if they do, it is at a price which would soon ruin an expedition. A gun with an ample supply of ammunition was regarded, for instance, as a very natural price for a few meaningless words. One can, however, instead of buying, sometimes obtain ᴇrinaliu·tit by barter, and I availed myself of this, giving magic words from Angmagssalik, in East Greenland, in exchange for others from Iglulik. In this manner I obtained the following magic words from Aua, who had learned them from an old woman named Qiqertáinaq. She was very old, and her family had handed down the words from generation to generation, right from the time of the first human beings. It was essential to remember them in the right order otherwise they had no value. In return for this valuable information, Aua had provided Qiqertáinaq with food and clothing for the rest of her life. Every time he wished to make use of the magic words, he had first to utter her name; for only through her had the words any power. The words were to be muttered in jerks and repeated in a whisper, as secrets entrusted to Sila. Aua's method of referring to Qiqertáinaq when using her magic words. was, in his own language, as follows: "aivaluɳniᴀrama" (a shaman's word for ᴇrinaliɔriᴀrama, meaning: "because I wish to utter an ᴇrinaliu·t") qɪqᴇrtain·aup qanianik qaɳᴇrluɳa": "using as my mouth the mouth of Qiqertáinaq".

To be uttered beside a heavily laden sledge. The speaker stands at the fore end of the sledge, speaking in the direction of the traces. Also used when setting out on a long journey, and wishing to be light-footed and untiring:

If there is sickness in a village, but not in one's own household, one may take the inner jacket of a child, put on one's own hood, thrust one's arms into the sleeves of the child's jacket, as if to put it on, and then recite the following, early in the morning, before anyone has been out on the floor.

These simple, heathen prayers, whispered out into the air from some spot in the snow where no foot has left its mark, were for the Eskimo sacred words, which in some mysterious way brought aid.