CHAPTER XIII
STARIGRAD
The caique reached Trieste in time to meet the Spera in Dio, which, having discharged her goods, had taken a cargo of timber for Lissa. At Trieste, the pobratim bade good-bye to Captain Panajotti; and he, having found there two of his countrymen, was able to set sail for the Levant. From Lissa the Spera in Dio returned to Trieste, and there her cargo of sardines was disposed of to great advantage.
The young men had been sailing now six months with the captain, and he, seeing that they were not only good pilots, clever sailors, reliable young men, but sharp in business to boot, agreed to let them have the whole management of the ship, for he was obliged to go to Fiume, and take charge of another brig of his, that had lost her captain. Moreover, being well off, and having re-married, he was now going to take his young wife on a cruise with him.
"And who was the captain of your brig in Fiume?"
"One of my late wife's brothers, and as he seems to have disapproved of my second marriage, he has discarded my ship."
"And is he married?"
"Of course, he is; did you ever know any unmarried captain? Land rats always seem to look upon marriage as a halter, whilst we sailors get spliced as young as possible. Perhaps it's because we are so little with our better halves that we are happy in married life."
"And when you give up the sea will you settle down in Fiume?"
"I suppose so, though Fiume is not my birth-place."
"Isn't it? Where were you born, then?"
"Where the dog-king was born!"
"And where was the dog-king born? For, never having heard of him before, I am now quite as wise as I was," said Uros.
"Well, they say that Atilla, who was a very great king, was born at Starigrad, the old castle, which, as you know, is not very far from Nona. Starigrad is said to have been built on the ruins of a very old city, which was once called Orsopola, but which now hardly deserves the name of a town. The village where I was born goes by the name of Torre-Vezza, but we in Slav know it as Kulina-pass-glav."
"What a peculiar name, The Tower of the Dog's Head," added Milenko.
"Yes, it is also called The Tower of the Dog-King Kulina-pass-kraljev."
"And why?" asked Uros.
"Because it was the tower where Atilla was born, and as the king happened to have a dog's ears, the place was called after him The Tower of the Dog-King."
"How very strange that a king should have a dog's ears."
"Not so very strange either. Once, in olden times, a king actually had ass's ears; but that was long before constitutional monarchy: I doubt whether people would stand such things nowadays. Some historians say that he had a dog's head, but that, I daresay, is an exaggeration; and perhaps, after all, he had only big hairy ears, something like those of a poodle. Anyhow, if the legend is to be believed, it does not seem wonderful that Atilla was somewhat of a mongrel and doggish in his behaviour."
"Let's hear the legend," said Uros.
Thereupon, the captain and his two mates, lying flat on their stomachs, propped themselves up on their elbows, and began to puff at their cigarettes. Then the captain narrated as follows:
About four hundred years after the birth of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, there lived in Hungary a King who was exceedingly handsome. The Hungarians are, as you must know, a very fine race; but this monarch was so remarkably good-looking, that no woman ever cast her eyes upon him without falling in love with him at once. This King had a daughter who was as beautiful a girl as he was handsome a man, and all the kings and princes were anxious to marry her. She had a great choice of suitors, for they flocked to Hungary from the four quarters of the globe. She, however, discarded them all, for she could not find the man of her choice amongst them. Some were too fair, others a shade too dark; the one was too short, the other was tall and lanky. In fact, one batch of kings went off and another came, but with no better success; fair-bearded and blue-eyed emperors were the same to her as negro potentates, she hardly looked upon either.
The King at first was vexed to find his daughter so hard to please, then he grew angry at seeing her throw away so many good chances, and at last he decided that she was to marry the very first man that should come to ask for her hand, fair or dark, yellow or copper-coloured.
The suitor who happened to present himself was a powerful chief of some nomadic tribe. He was not exactly a handsome man, for he was shock-headed, short and squat, with sturdy, muscular limbs, big, broad hands and square feet. As for his face, it was quite flat, with a pug nose, thick lips and sharp teeth. As for his ears, they were canine in their shape, large and hairy.
Though he was not exactly a monster, still the girl refused him, horrified. The man, gloating upon her, said, with a leer, that a time might come when she would lick her chops to have him. Nay, he grinned and showed his dog-like teeth as he uttered this very low expression, rendering it ever so much the more obnoxious by emitting a low canine laugh, something between a whine and a merry bark. The poor Princess shuddered with horror and said she would as lief be wedded to one of her father's curs.
The father now got into a towering passion and asked the Princess why she would not marry, and the damsel, melting into tears, and almost fainting with grief and shame, confessed that she was in love with him – her own father.
Fancy the King's dismay!
He had been bored the whole of his life by all the women, not only of his Court, but of his whole kingdom, who were madly in love with him. Wherever he went there was always a crowd of young girls and old dames, married women and widows, gazing at him as if he had been the moon; grey eyes and green eyes, black eyes and blue eyes, were always staring, ogling or leering at him; and, amidst deep-drawn sighs, he always heard the same words: "Ah! how handsome he is!" His fatal beauty made more ravages amongst the fair sex even than the plague or the small-pox; the cemeteries and lunatic asylums were peopled with his victims. His dreams were haunted by the sighs and cries of these love-sick females. At last he had decided to live in a remote castle, in the midst of a forest, where he would see and be seen by as few women as possible; but even here he could not find rest, his own daughter had not escaped the infection. That was too much for the poor King. He at once banished the Princess, not only from his sight – from his castle – but even from his kingdom. He wished thereby to strike the rest of womankind with terror.
The poor girl, like Cain, wandered alone upon the surface of the earth; bearing her father's curse, she was shunned by everyone who met her; for the Hungarians have ever been loyal to their kings.
She was, however, not quite alone; for as she left the royal palace she was met on her way by an ugly-looking cur, with a shaggy head, a short and squat body, sturdy muscular legs, big paws, a pug nose, sharp white teeth, and huge flapping ears. He was not exactly a fine dog, but he seemed good-natured enough; and as he followed her steps, he looked at her piteously with his little eyes.
She walked about for three days; then, sick at heart, weary and faint, she sank down, ready to die. She was on a lonely highway, with moors all covered with heather on either side; so that she could see nothing but the limitless plain stretching far away in the distance as far as the eye could reach. In that immense waste, with the bright blue sky overhead, and the brown-reddish heath all around, where not a tree, not a shrub, not a rock was to be seen, she walked on and on; but she always seemed to be in the very centre of an unending circle. Then a feeling of terror came over her; the utter loneliness in which she found herself overpowered her. And now the mongrel cur, which had remained behind, came running after her, the poor beast, which at first she had hardly noticed, comforted her; he was now far more than a companion or a protector, he was her only friend.
She sank down by the wayside, to pat the faithful dog and to rest a while; but when she tried to rise, her legs were so stiff that they refused to carry her. However, the sun, that never tarries, went on and left her far behind. She saw his fiery disc sink like a glowing ball far behind the verge of the moor; then darkness, little by little, spread itself over the earth. Night being more oppressive than daylight, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks; then she lay down on the grass, and began to sob bitterly and to bewail and moan over her ill-timed fate. She was again comforted; for the ugly cur came to sniff at her, to rub his nose against her cheeks, and lick her hands, as if to soothe and assuage her sorrow.
Tired as she was her heavy eyelids drooped, shut themselves, and soon she sank into a deep sleep.
That night she had a most wonderful vision. Soon she felt her body beginning to get drowsy and the pain in her weary head to pass away; then consciousness gradually vanished. Then it seemed that she saw two genii of gigantic stature appear in front of her; the mightiest of the two bent down, caught her up as if she had been a tiny baby only a few months old, clasped her to his breast, then spread out his huge bat-like wings and flew away with her up into the air. It was pleasant to nestle in his brawny arms and feel the wind rush around her. He carried her with the rapidity of the lightning across the endless plains of Hungary, over the blue waters of the Danube, over lakes and snow-capped chains of mountains, and wide gaping chasms which looked like the mouths of hell. The genius at last alighted on the summit of a very high peak, and from there he slid down, making thus a deep glen that went to the sea-shore. The other genius took up the dog in his arms, transported him likewise through the air, and perched himself on the top of another neighbouring peak. The mountain-tops on which they alighted were the Ruino and Sveti Berdo of the Vellibic chain. Once on their feet again the two Afrites laid down their burdens, and built – till early morning – a huge castle of massive stone, not far from the sea. Their task done, they placed the Princess in a beautiful bed, all inlaid with silver, ivory and mother-of-pearl; they whispered in her ear that henceforth, and for the remainder of her life, she would have to keep away from the sight of men, for her beauty might have been as fatal as her father's had been. Then they rose up in the air, vanished, or rather, melted away, like the morning mist.
You can fancy the Princess's surprise the next morning when – on awaking – she found herself stretched on a soft couch, between fine lawn sheets, in a lofty chamber, finer by far even than the one she had had in her father's palace. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that she was dreaming, and then lay for a few moments, half asleep and half awake, hardly daring to move lest she might return, but too soon, to the bitter misery of life. All at once, as she lay in this pleasant sluggish state, she felt something moist and cold against her cheek. She shuddered, awoke quite, turned round and found herself in still closer contact with the cur's pug nose.
The Princess drew back astonished, unable to understand whether she was awake or asleep, and, as her eyes fell on the cur, she was surprised to see a kind of broad and merry grin on the dog's face, for the mongrel evidently seemed to be enjoying her surprise.
The young girl continued to look round, bewildered, for, instead of being on the dusty roadside, where she had dropped down out of sheer weariness, she was lying on a comfortable bed, in a splendid room. She stared at the costly tapestries which covered the walls, at the beautiful inlaid furniture, at the damask curtains all wrought in gold, at the crystal chandelier hanging down from the ceiling; and as she gazed at all these, and many other things, the cur, with his big hairy front paws on the edge of the couch, was standing on his hind legs, looking at the beautiful young girl.
The poor girl blushed to see the cur leering at her so doggedly. She rose quickly, put on the beautiful dresses that were lying on a chair ready for her, and went about the house.
What she had taken for a dream, or a vision, was, in fact, nothing but plain reality. She had, during the night, been carried from the plains of Hungary down to the shores of the Adriatic, and shut up in a fairy castle, alone with the faithful dog. From her windows she could see the mountains on which the two Afrites had alighted, and on the other side the sun-lit, translucent waters of the deep blue sea.
The castle, which seemed to rise out of the steep inaccessible crags on which it was perched, was built of huge blocks of stone. It had thick machicolated towers at every corner, gates with drawbridges and barbicans. The apartments within this stronghold, the remains of which are still to be seen, were as sumptuous and as comfortable as any king's daughter might wish. Her protectors had provided her with all the necessities of daily life, for every day, at twelve, a dainty dinner, cooked by invisible hands, was laid out in the lofty hall, whilst in the morning a cup of exquisite chocolate was ready for her on the table in her bedroom; besides, she found all that could induce her to pass her time pleasantly, for she had statues, pictures, birds and flowers. She could walk in the small garden in the midst of the square court, or under the marble colonnade that surrounded it; she could stitch, sew, embroider, play the lute, or paint. Still, she was quite alone, and time lay heavy on her hands. She could see, from the windows of the second floor, people at a distance stop and stare at the wonderful castle that had risen out of a rock, like a mushroom, in the space of a night; but nobody ever saw her. Alone with the cur from morn to night, from year's end to year's end; he followed her, step by step, whithersoever she went, and whatever she did he would wag his tail approvingly. If she sat down, he would squat on his haunches, on a stool opposite, and gloat on her with his little eyes so persistently that she felt her head grow quite dizzy, and she almost fancied that she had a human being sitting there in front of her, watching lovingly her slightest movement; and then the strangest fancies flitted through her brain.
Several times she had tried, as a pastime, to teach the dog some tricks; but she soon gave it up, for he always inspired her with a kind of awe. He was such a knowing kind of a cur, that he invariably seemed to read all her thoughts within her brain, and, winking at her, did the very thing she wanted him to do, before she had even tried to teach him the trick. Then, as he saw her open her eyes wonderingly, he would look at her, grinning, as if he were making fun of her; or else he sniffed at her in a patronising kind of way, as if he would say:
"Pooh! what a very silly kind of girl you are. Couldn't you, a human being, think of something better than that?"
It happened one day that, as they sat opposite each other, looking into each other's eyes – he as quiet as a stone dog on a gate, she with her tapering fingers interlocked, twirling her thumbs as a means of passing her time – the Princess was thinking of her many rejected suitors, whose hearts she had broken; even of the last one, the short, squat man, with sturdy limbs, large hands and feet, a shaggy head and huge ears. And she sighed, for though he was much more of a Satyr than like her Hyperean father, still he was a man.
Thereupon, she looked at the cur, with its sturdy limbs, its shaggy head and huge ears; and she sighed again. The dog winked at her.
"Cur," she said to herself, "you are ugly enough; still, if you were a man I think I could fall in love with you."
The cur stood on his hind legs, his head a little on one side; there was a knowing, impudent look in his eyes. Then he uttered a kind of doggish laugh, something between a whine and a bark; then, after showing his teeth in a grinning kind of way, he licked his chops at her sneeringly.
The words of her last suitor were just then ringing in her ears. She looked at the cur in amazement, for she almost fancied he had uttered those selfsame words.
The cur was evidently mocking her, as he rolled his shaggy head about, and gloated at her just as her last suitor had done. Thereupon, she blushed deeply, and covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.
The poor dog thereupon came to lick the tears that oozed through her fingers, so that she felt somewhat comforted by the affection which this poor mongrel showed her.
This, thought she, is the end of every haughty beauty who is hard to please and who thinks no one is good enough for her. She rejects all the best matches in early youth, she turns up her nose at every eligible parti, until – when age creeps on and beauty fades – she is happy to accept the first boor that pops the question. As for herself, she had not even a boor whom she could love, not even the churlish man with the huge ears.
That evening, undressing before going to bed, the Princess stood, sad and disconsolate, in front of her mirror. She was still of a radiant beauty, quite as handsome as she had ever been; but alas! she knew that her beauty would soon begin to fade in that lonely tower.
What had she done to the gods to deserve the punishment she was undergoing? Why had the genii shut her up in that tower to pine there unheeded and unknown? Why had they not left her to wander about the world, or even die upon those blasted heaths of her country? Death was better than having to waste away in a living death, doomed to eternal imprisonment.
It was a splendid night in early May. The moon, on one side, silvered the placid waters of the Adriatic, whilst it gleamed on the still snow-capped tops of the Vellebic, on the other. The breeze that came in through the open casement wafted in the smell of the sea, and of the sage, the hyssop and lavender that grew all around. A nightingale was trilling in an amorous strain, blackbirds whistled in plaintive notes, just as in the daytime the wild doves had cooed their eternal love-song to their mate.
The poor girl leaned her plump and snowy arms on the white marble window-sill and sighed. How lovely the world is, she thought, and then she remained as if entranced by an ecstatic vision. Within the amber moon that rolled on high and flooded all below with mellow light, the Princess saw a lover with his lass. Their mouths were closely pressed in one long kiss, as thirsty lips that cleave unto the brim of some ambrosial aphrodisiac cup. Above, the stars were shining forth with love, whilst, down below, the whole earth seemed to pant; the night-bird's lay, the lisping waves' low voice, and the insect's chirp all spoke of unknown bliss. The very air, all laden with the strong scent of roses, lilies and sweet asphodel, was like the breath of an enamoured youth who whispered in her ear sweet words of love. A scathing flame was kindled in her breast, and in her veins her blood was all aglow; her shattered body seemed to melt like wax, such was the unknown yearning which she felt upon that lovely night in early May. With reeling, aching head and tottering steps, the forlorn maiden slowly crept to bed, and while the hot tears trickled down her cheeks, oblivion steeped her senses in soft sleep.
That night the wandering moon, that came peeping through the lofty windows, saw a strange sight. Upon her round disc a broad, sallow face could now be plainly seen, grinning good-humouredly at what she beheld.
That night the Princess had a dream, or rather a vision. No sooner did she shut her eyes and her senses began to wander and lose themselves, than she saw the shaggy cur come into the room, with his usual waddling gait, wagging his tail according to his wont. He came up to her bed, stood upon his hind legs, put his big paws upon the white sheets, and began to look at her just in the very same way he had done that morning when she awoke to find herself shut up within the battlemented walls of that lonely tower by the sea. She was almost amused to see him stare at her so gravely, for he looked like a wise doctor standing by some patient's bed. Until now there was nothing very strange in this vision, but now comes the most wonderful and interesting part, which shows how truth and fancy, the occurrences of the day before and long-forgotten facts, are often blended together to make up the plot of our dreams.
As the Princess was looking upon the dog's paws, she saw them change, not all at once, but quietly undergo a slow process of transformation. They, little by little, grew longer and shaped themselves into fingers and broad hands. She looked up – in her sleep, of course – and beheld the fore part of the legs gradually lengthen themselves into two sturdy arms. The dog's shaggy head became somewhat blurred, and in its stead a man's tawny mass of hair appeared. In fact, after a few minutes, the last rejected suitor, who, indeed, had always borne a strong likeness to the ugly cur that had followed her in her exile, now appeared before her.
He was not a handsome man; no, far from handsome; still, on the whole, it was better to have as her companion a human being than a dog. Still, strange to say, she now liked this man on account of his strong resemblance to the faithful dumb cur, the only friend she had now had for years.
"You said that if I were a man you could love me," quoth he, in something like a soft and gentle growl, sniffing at her as he spoke, evidently unable to forbear from his long-acquired canine customs. "Well, now, do you love me?"
The young girl – in her dream – stretched out her hand and patted the man's dishevelled hair as she had been wont to caress the cur's shaggy head; such is the force of habit.
"I told you that the time would come when you would lick your chops to have me back; so you see my words, after all, have come true."
It was a churlish remark, but the young girl had got so accustomed to the cur's strange ways, that she did not resent it; she even allowed the man to kiss her hands, just as the mongrel had been wont to lick them, which shows how careful we ought to be in avoiding bad habits.
It was then that the rolling, rollicking moon came peeping through the window with a broad smile on her chubby round face, just as if she was approving of the sight she saw.
On the morrow, when the Princess awoke, she looked for the cur everywhere, but, strange to say, he was nowhere to be found. She ransacked the whole house, but he had disappeared; she peered through the barbicans, glanced down from the battlements; she mounted to the top of the highest tower, strained her eyes, and gazed on the surrounding country, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.
A sense of loneliness and languor came over her. It was so dreary to be shut up in those large and lofty halls, that, at times, the very sound of her steps made her shiver. Her very food became distasteful to her.
From that day – being quite alone – she longed to have, at least, a little child which she might love, and which might help her to beguile the long hours of solitude. Every day her maternal instincts grew stronger within her, and every evening, as she stood leaning on the marble window-sill, she prayed the kind genii, who had taken pity on her when she had been wandering on the moor, and almost dying of weariness, of hunger and of thirst, to be kind to her, and bring her a tiny little baby to take the place of her lost cur, for life without a child was quite without an aim.
Months passed; the blossoms of the trees had fallen, the fruit had ripened, the harvest had been gathered, the days had grown shorter, the sea was now always lashed into fury, all the summer-birds had flown far away, the others were all hushed; only the raucous cries of the gulls were heard as they flew past the tower where she dwelt. The days had grown shorter and shorter, the wind was cold, the weather was bleak, when at last her wish was granted.
It was on a dreary, stormy night in early February; the Princess was lying on her bed, unable to sleep, when all at once the window was dashed open, and a huge stork flew in. It was the very stork, they say, that, years afterwards, was so fatal to the town of Aquileja, not very far from there. At that moment the poor Princess was so terrified that she quite lost her senses; but when she came back to herself, she found a tiny baby – not an hour old – lying in bed by her side.
The wind was blowing in a most terrific way. The Quarnero, which is always stormy, was nothing but one mass of white foam. The huge waves dashed together, like fleecy rams butting against each other. The billows ever rose higher, whilst the waters of the lowering clouds overhead came pouring down upon the flood below. All the elements seemed unchained against that lonely tower. The clouds came pouring down in waterspouts upon it; the breakers dashed against it; the two ravines, the big and the little Plas Kenizza – formed by the genii as they had slid down the mountains – were now huge torrents, rolling down with a roaring noise against the white walls of the tower, making it look more like an enormous lighthouse on a rock than a princely castle. The thunder never stopped rumbling; the forked lightning darted incessantly down upon the highest pinnacles and the whole stronghold, from its battlements down to its very base. Such a terrific storm had never been known for ages; in fact, not since the days when the mighty Julius had been murdered.
By the lurid light of the incessant flashes, the Princess first saw her infant boy; and she heard its first wail amongst the deafening din of the falling thunder-bolts. With motherly fondness, she pressed the baby to her breast; whilst her heart was beating as if it were about to break. What a thrill of unutterable bliss she felt that moment; but, alas! all her joy passed into sorrow when she perceived that her beautiful baby – beautiful, at least, to a mother's eyes – had two dear little dog's ears.
Dogs' ears are by no means ugly – although they are occasionally cropped. Why was it, then, that the Princess saw them with horror and dismay?
Ears, the young mother thought, are the very worst features man possesses. They stand out prominently and look uncouth, or they sprawl out along the sides of the head; they are either as colourless as if they had just been boiled, or as red as boiled lobsters. Anyhow, she was somewhat fastidious about the shape and tint of those appendages, so that now the sight of those huge hairy lobes was perfectly loathsome to her, and as she looked upon them she burst into tears. The poor forlorn baby, feeling itself snubbed, was wailing by her side. After a little while she took up her infant; the disgust she felt was stronger than ever; moreover, she was thoroughly disappointed. She had begged for a baby, not for a little puppy. In her vexation – she was a very self-willed girl, as princesses often are – she took up the babe, got out of the bed, and in two strides she was by the window. She would cast the little monster into the dark night from where it had come. She herself did not want it.
As she reached the open window the two genii, her protectors, stood before her.
"Stop, unnatural mother!" cried the taller of the two. "What are you about to do?"
The Princess shrank back, frightened and trembling. There are a few things at which we do not exactly like to be caught: infanticide is one of them.
"Know," said the Afrite, in a voice like a peal of thunder, "that the child, though with dog's ears, is not only of royal lineage, but he is, moreover, the son of a great genius. About four hundred years ago another Virgin gave birth to a Child, who, later on, was put to death upon a cross because the people did not want him as their king. Well, now, the followers of that virgin's child are our bitterest enemies; our only hope is in your son; he will grow up to become a mighty warrior and avenge us. He will waste the towns on which the gold cross glistens, he will make their kings his captives, and all their priests his slaves. The blood of the Christians will run in torrents, even as the rain comes down the ravines to-night; his shafts will be like the thunderbolts that have fallen on your tower to-night. His name – which will be heard all over the world like the rumbling in the clouds – will be The Scourge of God, and he will chastise men for their evil deeds. Wherever he passes the grass will wither under his feet, and the waste will be his wake. Only, that all these things might come to pass, thou must well bear in mind that his head be never shorn nor his beard shaven; let the tawny locks of his hair fall about his shoulders like a lion's mane, for all his strength will lie therein. As soon as his arm is able to wield a weapon, the trail of blood flowing from a heifer's wound will show him where the sword of the great god of war lies rusting in the rushes; with that brand in his hand all men will bow before him, or fall like grass beneath the mower's scythe. Love alone will overcome him, and a young girl's lust will lull him into eternal sleep. He will be versed in magic lore, and be able to read the starry skies as a written scroll. From his very infancy he will feel a wholesome hatred for the Nazarenes, his foes as well as ours."
Having uttered these words, the Afrite rose up like smoke and faded away in the dark clouds.
In the meanwhile the child grew up of a superhuman strength, short of stature but square, and with very broad shoulders; and when he was but seven years of age the gates of the castle, hitherto always shut, opened themselves for him. From that time he passed his days in the dells and hollows of the mountains, chasing the wild beasts that abounded in those gorges and in the neighbouring forests, almost inaccessible to man. His mother saw him but little, for he only came back to the castle when heavily laden with his prey.