The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

"Perhaps you will be angry with me, and think me inconstant, but alas! this is not the case. Henceforth, I must never think of you, or at least, only as a friend. It is not fated that we be man and wife, and, as marriages are made in heaven, we must submit to what has been decreed.

"You must not think me heartless if I write to you in this way, but the fact is, my father had – even before my birth – promised me in marriage to the son of one of his friends, and this young man happens to be your own friend and brother Uros. My only hope now is, that he, as you hinted, being in love with someone else, will not insist upon marrying me, or else I shall be the most wretched woman that ever lived in this world.

"My father, who is delighted with the marriage, for he has always mistaken you for Uros, has already written to his old friend Bellacic to remind him of his plighted word. Perhaps your friend will get his father to write to mine, and explain the real state of things to him; if not, I shall dearly regret the day you saved me from certain death.

"But why do I write all this to you. Perhaps, as the saying is: 'Far from the eyes, far from the heart.' You have already forgotten the wretched girl who owes her life to you, and must therefore love, cherish, and ever be your most obedient servant, "IVANKA."

As poor Milenko read this letter, his cheeks grew pale, his heart seemed to stop, he almost gasped for breath. He looked around; the sky seemed to have grown dark, the world dreary, life a burden. Could it be possible that, when the cup of happiness had touched his lips, it would be snatched away from him and dashed down?

The letter which he had read seemed to have muddled his brain. Was it possible that the girl he loved so dearly was to marry his friend, who did not care about her? and if she loved him, would she yield tamely to her father's wish? Alas! what proper girl ever rebelled against her father's decree?

Milenko felt as if a hand of steel had been thrust within his breast, gripped his heart and crushed it.

All at once he was seized by a dreadful doubt. Did Uros know nothing about all this, or was he conniving with his father to rob him of his bride? He looked up at his friend, who was reading the letters he had just received. The tidings they contained must have been far worse than his own, for Uros' face was the very picture of despair.

"What is the matter?" said Milenko; "bad news from home?"

For all answer Uros handed the letter he had just been reading to his friend; it was as follows: —

"My dear Son, – The present lines are to inform you that we are both well, your mother and myself, though, indeed, I have been suffering with rheumatic pains in my right shoulder and in my left leg, as well as occasional cramps in my stomach, for which the barber has cupped me several times. As for your mother, she always suffers with sore eyes, and though she tries to cure herself with vine-water and the dew which the flowers distil on St. John's Eve, which is a specific, as you know, still, it has not afforded her great relief. She is also often ailing with a pain in her side; but these are only trifles. Therefore, I hope that this letter will find you, Milenko and the captain in as good health as that which we at present enjoy, and that you have had a good and prosperous voyage. Here, at Budua, things are always about the same. The weather has hitherto been very favourable to the crops, and, with God's help, we must hope for a good harvest, though the wind having blown down almost all the blossoms of the almond-trees, there will be but little fruit. As for the vines, little can be said as yet; whilst having had a good crop of olives last year, we cannot expect much this autumn.

"Our town is always very quiet. A fire only broke out here not long ago, and it burnt down a few houses. As it was believed to have been caused on account of a karvarina, bloodshed, as usual, ensued. Another fact, which somewhat upset our town, was the death of Vranic, who was found murdered in Radonic's house whilst Milena was spending the evening with us. You may well understand how astonished every one was, for Radonic and Vranic had been friends from their youth. Although no one was ever very fond of Radonic, still nobody regretted Vranic, who, as you know, was gifted with the evil eye; and although I myself, not being superstitious, do not believe that persons can harm you simply by looking at you, still it is useless to go against facts. Poor Milena, who was the first to enter the house after the murder – although your mother had accompanied her thither – was seized by such a terrible fright that she remained soulless for many hours, and has been ill ever since, though with care and good food we hope to bring her round.

"I was marvelled to hear how you fell in with the Giulianics, and that your ship saved them from death. It is certainly a dispensation of Providence, and – not being an infidel Turk – I do not see Kismetin everything that happens; still, the hand of the Almighty God is clearly visible in all this.

"Giulianic and I were friends when he, Markovic and myself were poor folk, struggling hard to live and to put by a penny for a rainy day. All three of us have, thank Heaven, succeeded beyond our expectations, for I am glad to hear, by your account as well as his own, that he is in such good circumstances.

"One day – long before you were born – talking together and joking, we made each other a kind of promise, more for the fun of the thing than for anything else, that if we should have, the one a son, and the other a daughter, we should marry them to each other. Not to forget our promises, we exchanged tobacco-pouches. To tell you the truth, not having heard of the Giulianics for so many years, I had all but forgotten my promise, and I daresay he looked at his own pledge as a kind of joke. On receiving your letter, however, I at once wrote to this old friend, sending him back his gold-embroidered pouch and redeeming mine. He at once wrote back a most affectionate letter, saying that he was but too happy to give his daughter to the young man who had saved Ivanka's life, but, apparently, had stolen away her heart. Therefore, my dear son, you may henceforth consider yourself engaged to the girl of your choice; and may the blessing of God and of the holy Virgin rest on you both for ever.

"Your mother wishes me to tell you not to forget your prayers morning and evening, to try and keep all the fasts, and to light a candle to St. Nicholas whenever you go on shore, so that he may keep you from storms and shipwrecks. Besides, she bids me tell you, that if you want more underclothing, to write to her in time, so that she may prepare everything you need.

"Your loving father, "Milos Bellacic."

Whilst Milenko was reading this letter, doubt returned several times within his heart, and began to gnaw at it. As soon as he had finished, he handed it back to Uros, and seeing his honest eyes fixed upon him, as if asking for consolation, all doubts were at once dispelled.

"Well," said Uros, "it isn't enough to think that Milena is ill, but all this complication must arise."

"As for Milena," replied Milenko, "she is much better; here is a letter from my mother, written after yours, in which she says that she is quite out of danger."

Comforted with the idea that the woman he loved was better, Uros could not help smiling, then almost laughing.

Milenko looked at him, astonished.

"After all, this is your fault," said Uros.

"Mine?"

"Of course; you would insist in allowing old Giulianic to believe you were myself; now there is only one thing left for you."

"What?"

"To act your part out."

"I don't quite understand."

"Go to Nona, and marry Ivanka at once; when married, Giulianic will have to give you his blessing."

"Oh! but – "

"But what?"

"I don't think Ivanka will consent."

"If she loves you she will. I wish it was as easy for me to marry Milena as it is for you to wed Ivanka."

"But wouldn't it be better to get the father's consent?"

"Old people are stubborn; once they get a thing into their heads, it's difficult to get it out again."

"Yes, but if – "

"With 'buts' and 'ifs' you'll never marry."

"What are you discussing?" said the captain, coming up.

"Oh! I was simply saying that only a daring man deserves to wed the girl he loves," said Uros.

"Of course; don't you know the story of Prince Mathias?"

"No," replied the young man.

"Well, then, as we have nothing to do just now, listen, and I'll tell it to you."

Once, in those long bygone times when rats fought with frogs, tortoises ran races with hares and won them, pussies went about in boots, and – I was going to add – women wore breeches, but, then, that would not be such an extraordinary occurrence even now-a-days; well, in those remote times, there lived a King who had a beautiful daughter, as fair as the dawning sun, and as wise as an old rabbi versed in the Kabala. In fact, she was so handsome and so learned that her reputation had spread far and wide, and many a Prince had come from far away beyond the sea to offer his hand and heart to this wonderful Princess. She, however, would have none of them, for she found that, although they – as a rule – rode like jockeys, drove like cabmen and swore like carters, they were, on the whole, slow-coaches; none of them, for instance, were good at repartee, none could discuss German pessimism, and all – on the contrary – found that life was worth living; so she would have nothing to do with them.

She, therefore, send heralds to all the Courts of Chivalry to proclaim that she would only wed the Prince who, for three successive nights, could sit up and watch in her room, without falling asleep and allowing her to escape.

Every Prince who heard of the proclamation thought it a good joke, and the candidates for the Princess's hand greatly increased. A host of Durchlauchten from the most sacred Protestant empire of Germany, flocked —Armen-reisender fashion – and offered to sit up in the Princess's room for three nights, or even more if she desired it.

Alas, for the poor Highnesses! every one paid the trial with his life. The Princess – who knew a thing or two – provided for their entertainment an unlimited supply of Lager Bier, and, moreover – it was a cruel joke – she had a few pages read to them of the very book each one had written, for, in those literary times, every Prince was bound to write a book. At the end of the first chapter every Prince snored.

It happened that Prince Mathias – the only son and heir of a queen who reigned in an out-of-the-way island, which was believed by its inhabitants to be the centre of the world – heard of this strange proclamation. He was the very flower of chivalry in those days, strong as a bull, handsome as a stag – though rather inclined to be corpulent – brave as a falcon, and as amorous as a cat in spring-time. He at once resolved to risk his head, and go and spend the three nights in the Princess's bedroom.

His mother – a pious old lady, an excellent housekeeper, much attached to her domestics, and known throughout the world as an elegant writer of diaries – did her utmost to dissuade her son from his foolish project; but all her wise remonstrances were in vain. Prince Mathias, who was not the most dutiful of sons, allowed his mother to jaw away till she was purple in the face, but her words went in by one ear and out by the other; he remained steadfast to his purpose. Seeing at last that praying and preaching were of no avail, Her Gracious Majesty consented to her son's departure with royal grace. She doled out to him a few ducats, stamped with her own effigy, and, knowing his unthrifty ways, she said to herself: "He'll not go very far with that." Then she presented him with a shawl to keep him warm at nights, and she blessed him with her chubby hands, begging him to try and keep out of mischief now that he had reached the years of discretion.

Mathias, wrapped up in his shawl, went off to seek his fortune. As he was tramping along the high-road, he happened to meet a stout, sleek-headed man who was lounging on the roadside.

The Prince – who was very off-handed in his ways, and not very particular as to the company he kept, or to the number of his attachments, as the Opposition papers said – hailed the stout, sleek-headed man.

"Whither wanderest thou, my friend?" said Mathias to the loafer.

"I tramp about the world in search of happiness," quoth he.

"You're not a German philosopher, I hope?" asked the Prince, terror-stricken.

"I'm a true-born Dutchman, sir," retorted the loafer, with much dignity.

"Give us your paw," said His Highness.

The friends shook hands.

"What's your trade, my man?"

"Well, I'm a kind of Jack-of-all-trades, without any trade in particular – and yours?"

"I'll be a kind of general overseer some day or other."

"Good job?"

"Used to be much better – too many strikes nowadays."

"I see; it ruins the trade, does it?"

"Our trade especially."

"So?"

"But what's your name?" asked the Prince.

"Well, I'm generally known as 'The Big One.' You see, I can stretch out my stomach to such a pitch that I can shelter a whole regiment of soldiers in it. Shouldn't you like to see me do the trick?"

"Swell away!" ejaculated the Prince.

The Big One thereupon puffed and puffed himself out, and swelled himself to such a pitch that he blocked up the highway from one side to the other.

"Bravo!" cried the Prince; "you're a swell!"

"I'm a sell," said The Big One, smiling modestly.

"A cell, indeed! But, I say, where did you learn that trick?"

"Up in Thibet."

"You're an adept, are you?"

"I am," said the loafer.

Mathias crossed himself devoutly.

"I say, don't you want to accompany me in my wanderings, in a sans façon way?"

"And take pot-luck with you?" said the adept, with a wink.

Mathias took the hint. He jingled the few dollars he had in his pocket, counted the six gold ducats his mamma had given him, and reckoned the enormous amount of food his new friend might consume. On the other hand, he bethought himself how useful a man who could swallow a whole regiment might be in case of an insurrection; so he shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to himself:

"There'll be a row at the next meeting of the Witena-gemote, when my debts 'll have to be paid; but if they want me to keep up appearances, they must fork out the tin." Thereupon, turning to The Big One, he added, magnificently: "It's a bargain."

"You're a brick," said The Big One.

On the morrow they met another tramp, so tall and so thin that he looked like a huge asparagus, or like a walking minaret. His name was The Long One; and he could, even without standing on tiptoe, lengthen himself in such a way as to reach the clouds. Moreover, every step he made was the distance of a mile.

As he, too, was seeking his fortune, the Prince took him on in his suite.

The day after that, as the three were going through a wood, they came across a man with such flashing eyes that he could light a conflagration with only one of his glances. Of course, they took him on with them.

After tramping about for three days, they got to the castle where the wonderful Princess lived. Mathias held a council with his friends, and told them of his intentions. Then he changed his gold ducats, pawned his mother's shawl, bought decent clothes for the tramps, and made his entrance into the town with all the pomp and splendour due to his rank.

As he was travelling incog., he sent his card – a plain one without crown or coat-of-arms – to the King of the place, announcing that he had come with his followers to spend three nights in his daughter's bedroom.

"Followers not admitted," replied the King.

"All right!" retorted the Prince, ruefully.

"You know the terms, I suppose?"

"Death or victory!"

The King made him a long speech, terse and pithy, as royal speeches usually are. The Prince, who listened with all attention, tried to yawn without opening his mouth.

"Yawn like a man!" said the King; "I don't mind it, do you?" said he to the prime minister, who had written the speech.

"I'm used to it," said the premier.

"Well! do you persist in your intention?" asked the King at the end of the speech.

"I do!" quoth the Prince.

"Then I'll light you up to my daughter's door."

Having reached the landing of the second floor, the King shook hands with the Prince and his followers; he wished them good-night; still, he lingered for a while on the threshold.

Mathias was dazzled with the superhuman beauty of the royal maiden, who was quite a garden in herself, for she was as lithe as a lily, as graceful as a waving bough, with a complexion like jasmines and roses, eyes like forget-me-nots, a mouth like a cherry, breasts like pomegranates, and as sweet a breath as mignonette.

She could not hide the admiration she felt for Mathias, and congratulated him especially on never having written a book.

When the old King heard that Mathias was not an author, he was so sorely troubled that he took up his candle and went off to bed.

No sooner had His Majesty taken himself off than The Big One went and crouched on the threshold of the door; The Long One made himself comfortable on one of the window-sills; The Man with the Flashing Eyes on the other. All three pretended to go off to sleep, but in reality they were all watching the Princess, who was carrying on a lively conversation with Mathias.

"Do you like Schopenhauer?" asked the royal maiden, with a smile like a peach blossom opening its petals to the breeze.

"I like you," said Mathias, looking deep in the eyes of the young girl, who at once blushed demurely.

"But you don't answer my question," she said.

"Well, no," quoth Mathias; "I don't like Schopenhauer."

"Why not?"

"Because we differ in tastes."

"How so?"

"You see, I'm rather fond of the girls; he isn't."

"Of all girls?" asked the Princess, alarmed.

"All girls in general, but you in particular," added Mathias with a wink.

The young girl thought it advisable to change the conversation.

After a while the Princess began to yawn.

"Sleepy, eh?" said Mathias, with a smile.

"I feel as if a rain of poppies was weighing down my eyelids."

"Have a snooze, then."

"I'm afraid you'll feel rather lonely, sitting up by yourself all night."

"Oh! don't mind me," said Mathias; "I never turn in very early; besides, I'll have a game of patience."

"But I've got no cards to offer you," said the Princess.

"I have; I never travel without a pack in my pocket."

"You're sharp."

"Sharper than many who think themselves sharp."

Mathias settled himself comfortably at a table and began to play. The Princess undressed, said her prayers, then went off to bed.

The Prince played one, two, three games; then he felt his throat rather dry, and would have given half of his kingdom for a glass of grog; than he began to wonder if there was any whisky in the house.

Just then, he heard the three men snoring, and the little Princess purring away like a wee kitten. He stretched his arms and his legs, for he felt himself getting stiff. He then tried to play another game, but he could not go on with it; for he kept mistaking the hearts for the diamonds, and then could no more distinguish the clubs from the spades. He also began to feel chilly, and was sorry not to have his mammy's shawl to wrap himself up in. He, therefore, laid his elbows on the table, and his head between the palms of his hands, and stared at the Princess, whom he fancied looked very much like the sleeping beauty at the waxworks.

Little by little his eyelids waxed heavy, his pupils got to be smaller and smaller, his sight grew blurred, and then everything in front of him disappeared. Prince Mathias was snoring majestically.

"It took him a long time to drop off, but he's asleep at last," said the Princess, with a sigh.

She thereupon changed herself into the likeness of a dove, and flew out of the window where The Long One was asleep. Only, on making her escape, she happened to graze the sleeping man's hair. He forthwith started up, and, seeing that the Princess's bed was empty, he at once gave the alarm, and woke The Man with the Flashing Eyes, who cast a long look in the darkness outside. That burning glance falling upon the dove's wings singed them in such a way that she was obliged to take shelter in a neighbouring tree. The Man with the Flashing Eyes kept a sharp watch, and the splendour of his pupils, shining on the bird, were like the revolving rays of a lighthouse. The Long One thereupon put his head out of the window, stretched out his hand a mile off, grasped the dove, and quietly handed her to Mathias.

No sooner had Mathias pressed the dove to his heart than, lo and behold! he found that he was clasping in his arms, not a bird, but the Princess herself.

Mathias could not help uttering a loud exclamation of surprise; the three men uttered the selfsame exclamation. All at once the door of the Princess's bedroom flew open with a bang. The old King appeared on the threshold, with a dip in his hand. His Majesty looked very much put out.

"I say, what's all this row about?" said he; "billing and cooing at this time of the night, eh?" Thereupon His Majesty frowned.

The Princess nestled in Mathias's arms, blushing like a peony, for she saw that the flowing sleeves of her nightgown were dreadfully singed, and she knew that the colour would never go off in the wash.

The King, casting a stealthy look round the room, saw the cards on the little table by the Princess's bed, and pointing them out to Mathias with a jerk of his thumb:

"I see your little tricks, sir, and with your own cards, too; gambling again, eh?"

Mathis looked as sheepish as a child caught with his finger in a jam-pot. The King thereupon snuffed the wick of his candle with his own royal fingers, picked up the ermine-bordered train of his night-gown and stalked off to bed, without even saying good-night again.

"Your father's put out," said Mathias to the Princess.

"He's thinking of the expense you'll be putting him to, you and your suite."

"What! is he going to ask us to dinner?"

"Can't help it, can he?" and the Princess chuckled.

On the second night the Princess flew away in the likeness of a fly; but she was soon brought back. On the third night she transformed herself into a little fish, and gave the three men no end of trouble to fish her out of the pond in which she had plunged.

At last the Princess confessed herself vanquished. Mathias had been the only one of all her suitors who had managed to get her back every time she had escaped; moreover, she had been quite smitten by his jovial character and convivial ways.

The old King, however, strenuously disapproved of his daughter's choice. Mathias was not a Durchlaucht, he had never written a book, and, moreover, he played patience with his own pack of cards. He, therefore, resolved to oppose his daughter's marriage, and, being an autocrat, his will was law in his own country.

Mathias, however, presented the King with a packet of photographs that he happened to have about him; they were all respectable ladies of his acquaintance, belonging to different corps de ballet. So while the King was trying to find out, with a magnifying-glass, what Miss Mome Fromage had done with her other leg – like the tin soldier in Andersen's tale – Mathias ran off with the Princess.

Then the King got dreadfully angry and ordered his guards to run after the fugitives.

The Princess, hearing the tramp of horses' feet, asked The Man with the Flashing Eyes to look round and see who was pursuing them.

"I see a squadron of cavalry riding full speed," said The Man with the Flashing Eyes.

"It's my father's body-guard."

"Hadn't we better hide in a bush, and leave them to ride on?" asked Mathias.

"No," replied the Princess.

Seeing the horsemen approach, she took off the long veil she wore at the back of her head, and threw it at them.

"As many threads as there are in this veil, may as many trees arise between us."

In a twinkling, a dense forest arose, like a drop-scene, between the fugitives and the guards.