Tales by Polish Authors Part 22

Once more the people, from small to great, were a.s.sembled at the column in the valley. The armed men were dressed in their best attire,--various kinds of fur, which hung in long fringes. The sun shone on their ornaments as they took their seats in small bands according to families. They amused themselves, wrestled, and in no way betrayed the reason for coming there.

The members of Seltichan's family were distinguished among the rest by their choice arms and rich clothing, as well as by their strength, skill, and the proud independance of their bearing. Seltichan himself, who occupied the seat of honour among them, watched everything that took place with great attention.

'The tribe is enfeebled, and dying out,' he said from time to time.

'Was it not so with the family of Tumara? Where is Leljel, who was no less flourishing than we? Where is Nilken?'

'If you leave us, we also shall be enfeebled and dispersed,' his family answered him.

'"Sparkling Ice" will remain after me;--he is not my son, but my comrade!'

The grief of Seltichan's family on hearing this made the old man hesitate as he looked at them.

Meanwhile the excitement prevailing in the a.s.sembly increased, and strange rumours were whispered abroad. Somehow it came about that the members of Seltichan's family became more and more isolated from the rest, and were greeted with silence when they approached. Miore and some of the other young men were not disconcerted by this, however, and continued to mix freely with the crowd.

In the evening they all dispersed, but the excitement did not die down, and was only transferred to the tents and the camp fires. People sat talking in low voices until late into the night, alarmed when they saw anything unusual. Several even sharpened their spears. 'A man like that does not die without something happening,' they said.

On the third day they all came fully armed. Many of the young warriors brought their spears with them, and stood leaning on them outside the circle. The deliberations did not begin, but the excited whispers which pa.s.sed round the crowd showed the pa.s.sionate, though restrained, feeling. All eyes were continually turned towards Seltichan, who was sitting splendidly dressed among his sorrowing family, he alone calm and cheerful.

'Shall we allow the old man to cheat us?' whispered several.

'Shall we allow the old man to cheat us?' asked the Kniaz, going from one to the other.

'Well, and what then?' they asked him at one meeting. 'Perhaps you think it will be easier to get hold of the daughter when the old man is not there? You need not expect it; "Sparkling Ice" will never give her to you. He has not forgotten that little affair.'

'What affair? May all my reindeer die, and may I stay in one place to the end of my life, like a Russian in a wooden house, if that is true,' swore the Kniaz. 'Oltungaba is not a man of that sort!'

'Oltungaba drinks vodka!'

The Kniaz became confused, and did not know what to answer at once.

'Idiots!' he finally exclaimed, and stroking both ears, he ran off to carry his complaints elsewhere.

All this increased the excitement, and caused a great deal of talk, which ultimately reached Miore's ears through Seltichan's kinsmen.

'Father, they are deceiving you,' the youth exclaimed pa.s.sionately, going up to him. 'You are willing to die, but it is all the doing of the Kniaz; he has bribed Oltungaba! He thinks there will be no one to equal him when you are not here! Father, I beg you, escape quietly.

Our tents are struck, the young men are ready, the reindeer saddled; we shall be on the mountains before they have noticed anything. And even should they do so, are we not your children?'

Seltichan's face clouded.

'Let Oltungaba be summoned,--let him be tried!' he cried, rising.

'Oltungaba! Oltungaba!' exclaimed many of Seltichan's family.

'Oltungaba! Oltungaba!' was heard on all sides.

The grey-haired old man entered the circle reluctantly, looking as dark as moss.

'Is it true that you have taken a bribe from the Kniaz? That out of regard to him you have deceived us?' they all cried.

'Wait a little; let one speak! Don't you see that I have only two ears, so that a hundred voices only bewilder me?'

'Then let one speak!'

The head of one of the most distinguished families, who was very highly respected, stepped forward, and sitting down, began to ask questions.

'Did you take bribes?'

'Why shouldn't I take them? Don't I live on men's bounty? Haven't both you and Seltichan given me some too? The Kniaz also gave one, but he didn't ask for anything, and I promised him nothing. Is it not a sin to suspect it? How is it possible to say such a thing? The man will die! Ask his people.'

Witnesses were summoned, and the Kniaz was summoned. They all stood in the centre of the angry circle, looking rather frightened, but the enquiry led to nothing. The only thing that was clear was that Oltungaba had visited the Kniaz in his tent, as he had visited others, and had profitted by his liberality.

Stroking his ears with both hands, and swearing with quite unusual fervour, the Kniaz talked at extraordinary length of his disinterestedness, his merits, his zeal in safeguarding the interests of the tribe with the government, and, above all, of his sacrifices--in paying taxes.

Oltungaba spoke scornfully, and in monosyllables.

'You don't believe me, Seltichan,' he said finally, turning to the old man. 'Have you forgotten how I loved and taught you when you were a boy; how I advised you in difficulties, told you old legends, and about distant countries? Was I not your father's comrade,--his friend when you were still a little child, crawling on the ground? And later, when you grew up, did I not boast of you, and you, did you not listen to my advice? Who was the foremost warrior and hunter among us?

Who spoke wisely and courteously?--You were always a true Tungus, Seltichan; we all know that.--Was it the worst who were offered in olden times? I swear to you, old man, and to all the tribes that I spoke the truth. I said what a voice from heaven commanded me to say!

May my face be turned round to my back, and my body dried up like tobacco leaves, may my eyes fall out, and my muscles grow weak like badly dried yarn, and--may my hand burn, as the heart burns from unkindness'--here with a rapid movement he put his hand into the flame.

They all sprang up, and Seltichan drew the old man away from the fire.

'Oltungaba, forgive me, and all of you, forgive me,' he said with emotion. 'It is a sin to suspect evil. I will go,--I had already determined to do so. I am summoned, and I will go. If I stayed, you would be forced to go,--so would it be worth while? There is always one rotten egg in a nest.--Can a man be a man without reindeer? What is a Tungus without other Tungus?--I leave you, but you will not forget me!--Good-bye!--May your herds increase! May your children grow to manhood! May joy not shun your tents! May there be no lack of food in your cauldrons, of powder in your horns, and of goodness in your hearts!--I go away, but my thoughts are gentle, as the rays of the setting sun.--I am going now; I take leave of you, my people!

--Farewell!'

With a quick movement he tore the figured 'dalys' on his chest, and plunged a knife up to the hilt into his heart.

He stood for a moment, his fading glance pa.s.sing round them all,--then staggered, and fell.

A single great sigh burst from the crowd.

Oltungaba hastily knelt down beside the dying man, uncovered his breast, and placing his right hand near the wound, stretched his left towards the sun, crying:

'Oh, thou G.o.d ruling all things, help us,--shield us! We are not the last, and not the lowest, if we can send forth hearts like these!'

'Hearts like these!' groaned the crowd.

All, even the stout Kniaz, felt at that moment as if their hearts beat with the same readiness for sacrifice as that which was growing cold under Oltungaba's hand.

'He was a warrior,' whispered the shaman after a moment, and picking up the 'dalys,' he threw it over the face, quivering in its death agony.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] 'Kniaz': Russian 'Soltys' = village mayor.

MACIEJ THE MAZUR