The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

At first the shores of the lake are but dimly seen through the thick veil of mist arising from the smooth surface of the rippleless waters, as from a huge brewing-pan, and everything is of a cold greyish hue, fleecy on the shore. But now the sun has appeared like a burnished disc of copper amidst a golden halo; soon all the mist vanishes beneath his warm rays. The mellow morning light falls upon the numberless feathered carcasses that dye the waters of the stagnant mere.

The pulse of every sportsman flutters with excitement; despair has given courage to the birds, which rise much higher than before, and are making heroic efforts to break through the lines. Soon the flurry that had prevailed amongst the birds, falls to the lot of the sportsmen; they give orders and counter orders to the oarsmen, and the circle of boats has become an entangled maze.

The lake now resounds, not so much with firing as with shouts of merriment and peals of laughter, sometimes because one of the boats has butted against the other, and one of the hunters has lost his balance and got a ducking. The morning being now far advanced, the sportsmen gather together for breakfast, leaving time to the birds to get over their bewildered state and settle quietly again in a flock round about their resting-place.

In an hour's time the shooting begins again, but the head is not so light, the sight so keen, nor the hand so quick as before breakfast; nay, it happened at times that the captain saw two coots instead of one, and fired just between the two; besides, the birds were also in a more disbanded state, so that the quantity of game killed was not what it had been in the early part of the morning. Mirth, however, did not flag; the mist, moreover, having quite vanished, the beauty of the green shores was seen in all its splendour.

Many of the youthful inhabitants of Nona had come to see the sport, picking up some wounded bird bleeding to death in the fields; whilst many a countryman passing thereby, wearily trudging towards his home, his long-barrelled gun slung across his shoulder, shot down more than one stray coot that had taken refuge in a neighbouring field, hoping thereby to have escaped from the general slaughter.

At last, late in the afternoon, our sportsmen, heavily laden, followed Giulianic to his house, to finish there the day which they had so well begun.

Moreover, the men having risen so very early and being tired out, fell to dozing. Uros had gone to the ship to see how the repairs were getting on, and Milenko was thus left alone with Ivanika, or Ivanitza, as she was usually called. This was the opportunity he had eagerly wished for, to confess his love to her; nay, for two days he had rehearsed this scene over and over in his mind, and he had not only thought of all he would say to her, but even what she would answer.

Although he was said to be gifted with a vivid imagination, now that he was alone with her he could hardly find a word to say. It was, indeed, so much easier to woo in fancy than in reality.

How happy he would have been, walking in the garden with this beautiful girl, if he could only have got rid of his overpowering shyness. How many things he could have told her if he had only known how to begin; but every monosyllable he had uttered was said with trepidation, and in a hoarse and husky tone. Still, with every passing moment, he felt he was losing a precious opportunity he might never have again.

He did not know, however, that, if his lips were dumb, his eyes, beaming with love, spoke a passionate speech that words themselves were powerless to express. Nor was he aware that – though with maidenly coyness she turned her head away – she still read in his burning glances the love she longed to hear from his lips.

After a few commonplace phrases they walked on in silence, and then the same thoughts filled their hearts with almost unutterable anguish. In a few days the brig would be repaired, the sails unfurled, the anchor weighed; then the broad sea would separate them for ever.

The sun was just sinking beyond the waves, and the shivering waters looked like translucent gold; a mass of soft, misty clouds was glowing with saffron, orange and crimson hues, whilst the sky above was of a warm, roseate flush. Little by little all the tints faded, became duller, more delicate; the saffron changed into a pale-greyish lemon green, the crimson softened into pink. The sun's last rays having disappeared, the opaline clouds looked like wreaths of smoke or pearly-grey mists.

Milenko's heart felt all the changes that Nature underwent; his glowing love, though not less intent, was more subdued, and though, in his yearning, he longed to clasp this maiden in his arms, and to tell her that his life would be sadder than dusk itself without her love, still he felt too much and had not the courage to speak. Sometimes in the fulness of the heart the mouth remains mute.

Now the bell of a distant church began to ring slowly – the evening song, the dirge of the dying day. Ivanitza crossed herself devoutly; Milenko took off his cap, and likewise made the sign of the Cross. Both of them stopped; both breathed a short prayer, and then resumed their walk in silence.

After a few steps he tried to master his emotion and utter that short sentence: "Ivanitza, I love you."

Then something seemed to grip his throat and choke him; it was not possible for him to bring those words out. Besides, he thought they would sound so unmeaning and vapid, so far from expressing the hunger of his heart; so he said nothing.

Meanwhile the bell kept doling out its chimes slowly, one by one, and as he asked himself whether it were possible to live without this girl, whom he now loved so dearly, the harmony of the bell chimed in with his thoughts, and said to him: "Ay, nay; ay, nay."

All at once, feeling that this girl must think him a fool if he kept silent, that he must say something, no matter what it was, and happening to see a lonely gull flying away towards the sea, he said, in a faltering tone:

"Ivanika, do you like coots?"

It was the only thing that came into his mind. She looked up at him with a roguish twinkle in her eyes.

"Do you mean cooked coots or live coots?"

Milenko looked for a while rather puzzled, as if bewildered by the question. Then, taking the tips of the girl's fingers: "I was not thinking of them, either alive or cooked."

Ivanika quietly drew her hand away.

"What were you thinking of, then?" she said.

"May I tell you?"

"Well, if you want any answer to your question," added she, laughing.

"Please don't make fun of me. If you only knew – "

"What?"

He grasped her hand, and held it tight in his.

"Well, how deeply I love you."

He said this in a tragic tone, and heaved a sigh of relief when it was out at last.

The young girl tried to wrench away her hand, but he held it fast. She turned her head aside, so that he could not see the uncontrollable ray of happiness that gleamed within the depths of her eyes. Her heart fluttered, a thrill of joy passed through her whole frame; but she did her best to subdue her emotion, which might seem bold and unmaidenly, so that she schooled herself to say demurely, nay almost coldly:

"How can you possibly love me, when you know so little of me?"

"But must you know a person for ages before you love him, Ivanitza?"

"No, I don't mean that; still – "

"Though I have never been fond of any girl till now, and therefore did not know what love was, still, the moment I saw you I felt as if my heart had stopped beating. You may think it strange, but still it is true. When I saw you with my spy-glass standing bravely on the deck of your crazy boat, whilst the huge billows and breakers were dashing against you, ever ready to wash you away, then my heart seemed to take wings and fly towards you. How I suffered at that moment. Every time your boat was about to sink, I gasped, feeling as if I myself was drowning; but had the caique foundered, I should have jumped in the waves and swum to your rescue."

Ivanitza's heart throbbed with joy, pride, exultation at the thought of having the love of such a brave man.

"You see, I had hardly seen you, and still I should have risked my life a thousand times to help you. It was for you, and you alone, that I got into the boat to come to you, though the captain and Uros at first thought it sheer madness; and if my friend and the other sailor had not accompanied me – well, I should have come alone."

"And got drowned?"

"Life would not have been worth living without you."

The young girl looked at him with admiring eyes, and nature, for a moment, almost got the mastery over her shyness and the stern claustral way in which, like all Levantine girls, she had been brought up; for her impulse was to throw herself in his arms and leave him to strain her against his manly chest. Besides, at that moment she remembered what a delightful sensation she had had when, awaking from her swoon, she had felt herself carried like a baby in his strong arms. Still, she managed to master herself, and only said:

"So, had it not been for you, we should all have been drowned."

"Oh, I don't say that! Seeing your danger, at the last moment someone else might, perhaps, have volunteered to come to your rescue. Uros and the captain are both very brave; only the captain has a family of his own, and Uros – "

"What! is he married?"

"Oh, no!" said Milenko, laughing; "he is not married, but – "

"But what?"

"Well, you see, he is in love; but please do not mention a word about it to him or anyone else."

"Why, is it a secret?"

"Yes, it is a very great secret – that is to say, not a very great secret either, but it is a matter never to be spoken of."

"No? Why?"

"I can't tell you; indeed, I can't."

"How you tantalise me!"

"I'll tell you, perhaps, some other time."

"When?"

"Well, perhaps, when – "

"Go on."

"When we are married."

The young girl burst out laughing. It was a clear, silvery, spontaneous, merry laugh; but still, for a moment, it jarred upon Milenko's nerves. He looked rather downcast, for he was far from thinking the matter to be a joke.

"Why do you laugh?" said he, ruefully.

"Because, probably, I shall never know your friend's secret."

The poor fellow's brown complexion grew livid, the muscles of his heart contracted with a spasm, he gasped for breath; the pang he felt was so strong that he could hardly speak; still, he managed to falter:

"Why, are you, perhaps, already engaged to be married?"

"I?" said she, with another laugh. "No."

"Nor in love with anyone?"

"No."

"Then, don't you think – "

He stopped again.

"Think what?"

"Well, that you might love me a little some day?"

She gave him no answer.

"What, you don't think you could?" he asked, anxiously.

"But I didn't say that I couldn't, only – "

"Only what?"

"A girl cannot always choose for herself."

"Why not?"

"Suppose my father chooses someone else for me?"

"But surely he will not."

"Suppose he has already promised me – "

"Why go and suppose such dreadful things? Besides, he ought to remember that I risked my life to save yours; that – "

Milenko stopped for a moment, and then he added:

"Well, I don't like boasting; still, if it had not been for me – well, I suppose your caique would have foundered. No, tell me that you love me, or at least that you might get to love me. Let me ask your father – "

"No, no; not yet."

"Why not?"

"Well, we hardly know each other. Who knows, perhaps, the next port you go to – "

Here she heaved a deep sigh.

"Well, what?" asked the youth, ingenuously.

"You might see some girl that you might like better than myself, and then you will regret that you have engaged yourself to a girl whom you think you are obliged to marry."

"How can you think me so fickle?"

"You are so young."

"So is Uros young, and still – "

"Still?" she asked, smilingly, with an inquisitive look.

"He is in love."

"With?"

"A woman," said Milenko, gloomily.

"Of course."

"Well, I'll tell you, only please don't mention it – with a married woman. Are you not sorry for him?"

"No, not at all; a young man ought not to fall in love with a married woman – it's a sin, a crime."

"That's what I told him myself."

After a short pause, Milenko, having now got over his shyness:

"Well, Ivanitza, tell me, will you not give me a little hope; will you not try to love me just a little?"

"Would you be satisfied with only just a little?"

"No."

"Well, then – I am afraid – "

"What?"

"I shall have to love you a good deal."

He caught hold of her reluctant hand and covered it with kisses.

"If you think that your father might object to me because I am a seaman, tell him that my father is well off, and that I am his only son. Both Uros and I have gone to sea by choice, and to see a little of the world; still, we are not to be sailors all our lives."

Afterwards he began to ask her whether she would not like to come and sail with him in summer, when he would be master of the brig; then again he ended by begging her to allow him to speak to her father.

"No, not now. It is better for you to go away and see if you do not forget me. Besides, neither your father nor your mother know anything about me, and it may happen that they have other views about you."

"Their only aim is my happiness."

"Still, they might think that you were wheedled – "

"How could they think so ill of you?"

"You forget that they do not know me. Anyhow, it is more dutiful that you should speak to them before you speak to my father."

"Well, perhaps you are right. Only, you see, I love you so; I should be so frightened to lose you."

"It is not likely that anybody will think of me for some years yet."

"Well, then, promise me not to marry anyone else. In a year's time, then, I shall come and speak to your father. Will you promise?"

"I promise."

"Will you give me a pledge?"

She gave him her hand, but he gently pulled her towards him, clasped her in his arms, and kissed her rosy lips. Then they both went into the house.

CHAPTER VI

THE BULLIN-MOST

"I suppose you have been to Knin and Dernis?" said the captain by chance after dinner to his host, speaking about the trade with the interior, whilst puffing away at the long stem of his cherry-wood pipe.

"Of course. Haven't you?"

"Oh, no! we sailors are always acquainted with the coasts of countries, nothing more. What kind of a place is this Knin?"

"Much of a muchness, like other places. The country, however, is fine and picturesque. There is, besides, the Bullin-Most."

"What is that?"

"The name of a bridge at the entrance of the town, and almost at the foot of the fortress which tops the crags. It is called the Bullin-Most, or the Bridge of the Turkish Woman. Formerly it used to be called the Bridge of the Two Torrents."

"Well, and what is there remarkable about it?"

"Don't you know the tale of 'Hussein and Ayesha'?"

"No."

"It is the subject of one of Kacic's finest poems. Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course."

"Well, then, about two hundred years ago, more or less, Kuna Hassan was the governor of Knin and of the neighbouring province. The Agawas said to be a man of great wisdom and courage; but his many qualities were marred by his severity towards the Christians, whom he hated, and subjected to all kinds of vexations and cruel treatment.

"This Aga had a numerous family, being blessed with many children by his several wives; but Ayesha, the only daughter of his favourite wife, was the child in whom he had put all the fondness of his heart. She was, it is true, a girl of an extraordinary beauty. Her skin, they say, was as white as the snowy peaks of the Dinara, the mountain over against the fort of Knin; her eyes were black, but they sparkled softly, like the star which shines at twilight; her curly hair had the colour of the harvest moon's mellow light.

"All the vati of her father's palace were in love with her, only hearing her beauty extolled by the eunuchs of the harem, and seeing her glorious eyes sparkle through her veils, or the tips of her tapering fingers, as she held her feredgé.

"The principal lords of Kuna Hassan Aga's Court were, first, Ibrahim Velagic, the Dizdar of Stermizza; then Mujo Jelascovic, the governor of Biscupia; lastly old Sarè the Bulju Pasha, or lieutenant of the troops. The old Sarè had a son named Hussein, who was the standard-bearer; he was the most beautiful young man of the land, nay, it was difficult to find his like. He was, indeed, as handsome as Ayesha was comely. The one was like a lily, the other like a pomegranate flower.

"At that time, as I have said before, the Christians were groaning under the Turkish yoke, and several attempts had already been made to shake it off; nay, many of the struggles which had taken place between the Turks and the men of the Kotar had been most successful, as they had for their chief, Jancovic Stoyan, or Stephen, known in history as 'the clearer of Turkish heads.' These continual skirmishes had weakened our oppressors in such a way, and spread so much fear amongst them, that Kuna Hassan never felt sure whenever he left his castle walls. Finding himself reduced to this extremity, he determined to muster all the troops he could get together and make war upon the Christians.

"And now," said Giulianic, "I think I can give you some of Kacic's verses on this subject;" therefore, taking a guitar, he sang as follows:

"A letter wrote Hassan Aga  From Knin itself, the white-walled town;  He sent it to the bordering Turks,  To Mujo and to Velagic."And in this letter Kuna spake:  'Oh! brave men of my border-lands,  Now muster all your borderers,  And hie to Knin, the white-walled town."'For we shall raid upon Kotar,  And there rich plunder shall we get  Both gold and young Molachian maids,  Shall be the prize of all the brave."'Kotar will be an easy prey  For you, the warriors of the Cross!  Besides, the Sirdars are away,  And Stoyan is in Venice now."'Milikovic has fallen sick,  Mocivana has lost his horse,  Mircetic has sprained his hand,  And Klana to a feast is gone.'"The Bulju Pasha heard all this,  And wisely answered to Kuna:  'Forbear, Kuna Aga; forbear  To make a raid upon Kotar!'"

Giulianic stopped to take breath. "The poem is long," said he, "and I am old; I shall relate the story in my own words: – Well, Kuna Hassan Aga would not be dissuaded, especially as the Dizdars were for it. The expedition took place. Jelascovic and Velagic – called the snakes of the empire, on account of their strength and craft – came to Kuna's castle, bringing each man three hundred men with him. The Agamustered as many men himself, and with this little array they set off for the Kotar. At first they were successful; they fell upon the open country, plundering and sacking, carrying away young boys and girls as slaves, finding nowhere the slightest opposition. It was not a war, but a military march; thus they went on until they reached the lovely meadows at the foot of the hills of Otre, a most pleasant country, watered by many rivulets.

"There they pitched their tents, and began to prepare their meal and make merry. All at once as the sun went down, a slight mist began to rise from the waters and from the marshes of Ostrovizza, not very far off from there. As the day declined, the fog grew denser, and when night came on Jancovic Stoyan, who had returned from Venice, together with the other Sirdars, fell upon them, threw them upon the marshes, and not only obliged them to give back all their plunder, but killed more than six hundred of their men. It was only with great difficulty that the Aga and Dizdars got back to Knin; they were all in a sorry plight, regretting deeply not to have followed Sarè's advice.

"Shortly after this, Kuna Hassan, having recovered from the wounds he had received, gathered again all his chief warriors together. Then he made them a long speech, saying that it was time that the Christian hornets should be done away with, and their nests destroyed, for, if left alive, they would daily become more troublesome; then he made them many promises, so as to induce them to fight, but without much success. At last he offered the hand of his handsome daughter, who, as I have said, was indeed as beautiful as a heavenly houri, and a bride fit for the Sultan, or the Prophet himself, to the bold warrior who would bring him the head of Jancovic Stoyan, or those of the three hundred Christians. The prize he requested was a great one, but the reward he offered was such as to inflame the hearts of the greatest cowards.

"However, amongst the warriors that Kuna Hassan had gathered together that day, neither old Sarè nor his son, the handsome standard-bearer, had been requested to attend, doubtless, because theAga had thought the Bulju Pasha too old, and his son too young and too rash, for such an undertaking. Perhaps he also felt a grudge against the Bulju Pasha for having dissuaded him from the first attack, which had met with such a bad success.

"When poor Hussein heard of the slight he and his father had met with, he was very much grieved, for, though he was the Aga's standard-bearer, he had been treated as a mere boy. Moreover, he was madly in love with the beautiful Ayesha, who returned his affection. In fact, whenever she had an opportunity, she sent him a message by one of the eunuchs, and every time he used to pass under her window she was at the lattice, and she often dropped a flower, or even her handkerchief, if no one was looking on.

"Hussein would have risked his life to try and obtain her; nay, he would even have gone to Zara and fight Stoyan, if he could get her father's consent to wed her.

"As for the Sirdars, they were only too glad that Hussein was not amongst the warriors called forth to strive for Ayesha's hand, nor would they now allow any new pretender to come forth and take part in their raids with them.

"During the many skirmishes that took place round about Knin, Hussein had been left to take care of the castle, and then he had succeeded in bribing the head eunuch to allow him to talk with Ayesha.

"This keeper, knowing how fond his mistress was of the handsome standard-bearer, had consented to allow the lovers to meet, while he watched over their safety.

"At first, when all the Mussulman warriors met with so many losses, the lovers were happy, for they thought it would be years before any of them could ask for their reward; but afterwards, when it was known that Velagic's heap of heads was daily increasing, their gladness of heart changed into the deepest sorrow. Both saw that there was very little chance of their ever being able to marry, and Ayesha, rather than give up the man she loved so deeply and become the wife of the old Dizdar, whom she detested, proposed to her lover that they should run away together.

"They waited till the very last moment, thinking that Velagic might be killed, or some other unforeseen circumstance might take place; but they had no Kismet, for the Dizdar seemed to have a charmed life; he had already got together about two hundred and ninety heads. How he had got them, nobody could understand, for he had never received the slightest wound in any of his many fights.

"The last time the lovers met, they agreed that the day upon which Velagic brought the ten last heads they would make their escape. Hussein, upon that night, was to be on the rocks at the foot of the castle, somewhere near the place occupied by the harem; then, at midnight, when all the town had sunk into rest, and all the lights were extinguished, Ayesha would put a taper by her window to guide him if everything was ready for their flight. After the muezzin had called the faithful to prayers, she would open the lattice and throw out a rope-ladder, by means of which he would climb up into the castle. There he was to be received by the eunuch that had hitherto befriended him – be led to her chamber-door. From there they would pass by an underground passage, the keys of which she had. This passage had an outlet, somewhere beyond the town, near the bridge, where, indeed, there is a kind of den or hole. There Hussein was to have swift horses ready, so that they might at once escape to Zara or Sebenico, and if that was not far enough, they could there freight a ship and go off to Venice.