THE SORCERER.
On the same day, a toldería, situated at some miles from Orano, on the
banks of the Carampangue, was a scene of the greatest commotion. The
women and warriors assembled in front of a toldo, on the threshold of
which was exposed a corpse, lying as it were in state, upon a bed of
branches, were uttering cries and groans, which were mingled with the
deafening sound of drums and flutes in most dismal discord, and the
continuous howling of dogs, whom all this din rendered furious. In the
middle of the crowd, by the side of the body, stood a man advanced
in years, tall in stature, and clothed in the costume of a woman,
who appeared to direct the ceremony, making extraordinary gestures
and contortions, accompanied by scarcely human yells. This man, of a
ferocious aspect, was the machi, or sorcerer of the tribe; the motions
he affected, the cries he uttered, were intended to protect the body
against the attacks of the evil genius, supposed to be eager to get
possession of it. At a sign from him the music and groans ceased; the
evil genius, conquered by the power of the machi, had given up the
contest, after a sharp struggle, and abandoned the body which it was
beyond his power to obtain. The sorcerer then turned towards a man of
lofty stature and commanding countenance, who stood near him leaning
upon a long lance.
"Ulmen of the powerful tribe of the Great Hare," he said, in a
sepulchral tone, "thy father, the valiant Ulmen, who has been ravished
from us by Pillian, is no longer in dread of the influence of the
evil genius, whom I have forced to depart; he now hunts in the happy
prairies of the Eskennane with the just warriors: all the rites are
accomplished--the hour for surrendering his body to the earth has
arrived!"
"Stop!" the chief replied, warmly; "my father is dead, but who has
killed him? A warrior does not succumb thus, in a few hours, unless some
secret influence has weighed upon him, and dried up the springs of life
in his heart. Answer me, O machi, inspired by Pillian! Tell me the name
of the assassin! My heart is sad, and can only be comforted by avenging
my father."
At these words, pronounced in a firm voice, a shudder crept through the
ranks of the people assembled in a group round the body. The machi,
after having looked searchingly round, cast down his eyes, crossed his
arms upon his breast, and appeared to reflect.
The Araucanos only think one sort of death possible--that on the field
of battle; they do not suppose any one can lose his life by either
accident or disease; in these two cases they always attribute death to
the action of an occult power, and are persuaded that some enemy of
the defunct has cast the charm upon him that has killed him. In this
persuasion, at the period of the funeral ceremonies, the relations and
friends of the dead person call upon the machi to denounce the assassin
to them. The machi is obliged to point him out; it would be in vain
for him to endeavour to make them comprehend that the death of their
relation is natural, for their fury would be immediately turned against
him, and he would become their victim.
In this hard alternative, the machi takes good care not to hesitate; the
murderer is the more easily pointed out through his non-existence, and
from the sorcerer being in no danger of being suspected of deception.
Generally, in order to make his own interests agree with those of the
relations who claim a victim, he gives up one of his own personal
enemies to their vengeance; when--but that is rare--the machi has no
enemies, he fixes upon someone at hazard. The pretended murderer, in
spite of his protestations of innocence, is immolated without mercy.
It may be easily understood how perilous such a custom is, and what
an influence it gives the sorcerer in the tribe; an influence we are
obliged to admit which he abuses under all circumstances, without the
least scruple.
Fresh personages, among whom were Valentine and his friend, had arrived
at the village, and, attracted by curiosity, mingled with the crowd
collected round the body. The two Frenchmen could not comprehend
anything of this scene till their guide had briefly explained it to
them; then they followed the different phases of it with great interest.
"Speak!" said the Ulmen, after a short pause. "Does not my father know
the name of the man of whom we must demand an account of this murder?"
"I know him," the sorcerer replied, in a solemn tone.
"Why, then, does the inspired machi preserve silence, when the dead body
cries for vengeance?"
"Because," the machi said, looking this time the newly-arrived chief
full in the face, "there are powerful men who laugh at human justice."
The eyes of the crowd turned to the man whom the sorcerer appeared
indirectly to point out.
"The guilty man," the Ulmen cried, in a loud voice, "whatever be his
rank in the tribe, shall not escape my just vengeance; speak without
fear, priest of fate! I swear that the man whose name passes your lips
shall die!"
The machi drew himself up majestically; he raised his arm slowly, and,
amidst the general anxious curiosity, he, with his finger, pointed to
the chief who had offered such cordial hospitality to the strangers,
saying, in a loud, ringing voice--
"Accomplish your oath, then, Ulmen--that is the assassin of your father,
Trangoil-Lanec cast the charm upon him which has killed him!"
And the machi veiled his face with the corner of his poncho, as if
overwhelmed with grief at making the revelation.
The sorcerer's terrible words were succeeded by the silence of
astonishment. Trangoil-Lanec was the last man in the tribe who would
have been suspected. He was beloved and venerated by all for his
courage, frankness, and generosity. The first sensation of surprise
over, a general movement took place in the crowd; all drew back from
the supposed murderer, leaving him face to face with the chief of whose
death he was accused. Trangoil-Lanec remained impassive, a smile of
disdain passed over his lips, he dismounted from his horse, and waited.
The Ulmen walked slowly towards him, and when within a few paces, asked,
in a sorrowful voice--
"Why didst thou kill my father, Trangoil-Lanec? He loved thee, and I,
was not I thy Penni?"
"I have not killed thy father, Curumilla," the chief replied, with a
tone of frankness that would have convinced a man less prejudiced than
the one he addressed.
"The machi has said so."
"The machi lies."
"No, the machi cannot lie--he is inspired by Pillian; thou, thy wife,
and thy children must die; the law decrees that it shall be so."
Without deigning to reply, the chief threw down his arms, and went
and placed himself beside the stake of blood, planted in front of the
medicine toldo, which contains the sacred idol. A circle was formed, of
which the stake formed the centre; the wife and children of the chief
were brought up, and were prepared immediately for the sacrifice; for
the funeral ceremony of the chief could not be completed before the
execution of his murderer. The machi was triumphant. One man alone in
the tribe had ventured to hold up his hand against his robberies and
rogueries, and that man was about to die and leave him absolute master.
Upon a sign from Curumilla, two Indians seized the chief, and, in spite
of the tears and sobs of his wives and children, they prepared to fasten
him to the stake.
The two Frenchmen had anxiously watched the spectacle of this infamous
drama; Louis was disgusted with the rascality of the machi and the
credulity of the Indians.
"Oh!" he said, to his friend, "we cannot allow this murder to be
accomplished."
"Hum!" muttered Valentine, stroking the ends of his light moustache, and
casting a glance around him, "hum! there is a great number of them."
"What matters it how many?" Louis replied, impetuously; "I will not
be the witness of such iniquity, if I die for it. I will attempt to
save the life of that unfortunate man, who so frankly offered us his
friendship."
"The fact is," Valentine said, pensively, "this Trangoil-Lanec, as they
call him, is a very worthy fellow, for whom I feel a warm sympathy; but
what can we do?"
"Pardieu!" Louis said, seizing his pistols, "throw ourselves between him
and his enemies; we can each of us kill five or six."
"Yes, and the others will kill us, without our having succeeded in
saving the man for whom we devote ourselves. A bad means that! Let us
try to find some other."
"We must be quick, then; the torture is about to commence."
Valentine struck his forehead, and cried, with a jeering laugh--
"Bah! I have it! Trick must serve our turn--leave it to me; my old trade
of a mountebank will do! Help me, if I want it; but, for heaven's sake,
swear to remain calm!"
"I swear I will, if you save him."
"Be satisfied--against rogue I'll play rogue and a half; these savages
shall see I can be more cunning than they."
Valentine urged his horse into the middle of the circle, and shouted--
"Stop a minute!"
At the unexpected appearance of this man, whom nobody had yet observed,
all turned round and looked at him with astonishment. Louis, with his
hands on his pistols, watched his movements with anxiety, ready to fly
to his succour, if he needed it.
"We will not joke," continued Valentine, "we have not time for that.
You are a set of fools, and your machi is laughing at you. What! would
you kill a man without a moment's reflection, because a rogue bids you
do so? Caramba! I have taken it into my head to prevent your committing
such a folly--I will do it, too!"
And placing his hand upon his hip, he looked round with an intrepid
glance. The Indians, according to their strange custom, listened to
this speech without evincing surprise, even by a gesture. Curumilla
approached him.
"My pale brother must retire," he said, calmly; "he is unacquainted with
the laws of the Puelches; this man is condemned, he must die; the machi
has pointed him out as a murderer."
"I repeat to you, you are fools!" said Valentine shrugging his
shoulders; "your machi is no more a conjurer than I am; I again tell
you, he is cheating you, and I will prove it, if you will let me."
"What says my father?" said Curumilla to the machi, who stood cold and
motionless by the side of the body.
The machi smiled disdainfully.
"When did the white man ever speak truth?" he replied, with a sneer.
"Let this one prove what he asserts, if he is able."
"Good!" the Ulmen said; "the Murucho may speak."
"Pardieu!" cried Valentine. "Notwithstanding the bold-faced assurance of
this individual, I shall find it no difficult matter to prove that he is
an impostor."
"We are attentive," said Curumilla.
The Indians drew round with intense curiosity. Louis could not at all
make out what his friend proposed to do. He could only suppose that some
extravagant idea had crossed his brain, and was as impatient as the rest
to see how he would come through his dangerous undertaking with honour.
"One moment!" said the machi, with perfect assurance. "What will my
brothers do if I prove my accusation true?"
"The stranger must die," said Curumilla, coolly.
"I accept the terms," Valentine replied, resolutely. Placed thus in the
necessity of explaining himself, the Frenchman drew himself up to his
full height, and, knitting his brows, exclaimed pompously--
"I, too, am a great medicine man!"
The Indians bowed reverentially. The science of Europeans is perfectly
established among them; they respect without disputing it.
"It was not Trangoil-Lanec," continued the Frenchman, with the greatest
audacity, "who killed the chief; it was the machi himself."
A start of astonishment pervaded the assembly.
"I!" cried the machi, in a voice of amazement.
"You, yourself, and you know it well," replied Valentine, giving him a
look that made him tremble.
"Stranger," said Trangoil-Lanec, with the majesty of a martyr, "it is
no use to interpose in my favour; my brothers believe me guilty, and
innocent though I am, I must die."
"Your devotion to your laws is noble, but in this case it is absurd,"
Valentine replied.
"This man is guilty," the machi persisted.
"Let us put an end to this, then," replied Trangoil-Lanec; "kill me!"
"What say my brothers?" Curumilla asked of the crowd, who pressed
anxiously around him.
"That the Murucho medicine-man be allowed to prove the truth of his
words," replied the warriors with one voice.
They loved Trangoil-Lanec, and in their hearts desired that he should
not die. On the other hand, they entertained for the machi a hatred
which the profound terror he inspired them with scarcely sufficed to
make them conceal.
"Very well," said Valentine, "this is what I propose."
All were silent as the grave. The Frenchman drew his sword, and waved
the bright blade before the eyes of the spectators.
"You see this weapon," said he, in a pompous tone; "I will put it into
my mouth, and swallow it up to the hilt. If Trangoil-Lanec is guilty, I
shall die; if he is innocent, as I affirm, Pillian will help me, and I
shall draw forth the sword from my body without suffering a wound."
"My brother speaks like a courageous warrior," said Curumilla; "we are
ready to behold."
"I will not suffer it!" Trangoil-Lanec shouted. "Does my brother want to
kill himself?"
"Pillian is judge!" Valentine replied, with a smile of strange
expression, and with an air of conviction admirably well played.
The two Frenchmen exchanged a glance. The Indians are perfect children
in their love of spectacle, and the extraordinary proposal of the
Parisian seemed to them to admit of no reply.
"The trial! the trial!" they shouted.
"Very well," said Valentine; "let my brothers behold, then."
He first placed himself in the proper position adopted by jugglers when
they exhibit this feat in public places; then introducing the blade of
the sword into his mouth, in a few seconds the whole of it disappeared.
During the performance of this trick, which in their eyes was a
miracle, the Puelches watched the bold Frenchman in breathless terror.
They could not comprehend how a man could perform such an operation
without deliberately killing himself. Valentine turned on all sides,
so that everyone might be convinced of the reality of the fact; then
he deliberately withdrew the blade from his mouth, as bright as when
it came from the sheath. A cry of enthusiasm burst from the crowd: the
miracle was evident.
"One minute more," he said; "I have still something to demand of you."
Silence was in an instant re-established.
"I have proved to you, in an incontrovertible manner, that the chief is
not guilty--have I not?"
"Yes! yes!" they shouted simultaneously; "the paleface is a great
medicine man! he is beloved by Pillian!"
"Very well. Now, then," he added, with a sardonic smile directed towards
the machi, "your machi should prove in his turn that I have calumniated
him, and that it was not he who killed the Apo-Ulmen of your tribe. The
dead chief was a great warrior; it ought to be avenged."
"Yes," the warriors cried, "he ought to be avenged."
"My brother speaks well," observed Curumilla; "let the machi be put to
the proof."
The unfortunate machi perceived at once that he was lost. He became
livid, and a cold perspiration bathed his temples, whilst a convulsive
tremor shook his limbs.
"This man is an impostor," he muttered, in a voice scarcely audible; "he
abuses your good faith."
"Perhaps I am," said Valentine; "but, in the meantime, imitate me."
"Here," said Curumilla, holding out the sword to the machi, "if you are
innocent, Pillian will protect you, as he has protected my brother."
"Caramba! that is certain; Pillian always protects the innocent, and you
are about to be a proof of it," said the Parisian, in whom the revived
spirit of the _gamin_ was now triumphant.
The machi cast around a look of despair; all eyes were expressive of
impatience and curiosity; the unhappy wretch perceived but too plainly
that he could look for help to nobody, and he formed his resolution
instantly--he determined to die as he had lived, deceiving the crowd to
the last minute.
"I fear nothing," he said, in a firm voice; "this steel will be harmless
to me. You desire that I should go through the trial--I will obey. But,
beware! Pillian is angry with your conduct towards me; the humiliation
you impose upon me will be avenged by the terrible scourges which he
will inflict upon you."
At these words of their prophet the Puelches were moved. They hesitated.
For many long years they had been accustomed to place entire faith in
his predictions, and they experienced a kind of fear in thus daring to
accuse him of imposture. Valentine saw at a glance what was passing in
their hearts.
"Capitally well played," he said, replying by a knowing wink to the
triumphant smile of the machi; "now it is my turn. Let my brothers take
heart!" he added, in a loud, firm voice. "No misfortune threatens them;
this man speaks thus because he is afraid to die; he knows he is guilty,
and that Pillian will not protect him."
The machi darted a glance at him gleaming with hatred, seized the
sword, and, imitating as well as he knew how what he had seen, with
desperate quickness plunged the blade down his throat. A stream of black
blood sprang from his mouth, his eyes glared hideously, his arms shook
convulsively, he staggered two steps forward, and fell flat upon his
face. The people crowded round him--he was dead.
"Let this lying dog be thrown to the vultures," said Curumilla, kicking
the lifeless body with contempt.
"We are brothers for life and death," cried Trangoil-Lanec, embracing
Valentine.
"Well," the young man said with a smile, to his friend, "I think I
have not got very badly through that affair--eh? You see, it is well,
sometimes, to have practised many trades; even that of a mountebank may
serve at need."
"Do not calumniate your heart and courage," Louis replied, warmly
pressing his hand; "you have; saved the life of a man."
"Aye; but I have killed another."
"Oh, he was a guilty wretch!"