Buch lesen: «The Pobratim: A Slav Novel», Seite 6
"The zaptiehs stopped for a moment to look at their companion; they undid his clothes. Life was already extinct; the highwayman's bullet had struck him above the left breast, and, taking a downward course, it had pierced the heart. Death must have been instantaneous. By the signs of grief given to him, the man must have been admired and beloved by his companions; but their sorrow seemed all at once to melt into hatred and a thirst for revenge, so that they all rose and ran after the two fugitives, evidently hoping to overtake them.
"I can hardly describe the feelings that arose in my breast at that sight; it was the first time in my life that I had beheld the corpse of a Turk, not only without any feeling of exultation, but even with a sense of deep pity.
"'He was a brave man,' said I to my friends; 'therefore he must have been a good man.'
"As soon as the zaptiehs were out of sight, we ran down to see the two men, and ascertain if life were quite extinct in them.
"I went up to the Turkish guard. I lifted up his lifeless head, and, as I did so, my heart was filled with love and sorrow. He was a stalwart, handsome man, in the flower of his years.
"'Is he quite dead?' I asked myself; 'is he not, perhaps, only wounded?'
"I opened his vest to look at the wound, and as I laid his chest bare, there, to my astonishment, grief and dismay, below the left breast, pricked in tiny blue dots, was the sign of the holy Cross – the Greek Cross, like the one which had been tattooed on my own flesh.
"I felt faint as I beheld it; my eyes grew dim, my hands fell lifeless. Was this man one of my long-lost brothers?
"My strength returned; with feverish hands I sought the mark on the nape of the neck. It was full-moon; therefore the stain was not only visible, but as red as the blood which flowed from his wounds.
"A feeling of faintness came over me again; I knew that I was deadly pale. I uttered a cry as I pressed the lifeless head to my heart.
"This man, no doubt, was my youngest brother, whom those hell-hounds had snatched away from our mother's breast upon that dreadful day, and – cursed be their race for ever – they had made a Turkish guard of him.
"His head was lying upon my lap; I bowed upon it and covered it with kisses.
"My wife and all my friends, seeing me act in such a strange way, unable to understand my overwhelming anguish, thought that I had been all at once struck with madness.
"'What is the matter?' said my wife, looking at me with awe-struck eyes.
"I could hardly speak. All I could do was to point with my finger at the sign of the Cross on the zaptieh's breast.
"'Can it be possible? Is it your brother?'
"I mournfully nodded assent. Then, after a few moments, I added that I had also found the family sign on the nape of this man's neck.
"In the meantime help was given to the highwayman, who, notwithstanding his wounds, was not quite dead, though he had fallen into a death-like swoon. My father-in-law was vainly endeavouring to bring him back to life, whilst I was lavishing my sorrow and caresses upon the man I had so longed to see.
"'Let us take him away from here,' said I, trying to lift him up; 'he shall not be touched by those dogs. Christian burial is to be given him; he must lie in consecrated ground.'
"'But,' said my father-in-law —
"'There are no "buts." They have had his body in his lifetime; they shall not have it after his death. Besides, his soul will have no rest, thinking that its earthly shell lies festering unhallowed. No; even if I am to lose my head, they shall not put a finger upon him.'
"Instead of giving me an answer, my father-in-law uttered a kind of stifled cry of astonishment. My wife, who was by his side, shrieked out, looked wildly at me, and then lifted both her hands to her head, with horror and amazement.
"What had happened?
"I looked round. The highwayman, the man who had shot my brother through the heart, was coming back to life; he was panting for breath. I looked at him. He opened his eyes. A shudder came over me. There was a strange likeness between the murderer and the murdered man. Perhaps it was because the one was dying and the other was dead.
"My father-in-law, my wife and my friends looked at the robber, then at me; awe, dread, sorrow was seen in all their eyes.
"I looked again at the highwayman. He had moved a little; hisjacerma was loosened, his shirt was torn open, his breast was all bare.
"Horror! There, under the left breast, I saw the sign of the Greek Cross.
"For a moment I remained stunned, hardly knowing whether I was in my senses or if I was mad.
"A feeling of overpowering fear came upon me; it seemed as if I were in the midst of a mighty whirlwind. For the first time in my life I beheld the sign of the holy Cross with horror and dismay.
"I lifted my hands up towards heaven in earnest supplication.
"A religious man prays, perhaps, two or three times a day; still, those are lip-prayers. Few men pray from the innermost depths of their hearts more than ten times during their life, and that, indeed, is much. At that moment my very soul seemed to be upheaved towards heaven with the words that came from my mouth. I entreated the All-wise Creator of heaven and earth that this heyduke might be no kith and kin to me, that his blood-stained hands might not be polluted with a brother's murder.
"During these few instants, my friends had gently lifted the dying man from the ground, and then they had sought for the family sign on the highwayman's neck. Like my brother's and mine, that stain was there, of a blood-red hue.
"I left the body where life was extinct to tend the one where a spark of life was yet lingering. Slowly and carefully we had the bodies transported to my father-in-law's house.
"The Turkish guards on their pursuit of the robbers did not, on their return, come back the same way. On the morrow a search was made for their officer's body and for that of the highwayman, but, not finding them, they came to the conclusion that they had been devoured by wild beasts.
"With great difficulty, and with much bribing (for, as you yourselves know, even our own priests are fond of backseesh) my dead brother was laid low in our churchyard, and Masses were said on his earthly remains. The wounded man lingered on for some days, between life and death, and during all that time I was always by his bedside. He was delirious, and by his ravings I understood that he hated the Turks as much as I did, for he was always fighting against them. We called a skilful surgeon of the Austrian army, who, though he gave us but little hope, managed to snatch him from the jaws of death.
"His convalescence was very slow, but health kept creeping back. When he was quite out of danger I questioned him about his youth, his early manhood, and the circumstances that urged him to take to the daring life of a klefte. Thereupon he related all the vicissitudes of his good and bad fortune, which I shall resume as follows:
"'I was born at Chios; therefore, though I am of Slav origin and I am called Giulianic, I am known throughout all Turkey as the Chiot. You yourself must have heard of me. I remember but little of my family. My life begins with a terrible date – that of the massacre of the Christians in my native island. Upon that day I lost my father, my mother and two of my brothers. Left alone, I was saved by a rich Greek landowner. He had friends amongst the Turks, and was, therefore, spared when almost all our fellow-countrymen were butchered. This gentleman, who had several girls and no boy, treated me like his own son; and when I reached early manhood, I was engaged to my adopted father's eldest daughter. Those were the happiest days of my life, and I should have been far happier still, had my soul not been parched by an almost irresistible desire for vengeance.
"'The day of my wedding had already been fixed, when an imprudent person happened to point out to me the man who had done us a grievous wrong – the man who had torn our baby brother from my mother's breast, the man whom I hated even more and worse than those who had killed my father. Well, as you can well understand, I slew that man. Put yourself in my place, and tell me if you would not have done the same?
"'After that deed it was useless to think of marrying. I fled from Chios; I went to Smyrna. There I put myself at the head of a gang of robbers.
"'My life from that day was that of many heydukes; that is to say, we got by sheer strength what most people get by craft – our daily bread and very few of the superfluities of life. One thing I can say: it is that neither I nor any of my men ever spilt a single drop of Christian blood. It is true that I was the bane of the Turks, and I never spared them any more than they had spared us. I was beloved by the poor, with whom I often shared my bread; treated with consideration by the rich, who preferred having me as their friend rather than as their enemy; regularly absolved by the Church, whose feasts and fasts I always kept. I was only dreaded by the Turks, who set a very great price upon my head. Thus I got to be in some years a rich and powerful man. I left Asia Minor and passed into Europe, and then, feeling that I was growing old, I was about to retire from my trade, when – when you saved my life.'
"'And now,' I asked him, 'what are you going to do?'
"'What! That, indeed, is more than I know.'
"He remained musing for some time, and then he added:
"'When a man is without any ties, when he has drunk deep the free mountain air, when the woods have been his dwelling-place and the starry heaven his roof, when he has lived the lawless life of aheyduke, can he think of cooping himself up within the narrow walls of a house and live the life of other men?'
"He stopped for a while, as if lost in his thoughts, and then he added:
"'The girl I loved is married; my brothers whom I hoped to meet again, and for whom I had bought the ground our family once owned at Chios, are for ever lost to me – doubtless, they perished upon that dreadful day – therefore, why should I live to drag on a life which henceforth will be wearisome to me?'
"'Well, then, what will you do?'
"'There is, perhaps, more work at Chios for me; I might find out the men who murdered my father – '
"'No, no; there is enough of blood upon your hands.'
"'I thought you were a Slav; as such you must know that the men of our nation never forgive.'
"'Listen; if you should happen to meet one of your brothers, if, like you, he were well off, would you not look upon his home as your own, his children – whom you might love without knowing – as your children?'
"'I should love and cherish him, indeed; I should give him the lands I bought for him at Chios. But, alas! what is the use of speaking about such a thing? It is only a dream, so listen: no man, hitherto, has loved me for my own sake, so as to risk his own life for me, as you have done, though, indeed, I have met with great kindness during the whole of my lifetime, and have had a great many friends. Well, then, will you be my brother?'
"'If I consented, would you remain with me, share my heart and my home?'
"'For ever?'
"'For our whole life.'
"'No, do not ask me that.'
"'But should you find your brother after these many years, how would you know him?'
"'We have each a Cross tattooed on our left breast, as you, perhaps, have seen – '
"'Besides this, a vanishing sign on the nape of the neck,' said I, interrupting him.
"'How do you know? Have you ever met? – or perhaps you – '
"For all answer I opened my vest and showed him the sign of the Greek Cross. His delight upon knowing me to be his brother knew no bounds.
He threw his arms round my neck, kissed me, and, for the first time in his life, he cried like a child.
"Time passed. He recovered his strength, but with it his restlessness, and his craving for revenge. We soon removed from Mostar to Ragusa, on account of his safety, and then I hoped that the change of scenery would quiet him. Alas! this larger town was but a more spacious prison. From Ragusa we went to Zara, and from there to Nona, for Ragusa itself was too near Turkey. The change quieted him for a short time; but his roving disposition soon returned, and then he talked of going to Chios. One day, seeing that he was about to put his words into execution, and feeling that I could not keep him with me any longer, I told him who the Turkish zaptieh, against whom he had fired, really was, and what blood was the last he had spilt.
"The blow was a terrible one; for days he seemed to be stunned by it. Little by little, however, it changed the current of his thoughts. He shortly afterwards gave up to the Church his ill-gotten wealth, except the Chios estate, of which he had made me a gift. Then he became a caloyer, or Greek monk, and once a year he went on a pilgrimage to Mostar, to pray upon my brother's tomb. From sinner he turned saint; but he pined like a wild bird in a cage. He lingered for some time and then he died at Mostar, where he was buried by the side of the zaptieh whom he had killed.
"We had now been to Chios to look after our vineyards and our orange groves; but I must say that this island, where I was born, is no home for me. I have lived away from it the whole of my lifetime, and the remembrances which it brings back to my mind are anything but pleasant. We were on our way to Nona, and had almost reached the goal of our voyage when that dreadful storm overtook us, and had it not been for your kindness and bravery we should all have been lost."
Evening had set in when Giulianic finished the story of his life, just when the walls of Zara were in sight; but as it was too late to land, we spent New Year's night on board the Spera in Dio.
CHAPTER V
DUCK SHOOTING AT NONA
The weather was clear and bright on the second day of the year. The sea was not only calm, but of the most beautiful turquoise blue, not the slightest cloud was to be seen in the sky, and the sun's rays were as sparkling and as warm as if it had been a glowing day in the latter part of April instead of early January. Nature looked refreshed and coquettishly radiant; her beauty was enhanced by the storm of the day before.
The red-tiled roofs of the higher houses, such as convents and public buildings, the domes and spires of churches, peeped slily over the town walls of Zara, and the brig, the Spera in Dio, which that morning lay at anchor by the wharf opposite the principal gate, the Porta San Grisogono, or Porta del Mare, as it is also called.
On the pier, along the wharf, on the strand, and within the narrow street, a motley crowd is to be seen; everyone is gaily decked out in festive apparel; this sight is one that would have rejoiced a painter, for few towns present such a variety of dresses as Zara. There were fair Morlacchi in white woollen clothes, their trousers fitting them like tights, with their reddish hair plaited into a little pig-tail; tall and swarthy, long-moustachioed pandours, handsome warlike men, that any stranger might mistake for Turks, their coats laced and waistcoats covered with silver buttons, bugles and large coins, glittering in the sunshine, that make them look, at a distance, as if dressed in armour; then there were peasants, whose cottages are built on the neighbouring reefs, clad in tight blue trousers, trimmed in red, red waistcoats laced in yellow, and brown jackets embroidered in various colours; country girls in green dresses, red stockings and yellow shoes. These men and women all wear shirts and chemises prettily stitched and worked in all possible colours of silks and cottons. Some of these embroideries of flowers and arabesques are of the richest dyes, and the cherry-red is mingled with ultramarine blue and leek-green; they are sometimes interwoven with shells or tinsel; their stockings and leggings are bits of gorgeous tapestry, whilst the women's aprons are like Eastern carpets. As for the jewellery, it varies from rows of arangoes to massive gold beads studded with pearls and other precious stones, similar to those which the Murano manufactories have artistically imitated.
Amongst these peasants are to be seen tall, stately white friars, portly grey friars, and stout and snuffy-brown friars; priests in rusty black, priests in fine broadcloth, with violet stockings and shoes with silver buckles, priests of high and priests of low degree. Then Austrian officers in white jackets, Croat soldiers in tight trousers, Hungarians in laced tunics. Lastly, a few civilians, who are very much out of place in their ungainly, antiquated clothes.
On the morrow, it was found that the Spera in Dio had been much damaged by the late storm, and that it was impossible for her to sail without being thoroughly repaired. The little ship-yard of Zara was too busy just then to undertake the work, so Giulianic persuaded the captain to proceed onwards as far as Nona, where he could get shipwrights to work for him. Therefore, two days after their arrival at Zara, they set sail for Nona, together with their shipwrecked guests. The captain and his two mates had now become intimate friends with Giulianic and his family, who did their utmost to try and entertain the young men.
Nona, however, offers but few amusements, nay, hardly any, excepting hunting; still, Giulianic being a great sportsman, a shooting party was arranged on the brackish lake of Nona, which at that time of the year abounds in coots, wild ducks, and other migratory birds.
Milenko, though fond of this sport, vainly tried to stay on board, thinking that an hour in Ivanika Giulianic's company was better than a whole day's shooting on the lake; but all the paltry excuses he gave for staying behind were speedily overcome, so he had to yield to Uros and the captain, and go with them.
The lake of Nona, which is just outside the old battlemented walls of the town, is about a mile in length: its waters are always rather salty, on account of two canals which at high tide communicate with the sea.
The little party, composed of the captain, his two mates, Giulianic and some other friends of his, started for the lake about an hour before sunrise; and towards dawn they all got into the canoes that were there waiting for them, as every hunter had a little boat and an oarsman at his disposal.
They left the shores on different sides, and noiselessly glided towards the place where the coots had gathered for the night, surrounding them on every side, so as to cut away from them every means of escape.
When they had reached the goal, the signal for beginning the attack was given, a musket being fired from off the shore. That loud noise, midst the stillness of early dawn, startled the poor birds from their peaceful slumbers; they at once foolishly rise, fly and flutter about in all directions, but without soaring to any great height. The slaughter now begins. Soon the birds get over their first fright, and the hunters not to scare them away, leave them a few moments' respite; the coots then seem loath to abandon such a rich pasture and turn back to their sedges. Therefore they see the boats appear on every side and hedge them within a narrow circle. They are once more on the wing, ready to fly away. Greed again prevails over fear; the birds gather together, but do not make their escape. Pressed closer by the hunters they at last rise all in a flock. It is too late; death reaches them on every side. All at once, amidst the smoke and the noise, they make a bold attempt to cross the enemy's line, but only do so in the greatest confusion, flying hither and thither, helter-skelter, the one butting against the other, and thus they all kept falling a prey to the keen-eyed, quick-handed sportsmen.
At first the shores of the lake are but dimly seen through the thick veil of mist arising from the smooth surface of the rippleless waters, as from a huge brewing-pan, and everything is of a cold greyish hue, fleecy on the shore. But now the sun has appeared like a burnished disc of copper amidst a golden halo; soon all the mist vanishes beneath his warm rays. The mellow morning light falls upon the numberless feathered carcasses that dye the waters of the stagnant mere.
The pulse of every sportsman flutters with excitement; despair has given courage to the birds, which rise much higher than before, and are making heroic efforts to break through the lines. Soon the flurry that had prevailed amongst the birds, falls to the lot of the sportsmen; they give orders and counter orders to the oarsmen, and the circle of boats has become an entangled maze.
The lake now resounds, not so much with firing as with shouts of merriment and peals of laughter, sometimes because one of the boats has butted against the other, and one of the hunters has lost his balance and got a ducking. The morning being now far advanced, the sportsmen gather together for breakfast, leaving time to the birds to get over their bewildered state and settle quietly again in a flock round about their resting-place.
In an hour's time the shooting begins again, but the head is not so light, the sight so keen, nor the hand so quick as before breakfast; nay, it happened at times that the captain saw two coots instead of one, and fired just between the two; besides, the birds were also in a more disbanded state, so that the quantity of game killed was not what it had been in the early part of the morning. Mirth, however, did not flag; the mist, moreover, having quite vanished, the beauty of the green shores was seen in all its splendour.
Many of the youthful inhabitants of Nona had come to see the sport, picking up some wounded bird bleeding to death in the fields; whilst many a countryman passing thereby, wearily trudging towards his home, his long-barrelled gun slung across his shoulder, shot down more than one stray coot that had taken refuge in a neighbouring field, hoping thereby to have escaped from the general slaughter.
At last, late in the afternoon, our sportsmen, heavily laden, followed Giulianic to his house, to finish there the day which they had so well begun.
Moreover, the men having risen so very early and being tired out, fell to dozing. Uros had gone to the ship to see how the repairs were getting on, and Milenko was thus left alone with Ivanika, or Ivanitza, as she was usually called. This was the opportunity he had eagerly wished for, to confess his love to her; nay, for two days he had rehearsed this scene over and over in his mind, and he had not only thought of all he would say to her, but even what she would answer.
Although he was said to be gifted with a vivid imagination, now that he was alone with her he could hardly find a word to say. It was, indeed, so much easier to woo in fancy than in reality.
How happy he would have been, walking in the garden with this beautiful girl, if he could only have got rid of his overpowering shyness. How many things he could have told her if he had only known how to begin; but every monosyllable he had uttered was said with trepidation, and in a hoarse and husky tone. Still, with every passing moment, he felt he was losing a precious opportunity he might never have again.
He did not know, however, that, if his lips were dumb, his eyes, beaming with love, spoke a passionate speech that words themselves were powerless to express. Nor was he aware that – though with maidenly coyness she turned her head away – she still read in his burning glances the love she longed to hear from his lips.
After a few commonplace phrases they walked on in silence, and then the same thoughts filled their hearts with almost unutterable anguish. In a few days the brig would be repaired, the sails unfurled, the anchor weighed; then the broad sea would separate them for ever.
The sun was just sinking beyond the waves, and the shivering waters looked like translucent gold; a mass of soft, misty clouds was glowing with saffron, orange and crimson hues, whilst the sky above was of a warm, roseate flush. Little by little all the tints faded, became duller, more delicate; the saffron changed into a pale-greyish lemon green, the crimson softened into pink. The sun's last rays having disappeared, the opaline clouds looked like wreaths of smoke or pearly-grey mists.
Milenko's heart felt all the changes that Nature underwent; his glowing love, though not less intent, was more subdued, and though, in his yearning, he longed to clasp this maiden in his arms, and to tell her that his life would be sadder than dusk itself without her love, still he felt too much and had not the courage to speak. Sometimes in the fulness of the heart the mouth remains mute.
Now the bell of a distant church began to ring slowly – the evening song, the dirge of the dying day. Ivanitza crossed herself devoutly; Milenko took off his cap, and likewise made the sign of the Cross. Both of them stopped; both breathed a short prayer, and then resumed their walk in silence.
After a few steps he tried to master his emotion and utter that short sentence: "Ivanitza, I love you."
Then something seemed to grip his throat and choke him; it was not possible for him to bring those words out. Besides, he thought they would sound so unmeaning and vapid, so far from expressing the hunger of his heart; so he said nothing.
Meanwhile the bell kept doling out its chimes slowly, one by one, and as he asked himself whether it were possible to live without this girl, whom he now loved so dearly, the harmony of the bell chimed in with his thoughts, and said to him: "Ay, nay; ay, nay."
All at once, feeling that this girl must think him a fool if he kept silent, that he must say something, no matter what it was, and happening to see a lonely gull flying away towards the sea, he said, in a faltering tone:
"Ivanika, do you like coots?"
It was the only thing that came into his mind. She looked up at him with a roguish twinkle in her eyes.
"Do you mean cooked coots or live coots?"
Milenko looked for a while rather puzzled, as if bewildered by the question. Then, taking the tips of the girl's fingers: "I was not thinking of them, either alive or cooked."
Ivanika quietly drew her hand away.
"What were you thinking of, then?" she said.
"May I tell you?"
"Well, if you want any answer to your question," added she, laughing.
"Please don't make fun of me. If you only knew – "
"What?"
He grasped her hand, and held it tight in his.
"Well, how deeply I love you."
He said this in a tragic tone, and heaved a sigh of relief when it was out at last.
The young girl tried to wrench away her hand, but he held it fast. She turned her head aside, so that he could not see the uncontrollable ray of happiness that gleamed within the depths of her eyes. Her heart fluttered, a thrill of joy passed through her whole frame; but she did her best to subdue her emotion, which might seem bold and unmaidenly, so that she schooled herself to say demurely, nay almost coldly:
"How can you possibly love me, when you know so little of me?"
"But must you know a person for ages before you love him, Ivanitza?"
"No, I don't mean that; still – "
"Though I have never been fond of any girl till now, and therefore did not know what love was, still, the moment I saw you I felt as if my heart had stopped beating. You may think it strange, but still it is true. When I saw you with my spy-glass standing bravely on the deck of your crazy boat, whilst the huge billows and breakers were dashing against you, ever ready to wash you away, then my heart seemed to take wings and fly towards you. How I suffered at that moment. Every time your boat was about to sink, I gasped, feeling as if I myself was drowning; but had the caique foundered, I should have jumped in the waves and swum to your rescue."
Ivanitza's heart throbbed with joy, pride, exultation at the thought of having the love of such a brave man.
"You see, I had hardly seen you, and still I should have risked my life a thousand times to help you. It was for you, and you alone, that I got into the boat to come to you, though the captain and Uros at first thought it sheer madness; and if my friend and the other sailor had not accompanied me – well, I should have come alone."
"And got drowned?"
"Life would not have been worth living without you."
The young girl looked at him with admiring eyes, and nature, for a moment, almost got the mastery over her shyness and the stern claustral way in which, like all Levantine girls, she had been brought up; for her impulse was to throw herself in his arms and leave him to strain her against his manly chest. Besides, at that moment she remembered what a delightful sensation she had had when, awaking from her swoon, she had felt herself carried like a baby in his strong arms. Still, she managed to master herself, and only said:
"So, had it not been for you, we should all have been drowned."
"Oh, I don't say that! Seeing your danger, at the last moment someone else might, perhaps, have volunteered to come to your rescue. Uros and the captain are both very brave; only the captain has a family of his own, and Uros – "
"What! is he married?"
"Oh, no!" said Milenko, laughing; "he is not married, but – "
"But what?"
"Well, you see, he is in love; but please do not mention a word about it to him or anyone else."
"Why, is it a secret?"
"Yes, it is a very great secret – that is to say, not a very great secret either, but it is a matter never to be spoken of."
"No? Why?"
"I can't tell you; indeed, I can't."
"How you tantalise me!"
"I'll tell you, perhaps, some other time."
"When?"
"Well, perhaps, when – "
"Go on."
"When we are married."
The young girl burst out laughing. It was a clear, silvery, spontaneous, merry laugh; but still, for a moment, it jarred upon Milenko's nerves. He looked rather downcast, for he was far from thinking the matter to be a joke.
"Why do you laugh?" said he, ruefully.
"Because, probably, I shall never know your friend's secret."
The poor fellow's brown complexion grew livid, the muscles of his heart contracted with a spasm, he gasped for breath; the pang he felt was so strong that he could hardly speak; still, he managed to falter:
