The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

Two or three days after the wedding, Radonic brought his girlish bride to live with his mother, the veriest old shrewish skinflint that could be imagined. She disliked her daughter-in-law before she knew her; she hated her the first moment she saw her. Milena was handsome and penniless, two heinous sins in her eyes, for she herself had been ugly and rich. She could not forgive her son for having made such a silly marriage at his age, and not a day passed without her telling him that he was an old fool.

During the first months poor Milena was to be pitied, and, what was worse, everybody pitied her. She never ate a morsel of bread without hearing her mother-in-law's taunts. If she cried, she was bullied by the one, cuffed by the other.

A month after the wedding, Radonic, however, went off with his ship, and shortly afterwards his vixen of a mother died, and Milena was then left sole mistress of the house. Her life, though lonesome, was no more a burden to her, as it had hitherto been, only, having nothing to do the whole day, time lay heavy on her hands.

Handsome and young as she was, with a slight inborn tendency to flirtation; living, moreover, quite alone; many a young man had tried to make love to her; but, their intentions being too manifest, all, hitherto, had been repulsed. On seeing Uros, however, she felt for him what she had, as yet, never felt for any man, for her husband less than anybody else.

She tried not to think of Uros, and the more she tried the more his image was before her eyes; so the whole of the live-long day she did nothing else but think of him. She decided to avoid him, and still – perhaps it was the devil that tempted her, but, somehow or other, she herself could not explain how it happened – she was always either at the door or at the window at the time he passed, and then what could she do but nod in a friendly way to him?

If she went to pay his mother a visit, she would hurry away before he came home, and then she was always unlucky enough to meet him on her way. Could she do less than stop and ask him how he was; besides, after all, he was but a boy, and she was a married woman.

Soon she began to surmise that Uros was in love with her; then she thought herself foolish to believe such a thing, and she rated herself for being vain. And then, again, she thought: "If he cares for me more than he ought, it is but a foolish infatuation, of which he will soon get rid when he goes again to sea." Thereupon she heaved a deep sigh, and a heaviness came over her heart, at which she almost confessed to herself that she did love that boy.

Milena, after the conversation Uros had had with his friend, seeing herself shunned, felt nettled and sorry. At the same time she was glad to see that he did not care for her, and then her heart yearned all the more for him.

But if he shunned her, was it a sign that he did not care for her? she asked herself.

Puzzled, as she was, she wanted to find out the truth, merely out of curiosity, and nothing more.

Thus it came to pass that, standing one day on her doorstep, she beckoned to the young man, as soon as she saw him, to come up to her. It was a bold thing to do, nor did she do so without a certain trepidation.

"Uros," said she to him, "come here; I have something to ask you."

"What is it?" said the young man, looking down rather shyly.

"You that have travelled far and wide, can you tell me who speaks all the languages of this world?"

"Who speaks all the languages of this world?" echoed Uros, lifting up his eyes, astonished, and then lowering them, feeling Milena's glances parch up his blood.

"Who can it be?" said he, puzzled.

He tried to think, but his poor head was muddled, and his heart was beating just as if it would burst. He had never been good at guessing, but now it was worse than ever.

"I've heard of people speaking three, four, and five languages, but I've never heard of anyone speaking more than five."

"What! You've been in foreign countries," quoth she, smiling archly, and displaying her pearly teeth, "and still you cannot answer my question?"

"I cannot, indeed. There was a man who said he spoke twenty-five languages, but, of course, he was a humbug. First, there are not twenty-five languages in the world, and then he couldn't even speak Slav."

"Well, well; think over it till to-morrow."

"And then?"

"Perhaps you'll be able to guess."

"But if I don't?"

"Well, I shall not eat you up as the dragon, that Marko Kraglievic killed, used to do, if people couldn't answer the questions he put them."

"And you'll tell me?" Thereupon he lifted up his eyes yearningly towards her.

"Perhaps," she replied, blushing, "but then, you must promise not to ask Milenko."

"I promise."

She stretched forth her hand. He pressed it lingeringly.

"Nor anybody else?"

"No."

"Then I'll tell you to-morrow."

He bade her good-bye, and went off with a heavy heart; she saw him disappear with a sigh.

That whole day Uros thought a little of the riddle, and a great deal of Milena's sparkling eyes; moreover, he felt the pressure of her soft hand upon his palm. But the more he pondered over her question, the more confused his brain grew, so he gave up thinking of the riddle, and continued thinking of the young woman. On the morrow his excitement increased, as the time of hearing the answer drew near.

Milena, as usual, was on the watch for him, leaning on the door-post, looking more beautiful than ever. As soon as he saw her, he hurried up to her without being called.

"Well," said she, with a nervous smile, "have you guessed?"

"No."

"Oh, you silly fellow! Who speaks all the languages of the world?"

"It's useless to ask me; I don't know."

"What will you give me if I tell you?" said she, in a low, fluttering voice, and with a visible effort.

He would willingly have made her a present, but he did not know what she would like, and, as he looked up into her eyes to guess, he felt his blood rising all up to his head.

"Do you want me to bring you something from abroad – a looking-glass from Venice, or a coral necklace from Naples?"

No, she did not want anything from abroad.

"Then a silk scarf?"

"No, I was only joking. I'll tell you for nothing. Why, who but the echo speaks all the languages of this world?"

"Dear me, how stupid not to have thought of it. Tell me, do you think me very stupid?"

Milena smiled. She did think him rather dull, but not in the way he meant.

"You see how good I am. I tell you for nothing. Now, if you had put me a riddle, and I could not have answered, you surely would have asked" – here there was a catch in her voice – "a kiss from me."

Uros blushed as red as a damask-rose; he tried to speak, but did not know what to say.

"Oh! don't say no; you men are all alike."

The young man looked up at her with an entreating look, then down again; still he did not speak. Milena remained silent, as if waiting for an answer; she fidgeted and twisted the fringe of her apron round her fingers, then she heaved a deep sigh. After a few minutes' pause:

"Do you know any riddles?" she asked.

"Oh, yes! I know several."

"Well, then, tell me one."

Uros thought for a while; he would have liked to ask her a very difficult one, but the thought of the kiss he might have for it, gave him a strong nervous pain at the back of his head.

"Well," said he, after a few moments' cogitation – "Who turns out of his house every day, and never leaves his house?"

She looked at him for a while with parted lips and eyes all beaming with smiles; nay, there was mischief lurking in her very dimples as she said:

"Why, the snail, you silly boy; everybody knows that hackneyed riddle." Then with the prettiest little moue: "It was not worth while leaving your country to come back with such a slight stock of knowledge. I hope you were not expecting a kiss for the answer?"

Uros was rather nettled by her teazing; he would fain have given her a smart answer, but he could find none on the spur of the moment. Besides, the sight of those two lips, as fresh and as juicy as the pulp of a blood-red cherry, made him lose the little wit he otherwise might have had; so he replied:

"And if I had?"

"You would have been disappointed; I don't give kisses for nothing."

"But you do give kisses?" he asked, faltering.

"When they are worth giving," in an undertone.

Uros looked up shyly, then he began to scratch his head, and tried to think of something tremendously difficult.

"Well, do you know that one and no other?" she asked, laughing.

All at once Uros' face brightened up.

"What is it that makes men bald?" and he looked up at her enquiringly.

Had he had a little more guile, he might, perhaps, have seen that this riddle of his was likewise not quite unknown to her; but he saw nothing save her pomegranate lips.

"Oh," said Milena, "their naughtiness, I daresay!"

"No, that's not it."

"Then, I suppose, it's their wit."

"Why?"

"They say that women have long hair and little wit, so I imagine that men have little hair and much wit."

"If that's the case, then, I've too much hair. But you haven't guessed."

"Then come to-morrow, and, perhaps I'll be able to tell you."

"But you'll not ask anybody?"

She again stretched out her hand to him. As he kept squeezing and patting her hand:

"Shall I tell you?" he asked, with almost hungry eyes.

"And exact the penalty?"

Uros smiled faintly.

"Now, that is not fair; I gave you a whole day to think over it."

"Well, I'll wait till to-morrow; only – "

"Only, what?"

"Don't try to guess."

He said this below his breath, as if frightened at his own boldness.

On the morrow he again waited impatiently for the moment to come when he could go and see Milena. The hour arrived; Uros passed and repassed by the house, but she was not to be seen. He durst not go and knock at her door – nay, he was almost glad that she did not expect him; it was much better so.

He little knew that he was being closely watched by her, through one of the crannies in the window-shutters. When, at last, he was about to go off, Milena appeared on the threshold. With a beating heart the youth turned round on his heels and went up to her. With much trepidation he looked up into her face.

"Does she, or does she not, know?" he kept asking himself; "and if she does, am I to ask her for a kiss?" At that moment he almost wished she had guessed the riddle, for he remembered his friend's words: "It was a crime to make love to a married woman."

"Oh, Uros, I'm like you! I can't guess. I've tried and tried, but it's useless."

There was a want of sincerity in the tone of her voice, that made it sound affected, and she was speaking as quickly as possible to bring out everything at a gush. After a slight interruption, she went on:

"Do tell me quickly, I'm so curious to know. What is it that makes men bald?"

"It's strange that you can't guess, you that are so very clever," he said, in a faltering voice.

"What, you don't believe me?" she asked, pouting her lips in a pretty, babyish fashion.

Uros stood looking at her without answering; in his nervousness he was quivering from head to foot, undecided whether he was to kiss her or not.

"Oh, I see, you don't want to tell me; you are afraid I'll not keep my promise!"

"I can ask to be paid beforehand; give me a kiss first, and I'll tell you afterwards."

Having got it out he heaved a deep sigh of relief, for he was glad it was over.

"Here, in the street?" she asked, with a forced smile.

He advanced up to her and she retreated into the house. He was obliged to follow her now, almost in spite of himself; moreover, he could hardly drag himself after her, for he had, all at once, got to be as heavy as lead.

As soon as they were both within the house, she closed the door, and leant her back against it. Then there was an awkward pause of some minutes, for neither of them knew what to do, or what to say. She took courage, however, and looking at him lovingly:

"Now tell me, will you?" said she.

As she uttered these words they clasped each other's hands, whilst their eyes uttered what their lips durst not express; then, as Uros stood there in front of Milena, he felt as if she was drawing him on, and the walls of the room began to spin round and round.

"Why, it is the loss of hair that makes people bald," he muttered in a hot, feverish whisper, the panting tone of which evidently meant —

"Milena, I love you; have pity on me."

She said something about being very stupid, but he could not quite understand what it was; he only felt the swaying motion and the powerful attraction she had over him.

"I suppose you must have your reward now," she said, with a faint voice.

The youth felt his face all aglow; the blood was rushing from his heart to his head with a whirring sound. His dizziness increased.

Did she put out her lips towards his as she said this? He could hardly remember. All that remained clear to him afterwards was, that he had clasped her in his arms, and strained her to his chest with all the might of his muscles. Had he stood there with his lips pressed upon hers for a very long time? He really did not know; it might have been moments, it might have been hours, for he had lost all idea as to the duration of time.

From that day, Uros was always hovering in the neighbourhood of Radonic's house; he was to be found lurking thereabout morning, noon and night. Milenko took him to task about it, but he soon found out that if "hunger has no eyes," lovers, likewise, have no ears, and also that "he who holds his tongue often teaches best." As for Uros, his friend's reproaches were not half so keen as those he made to himself; but love had a thousand sophistries to still the voice of conscience.

Not long after the eventful day of the riddle, Marko Radonic returned unexpectedly to Budua, his ship having to undergo some slight repairs.

For a few days, Milenko managed to keep Uros and Milena apart, but, young as they were, love soon prevailed over prudence. They therefore began to meet in by-lanes and out-of-the-way places, especially during those hours when the husband was busy at the building yard. At first they were very careful, but the reiteration of the same act rendered them more heedless.

Uros was seen again and again at Milena's door when the husband was not at home. People began to suspect, to talk; the subject was whispered mysteriously from ear to ear; it soon spread about the town like wild-fire.

A month after Radonic had returned, he was one evening at the inn, drinking and chatting with some old cronies about ships, cargoes and freights. In the midst of the conversation, an old guzlar passing thereby, stepped in to have a draught of wine. Upon seeing the bard, every man rose and, by way of greeting, offered him his glass to have a sip.

"Give us a song, Vuk; it is years since I heard the sound of your voice," said Radonic.

The bard complied willingly; he went up to a guzla hanging on the wall, and took it down. He then sat on a stool, placed his instrument between his legs, and began to scrape its single gut-string with the monochord bow; this prelude served to give an intonation to his voice, and scan the verses he was about to sing. He thought a while, and then – his face brightening up – he commenced the ballad of "Marko Kraglievic and Janko of Sebinje."

We Slavs are so fond of music and poetry, that we will remain for hours listening to one of our bards, forgetting even hunger in our delight. No sooner was the shrill sound of Vuk's voice heard than every noise was hushed, hardly a man lifted his glass up to his mouth. Even the passers-by walked softly or lingered about the door to catch some snatches of the poet's song.

The ballad, however, was a short one, and as soon as the bard had finished, the strong Dalmatian wine went round again, and at every cup the company waxed merrier, more tender-hearted, more gushing; a few even grew sentimental and lachrymose.

Wine, however, brought out all the harshness of Radonic's character, and the more he drank the more brutal he grew; at such moments it seemed as if all the world was his crew, and that he had a right to bully even his betters, and say disagreeable things to everybody; his excuse was that he couldn't help it – it was stronger than himself.

"Bogme!" he exclaimed, turning to one of his friends; "I should have liked to see your wife, Tripko, with Marko Kraglievic. Ah, poor Tripko!"

"Why my wife more than yours?"

"Oh, my wife knows of what wood my stick is made; you only tickle yours!"

Tripko shrugged his shoulders, and added:

"Every woman is not as sharp as Janko of Sebinje's wife, but most of them are as honest."

"That means to say that you think your wife is honest," said Radonic, chuckling. "Poor Tripko!"

"Come, come," quoth a friend, trying to mend matters, "do not spit in the air, Radonic Marko, lest the spittle fall back on your face."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Radonic, who, like all jokers, could never take a jest himself.

"I? nothing; only I advise you to be more careful how you trifle with another man's wife – that's a ticklish subject."

"Oh, Tripko's wife!" said he, disparagingly.

"Radonic Marko, sweep before your own door, bogati!" replied Tripko, scornfully.

"Sweep before my door – sweep before my door, did you say?" and he snatched up the earthen mug to hurl it at his friend's head, but the by-standers pinioned his arm.

"I did, and I repeat it, bogati!"

"And you mean that there's dirt before my house?" asked Radonic, scowling.

"More than before mine, surely."

"Come, Tripko, are you going to quarrel about a joke?" said one of his friends.

"My wife is no joking matter."

"No, no," continued Radonic, "but he who has the itch scratches himself."

"Then scratch yourself, Marko, for surely you must itch when you're not at home."

"Hum!" said the host, "when asses joke it surely rains."

Then he went up to the guzlar, and begged him to give them a song. "Let it be something lively and merry," said he, "something they can all join in."

The bard thereupon scraped his guzla, silence was re-established, and he began to sing the following zdravica:

"Wine that bubbles says to man:

  Drink, oh! drink me when you can;  For I never pass away,  You albeit last but a day;  I am therefore made for you,  And I love men brave and true;  Then remember, I am thine;  Drink, oh! drink the flowing wine!"

As not one of them cared to see the quarrel continue, and end, perhaps, in bloodshed, they all began to sing the drinking-song; the wine flowed, the glasses jingled together in a friendly way, and, for the nonce, peace prevailed.

Just then, Milenko – unperceived by everybody except the landlord – happened to come in, and the host, taking him aside, said to him:

"Markovic Milenko, tell your friend, Uros, not to be seen fooling about with Milena, for people have long tongues, and will talk; and, above all, do not let him be found lurking near Radonic's house to-night, for it might cost him his life."

"What! has anybody been slandering him?"

"Slandering is not the word; enough, tell him that Radonic Marko is not a man to be trifled with."

Milenko thanked the innkeeper, and, fearing lest his friend might be getting into mischief, went at once in search of him.

As Radonic was about to begin the discussion again, the host stopped him.

"You had better wait for an explanation till to-morrow, for when our heads are fuddled we, like old Marija, do not see the things exactly as they are.

"What old Marija?" asked one of the men.

"Don't you know the story of old Marija? Why, I thought everyone knew it."

"No; let's hear it."

Well, Marija was an old tippler, who was never known to be in her senses.

One morning she rose early, and, as usual, went into the wood to gather a bundle of sticks. Presently she was seen running back as if Old Nick was at her heels. Panting, and scared out of her wits, she dropped on a bench outside the inn. As soon as she could speak, she begged for a little glass of brandy.

The people crowded around her and asked her what had happened.

"No sooner had I left the roadside and got into the wood," she said, "I bent down to gather some sticks, when, lo and behold! fifty wild cats, as big as bears, with bristling hair, glaring eyes and sharp claws, suddenly jumped out from behind the bushes. Holy Virgin! what a fright I got, and see how scratched and torn I was by those brutes."

"Come, come, Marija," said the innkeeper; "you must have seen double – you know you often do. How many cats were there?"

"Well, I don't say there were exactly fifty, for I didn't count them; but as true as God is in heaven there were twenty-five."

"Don't exaggerate, Marija – don't exaggerate; there are not twenty-five cats in the whole village."

"Well, if there were not twenty-five, may the devil take me; surely there were fifteen?"

"Pooh! Marija, have another little drop, just to get over your fright, and then you'll confess that there were not fifteen."

Marija drained down another glass, and said:

"May a thunderbolt strike me dead this very moment but five wild cats pounced upon me all at once."

"Come, Marija, now that you are in your senses, don't exaggerate.

Tell us how many wild cats there were."

"Well, I'll take my oath that, as I bent down, a ray of sunlight was pouring through the branches, and I saw something tremendously big moving through the bushes; perhaps it was a cat."

"Or a hare, running away," said the innkeeper.

"Perhaps it was, for in my fright I instantly ran away too."

The men, whom wine rendered merry, laughed heartily, and the innkeeper added:

"You see, we are all of us, at times, like old Marija."

As they were about to part, Radonic asked the man who had told him not to spit in the wind what he and all the others had meant by their innuendoes.

"Oh, nothing at all! were you not joking yourself?"

Still, by dint of much pressing, he got this man to tell him that Uros Bellacic, Milos' son, had been seen flirting with Milena. "Of course, this Uros is only a boy; still," added he, "Milena herself is young, very young, and you – now, it is no use mincing the matter – well, you are old, and therefore I, as a friend, advise you to be more careful how you talk about other men's wives, for, some day or other, you might find the laughers are against you."

Thereupon the two men parted.

Radonic now, for the first time in his life, understood what jealousy was. He felt, in fact, that he had touched hell, and that he had got burnt. Alas! his countrymen were right in thinking that Gehenna could not be worse.

As he walked on, the darkness of the night and his loneliness increased the bitterness of his thoughts. He that hitherto had felt a pleasure in disparaging every woman, was getting to be the laughing-stock of the town, the butt of every man's jokes.

Meanwhile, Milenko had gone in quest of his friend, his mind full of gloomy forebodings. Passing by Radonic's cottage, he stopped and looked round. The night was dark, and everything had a weird and ghastly look. The leaves shivered and lisped ominously. Was it a bat that flitted by him?

Straining his eyes, he thought he saw something darker than the night itself move near one of the windows of the house, then crouch down and disappear. Had his senses got so keen that he had seen that shadow, or was it only a vision of his over-heated imagination?

He walked a few steps onward; then he stopped, and began to whistle in a low, peculiar way. Their fathers had been wont to call each other like that; and the two young men had sworn to each other that whatever happened to them in their lifetime they would always obey the call of that whistle. All dangers were to be overcome, all feuds to be forgotten at that sound. They had sworn it on the image of St. George.

Milenko knew that if his friend was thereabouts he would not tarry a single moment to come to him. In fact, a moment afterwards Uros was at his side.

Milenko explained his errand in as few words as possible.