The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

"Father," said he, "I don't think I am in this world for a long time.

I feel that all my strength is gone; but before – "

The father bent low over his son.

"Before what?" he asked.

"Before dying – "

"Well, my son?"

"Will you promise, father?"

"Yes, I promise; but what is it you want, my darling?"

"To be married to Milena," he said, with an effort.

The tears trickled down the elderly man's sunburnt cheeks.

"I promise to do my utmost," said he.

He at once turned round and explained the whole affair to his wife. Milena, who seemed to have guessed Uros' request, had hid her face in her hands and was sobbing. Thereupon Bellacic left the room and went to find the old monk, who had gone out with the doctor. Taking him aside, he explained the matter to him.

"What!" said the old monk, "bring another woman into the convent, and a young woman besides?"

"Oh, there is no need to bring her in!"

"What do you mean?"

"She is already in," replied Bellacic, unable to refrain from smiling.

"How did she come in? When did she come in? And with whom did she come in?" asked the caloyer, angrily.

"She came in just before the doctor; you yourself accompanied her."

The old man stared at Bellacic.

"She is the one who came in dressed in boy's clothes; the midwife's daughter accompanied her as far as the – "

"What! do you mean to say that there are three women, and that one of them is a midwife?" quoth the monk, shocked.

Bellacic explained matters. The caloyer consented that Danilo Kvekvic should be sent for to perform the wedding rites in extremis, provided Milena left the convent together with Mara that very evening, and did not return again on the morrow. Bellacic, moreover, having promised to give the church a fine painting, representing the Virgin Mary as she had appeared to Uros the evening before, the whole affair was settled to everyone's perfect satisfaction.

Mara, who had taken Milena into the adjoining room, said to her:

"Uros has made his father a strange request, and Bellacic has consented; for who can gainsay a dying man's wish?"

"I know," said Milena, whose lips were twitching nervously.

"He wishes to be married to you."

Milena fell into Mara's arms and began to sob.

"But," said Milena, "I am so frightened."

"Frightened of what?"

"My husband."

Mara, bewildered for a moment, remembered that Milena had never been told of Radonic's death.

"I know," continued the young woman, "that he was killed, for he appeared to me only a few hours ago; and I am so frightened lest he should be recalled again and scare Uros to death."

"Oh! if incense is burning the whole time, if many blessed candles are lighted, and the whole room sprinkled with holy water, the ghost will never be able to show itself in such a place; besides, my dear, you know that you were almost delirious, so that the ghost you saw must have only been your fancy."

"Still, I did not know that he was dead, and I saw him all covered with wounds, and as plainly as I see you now; he looked at me so fiercely – "

Milena shuddered; her features grew distorted at the remembrance of the terrible apparition, and, in her weak state, the little strength left in her forsook her, and she fell fainting into Mara's arms.

It was with great difficulty that she was brought back to life, and then she consented to the marriage.

A messenger was sent to Budua to ask Danilo Kvekvic to come and officiate, and the midwife's daughter went with him to bring Milena a dress, as it would have almost been a sacrilege for her to get married in a boy's clothes.

Danilo Kvekvic came at once; the young girl brought the clothes and the wreaths, and everything being ready, the lugubrious marriage service was performed; still, it was to be gone through once more, when Uros should have recovered, if he ever did recover. The monks crowded at the door, looking on wonderingly at the whole affair, for in their quiet, humdrum life, such a ceremony was an unheard of thing, and an event affording them endless gossip.

The emotion Uros had undergone weakened him in such a way that he fell back fainting. His pulse grew so feeble that it could not be felt any more; his breathing had evidently stopped, a cold perspiration gathered on his brow; his features acquired not only the rigidity, but also the pinched look and livid tint of death.

"I am afraid that it is the beginning of the end."

He began once more reciting the prayers for the dying. Danilo Kvekvic sprinkled him with holy water. All the rest sank on their knees by the bed. A convulsive sob was heard. Milenko, unable to bear the scene any longer, rushed out of the room.

Whilst he was sobbing, and the friars outside were trying to comfort him, the old monk came out.

"Well, father?" said the young man, with a terror-stricken face.

"It is all over," said the old man, shaking his head gravely.

Milenko uttered a deep groan; then he sank on his knees, kissing the monk's hand devoutly.

"Thank you, father, for all that you have done for my brother. If earthly skill could have recalled him to life, yours would have done so. Thank you for your kindness to me and to all of us. Now my task begins; nor do I rest until it is accomplished."

Unable to keep back the tears that were blinding him, nor the sobs rising to his throat, he rose and ran out of the convent.

Arriving at Budua, he went everywhere seeking for Vranic; but he could not find him anywhere. Nothing positive was known about him; only, it was said that three children had seen him, or someone looking like him, outside the city walls. Later on, a young sailor related that he had rowed a man answering to Vranic's description on board of a ship bound for the coasts of Italy. The ship, a few hours afterwards, had sailed off.

Weary and disheartened, Milenko went home, where he found his father and mother, who had come back from the convent.

"Well," said the father, "have you heard anything about Vranic?"

"He has fled; my vengeance has, therefore, to be postponed. It might take weeks instead of days to accomplish it; months instead of weeks, and even years instead of months. But I shall not rest before Vranic pays with his own blood for his evil deed," said Milenko.

"You would not be a Slav, nor my son, if you did not act in this way.

Uros had certainly done as much for you."

"And now," added Milenko, "as I might be called away from this world before accomplishing this great deed of justice, we must gather, to-night, such of our friends and relations as will take with us the terrible oath of blood, the karva tajstvo."

"Be it so," said Janko Markovic. "I, of course, will take the oath with you, my son, and will help you to the utmost of my power."

Milenko shook his father's hand, and added: "Danilo Kvekvic will be the officiating priest. He, being a relation, will not refuse, will he?"

"No, certainly not. He may, of course, demur, but by his innuendoes he led me to understand that he will be waiting for you."

"He is a real Iugo Slav."

Milenko and his father busied themselves at once about the great ceremony. They went to all the relations and friends of the two families, begging them, now that Uros was dead, to join with them in taking the oath of revenge against Vranic, the murderer.

Not a man that was asked refused. All shook hands, and promised to be at Markovic's house that night, and from there accompany him to the priest's.

Night came on. Milenko's mother had gone to sit up with Mara and Milena; Bellacic had remained to pray at his son's bedside, together with the good monks. One by one the friends and relations of thepobratim, muffled up like conspirators, knocked at Markovic's door, and were stealthily allowed to enter. Slivovitz and tobacco were at once placed before the guests. When they were all gathered together, and the town was asleep, they crept out quietly and wended their way through the deserted streets to the priest's house.

Milenko tapped at the door.

"They are all asleep at this house," said one of the men; "you must knock louder."

Hardly had these words been uttered than a faint ray of light was seen, and, contrary to their expectations, the door was opened by Danilo himself.

"Milenko! You, at this hour of the night? I thought you were at the convent, reciting prayers over my nephew, your pobratim."

"A pobratim has other duties than praying – the holy monks can do that even better than myself."

"But I am keeping you standing at the door; what can I do for you?"

"We have a request to make, which you will not be surprised at. You must follow us to church."

"To church, at this hour of the night?"

"Yes. We wish – one and all here present – to take the oath of blood against the murderer."

"But, my children, think of what you are asking of me. Our religion commands us to forgive our enemies. Christ – "

"We are Slavs, Danilo Kvekvic," said one of the men.

"But Christians, withal, I hope?"

"Still, vengeance with us is a duty, a sacred duty."

"I am the pobratim," quoth Milenko, "the brother of his choice. Did I not swear before you to avenge any injury done to Uros, your nephew? Do you wish me to forget my oath – to perjure myself?"

"Mind, it is the priest, not the uncle, who speaks," said Danilo, sternly; "therefore, remember that the karva tajstvo is illegal by the laws of our country."

"By the laws of Austria," cried out several of the men, "not by the laws of our country. We are Slavs, not Austrians."

"Come, Danilo, we are men, not children; trifling is useless, words are but lost breath in this matter," said Janko Markovic. "We are losing time."

"If you do not follow us with a good will – "

"I see that you mean to carry out your intentions, and that preaching is useless; therefore, I am ready to follow you."

Saying this, he put his cap on his head, and opened the door.

"And the key?" asked Milenko.

"What key?"

"The key of the church."

"Why, I happen to have it in my pocket."

The church being opened, what was their surprise to see it draped in black; but Danilo Kvekvic explained that there had been a funeral service on that very day, and so the church had remained in its mourning weeds.

Thereupon he shut and locked the doors. Some tapers were lighted on the altar, and the priest, putting on his robes, began to read the service.

The few candles shed but a glimmering light in the sacred edifice, and the small congregation, kneeling on the benches by the altar, were wrapt in a gloomy darkness which added a horror to the mystery of the ceremony.

The service for the dead having been read, Kvekvic knelt and partook of the Holy Communion; then, lighting two other tapers, he called the congregation to him. All gathered at the foot of the altar, and knelt down there. He then took up the chalice, where, according to the Orthodox rites of the Communion, bread and wine were kneaded together. Milenko, as the head of the avengers, went up to the altar, and, bowing before the sacred cup containing the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, he made a slight cut in the forefinger of his left hand, and then caused a few drops of his own blood to fall on the Eucharist. He was followed by his father, and by all the other partakers of the oath. When the last man had offered up a few drops of blood, the priest mixed it up with the consecrated bread and wine already in the cup.

"Now," said he, with an inspired voice, "lift up your hands to heaven, and repeat after me the following oath."

All the men lifted up their hands, each one holding a piece of Uros' blood-stained shirt, and then the priest began:

"By this blessed bread representing the flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the wine that is His own blood, by the blood flowing from our own bodies, for the sake of our beloved Uros Bellacic, heinously murdered, and now sitting amongst the martyrs in heaven, and from there addressing us his prayers, I, Milenko Markovic, his pobratim; I, Janko Markovic, his father of adoption; I, Marko Lillic, his cousin" (and so on), "all related or connected to him by the ties of blood, or of affection, solemnly swear, in the most absolute and irrevocable manner, not to give our souls any peace, or any rest to our bodies, until the wishes of the blessed martyr be accomplished by taking a severe revenge upon his murderer, Josko Vranic, of this town, on his children (if ever he has any), or, in default, on any of his relations, friends and acquaintances who might shelter, protect, or withhold him from our wrath; and never to cease in our intention, or flag in our pursuit, until we have obtained a complete and cruel satisfaction, equal, at least, to this crime committed by this common enemy of ours. We swear to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, that not one of us will ever try to evade the dangers his oath may put him to, or will allow himself to be corrupted by gold or bribes of the murderer or his family, or will listen with a pitiful ear to the prayers, entreaties, or lamentations of the person or persons destined to expiate the crime that has taken place; and, though his kith-and-kin be innocent of the foul deed perpetrated by their relation, Josko Vranic, we will turn a deaf ear to their words, and only feel for them the horror that the deed committed awakes within us.

"We swear, moreover, by the blessed Virgin and by all the saints in heaven, that should any of us here present forget the oath he has taken, or break the solemn pact of blood, the others will feel themselves bound to take revenge upon him, even as upon the murderer of Uros Bellacic; and, moreover, the relations of the perjured man, justly put to death, will not be able to exact the rites of thekarvarina."

Thereupon, the men having taken the oath, the priest at the altar sank down on his knees, and, uplifting the chalice, continued as follows:

"We pray Thee, omnipotent God, to listen to our oaths, and, moreover, to help us in fulfilling them. We entreat Thee to punish the murderer in his own person, and in that of his sons for seven successive generations; to persecute them with Thy malediction, just as if they themselves had committed the murder. We solemnly declare that we will not consider Thee, O Lord, as just; Thee, O Lord, as saintly; Thee, O Lord, as strong; nor shall we regard Thee, O Lord, as capable of governing the world, if Thou dost not lend a listening ear to the eager wishes of our hearts; for our souls are tormented with the thirst for revenge."

When they had all finished this prayer, if it can be called a prayer, they, one by one, went and partook of that loathsome communion of blood with all the respect and devotion Christians usually have on approaching the Lord's Table. After that Danilo Kvekvic knelt down once more, and uplifting his hands in supplication:

"O Lord, Protector of the oppressed," said he, "Thou punishest all those who transgress Thy wise laws and offend Thee, for Thou art a jealous God. Help these parishioners of mine to fulfil an act of terrestrial justice. Punish, with all Thy wrath, the perpetrator of so abominable a crime; let him have no rest in this world, and let his soul burn for ever in hell after his death; scatter his ashes to the winds, and obliterate the very memory of his existence. Amen."

"Amen," repeated every man after him.

Thereupon he blessed them all; and coming down from the altar he shook hands with each one, no more as a priest, but as a relation of the murdered youth, and thanked them for the oath they had taken.

The candles having been put out, the door of the church was stealthily opened, and, one by one, all the men crept out and vanished in the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER XX

"SPERA IN DIO"

After the ceremony of the karva tajstvo, all the men who had taken part in it met together at Janko Markovic's house, so as to come to a decision as to what they were to do in their endeavours to capture the murderer. All the information that had been got in Budua about Vranic helped to show that he had embarked on board of an Italian ship, the Diana, which had sailed the evening of the murder. If this were the case, nothing could be done for the present but wait patiently till they could come across him, the communications between Budua and Naples being few and far between.

"Well," said Milenko, "I'll sail at dawn for Trieste. It is one of the best places where I can get some information about this ship. Moreover, I'll do my best to get a cargo for one of the ports to which she might be destined, and I must really be very unlucky not to come across him before the year is out."

"And," replied Janko Markovic, "if our information is wrong – if, after all, he's still lurking in this neighbourhood, or hiding somewhere in Montenegro, we shall soon get at him."

"We have taken the oath," replied all the friends.

"Thank you. I'm sure that Uros' death will very soon be avenged."

Slivovitz and wine were then brought out to drink to the success of the karva tajstvo.

At the first glimmer of dawn, Milenko bade his mother farewell and asked her to kiss Mara and Milena for him; then, receiving his father's blessing, and accompanied by all his friends, he left home and went to the ship.

All the cargo had been taken on board several days before, the papers were in due order, and the ship was now ready to start at a moment's notice.

No sooner had Milenko got on board than the sleeping crew was roused, the sails were stretched, the anchor was heaved, and the ship began to glide on the smooth surface of the waters.

"Srecno hodi" (a pleasant voyage), shouted the friends, applauding on the pier.

"Z' Bogam" (God be with you), replied Milenko.

"Zivio!" answered the friends.

The young captain saw the houses of Budua disappear, with a sigh. A heaviness came over him as his eyes rested on a white speck gleaming amidst the surrounding dark rocks. It was the Convent of St. George, where, in his mind's eye, he could see his dearly beloved Uros lying still and lifeless on his narrow bed.

Then a deep feeling of regret came over him. Why had he rushed away, when his friend had scarcely uttered his last breath? He might have waited a day or two; Vranic would not escape him at the end.

Never before – not even the first time he had left home – had he felt so sad in quitting Budua. He almost fancied now his heart was reft in two, and that the better part had remained behind with his friend. Not even the thought of Ivanka, whom he so dearly loved, could comfort him. A sailor's life – which had hitherto had such a charm for him while his friend was on board the same ship with him – now lost all its attraction, and if he had not been prompted by his craving for revenge, he would have taken the ship to Trieste (where she was bound to), and there, having sold his share, he would have gone back to Budua.

The days seemed endless to him. The crew of the ship, although composed of Dalmatians, was almost of an alien race; they were from the island of Lussin, and Roman Catholics besides – in fact, quite different people from the inhabitants of Budua or the Kotor; and, had it not been for a youth whom he had embarked with him from his native town, he would have scarcely spoken to anyone the whole of the voyage, except, of course, to give the necessary orders.

No life, indeed, is lonelier than that of a captain having no mate, boatswain or second officer with him. Fortunately, however, for Milenko, Peric – the youth he had taken with him to teach him navigation – was a rather intelligent lad, and, as it was the first time he had left home, he was somewhat homesick, so, in their moments of despondency, each one tried to cheer and comfort the other.

In the night – keeping watch on deck – he would often, as in his childhood, lean over the side of the ship and look within the fast flowing waters. When the sea was as smooth and as dark as a metal mirror, he – after gazing in it for some time – usually saw the water get hazy and whitish; then, little by little, strange sights appear and disappear. Some of them were prophetic visions. Once, he saw within the waters a frigate on fire. It was, indeed, a sight worth seeing. The vision repeated itself three times. Milenko, feeling rather anxious, began to look around, and then he saw a faint light far on the open sea. There was no land or island there. Could that light, he asked himself, be that of a ship on fire? He at once gave orders to steer in the direction of the light. As the distance diminished, the brightness grew apace. The flames, that could now be seen rising up in the sky, made the men believe that it was some new submarine volcano. Milenko, however, felt that his vision had been prophetic.

He added more sails; and, as the breeze was favourable, the Spera in Dio flew swiftly on the waters. Soon he could not only see the flames, but the hulk of the ship, which looked like a burning island; moreover, the cargo must have been either oil or resin, for the sea itself seemed on fire.

In the glare the conflagration shed all around, Milenko perceived a small boat struggling hard to keep afloat, for it was so over-crowded that, at every stroke of the oars, it seemed about to sink.

The joy of that shipwrecked crew, finding themselves safe on board the Spera in Dio, was inexpressible.

Another time he saw, within the sea, the country beyond the walls of his native town. A boy of about ten was leading an old horse in the fields. After some time, the boy seemed to look for some stump on which to tether the horse he had led to pasture; but, finding none, he tied the rope round his own ankle and lay down to sleep. Suddenly, the old horse – frightened at something – began to run, the boy awoke and tried to rise, but he stumbled and fell. His screams evidently frightened the old horse, which ran faster and ever faster, dragging the poor boy through the bushes and briars, dashing him against the stones of the roadside. When, at last, the horse was stopped, the boy was only a bruised and bleeding mass.

"Oh," said Milenko to Peric, "I have had such a horrible vision!"

"I hope it is not about my little brother," replied the youth.

"Why?"

"I really don't know; but all at once the idea came into my head that the poor boy must have died."

"Strange!" quoth Milenko, as he walked away, not to be questioned as to his vision.

One evening, when the moon had gone below the horizon looking like a reaping-hook steeped in blood, and nothing could be seen all around but the broad expanse of the dark waters, reflecting the tiny stars twinkling in the sky above, Milenko saw, all at once, the white walls of St. George's Convent. The doors, usually shut, were now opened. Uros appeared on the threshold. There he received the blessing of the old monk who had tended him during his illness, and whose hands he now kissed with even more affection and thankfulness than devotion; then, hugged and kissed by all the other caloyers, who had got to be as fond of him as of a son or a brother, he bade them all farewell. Then, leaning on Milena's arm, and followed by his father and mother, he wended his way down the mountain and towards the town. Uros was still thin and pale, but all traces of suffering had disappeared from his face. Though he and Milena were man and wife – having been marriedin extremis– still they were lovers, and his weakness was a plausible pretext to lean lovingly on her arm, and stop every now and then to look lovingly within her lustrous eyes, and thus give vent to the passion that lay heavy on his heart; and once, when his parents had disappeared behind a corner, he stopped, put his arm round her waist, then their lips met in a long, silent kiss, which brought the blood up to their cheeks. Then the picture faded, and the waters were again as black as night; only, his ears whistled, and he almost fancied he could hear Uros' voice in a distance speaking of him.

Of course, Milenko knew that all this was but a delusion, a dream, a hallucination of his fancy, and he tried to think of his friend lying stiff and stark within his coffin; still, his imagination was unruly, and showed him Uros at home alive and happy.