The late Russian politician and general, Alexander Lebed, once mused that “a democrat-general is as rare as a Jewish reindeer-breeder.” Little did the general suspect that, a few years later, the hunters and reindeer-breeders of Chukotka would elect a Jew, Roman Abramovich, as their governor. Yet Abramovich is not the only Russian Jew to rule a northern people: two centuries ago,
Peter the Great accorded his court jester, Jan Da Costa, the title of king of another ice-bound people: the Samoyed. As with so many tales from the court of Peter the Great (1682-1725), this one gets more interesting, the deeper you probe...
Jan Da Costa (written Лакоста in Russian) was a descendant of Marranos, converted Jews who fled Portugal to escape the fires of the Inquisition. Born in 1665, in the city of Sale, North Africa, he lived on the road with his family until he was 16, then settled with his father and brothers in Hamburg, where he opened a brokerage house. But he had no skill at trade, and could not make a profit. He did, however, have the exquisite manners of a marquis from Versailles, and considered giving lessons to all those “who desire to take part in the grande monde with ease, to learn the most wise art of making compliments and manifesting all sorts of polite behavior, appropriate to the specific time and place.” Yet polite manners also failed to turn a profit. So Jan decided to set off for faraway Muscovy “in search of fame and fortune.” According to one version, he received permission to go to Russia from the Russian diplomat (“resident”) in Hamburg. In this matter there is also the more authoritative testimony of Da Costa’s friend, the Russian court physician (leib-medik) Antonio Nunes Ribeiro Sanchez, who wrote: “When Peter I, emperor of Russia, traveled through Hamburg, probably in 1712 or 1713, Da Costa was presented to him. Peter I took him with him… along with his wife and children.”
In either case, Jan – or as he began to be called, Peter Dorofeyevich – could only settle in Russia if he agreed to one condition: to reject his religion. Peter was quite explicit on this point: “I would rather see peoples of the Mohammedan or pagan faith [in Russia] than Jews. They are rogues and deceivers. I root out evil, and do not sow it; [so] in Russia there will be neither a place to live or trade for them, however much they try and however many of my people they buy off.”
It is known that Peter rejected a petition from Dutch Jews who wished to move to Russia; he responded angrily to Amster-dam Mayor Nicolas Vitzen, who had passed along their offer of a hundred thousand guilders for this privilege, a huge sum at that time: “You know the Jews and the thoughts of my people, and I also know both of them. It is not yet time to allow Jews to settle in my tsardom, so tell them in my name that I thank them for the proposal, but also that I greatly regret that they want to move to Russia, because although they are considered clever deceivers in trade all over the world, I doubt that they would be able to deceive my Russians.” Peter’s condescending views aside, anti-Semitism was characteristic not only of 18th century Russia but of all “Enlightened” Europe.
Yet Peter contradicted himself. For he clearly chose his servitors not according to nationality, but according to merit, and asked those to become citizens who would bring glory to the state, independent of race (e.g. his famous “blackamoor” Abram Gannibal, grandfather of Alexander Pushkin). As Peter is often quoted: “I am completely indifferent whether a person is baptized or circumcised if only he knows his business and is noted for honesty.” What is more, many Jews made good careers under Peter I: vice chancellor Peter Shafirov, first general-chief of police of St. Petersburg Anton Divier, the diplomat brothers Abram and Isaac Veselovsky, head of the secret police Vivier, the merchants Evreinov, doctor of the Semyonovsky regiment Abram Ens, and others. All of these, however, espoused Christianity, whether sincerely or not.
So Da Costa, hardly a practicing Jew, became a neophyte Catholic and traveled to the Northern Palmyra, where he soon was accepted into the tsar’s service. “The Sovereign took a great liking to his humorous and amusing manners,” wrote Ivan Golikov in his Acts of Peter the Great, “and he was taken into the suite of court jesters.”
Among other things, Peter Doro-feyevich’s broad erudition won the tsar’s favor. He spoke freely in Spanish, Italian, French, German, Dutch and Portuguese, was knowledgeable on questions of religion, could cite entire passages from the Bible by heart, and could hold his own in endless theological debates with the tsar. The content of these debates is not known, but it is unlikely that Da Costa tried to familiarize Peter with Judaism, as Israeli writer David Markish suggested in his story, Peter the Great’s Jew. Markish depicts a fantastic scene: Da Costa, Shafirov, Divier and a hasid from Smolensk called Boruch Leibov celebrate Passover together and try to convince the Russian tsar to put on a yarmolka, which he does without hesitation.
Not only is this particular scene unimaginable, but it is unrealistic to suggest that a special Jewish party existed in early 18th-century Petersburg, united by communal or religious interests and offering protection to its members. In point of fact, the Jewish missionary Boruch Leibov was subsequently burnt at the stake, and it was under Peter that Russia witnessed its first recorded “bloody slander” case against Jews (in 1702 in the small town of Gorodnya in Chernigov region).
Da Costa looked like a Sephardic Jew, with a clever and determined face. “He was tall,” wrote Sanchez, who was also a descendant of Marranos, “lean, dark complexioned, with a manly voice, and sharp facial features.” Neither contemporaries nor later biographers failed to mention his Jewish heritage, and not necessarily in a positive light. Historian Sergei Shubinsky commented that “His characteristically Jewish ability to imitate and to get along with anyone secured him the place as court jester.” One might suggest that, on the contrary, Peter valued him not for these traits, but for his directness and refusal to compromise. Da Costa was fully aware of his self-worth, called the awe-inspiring tsar his “kum” (godfather), spoke to dignitaries as an equal, and impressed Russians with his delicate and nuanced manners. He called a thief a thief, and ridiculed the vices and abuses of courtiers. When complaints about the jester’s impudence reached the tsar, he responded calmly: “What would you have me do with him? He’s a fool after all!”
In his role as jester, Peter Dorofeyevich often played the part of the tsar’s comic double. It is known that he helped Peter cut boyar’s robes and shave their venerable old beards. No one was equal to Da Costa in reminding Russians of the good of the state, and recalling its victories and achievements. The jester’s inexhaustible wit was proverbial, and he became the subject of innumerable literary and other anecdotes (see box, page 39).
While many of these anecdotes are the fruits of unrestrained fancy (just like many of the 19th-century anecdotes concerning the escapades of the jester Ivan Balakirev), there are others that are documented historical facts, and which offer sharp testimony to Peter the Great’s relations with his favorite jester. They tell, for example, of Da Costa’s hatred for the court surgeon, Iohann-Hermann Lestocq. With good reason, apparently, as the influential doctor seduced the jester’s daughter. Where did Tsar Peter stand in this conflict? He took the side of the offended father and harshly punished the offender, sending Lestocq to exile in Kazan under heavy guard and without the right of correspondence. From this the historian Sergei Solovyev concluded that Da Costa was the monarch’s main jester. Peter, it should be mentioned, had no fewer than a dozen.
For Peter I, revelry and merry-making were serious business. He promulgated the celebrated ukaz (decree): “From this day all drunkards… are to gather on Sunday to collectively praise the Greek gods,” and to wish health and long life “to the Hellenic god Bacchus and the goddess Venus.” He thus founded the ill-reputed Most Drunken Synod of Fools and Jesters, which was made up of the dregs of high and low society: the trashier the person, the more likely he would end up in his anti-clerical “Synod.” Peter occupied the humble position of proto-deacon in this satirical hierarchy, “fulfilling his duties with such zeal that it might seem they were totally real.” He sponsored famous mock-weddings, where the bride was over 60, the groom 80... and a funeral procession of dwarfs. As an eyewitness wrote: “Prince Volkonsky was tarred and turned on his head, a candle was put in his backside, he was set on fire and a round-dance with singing was performed.” Everyone anticipated the tsar’s diversions as if preparing for death.
this, rather improbably, brings us to the northern people known at that time as the Samoyed – which we know today as the Nenets people.
According to 18th century Russian geographer Ivan Georgi, the Samoyed lived near the Yamaley and Mangazee regions, were nomads, and lived off fishing, hunting, and raising reindeer. “The Samoyed are very short in height, rarely shorter than four or taller than five feet tall,” Georgi wrote. “Moreover, they are thick-set, with short legs and necks, large heads, markedly flat faces and noses, with the lower portion of the face thrust somewhat forward, large mouth and ears, small black eyes, rather long eyelids, thin lips, small feet, dark skin, with no hair anywhere except on the head, and that black and coarse. The men’s facial hair is only fuzz. The women are somewhat more stately, shorter in height, but equally unattractive as the men…” They were pagan and worshiped idols, the geographer continued, ate raw meat and drank blood with greater relish than water, and were distinguished by their ferocity. Their winter clothing, worn on the naked body, was sewn from dear, fox, and other furs, and their summer clothing was made from fish skins. (See Survival Russian, page 24) The 18th-century historian Vasily Tatishchev asserted that the Samoyed “formerly ate [human flesh] and got their name from that.” In Russian, samoyed means “cannibal.”
Clearly, these were a people of very unique mentality. The famous Swiss ethnographer and traveler Philipp-Iohann Strahlenberg, who visited the Samoyed at this time, drew attention to the fact that they even had their own method of counting: “When the Samoyed bring their tribute, they tie together the squirrels into bunches of nine. But the Russians, who found this number to be difficult to deal with, upon receipt retied them into groups of ten.” The nomads did not understand why their system, so very convenient for counting, did not meet the Russians’ approval. As was the custom of aboriginal peoples, the Samoyed had a leader whose word was unconditionally heeded.
Yet the Great Reformer had no interest in Samoyed traditions and ways. He desperately struggled against Russian traditions, often comparing his subjects to “little children” who had to be educated according to the new ways. So what could be said for an obscure, aboriginal people! The Samoyed should be ruled not by some primeval leader who was at the beck and call of a shaman, but by a king – a cavalier in the European style. And if he wants, let him adorn himself in those Samoyed skins, for exoticism’s sake!
In 1709, three years before Da Costa’s arrival in St. Petersburg, Tsar Peter awarded the title of King of the Samoyed to their “pale-faced brother” named Vimeni. According to one source, this adventurer was actually a self-declared king of the Samoyed, and Peter simply gave his approval. Be that as it may, Peter organized a jesters’ coronation of Vimeni, for which were summoned 24 Samoyed who swore loyalty to the new king, and who brought along a large quantity of deer.
According to one account, Vimeni came from “a good French family, but in his homeland he had suffered many reversals of fate, and had been locked up for many years in the Bastille, which resulted in his periodic insanity.” Arriving in Muscovy, Vimeni did not understand Russian (not to mention Samoyed), and a letter has been preserved in which the monarch orders that “The Samoyed Prince, who was sent to us from Voronezh, be ordered to learn to speak Russian, and also Slavonic grammar.”
Vimeni actually assimilated Russian rather quickly, and soon, on Peter’s orders translated Jean Baptiste Moliere’s comedy, Les precieuses ridicules. Yet the writer Dmitry Merezhkovsky commented (in his novel Peter and Aleksei) that “this translation… must have been done while dead drunk, because it’s impossible to understand anything in it. Poor Moliere! In monstrous Samoyed writing, one sees the grace of a white dancing bear.” In his Life of M. de Moliere, Mikhail Bulgakov described Vimeni’s translation as having been written “in irregular lines.”
Tsar Peter, however, valued Vimeni very much, and as testified by Christian Friedrich Weber, representative of Braunschweig at the Russian court, he settled the Samoyed from his retinue onto Petrovsky Island, near the capital. There, it was reported, a skirmish broke out between the jester-king and the Samoyed’s native leader. It was said that the Samoyed leader “attacked people who came to look over the island, bit them on the ears and face, and in general greeted them horribly, with malice and violence,” and when the leader was punished by way of example, he, as if to authenticate the name Samoyed, “ripped off a piece of flesh from his own hand with his teeth.” It is understandable then, that despite any of his linguistic failings, Vimeni would have appealed to Peter as a man of European culture; the fact that he was called “king of the savages” is indicative.
A cortege of Samoyed with Vimeni at their head took part in the triumphal procession of December 19, 1709, which marked Russia’s victory over Sweden in the Battle of Poltava. The Danish envoy Just Iul’ left a detailed description of this event.
The Frenchman Vimeni rode on a sleigh pulled by northern deer and with a Samoyed driver; there followed nineteen Samoyed sleds, with two horses or three northern deer each. On every sled lay one Samoyed… They were covered from head to foot in skins of northern deer, fur side out, and each had a fur doll attached to his belt.
The Danish eyewitness also commented on the spectacle’s ideological subtext:
This people is short in stature, with undersized legs, big heads and broad faces. It is easy to understand what sort of impression, and what laughter this train inspired… But without doubt it was quite galling to the Swedes that such a serious tragedy could be combined with such absurd comedy.
According to Peter’s intent, the jester-king and his suite symbolized the wild impudence of the Swedish King Charles XII, who attempted to do the impossible – to conquer Russia, depose Peter, and split up the empire.
Soon after this, the French King of the Samoyed passed away. An eyewitness described the funeral which Peter staged for Vimeni: “Many important people, their clothing covered with black robes, accompanied the deceased, and were seated on Samoyed sleds, harnessed with northern deer and with a Samoyed driver.
Nature abhors a vacuum, and someone had to be found to take Vimeni’s place. The writer Alexander Rodionov, in his novel The Khivin Campaign, had Peter make the following comment: “He (Da Costa) is an excellent jester, and I will soon give him a promotion. Da Costa will be King of the Samoyed and will direct these ‘pinched mugs’ at my court – we should give him the title of count and master of ceremonial amusements.”
Understandably, Peter did not worry about the nationality of the new king, and Da Costa, like his predecessor, was a cultured and politically savvy person, which was what counted.
It is even hard to conclude that the jester-king actually ruled the Samoyed. He apparently played a purely decorative and representative role, and it was this that amused the tsar. Peter Dorofeyevich could now use his refined talents as a court jester by dressing up in Samoyed furs. In this capacity, he took part in numerous masquerades. For excellent service as a jester, the tsar gave Da Costa the island of Sommers, located in the Bay of Finland.
Through the reign of Empress Anna Ioannovna (1730-1740), Da Costa continued to serve as court jester. In the new circumstances, he was forced to change his style somewhat. In her choice of jesters, male and female, the empress liked to combine the base with the gallant, the barbarous and the refined. And while under Peter jesters were encouraged to mock the vices of prejudice and ignorance (even, at times, among his followers), at Anna’s court jesters were simply entertainers, without any rights, and forbidden to criticize or comment on politics. Among her mock court of jesters there were representatives of the titled nobility (like Prince Mikhail Golitsyn, Prince Nikita Volkonsky and Count Alexei Apraksin), as well as from abroad (e.g., Perillo).
The jesters’ witticisms were now marked by uncommon cynicism and salaciousness. The empress was amused when her entertainers climbed onto nests filled with chicken eggs and took turns loudly crowing. She liked the rowdiest pranks her jesters could come up with, including leapfrog, idiotic facial contortions, and fist-fights. As one memoirist wrote: “These jesters were usually angry with each other, and therefore began to fight, and in due course, hoping to entertain the spectators, began to go at it for real. The empress and the entire court enjoyed this spectacle immensely, and used to die of laughter.”
This cup did not pass Da Costa by either, and in his historical novel Word and Deed, the writer Valentin Pikul described a none too comical ballet of jesters with his participation. However, Peter’s Jewish jester stood out from Anna Ioannovna’s other jesters; in the words of the Swedish visitor Karl Berk, in his Travel Notes on Russia, of all the empresses’ jesters, “Da Costa is the only smart one.” Peter Dorofeyevich, apparently, was very successful with Anna, who awarded him the special mock Order of St. Benedetto, whose miniature cross on a red ribbon recalled the honorable Russian Order of St. Alexander Nevsky.
The history of the Samoyed king also took on another meaning. In contrast with Peter, for whom national costumes served as target of parody and satire, for Anna, a lover of folklore, they had intrinsic value. Under her patronage, scholars at the Academy of Sciences undertook ethnographic expeditions to the empire’s furthest corners. The empress also took an interest in the people of the North. She not only confirmed Da Costa’s title of King of the Samoyed, but decreed on July 22, 1731, that the governor of Archangel “seek out about ten of the Samoyed, with one sled each and a pair of deer… and have them [the Samoyed], voluntarily, and not angering them, come here, to look after the deer.” In October of 1731, the requisitioned Samoyed arrived in Moscow.
In the words of writer Yuri Nagibin, Anna “was consumed by the consciousness of what a great, unbounded country she was given to rule.” And at the wedding of the jesters Mikhail Golitsyn and Avdotiya Buzheninova, in the famous “Ice House” in the winter of 1739-40, her national pride sounded loudly. For this event the empress “ordered the governors of all of the provinces to send to Petersburg several [native] people of both sexes. These people, upon arrival in the capital, were to be dressed at Court expense in their local dress.” These costumed representatives of all tribes inhabiting the Russian Empire rode on sleighs pulled by deer, oxen, pigs, goats, mules, dogs and even camels, and played on folk instruments, and then each ate their own special folk foods and danced their indigenous dances. Among the participants of the procession was recorded “a certain lancer, dressed as a warrior, in Samoyed dress”, “Da Costa dressed as a rich Samoyed,” and representatives of both “the male and female Samoyed.”
The ethnographic variety was meant to demonstrate the huge size of the powerful empire and the blossoming of all of its many diverse inhabitants, including the Samoyed. In other words, it all had a very clearly expressed panegyrical purpose. As the poet Vasily Tredyakovsky put it, “Rejoice all peoples of Russia, / These are golden years for us!”
after the ice house wedding, the name of the Jewish-Samoyed jester does not appear again in historical sources. It is known that, in the fall of 1740, when Anna Leopoldovna became regent for the infant-emperor Ivan VI (1740-1741), she fired all court jesters, awarding them rich severances. She angrily condemned the abuse of human dignity, “inhuman insults” and “torments” that had been heaped on them. Indeed, she should be given her due for ending this occupation of poor repute; jesters no longer appeared at Court in their special costumes.
And what of Da Costa? He died in that same year, 1740. Perhaps, tired of the tinsel and bustle of court life, he threw off the guise of Samoyed king and lived out his final months in peace and quiet, presaging the bitter wisdom of his fellow Jew, the writer Leon Feuchtwanger, who in one of his novels asked the rhetorical question: “Why does a Jew need a parrot?” RL
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