Selected Polish Tales Part 48

At last the longed-for day came. The student started at dawn for the nearest posting station to await the newcomer and bring him to us.

Before two o'clock, when it began to be dark, we were all a.s.sembled, and soon after two the melancholy sound of the sleighbells announced the arrival of the students. We hurriedly pulled on our furs and went out. The sleigh and the travellers were entirely covered with snow, long icicles hung from the horses' nostrils when they whipped into the courtyard, they were covered with a fine crust of ice. Another moment and they stood still in front of the door. Every man bared his head...there were some who had grown grey in misery and sorrow.

I will not describe our first greeting--I could not do so even if I would. We did not know each other, and yet how near we felt! I doubt whether it will ever fall to my share again to be one of a number of human beings so different in birth and station in life, yet so nearly related, so closely tied to each other as we were on the day when we greeted our guest.

He was small and thin--very thin. His complexion showed yellow and black, much more than ours did; he seemed marked for life by an earthen colour; his deeply sunk eyes were the only feature which was burning with vitality, they had a phosph.o.r.escent glow.

It had grown quite dark by the time he had changed his clothes and warmed himself, and we were sitting down to our dinner. Noise and vivacity predominated in our small abode; a cheerful mood rose like an overflowing wave, washing away all signs of sorrow and bitterness.

'Let us be cheerful!'

Louder and louder this cry arose, now here, now there, and when our guest took it up even the gloomiest faces brightened. We broke the sacred wafer, then we emptied the first gla.s.ses. My industrious scullion had been deeply moved by a folk-song from the Ukraine, one of those songs rich in poetical feeling and simple metaphor which go straight to the heart; he therefore got up to make the welcoming speech, and, encouraged by the tears of joy which rose in the eyes of our guest, he quite took possession of him. He told him that he and I had worked uninterruptedly for two days and nights in the sweat of our brows, so as to give him a n.o.ble repast after his many days of privation and hunger; he forecast the whole menu, beginning with his favourite Kutja, he drew close to him and put his arm round his neck, laughing gaily, and seemingly inspiring him so that he wept tears of joy.

Our animated mood rose higher and higher. A storm of applause greeted the first course. The student filled the guest's plate to the brim. At last the harmonious rattle of the spoons replaced the laughing and talking. 'Excellent,' was the universal verdict.

My scullion was in raptures and loudly a.s.sented; finally he too became silent and applied himself like us to his plate.

But what in the name of G.o.d did this mean? We were all eating, only our guest fumbled about with his spoon and stirred his soup without eating, laughing the while with a suppressed, hardly audible laugh.

'My G.o.d, what is it? why don't you eat, comrade?' several voices called in unison. 'The scullion has been exciting him too much! Off with him!

Our guest must have serious people next to him.' The student obediently changed places, and we turned to our food again. But still our guest did not eat.

What was the matter? We stopped eating and all eyes were turned questioningly upon him. Our silent anxiety was sufficiently eloquent.

He perceived, felt it and said:

'I... forgive me... I... my happiness... I am so sorry... I do not want to trouble you, and I fear I shall spoil your pleasure. I beg you... I entreat you, dear brothers, take no notice of me...it is nothing, it will pa.s.s,' and he broke into a strange sobbing laugh.

'Jesus, Mary!' we all cried, for we had not noticed before how unnatural his laugh was; there was no further thought of eating; and he, when he saw the general anxiety, mastered himself with an effort and said rapidly amidst the general silence:

'I thought you knew what the life was like that I have lived for three years, but I see you don't know it; when I realized this I tried...

I... well, I tried while you were eating and drinking to swallow a small piece of bread... just a tiny piece of bread... but I cannot do it... I cannot! You see, for three years... three whole years I have tasted no salt... I ate all my food without salt, and this bread is rather salt--very salt in fact, it is burning and scorching me, and probably all the other things are also very salt.' 'Certainly, some were even salted too much in our haste and eagerness,' I answered simultaneously with the student.

'Well then, eat, beloved brothers, eat, but I cannot eat anything; I shall watch you with great pleasure--eat, I beg you fervently!' and with hysterical laughter and tears he sank back into his seat.

Now we understood this laugh which was like a spasm....

Not one of us was able to swallow the food which he had in his mouth.

The misery of the existence of which we had longed to know something had lifted the veil off a small portion of its mysteries.

We all dropped our spoons and hung our heads.

How vain, how small appeared to us now the trouble we had taken about the food, how clumsy our childish enjoyment!

And while we looked at the ravaged face of our brother, convulsed with spasmodic laughter and tears, a feeling of horror seized upon us....

We felt as if the spectre of death had risen from a lonely yurta somewhere behind the lost town of Zaszyversk and was staring at us with cold gla.s.sy eyes....

A dead silence brooded over the frightened a.s.sembly.

KOWALSKI THE CARPENTER

A SIBERIAN SKETCH

BY

ADAM SZYMINSKI

I made his acquaintance accidentally; the chance which led to it was caused by the peculiar conditions of the Yakut spring. My readers will probably only have a very imperfect knowledge of the Yakut spring.

From the middle of April onwards the sun begins to be pretty powerful in Yakutsk; in May it hardly leaves the horizon for a few hours and is roasting hot; but as long as the great Lena has not thrown off the shackles of winter, and as long as the huge ma.s.ses of unmelted snow are lying in the taiga,[1] you can see no trace of spring. The snow is not warmed by the earth, which has been frozen hard to the depth of several feet, and this thick crust of ice opposes determined resistance to the lifegiving rays, and only after long, patient labour does the sun succeed in awakening to new life the secret depths of the taiga and the queen of Yakut waters, 'Granny Lena', as the Yakut calls the great river.

[Footnote 1: Primaeval forest.]

In the last days of the month of May, when this battle of vitalizing warmth against the last remnants of the cruel winter is nearing its end, the newly arrived European witnesses a scene which is without parallel anywhere in the west. Every sound resembling a report, however distant and indistinct, has a wonderful effect upon the people out in the open; children and the aged, men and women are suddenly rooted to the spot, turn to the east towards the river, crane their necks and seem to be listening for something.

If the peculiar sounds cease or turn out to be caused accidentally, everybody quietly goes home. But if the reports continue, and swell to such dimensions that the air seems filled with a noise like the firing of great guns or the rolling of thunder, accompanied by subterranean rushing like the coming of a great gale, then these silent people become unusually animated. Joyful shouts of 'The ice is cracking! the river is breaking! do you hear?' are heard from all sides; eagerly and noisily the people run in all directions to carry the news into the farthest cottages. Everybody knocks at the doors he pa.s.ses, be they his friends' or a stranger's; and calls out the magic word 'The Lena is breaking!' These words spread like wildfire in many tongues through far-off houses, yurtas and Yakut settlements, and whoever is able to move puts on his furs and runs to the banks of the Lena.

A dense crowd is thronging the banks, watching in fascination one of the most beautiful natural phenomena in Siberia.

Gigantic blocks of ice, driven down by the powerful waves of the broad river, are packed to the height of houses--of mountains; they break, they crash; covered with myriads of small needles of ice, they seem to be floating in the sun, displaying a marvellous wealth of colour.

But one must have lived here for at least one winter to understand what it is that drives this crowd of human beings to the river banks. It is not the magnificent display of nature that attracts them.

In the long struggle against winter these people have exhausted all their strength; for many months' they have been awaiting the vivifying warmth with longing and impatience, now they hasten hither to witness the triumph of the sun over the cruel enemy.

An intense, almost childlike joy is depicted on the yellow faces of the Yakuts, their broad lips smile good-naturedly and appear broader still, their little black eyes glow like coals. The whole crowd is swaying as if intoxicated. 'G.o.d be praised! G.o.d be praised!' they call to each other, turn towards the huge icebergs which are now being destroyed by the friendly element, and shout and rejoice over the defeat of the merciless enemy, driven, crushed and annihilated by the inexorable waves.

When the ice-drifts on the Lena have come to an end, the earth quickly thaws, although only to a depth of two feet. But nature makes the most of the three months of warmth. Within a comparatively short time everything develops and unfolds.

The great plain of Yakutsk offers a charming spectacle; it is fertile, and here and there cultivation already begins to show. Birchwoods, small lakes, brushwood and verdant fields alternate and make the whole country look like a large park, framed by the silver ribbon of the Lena. The surrounding gloom of the taiga emphasizes the natural beauty of the valley. This smiling plain in the midst of the wide expanse reminds one of an oasis in the desert.

The Yakut is by far the most capable of the Siberian tribes; he values the gifts of the life-giving sun and enjoys them to the full. When he escapes from his narrow, stinking winter-yurta he fills his. .h.i.therto inhospitable country with life and movement; his energy is doubled, his vitality pulsates with greater strength and intensity. When the 'Ysech', the feast of spring, is over, the animated mood of the population does not abate in the least. The 'strengthening k.u.mis', the ambrosia of the Yakut G.o.ds, does not run dry in the wooden vessels, for luxuriant gra.s.s covers the ground, and cows and mares give abundant milk.

The sight of the lovely plain and the joyful human beings delighting in the summer had revived me also. This was my first summer in Yakutsk, and I responded to it with my whole being. Daily I went for walks to look at the beauty of the surrounding world, daily I took my sun bath.

My walks usually led me to one of the Yakut yurtas; they are at long distances from each other, lonely and scattered over the whole country.

You find them in whatever direction you may choose.

Cold milk and k.u.mis can be had in all these yurtas. It is true both have the nasty smell which the stranger in this part of the world calls 'Yakut odour'; but during the long winter when milk other than from Yakut yurtas was hard to procure, I had got used to this specific smell, so that now it only produced a mild nausea.