Buch lesen: «The Pobratim: A Slav Novel», Seite 28

"The Count had not been well for some days, and the shock he received upset his nerves in such a way that he took to his bed with a kind of brain fever. I attended him during his illness whilst he was delirious, and when he recovered he had a slight remembrance of me, just as of a vision we happen to see in a dream. He asked if a young girl had not tended him during his illness; his valet and the other servants told him that a mysterious stranger had come to take care of him, and that she had soothed him much more by placing her hand upon his brow, than all the doctor's stuff had done; still, no one had ever seen her before, or knew where she had come from.

"As soon as the Count was strong enough to travel, he decided to go and visit some of the large towns of Europe, thus hoping to find me.

"The vigilant eye of the police had long suspected Yarnova of being an agitator; some letters addressed to him, and some of his own writings on occult lore, had been strangely misinterpreted, and from that time a constant watch had been held over him. No sooner had he started than information was sent to the police that he was conspiring against the Government, and thus I managed to be sent after him and watch over him. Money, passports, and letters of introduction to the ambassadors were handed to me.

"Vienna was one of the towns where he stopped for a few days. A follower of Cagliostro's was at that time showing there the phantoms of the living, and those of the dead – not for money, of course, but for any slight donation the visitors were pleased to give. The gipsy, who accompanied Yarnova as valet, came to inform me that the Count intended to go to this spiritualistic séance. The medium was also acquainted of the fact, and for a slight consideration I was allowed to appear before the public as my own materialised spirit. How most of the ghosts were shown to the public, I cannot tell; I only know that I appeared on a dimly-lighted stage, behind a thick gauze curtain, wrapped up in a cloud of tulle, whilst harps and viols were playing some weird funereal dirges. The people – huddled all together in a dark corner – saw, I fancy, nothing but vague, dim forms passing or floating by; but they were so anxious to be deceived that they would have taken the wizard at his word, even if he had shown them an ape and told them it was their grandmother.

"When Yarnova saw me, he got so excited that it was with the greatest difficulty that he could be kept quiet.

"On the morrow the Count started for Venice, this being the nearest town the name of which began with the same letter as Vienna. We got there on the last days of the Carnival; an excellent time for the purpose I had in hand, as the whole town seemed to have gone stark mad. The Piazza San Marco was like a vast pandemonium, where dominoes of every hue glided about, and masks of every kind walked, ran and capered, or pushed their way through the dense crowd, chattering, laughing, shouting. Bands of music were playing in front of several coffee-houses, people were blowing horns; in fact, the uproar was deafening. Dressed up as a Russian gipsy, and masked, I met the Count on the square, and I told him all that had happened to him from the day he had met the gipsies on the road. I only managed to escape from him when he was stopped by a wizard – his own valet – who told him he would see again that evening, at the masked ball of the Venice theatre, the beautiful girl whose vision he had seen in his own castle on Christmas Eve.

"The Count, of course, went to the masked ball, followed by his valet and myself, both in dominoes. Seeing a box empty, I went in it, remained rather in the background, took off my hood and appeared in the white veils, as he had already seen me twice. As soon as I appeared, the valet, who was standing behind his master, laid his hand on the Count's shoulder and whispered to him: 'Yarnova, look at that lady in that box on the second tier – the third from the stage.' The Count saw me, uttered an exclamation of surprise, turned round to find out who had spoken to him; but the black domino had slipped away amongst the crowd. I remained in the same position for a few moments, then I put on my domino and mask and left the box. I met the Count coming up, but, in the crowd, he, of course, did not notice me.

"A few days afterwards, we left Venice; even before the Carnival was quite over."

"I suppose you were sorry to leave that beautiful town of pleasure?" said the Baron.

"Very sorry indeed; still, there was something to me sweeter than pleasure, young as I was."

"What was it, Countess?"

"Revenge, so sweet to all Slavs."

"And you revenged yourself?"

"I have bided my time, Baron; every knot comes to the comb, they say."

"Did they all come?"

"Sooner or later, all, to the very last; some of my enemies even rotted in the mines of Siberia – "

The Baron shivered, thinking of his father.

"Others – " The Countess, for a moment, seemed to be thinking of the past.

"Well?"

"But it is my own story I am telling you, not theirs. Count Yarnova and I reached Paris almost at the same time. On my arrival, I presented myself at the Russian Embassy. As the Ambassadress happened to be looking for a companion or reader, the place was offered to me; I accepted it most willingly. A few days afterwards, I was informed by the gipsy, that the Count was to call on the Ambassadress the next day. I remembered the prediction; I did my best to bring it about. The room was exactly like the one described by my friend the gipsy; the furniture was gilt, the walls were covered over with old damask; as the Ambassadress was fond of flowers, the room looked like a hot-house. I had put on the same white dress in which he had already seen me three times, and knowing the very moment the Count would come, I spoke of Russian peasant songs; I mentioned the one I was to sing, and being requested to sing it, I did so. Before I ended it, the door was opened and Count Yarnova was announced.

"I do not know whether his could be called love at first sight, but surely everybody in the room thought that his sudden passion for me had almost deprived him of his reason.

"The Count called on the morrow, and asked if I could receive him; I did so, and he at once confessed his love for me. He told me that although he was old enough to be my father, still, he felt sure I should in time be fond of him, for marriages being made in heaven, I was ordained to be his wife.

"I tried to explain the plight in which I found myself, but he interrupted me at once, telling me that he knew everything.

"'I am aware that you have been forsaken by a cruel-hearted man,' said he, 'but henceforth I shall be everything to you.'

"I summoned my courage, I spoke to him of my child.

"'The child that was born on Christmas night?'

"'Yes,' I answered below my breath.

"'It is my own spiritual child,' said he.

"I looked at him astonished.

"'I know all about it,' he continued. 'On that night I saw you in a vision, just as it had been predicted to me; I saw you just as I see you now. That very night I had, moreover, a vision. I was married to you, and – but never mind about that dream. I have seen you after that – first in this magic ring; then I saw you materialised at Vienna, and again in Venice. Of course, it was not you, but your double, for you were at that time here in Paris, quite unconscious, quietly asleep, having, perhaps, a dream of what your other self was seeing.'

"Then he began to speak of materialisation, of the influence of planets, in fact, of many chaotic and uninteresting things to which I, apparently at least, listened with the greatest attention. I was well repaid for my trouble, for a few weeks afterwards we were married."

"And your former husband?"

"Was dead to me."

"Did not the Government give you any trouble?"

"The Russian Government knew that Countess Yarnova could be of great help."

"And was she?"

"Even more than had been expected."

The Countess paused a moment. "It happened that my enemies, Aleksij Orsinski, were also those of my country, so I crushed them."

The Baron trembled perceptibly.

"But that is their own tale, not mine. We came back to Russia, my husband worshipping me as a superhuman creature."

"And you loved him?"

"I loved but once."

"Then you still loved the man who – "

"Love either flows away like water, or it rankles in a festering heart and changes into gall. At St. Petersburg I saw again my parents. Their curse had fallen on their own heads; fortune's wheel had turned – their wealth was all gone – they were paupers. How despicable people are who, having once been rich, cannot get reconciled to the idea of being poor! How mean all their little makeshifts are! how cringing they get to be! You can even make them swallow any amount of dirt for a dinner you give them. They are all loathsome parasites. I might have ignored my parents – left them to their fate, or else helped them anonymously. I went to see them; it was so pleasant to heap burning coals on their heads. I doled out a pittance to them, received their thanks, allowed them to kiss my hands, knowing how they cursed me within their hearts. Gratitude is the bitterest of all virtues; it sours the very milk of human kindness."

The Countess laughed a harsh, bitter, shrill laugh, and her guest wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"I shall tell you all about them some other time, in the long winter evenings when the wind howls outside and the country is all covered with its pall of snow. It will be pleasant to sit by the fire and tell you all these old family stories, Aleksij Orsinski."

And the dark figure buried in the big arm-chair laughed again in a mocking, discordant way.

"After some years the Count died, and then I was left sole mistress of all his wealth."

"And Anya?"

"Why, I hardly ever saw her. She was brought up here, in this dreary old castle, like a sleeping beauty; you, like Prince Charming, came to waken her up. You found her here by chance, did you not?"

"Yes, Countess; I happened – "

"Count Yarnova, likewise, found me by chance," said the woman in the dark, jeeringly, and interrupting him.

"What do you mean?" asked the Baron, breathing hard.

"I mean that the last knot has come to the comb." Aleksij Orsinski covered his face with his hands.

"Perhaps, after all," he thought, "this is nothing but a hideous dream."

"Do you not find, Baron, that Anya, your Anya as you call her, reminds you of another girl, the girl you – "

"Countess, for mercy's sake, I can bear this no longer; who are you?"

The Baron, trembling, panting, sprang to his feet and went up to the Countess. She thereupon threw off her mantilla, and appeared in the bright light of the full moon, which was streaming through the mullioned windows.

The Baron stretched out his arms.

"Jadviga!" he said, in a low, muffled tone; then he again covered his face with his hands.

"And now, Aleksij Orsinski, now that my story is at an end," said the Countess, in a jeering tone; "now that, at last, you have wakened from your day-dream, whom am I to call – Anya your fiancée, or Anya your own daughter?"

A low moan was the only answer.

"Speak, man, speak!" said the Countess, sneeringly.

Another moan was heard; not from the Baron, but from behind one of the thick Arras portières. Then it moved, and Anya appeared within the room. She advanced a few steps, stretched out her arms, just as if she were walking in the dark; then, at last, she sank senseless on the floor. The father ran to her, caught her up in his arms, pressed her to his heart, tried to bring her back from her fainting-fit, called her by the most endearing names; but, alas! she was already beyond hearing him.

"You have killed your daughter!" cried Aleksij, beside himself with grief.

"I?" said the Countess.

"Yes, and you have blasted my life!"

"Have you not blasted mine?" replied the Countess, laughing, and yet looking as scared as a ghost.

The Baron was moaning over his daughter's lifeless body.

"You are happy, my Anya; but what is to become of me?"

"Aleksij, rest can always be found within the waters of the Neva; its bed is as soft as down, whilst the breeze blowing in the sedges sings such a soft lullaby."

Orsinski looked up at his wife.

"I think you are right, Jadviga," said he.

"Oh! I know I am," replied the Countess, bursting into a loud, croaking, jarring fit of hysterical laughter. The Baron shuddered, but the Countess laughed louder and ever louder, until the lofty room resounded with that horrible, untimely merriment.

And now, if you pass by the dreary and deserted old Yarnova Castle, you will, perhaps, hear in the dead of the night those dreadful, discordant peals of laughter, whilst the belated peasant who passes by crosses himself devoutly on hearing that sound of fiendish mirth.

The southerly wind which had accompanied the Giustizia di Dio to Cape Salvore suddenly shifted, and a smacking northeasterly breeze began to blow. The whole of that night was a most stormy one; still, the ship bravely weathered the gale. At dawn the wind began to abate, still the sea was very heavy.

At about eight o'clock they perceived a ship, not only in distress, but sinking fast. Milenko at once gave orders to reef the topsails and tack about, so as to be able to approach the wreck, for the sea was by far too heavy to allow them to use their boats.

When they managed to get near enough to hear the shouts of the starving crew, they found out that the sinking ship was the Ave Maria, an Austrian barque. After much manoeuvring they got as close to the stern of the sinking ship as they possibly could. Ropes were then thrown across, so that the sailors might catch and tie them around their bodies and jump into the sea. The weakest were first helped to leap overboard, and then they were hauled into theGiustizia di Dio, where they received all the help their state required.

Five men were thus saved, and then the two ships were driven apart by the gale. A scene of despair at once ensued on board the Ave Maria, which was sinking lower and lower. By dint of tacking about, theGiustizia di Dio was once more brought by the side of the wreck, and then the captain and boatswain were saved; one of the men, who was drunk, when about to be tied, reeled back to the wine, which, apparently, was sweeter to him than life itself.

Milenko, who had remained at the helm, now came to the prow. It was just then that Vranic caught the rope that had been flung to him, and tied it round his waist. He stood on the stern and was about to leap into the foaming waves below. Milenko, who perceived him, uttered a loud cry, almost a raucous cry of joy, just as mews do as they pounce upon their prey.

"Vranic at last!" said he.

Vranic heard himself called; but, when he recognised his foe, it was too late to keep back – he had already sprung into the sea.

Milenko had snatched the rope from the hands of the sailor who had thrown it. His first impulse was to cut the rope and leave his friend's murderer to the mercy of the waves.

Vranic, who had disappeared for an instant within the abyss of the waters, was seen again, struggling in the midst of the whirling foam. He looked up, and saw one of the pobratim holding the rope. Milenko remained for a moment undecided as to what he was to do.

"Let me help you to pull up," said the boatswain.

The young captain almost mechanically heaved up the rope, and was astonished to find it so light. The rope came home; evidently it had got undone, for Vranic was presently seen battling against the huge billows, trying to regain the sinking ship.

"What has happened?"

"Did the rope get loose?"

"Why did he not hold on?"

"Why does he not try to catch it?"

"Look, he is swimming back towards the wreck."

"He must have cut the rope."

These were the many exclamations of the astonished sailors.

"Thank Heaven, he is guilty of his own blood," replied Milenko, "for this is, after all, the justice of God."

In fact, as soon as Vranic saw that it was Milenko himself who was holding the rope that was tied round his waist, he pulled out the black dagger that he always carried about him, and freed himself; then he turned round and began to swim back towards the Ave Maria. At the same time, a big wave came rolling over him; it uplifted and dashed him against the sharp icicles hanging from the wrecked ship, and which looked so many chevaux de frise. He tried to catch hold, to cling to the frozen ropes, but they slipped from his grasp, and the retreating surges carried him off and he disappeared for ever.

The two vessels were parted once more, and Milenko, perceiving that it was useless to remain there any longer and try and save the three drunken sailors who had remained on board, thought it far more advisable to proceed on to Trieste and send them help from there.

When the Giustizia di Dio reached Trieste, the storm had abated, the wind had gone down, and the sea was almost calm. Help was at once sent to the shipwrecked vessel, but, alas! all that could be seen of the Ave Maria was the utmost tops of her masts.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE WEDDING

Milenko had been most lucky in his voyages, and had reaped a golden harvest. As steamers had not yet come into any practical use, and the Adriatic trade was still a most prosperous one, ship-owners and captains had a good time of it. In fact, his share of the profits was such as to enable him to buy the ship on his own account. Still, now that the karvarina business was settled and Uros' death was avenged, he did not care any more for a seafaring life; and, moreover, his heart was at Nona with the girl he loved.

The time he had been away had seemed to him everlastingly long, and, besides, he had been all these months without any news from his family. He was, therefore, overjoyed upon reaching Trieste to find a whole packet awaiting him.

The very first letter that caught his sight was one in a handwriting which, although familiar, he could not recognise. Could it be from Ivanka? Now that they were engaged, she, perhaps, had written to him; still, it hardly seemed probable. Perhaps it was from Giulianic, for, indeed, it was more of a man's than a woman's handwriting. Looking at it closer, he thought, with a sigh, that if poor Uros were alive, he would surely believe it came from him. At last he tore the letter open. It began:

"Ljubi moj brati."

"Can it be possible," said Milenko to himself, "that Uros is still alive?"

He gave a glance at the signature; there was no more doubt about it, the writer was Uros himself. In his joy, he pressed the letter to his lips; then he ran over its contents, which were as follows:

"MY BELOVED BROTHER, – You will, doubtless, be very much surprised to get this letter from me, as I do not think anybody has, as yet, written to you; nor is it likely that you have met anyone from Budua giving you our news. Therefore, as I think you believe me in my coffin, it will be just like receiving a letter from beyond the grave. Anyhow, if I am still alive, it is to you, my dear Milenko, that I owe my life, nay, more than my life, my happiness.

"The day you went away I remained for several hours in a fainting-fit, just like a dead man. My heart had ceased to beat, my limbs had grown stiff and cold; in fact, they say I was exactly like a corpse. I think that, for a little while, I even lost the use of all my senses. At last, when I came to myself, I could neither feel, nor speak, nor move; I could only hear. I lived, as it were, rather out of my body than within it. I heard weeping and wailing, and the prayers for the dead were being said over me. My mother and Milena were kissing my face and hands, and their tears trickled down on my cold lips and eyelids. It was a moment of bitter anguish and maddening terror. Should I lie stiff and stark, like a corpse, and allow myself to be buried? The idea was so dreadful that it quite paralysed me. I again, for a little while, lost all consciousness. Little by little I recovered my senses; I could even open my eyes; I uttered a few faint words. In fact, I was alive. From that moment I began to recover my strength. In less than a fortnight I was able to rise from my bed. From that day my mother's visits not only were shorter, but Milena ceased to come. They told me that the monks had objected to her presence. I was afraid this was an excuse, and, in fact, I soon found out that she had been at the point of death, and, as she was at our house now, my mother was taking care of her. Her illness protracted my own, and my strength seemed once more to pass away. But Milena returned to me, and soon afterwards I was able to leave the convent.

"Can I describe my happiness to you, friend of my heart? You yourself will shortly be married to the girl you are fond of, and then you will know all the bliss of loving and being loved.

"But enough of this, for you will say that either my illness or my stay in the convent has made me maudlin, sentimental – and, perhaps, you will not be quite wrong.

"Let me rather ask you, captain, how you have been faring, and on what seas you have been tossing. Oh! how I long to hear from you, and to see you. I hope you will soon be back amongst us, where a great happiness is in store for you; but more than that I cannot say.

"I sincerely trust you have not met with my enemy, and that your hands are not stained with blood. God has dealt mercifully towards me; He has raised me, as it were, from the dead. Let us leave that wretched wanderer to his fate. Moreover, the first day I was able to leave my cell I walked, or rather I should say I crawled, to church to hear Mass. It was on Rose Sunday, which, as you know, is a week after Easter, and the convent garden was in all its youthful beauty. The priest recited the Scriptures for the day, and amongst the other beautiful things that he read were these words, which seemed addressed to me; they were: 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' Hearing them in church, I almost fancied it was God Himself speaking; and they made such an impression upon me, that I swore to forego all thoughts of karvarina, feeling sure that the Almighty will, sooner or later, keep the promise He made to me.

"If I did not know you, my dear Milenko, I might imagine you saying to yourself: 'His illness has crushed all manly spirit out of him.' Still, I feel sure you will not say that of me.

"How often I have been thinking of you, especially the day I left the convent; and on my wedding-day my thoughts were more with you than at home.

"Have your ventures been prosperous? Anyhow, do not invest more money in new ships, for our fathers have just bought a very large schooner. It had been built for a ship-owner, who, having laid out more money in his trade than he could afford, was only too glad to dispose of it. The christening will take place as soon as you come back. Of course, the name chosen is The Pobratim.

"I do not write to you anything about your family, for your father has written to you several times, although, by the letters we have from you, none of them seem to have reached you as yet. "UROS."

Milenko hastened to open his father's letters, and he found there the "happiness which was in store for him," to which Uros alluded, for Bellacic wrote:

"You will be surprised to hear that we have a new addition to our circle of friends, a family you are well acquainted with. I do not ask you to guess who these people are, for you would never do so. Therefore, I shall tell you Giulianic has come to settle in Budua. The country round Nona, which, as you know, is rather marshy and consequently unhealthy, never agreed with any of them; for reasons best known to themselves they have chosen Budua as their residence. I had known Giulianic years ago, and I was very glad to renew his acquaintance; your mother is greatly taken up with his daughter, who seems to cling to her as to a mother. It appears that when Uros met them last, he played some practical kind of joke upon them and rendered himself rather obnoxious; but his marriage has settled the matter to everybody's satisfaction, especially to Ivanka's, for she and Milena are already great friends. I need not tell you how much your mother longs to have you back."

Milenko, after reading all his letters, could hardly master his impatience any longer; a feeling of home-sickness oppressed him to such a degree that, in his longing, he almost felt tempted to leave his ship and run away. But as ill-luck would have it he could not find a cargo either for Cattaro or Budua; therefore, having unloaded his ship, he bought a cargo of timber, which then found a ready market everywhere, and sailed at once for his native town.

"The north-easterly wind 'll just last all the way out of the Adriatic," said Janovic, the new boatswain they had engaged in Trieste, "and we'll get to Budua in three days, so we'll have just time to unload and go to Cattaro for the feast of San Trifone and the grand doings of the marinerezza, that is, if the captain 'll give us leave."

"Oh, that 'll be delightful," replied Peric, "for I've not seen it yet. What is it like?"

"The feast of the marinerezza," said Janovic, sententiously, "is more beautiful than any kind of pageantry I've seen; why, the carnival of Benetke" (Venice), "the procession of Corpus Domini in Trst" (Trieste), "or the feast of the Ramazan, at Carigrad" (Constantinople), "cannot be compared to it. So it's useless my describing it to you; it's a thing you must see for yourself."

Five days after their departure from Trieste, the Giustizia di Diowas casting her anchor in the roads of Budua. Although winter was not yet over, spring seemed already to have set in; the sky was of a fathomless blue, the sun was warm and of an effulgent brightness, the brown almond-trees were covered with white blossoms; Nature had already put on her festive garb.

His two fathers, his brother of adoption, Giulianic, Danko Kvekvic, and a host of friends, were waiting on the shore to welcome him back. Then they accompanied him all in a body to his house. His mother, Mara Bellacic and Milena were waiting for him on the threshold. Presently, Giulianic went to fetch his wife and daughter. Ivanka came trying to hide her blushes; nay, to appear indifferent and demure. In front of so many people, Milenko himself felt awkward, and still there was such a wistful, longing look of pent-up love in his searching glances as he bashfully shook hands with her, that, in her maidenly coyness, her eyelids drooped down, so that their long dark lashes kissed her blushing cheeks.

That day seemed quite a festivity for the little town. The pobratimhad many friends; and besides, all the persons who had taken the awful oath of the karva tajstvo were anxious to know if Captain Milenko had met Vranic during the many months that he had been away; therefore, Markovic's house was, till late at night, always crowded with people.

When Milenko related to them how he had tried to save Vranic, and how miserably the poor wretch had perished, everybody crossed himself devoutly, and extolled the God of the Orthodox faith as the true God of the karvarina.

A few days after Milenko's arrival, his father went to Giulianic and asked him for Ivanka's hand.

"I am only too happy to give her to the man of her choice," said Giulianic, "for although I had, indeed, accepted Uros for my son-in-law, still I did so only in mistake. Not only was it Milenko who first gallantly exposed his life to save us, but Ivanka, as she confessed to her mother, fell in love with him the very moment she awoke from her fainting-fit and found herself in his arms. Of course, she ought never to have done so, for no proper girl ought ever to fall in love but with the man chosen by her parents; still, young people are young people all the world over, you know," said Giulianic, apologisingly.

After that, the fathers discussed the dower, and the mothers talked about the outfit, the kitchen utensils, and the furnishing of the house.

Then followed a month of perfect bliss. During that time, they went occasionally to look after the schooner, which was being fitted up with far more luxury than sailing ships usually were; they visited their fields and their vineyards; but most of their time was spent in merry-making.

One day they all went on a pilgrimage to the Convent of St. George, where they left rich gifts to the holy caloyers for Uros' recovery; another day they visited the famous subterranean chapel of Pod-Maini, adorned with beautiful Byzantine frescoes. They also showed Ivanka the tower where Boskovic, the great magician, lived; but she, being a stranger, had never heard of him; and so they told her that he was an astrologer who possessed a telescope with which he read all the names of the stars.

Another time they went for a sail on the blue, translucent waters, and Milenko showed his bride that high rock jutting over the sea, which is situated half-way between Castel Lastua and Castel Stefano, and known as the Skoce Djevojka (The Young Girl's Leap).

"Did a young girl jump down from that height?" asked Ivanka, shuddering.

"Yes. She was a young girl of exceeding beauty, from the neighbouring territory of Pastiovic, and to escape from a Turk who was pursuing her she threw herself down into the abyss beneath. But I'll tell you her story at full length some other time."

Although the hand of time seemed to move very slowly, still the month of courtship came to an end. Now all the preparations for the wedding were ready, for the nuptials were to be solemnised with great pomp and splendour.

On the morning of that eventful day, everyone connected with the wedding had risen at daybreak to attend to the numerous preparations required. The principal room in Giulianic's house had been cleared of all the furniture, so as to make room for the breakfast table, which was to be spread there. At that early hour, already the lady of the house was presiding over the women in the kitchen, who were cooking a number of young lambs and kids, roasting huge pieces of beef, numberless fowls on spits, or baking pojace (unleavened bread) on heated stones.