The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

When all the guests were assembled, and such dainties as roasted Indian-corn, melon, pumpkin and sun-flower seeds were handed round, together with filberts and walnuts, then the bard (the honoured guest) was begged to sing them a song. The improvisatore, stroking his long moustache and twisting its ends upwards that they might not be too much in his way as he spoke, took down his guzla and began to scrape it by way of prelude. This was not, as amongst us, a sign to begin whispered conversation in out of the way corners, or to strike an attitude of bored sentimentality, for everybody listened now with rapt attention.

THE FAITHLESS WIFEWhen Gjuro was about to start for war,   And leave his wife alone within his hall,   He fondly said: "Dear Jeljena, farewell,   My faithful wife; I now hie to the camp,   From whence I hope to come back soon; so for   Thine own sweet sake and mine be true to me."   In haste the wanton woman answered back:  "Go, my loved lord, and God watch over thee."   He had but gone beyond the gate, when she   Took up a jug and went across the field   To fetch fresh water from the fountain there;   And having got unto the grassy glen, she saw   A handsome youth, who had adorned his cap   With flowers freshly culled from terebinth.   And unto him the sprightly wife thus spoke:  "Good day to thee, brave Petar; tell me, pray,   Where hast thou bought those blossoms fresh and fair?"   And he: "God grant thee health, O Gjuro's wife;   They were not got for gold, they are a gift."   Then Jelka hastened back to her own house,   And to her room she called her trusted maid.  "Now list," said she. "Go quick beyond the field   And try to meet young Petar Latkovin;   With terebinth you'll see his cap adorned.   Say unto him: 'Fair youth, to thee I bear   The greetings of good Gjuro's wife, and she   Doth kindly beg that thou wilt sup with her,   And spend the night in dalliance and delight —   And give her one fair flower from thy cap.   The castle hath nine gates; the postern door   Will ope for thee, now Gjuro is far off."   The handmaid forthwith to the fountain sped,   And found the youth. "Good day, my lord," said she.  "Great Gjuro's winsome wife her greetings sends;   She begs that thou will sup with her this night,   And grant her those sweet sprays of terebinth.   Nine gates our manor has; the small side door   Will be left ope for thee, my handsome youth,   As Gjuro is away." Then Petar thanked   And longed that night might come. At dusk, with joy   He to the castle sped. He put his steed   In Gjuro's stall, and then his sword he hung   Just in the place where Gjuro hung his own,   And set his cap where Gjuro placed his casque.   In mirth they supped, and sleep soon closed their eyes;   But, lo! when midnight came, the wife did hear   Her husband's voice that called: "My Jelka dear,   Come, my loved wife, and open quick thy doors."   Distracted with great fear, she from her bed   Sprang down, scarce knowing what to do; but soon   She hid the youth, then let her husband in.   With feigning love she to his arms would fly,   But he arrested her with frowning mien.  "Why didst thou not call quick thy maiden up   To come and ope at once these doors of thine?"  "Sweet lord, believe a fond and faithful wife:   Last night this maid of mine went off in pain   To bed; she suffers from the ague, my lord;   So I was loth, indeed, to call her up."  "If this be true, you were quite right," quoth he;  "Yet I do fear that all thy words are lies."  "May God now strike me dumb, if all I spake   Be aught than truth," said Jeljena at once.   But frowning, Gjuro stood with folded arms:  "Whose is that horse within my stall? and whose   That cap adorned with flowers gay? And there   I see a stranger's sword upon the wall."  "Now listen to thy loving wife, my lord.   Last night a warrior came within thy walls,   And wanted wine, in pledge whereof he left   His prancing steed, his sword, and that smart cap,"   Said Yelka, smiling sweetly to her lord.   And he with lowering looks, then said: "'Tis well,   Provided thou canst swear thou speakest true."  "The Lord may strike me blind," she then replied.  "Why is thy hair dishevelled, and thy cheeks   Of such a pallid hue? now, tell me why?"   And she: "Believe thine honest wife. Last night   As I did walk beneath our orchard trees,   The apple boughs dishevelled thus my hair,   And then I breathed the orange blossom scent,   Until their fragrance almost made me faint."   Now Gjuro's face was fearful to behold,   Still as he frowned he only said: "'Tis well,   But on the holy Cross now take an oath."  "My lord, upon the holy Cross I swear."  "Now give me up the key of mine own room."   Then Jeljena grew ghastly pale with fear,   Still she replied in husky tones: "Last night   As I came from your room the key did break   Within the lock, so now the door is shut."   But he cried out in wrath: "Give me my key,   Or from thy shoulders I shall smite thy head!"   She stood aghast and speechless with affright,   So with his foot he burst at once the door.   There in the room he found young Latkovin.  "Now, answer quick: Didst thou come here by strength,   Or by her will?" The youth a while stood mute,   Not knowing what to say. But looking up:  "Were it by mine own strength," he then replied,  "Beyond the hills she now would be with me;   If I am here, 'tis by her own free will."   Then standing straight, with stern and stately mien,   Unto the youth he said, in scornful tones:  "Hence, get thee gone!" Now, when they were alone,   He glanced askance upon his guilty wife   With loathsomeness and hatred in his eyes:  "Now, tell me of what death thou'lt rather die —   By having all thy bones crushed in a mill?   Or being trodden down 'neath horses' hoofs?   Or flaring as a torch to light a feast?"   She, for a trice, nor spake, nor moved, nor breathed,   But stood as if amazed and lost in thought;   Then, waking up as from some frightful dream:  "I am no corn to be crushed in a mill,   Or stubble grass for steeds to tread upon;   If I must die, then, like unto a torch,   Let me burn brightly in thy banquet hall."   In freezing tones the husband spake and said:  "Be it, then, as you list," and thereupon   He made her wear a long white waxen gown.   Then, in his hall, he bound her to a pyre,   And underneath he piled up glowing coals,   So that the flame soon rose and reached her knees.   With tearful eyes and a heartrending cry:  "Oh! Gjuro mine, take pity on my youth;   Look at my feet, as white as winter snow;   Think of the times they tripped about this hall   In mazy dance; let not my feet be scorched."   To all her prayers he turned a ruthless ear,   And only heaped more wood on the pile.   The lambent flames now leapt up to her hands,   And she in anguish and in dreadful dole   Cried out: "Oh! show some mercy on my youth;   Just see my hands – so soft, so small, so smooth —   Let not these scathful flames now scorch my hands.   Have pity on these dainty hands of mine,   That often lifted up thy babe to thee."   Her words awoke no pity in his heart,   That seemed to have become as cold as clay;   He only heaped up coals upon the pile,   Like some fell demon who had fled from hell.   The forked lurid tongues rose up on high,   Like slender fiery snakes that sting the flesh,   And, leaping up, they reached her snowy breast.  "Oh! Gjuro," she cried out, "for pity's sake   Have mercy on my youth; torment me not.   Though I was false to thee, let me not die.   See how these fearful flames deflower these breasts —   The fountain that hath fed thine infant's life —   See, they are oozing o'er with drops of milk."   But Gjuro's eyes were blind, his ears were deaf;   A viper now was coiled around his heart,   That urged him to heap up the pile with wood.   The rising flames began to blind her eyes;   Still, ere the fearful smoke had choked her breath,   She cast on Gjuro one long loving glance,   And craved, in anguish, mercy on her youth:  "Have pity on my burning eyes, and let   Me look once more upon my little child."   To all her cries his cruel soul was shut;   He only fanned and fed the fatal flame,   Until the faithless wife was burnt to death.

A moment of deep silence followed; the men twisted their moustaches silently, the women stealthily wiped away their tears with the back of their hands.

"Gjuro was a brute!" at last broke out a youth, impetuously.

Nobody answered at once; then an elderly man said, slowly:

"Perhaps he was, but you are not a husband yet, Tripko; you are only in love. Adultery, amongst us, is no trifle, as it is in Venice, for instance; we Slavs never forgive."

"I don't say he ought to have forgiven; in his place I might have strangled her, but as for burning a woman alive, as a torch, I find it heinous!"

Milena, who had fancied herself in Jeljena's place, could not refrain her sobs any longer; moreover, it seemed to her as if her guilt had been found out, and she wished the earth would open and swallow her alive.

"Oh, my poor Milena!" said Mara, soothingly, "you are too tender-hearted; it is only a pisma, after all." Then, turning to her neighbour, she added: "She has not been well for some days, and then – " she lowered her voice to a whisper.

"I am sorry," said the bard, "that I upset you in this way but – "

"Oh! it is nothing, only I fancied I could see the poor woman burning; it was so dreadful!"

"Here," said Bellacic, "have a glass of slivovitz; it'll set you all right. Moreover, listen; I'll tell you a much finer story, only pay great attention, for I'm not very clever at story-telling. Are you all ears?"

"Yes," said Milena, smiling.

"Well, once upon a time, there was a man who had three dogs: the first was called Catch-it-quick; the second, Bring-it-back; and the third, I-know-better. Now, one morning this man got up very early to go out hunting, so he called Catch-it-quick, Bring-it-back, and – and – how stupid I am! now I've forgotten the name of the other dog. Well, I said I wasn't good in telling stories; what was it?"

"I-know-better," interrupted Milena.

"No doubt you do, my dear, so perhaps you'll continue the story yourself, as you know better."

Everybody laughed, and the gloom that had come over the company after the bard's story was now dispelled.

"Radonic is late; I'm afraid, Milena, if you went back home, you'd have to prepare a stake for him," said Markovic. Then, turning to the bard: "Come, Stoyan, give us another pisma."

"Yes, but something merry," interrupted Tripko; "tell us some verses about the great Kraglievic."

The bard, contrary to his wont, was sipping his glass of slivovitzvery slowly; he now finished it and said:

"I'll try, though, to tell you the truth, I'm rather out of sorts this evening; I really don't know why. There is an echo, as if of a crime, in the slightest noise, a smell of blood in every gust of wind. Do you not hear anything? Well, perhaps, I am mistaken."

Everyone looked at one another wistfully, for they all knew that old Stoyan was something of a prophet.

"There! listen," said he, staring vacantly; "did you not hear?"

"No," said Bellacic; "what was it?"

"Only the heavy thud of a man falling like a corpse on the ground," and as he said these words he crossed himself devoutly and muttered to himself: "May the Lord forgive him, whoever he is." Thereupon everybody present crossed himself, saying: "Bog nas ovari."

Milena shuddered and grew deathly pale; though she was not gifted with second sight, she saw in her mind's eye something so dreadful that it almost made her faint with terror. Mara, seeing her ghastly pale, said:

"Come, give us this song, but let it be something brisk and merry, for the howling of the wind outside is like a funeral wail, and it is that lament which makes us all so moody to-night."

"You are right, gospodina; besides, one man more or less – provided he is no relation of ours – is really no great matter. How many thousands fell treacherously at Kossoro." Then, taking up his bow, he began to scrape the chord of his guzla, in a swift, jerking, sprightly way.

"What is it?" asked Bellacic.

And Stoyan replied, as he began to sing:

MARKO KRAGLIEVIC'S FALCON.

A falcon flies o'er Budua town;  It bears a gleaming golden crest,  Its wings are gilt, so is its breast;  Of clear bright yellow is each claw,  And with its sheen it lights the wold.Then all the maids of Budua town  Ask this fair sparkling bird of prey  Why it is yellow and not grey?  Who gilded it without a flaw?  Who gave it that bright crest of gold?And to the maids of Budua town  That falcon shy did thus reply:  Listen, ye maids, and know that I  Belong to Mark the warrior brave,  Who is as fair as he is bold.His sisters dwell in Budua town  The first, the fairest of the two,  Painted my claws a yellow hue,  And gilt my wings; great Marko gave  To me this sparkling crest of gold.

He finished, and then, as it was getting late, everyone began to wish Bellacic and Mara good-night and to go off. Several of the guests offered to see Milena home, but the domacica insisted that her kinswoman should remain and spend the night with her, and Milena consented full willingly, for she dreaded going back home.

When all the guests had gone, Mara took Milena in bed with her; but she, poor thing, could not find rest, for the words of the bard kept ever ringing in her ears. Then she saw again the great-coat lying on the floor, looking like a corpse; and, in the howling wind, she thought she heard a voice calling for help. Who was it? Radonic or Vranic?

It was only the wind howling outside through the trees, creeping slily along the whitewashed walls of the houses, stealthily trying to find some small cranny wherein to creep, then shrieking with a shrill cry of exultation when it had come to an open window, or when, discovering some huge keyhole, it could whistle undisturbed.

At last, just as Milena began to get drowsy, and her heavy eyelids were almost closed, she again saw the kabanica, which had – some hours ago – been lying on the floor, rise and twist itself into the most grotesque and fantastic attitudes, then – almost hidden under the hood – Vranic's face making mouths at her. She opened her eyes widely, and although consciousness had now returned, and she knew that the great-coat had been left in the other room, still she saw it plainly dancing and capering like a monkey. She shivered and shuddered; she closed her eyes not to see it; still, it became ever more distinct. Then she buried her face in the pillow, and covered up her head in the sheet; then by degrees a feeling of drowsiness came over her, and just as she was going off to sleep the kabanica, which was standing erect, fell all at once to the ground with a mighty thud that almost shook the whole house, and even seemed to precipitate her down some bottomless hole. In her terror she clutched at Mara, who was fast asleep, and woke her.

"What's the matter?" asked the elderly woman.

"I heard a loud voice; didn't you hear it?"

"No, I had just dropped off to sleep."

Thereupon both the women listened, but the house was perfectly quiet.

"What kind of a noise was it?"

"Like a man falling heavily on the ground."

"You must have been dreaming; Stoyan's words frightened you, that's all, unless the cat or the dog knocked something down. You know, at night every noise sounds strange, uncouth, whilst in the day-time we'd never notice them. Now, the best thing you can do is to try and go off to sleep."

Alas! why are we not like the bird that puts its head under its wing and banishes at once the outer world from its view. Every endeavour she made to bring about oblivion seemed, on the contrary, to stimulate her to wakefulness, and thereby frustrate her efforts. Sleepiness only brought on mental irritation, instead of soft, drowsy rest. The most gloomy thoughts came into her mind. Why had her husband not come to fetch her? Perhaps Vranic, seeing himself discovered, had stabbed him to death. Then she thought that, in this case, all her trouble would be at an end. Thereupon she crossed herself devoutly, and uttered a prayer that her husband might not be murdered, even if he had been cruel to her. Still, she was quite sure that, if Radonic ever discovered her guilt, he would surely murder her – burn her, perhaps, like Gjuro had done.

Thereupon she heard the elderly man's slow and grave voice ringing in her ears:

"Slavs never forgive. Adultery amongst us is no trifle, as it is in Venice."

She shuddered with terror. Every single word as it had been uttered had sunk deep into her breast, like drops of burning wax falling from Jeljena's gown. Each one was like the stab of a sharp knife cutting her to the quick.

Then again she fancied that Stoyan had sung that pisma only to taunt her.

She had once heard the pop read in the Bible about an adulteress in Jerusolim who was to be stoned to death.

Had not every word that evening been a stone thrust at her? What was she to do? What was to become of her? Once entangled in the net of sin, every effort we make to get out of it seems to make us flounder deeper in its fatal meshes.

All these thoughts tortured and harassed her, burning tears were ever trickling down her cheeks, her weary head was aching as she tossed about, unable to go off to sleep, unable to find rest; nay, a creepiness had come over all her limbs, as if a million ants were going up and down her legs.

How glad she was at last to see through the curtainless window the first glimmer of dawn dispel the darkness of the night – the long, dreary, unending night.

"You have had a bad night," said Mara. "I heard you turning and tossing about, but I thought it better not to speak to you. I suppose it was the bed. I'm like you, I always lose my sleep in a new bed."

"Oh, no!" said Milena. "I was anxious."

"About your husband? Perhaps he got drunk and went off to sleep."

As soon as Milena was dressed she wanted to go off, but Mara would not allow her.

"First, your husband said he'd come and fetch you, so you must stay with us till he comes; then, remember you promised to help me with my embroidery, so I can't let you go."

"No, I'm too anxious about Radonic. You know, he's so hasty."

"Yes, he's a brute, I know."

"Besides, I can't get the bard's words out of my head."

"In fact, poor thing, you are looking quite ill. Anyhow, I'll not allow you to go alone, so you must wait till I've put the house in order, and then I'll go with you."

As soon as breakfast was over, and Bellacic was out of the house, Mara got ready. She little knew that, though Milena was anxious to find out the dreadful truth of that night's mystery, she was in her heart very loth to return home.

Just as Mara was near the door, she, like all women, forgot something and had to go in, for – what she called – a minute. Milena stepped out alone. First, as she pushed the door open, the hinges gave a most unpleasant grating sound. She shivered, for this was a very bad omen. Then a cat mewed. Milena crossed herself. And, as if all this were not enough, round the corner came an old lame hag whom she knew. The old woman stopped.

"What, gospa! is it you? and where are you going so early in the morning?"

Milena shuddered, and her teeth chattered in such a way that she could hardly answer her. It was very bad to meet an old woman in the morning; worse still, a lame old woman; worst of all, to be asked where you are going.

The best thing on such a day would be to go back in-doors, and do nothing at all; for everything undertaken would go all wrong.

The old woman's curiosity having been satisfied, she hobbled away, and soon disappeared, leaving Milena more dejected and forlorn even than she had been before.

Mara came out, and found her ghastly pale; she tried to laugh the matter over, though she, too, felt that it was really no laughing matter. Weary and worn, poor Milena dragged herself homewards, but her knees seemed as if they were broken, and her limbs almost refused to carry her.

Soon they came in sight of the house; all the windows and the doors were shut – evidently Radonic was not at home.

"I wonder where he is," said Milena to her friend.

"Probably he has gone to our house to look for you. If you had only waited a little! Now he'll say that we wanted to get rid of you."

At last they were at the door.

"And now," said Mara, "probably the house is locked, and you'll have to come back with me." Then, all at once interrupting herself: "Oh! how my left ear is ringing, someone is speaking about me; can you guess who it is, Milena? Yes, I think I can hear my son's voice," and the fond mother's handsome face beamed with pleasure.

She had hardly uttered these words, when they heard someone call out:

"Gospa Mara! gospa Mara!"

Then turning round, they saw a youth running up to them.

"What! is it you, Todor Teodorovic? and when did you come back?" quoth Mara.

"We came back last evening."

"Perhaps you met the Spera in Dio on your voyage?"

"Yes, we met the brig at Zara, but as she had somewhat suffered from the storm, she was obliged to go to Nona for repairs, as all the building yards of Zara were busy."

Thereupon, he began to expatiate very learnedly about the nature of the damage the ship had suffered, but Mara interrupted him —

"And how was Uros? did you see him?"

"Oh, yes! he was quite well."

Then he began to tell Mara all about the lives Uros and Milenko had saved, and how gallantly they had endangered their own. "But," added he, "our captain has a letter for you, gospa."

"There, I told you I'd have a letter to-day; I had dreamt of doves, and when I see doves or horses in my sleep, I always get some news the day afterwards," said Mara, turning to her friend, but Milena had disappeared.

Todor Teodorovic having found a willing listener, an occurrence which happened but very seldom with him, began to tell Mara all about the repairs the Spera in Dio would have to undergo, and also how long they would stay at Nona, their approximate cost, and so forth, and Mara listened because anything that related to her son was interesting to her.

Milena had stood for a few moments on the doorstep, but when she heard that Uros was quite well, she slipped unperceived into the house. She felt so oppressed as she went in that she almost fancied she was going to meet her death.

Was it for the last time she went into that house? Would she ever come out of it again?

Her hand was on the latch, she pressed it down; it yielded, the door opened. Perhaps Radonic had come home late, drunk, and he was there now sleeping himself sober. If this were the case, she would have a bad day of it; he was always so fretful and peevish on the day that followed a drinking bout.

How dark the room was; all the shutters were tightly shut, and dazzled as she was by the broad daylight, she could not see the slightest thing in that dark room.

Her heart was beating so loud that she fancied it was going to burst; she panted for breath, she shrank within herself, appalled as she was by that overpowering darkness. She dreaded to stretch out her hand and grope about, for it seemed to her as if she would be seized by some invisible foe, lying there in wait for her.

Just then, as she was staring in front of her, with widely-opened eyes, the kabanica, as she had seen it the evening before, rose slowly, gravely, silently, from the floor, and stood upright before her.

That gloomy ghost of a garment detached itself from the surrounding darkness and glided up to her, bending forward with outstretched arms. No face was to be seen, for the head was quite concealed by the hood. And yet she fancied Vranic's livid face must be there, near her.

She almost crouched down, oppressed by that ghostly garment; she shrank back with terror, and yet she knew that the phantom in front of her only existed in her morbid imagination.

To nerve herself to courage, she turned round to cast a glance at Uros' mother, and convince herself that she was still there, within reach at a few steps; then, with averted head, she went in.

She turned round; the phantom of the kabanica had disappeared. She was by the hearth. What was she to do now? First, open the shutters and have some light. She turned towards the right.

All at once she stumbled on the very spot where, the evening before, she had caught and entangled her foot in the great-coat. A man was lying there now, apparently dead. She uttered a piercing cry as she fell on a cold, lifeless body. Then, as she fell, she fainted.