"The poor dove was in sore trouble, and, quaking with fear, seeing the fox lay its front paws on the trunk of the tree, she, flurried as she was, caught one of her little ones by its neck and threw it down. The fox made but a mouthful of it, grumbling withal that it was such a meagre morsel.
"'Mind and fatten those that are left, for I'll call again to-morrow, and if the others are only skin and bones, as the little scarecrow you've thrown me down is, you'll have, at least, to give me two.'
"The fox went off. The poor dove remained in her nest, mourning over her lost little one, and shuddering as she thought of the morrow. Just then another bird happened to perch above the branch where the dove had her nest.
"'I say, dove,' said the other bird, 'what's up, that you are cooing in such a dreary, disconsolate way?'
"The dove thereupon related all that had happened.
"'Oh, you simpleton! oh, you fool!' quoth the other bird, 'how could you have been so silly as to believe the sly old fox? You ought to have known that foxes cannot climb trees; therefore, when he comes to-morrow, ordering you to throw him down a couple of your little ones, just you tell him to come up himself and get them.'
"The day after, when the fox came for his meal, the dove simply answered:
"'Don't you wish you may get it!'
"And the dove laughed in her sleeve to see the fox look so sheepish.
"'Who told you that?' said Reynard; 'you never thought of it yourself, you are too stupid.'
"'No,' quoth the dove, 'I did not. The bird that has built her nest by the sedges near the river told it me.'
"'So,' said the fox; and he turned round and went off to the bird that had built her nest by the river sedges, without even saying ta-ta to the dove. He soon found her out.
"'I say, bird, what made you build your nest in such a breezy spot?' said the fox, with a twinkling eye.
"'Oh! I don't mind the wind,' said the bird. 'For instance, when it blows from the north-east, I put my head under my left wing, like this."
"Thereupon, the bird put its head under its left wing, and peeped at the fox with its right eye.
"'And when it blows from the south-west?' asked the fox.
"'Then I do the contrary.'
"And the bird put its head under its right wing, and peeped at the fox with its left eye.
"'And when it blows from every side of the compass at once?'
"'It never does,' said the bird, laughing.
"'Yes it does; in a hurricane.'
"'Then I cover my head with both my wings, like this.'
"No sooner had the poor bird buried her head under both her wings, than the sly old fox jumped at her, and ate her up.
"But," said the witch, finishing her story, "if you are like the dove, I'm not like the bird of the sedges; and Vranic would find me rather tough to eat me up. And now, hurry home, my dear; if ever you want me again, you know where to find me."
The rain had ceased, and Milena, thanking the old woman for her kindness, went off. She had been back but a few minutes when Radonic returned home, ever so much the worse for drink. Not finding any supper ready, he at first began to grumble; then, little by little, thinking himself very ill-used, he got into a tremendous rage. Having reached this paroxysm of wrath, he set to smash all the crockery that he could lay his hands on, whilst Milena, terrified, went and shut herself up in the next room, and peeped at him through the keyhole.
When he had broken a sufficient number of plates and dishes, he felt vexed at having vented his rage in such a foolish way, then to pity himself at having such a worthless wife, who left him without supper, and growing sentimental, he began to groan and hiccough and curse, till he at last rolled off the stool on which he had been rocking himself, and went to sleep on the floor.
On the morrow the husband was moody, the wife sad; neither of them spoke or looked at the other. The whole of that day, Milena—in her loneliness—revolved within her mind what she would do to get rid of Vranic's importunities, and, above all, how she could prevent him from harming Uros, as he had threatened to do.
The day passed away slowly; in the evening Radonic came home more drunk than he had ever been, therefore maliciously angry and spiteful.
The front room of the house, like that of almost all other cottages, was a large but dark and dismal-looking chamber, pierced with several small windows, all thickly grated; the ceiling was raftered, and pieces of smoked mutton, wreaths of onions, bundles of herbs, and other provisions dangled down from hooks, or nails, driven in nearly every beam. As in all country-houses, the hearth was built in the very midst of this room, and the smoke, curling upwards, found an outlet from a hole in the roof. That evening, as it was pouring and blowing, the gusts of wind and rain prevented the smoke from finding its way out.
Milena was seated on a three-legged stool at a corner of the hearth, by a quaint, somewhat prehistoric, kind of earthenware one-wick oil-lamp, which gave rather less light than our night-lamps usually do, though it flickered and sputtered and smoked far more. She was sewing a very tiny bit of a rag, but she took much pride in it, for every now and then she looked at it with the fond eyes of a girl sewing her doll's first bodice. Hearing her husband's step on the shingle just outside, she started to her feet, thrust the rag away, looking as if she had almost been caught doing something very guilty. After that she began mixing the soup boiling in the pot with great alacrity.
Radonic was not a handsome man at the best of times, but now, besotted by drink, shuffling and reeling, he was positively loathsome. He stopped for a moment on the sill to look at his wife, grinning at her in a half-savage, half-idiotic way.
Milena shuddered when she saw him, and turned her eyes away. He evidently noticed the look of horror she cast on him, for holding himself to the door-post with one hand, he shook the other at her, in his increasing anger.
"What have you been doing all the day?—gadding about, or sitting on the door-step to beckon to the youths who pass by?" he said, in a thick, throaty voice, interrupted every now and then with a drunken hiccough. Then he let go the door-post and shuffled in.
"A fine creature, a very fine creature, a slut, a good-for-nothing slut, not worth the salt she eats! You hear, madam? you hear, darling? it's to you I'm speaking."
Milena stood pale, awe-stricken, twisting the fringe of her apron round her fingers, looking at him with amazement. It was certainly not the first time in her life that she had seen a drunken man; still, she had never known anyone so fiendish when tipsy.
"A nice kind of woman for a fellow to marry," he went on, "a thing that stands twisting her fingers from morning to night, but who cannot find time to prepare a little supper for a hungry man, in the evening." Then, with a grunt: "What have you been doing the whole of the live-long day?"
Milena did not answer.
"I say, will you speak? by the Virgin, will you speak? or I'll slap that stupid sallow face of yours till I make it red with your blood."
Milena did try to answer, but the words stuck in her throat and would not come out. Radonic thought she was defying him.
"Ah, you'll not answer! You were fooling about the town, or sitting at the window eating pumpkin seeds, waiting for the dogs that pass to admire those meaningless eyes of yours. They are dark, it's true, but I'll make them ten times darker."
Thereupon he made a rush at her, but, swift-footed as she was, she ran on the opposite side of the room. She glanced at the door, but he had shut and bolted it, therefore—being afraid that he might be upon her before she managed to open it—she only kept running round the hearth, waiting till chance afforded her some better way of escape.
He ran after her for some time, but, drunk and asthmatic as he was, he stopped at last, irritated by his non-success. Vexed at seeing a faint smile on her lips, he took up a plate, that had been spared from the day before, and shied it at her. She was too quick for him, for she deftly moved aside, and the plate was smashed against an oaken press.
He gnashed his teeth with rage and showed her his fists; then he bent down, picked up a log, and flourished it wildly about. She at once made for the door. He flung the piece of wood at her with all his might. She once more stooped to avoid it, but, in her eagerness to get out, she was this time rather flurried; moreover, the missile hurled at her was, this time, much bigger than the former one, so that the log just caught her at the back of her head. She uttered a shrill cry, and fell on the ground in a death-like swoon.
Radonic, seeing Milena fall, thought he had killed her. He felt at that moment such a terrible fright that it seemed to him as if a thunderbolt had come down upon him.
He grew deathly pale, his jaw fell, he began to tremble from head to foot, just as when he had a fit of the ague. His teeth chattered, his knees were broken, his joints relaxed. He had never in his whole life felt such a fright. In a moment his drunkenness seemed to vanish, and he was again in his senses.
"Milena," said he, in a faint, quivering, moaning tone. "Milena, my love!"
She did not answer, she did not move; to all appearance she was dead.
The muscles of his throat were twitching in such a way that he almost fancied someone had stabbed him through the neck.
Was she now worth her salt to him? he asked himself bitterly; aye, he would give all his money to bring her back to life if he only could.
He wanted to go up to her, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot where he stood; with widely opened eyes he stared at the figure lying motionless on the floor. Was the blood trickling from her head? A moment afterwards he was kneeling down by her side, lifting her up tenderly; for, brute as he was, he loved her.
She was not dead, for her heart was beating still. Her head was bleeding; but the cut was very slight, hardly skin deep. He began to bathe her face with water, and tried to recall her to her senses. Still her fainting-fit, owing, perhaps, to the state of her health, lasted for some time; and those moments of torture seemed for him everlasting.
At last Milena opened her eyes; and seeing her husband's face bent close upon hers, she shuddered, and tried to free herself from his arms.
"Ljuba," said Radonic, "forgive me. I was a brute; but I didn't mean to harm you."
"It's a pity you didn't kill me; then there would have been an end to this wretched life of mine."
"Do you hate me so very much?"
"Have I any reason to love you?"
"Forgive me, my love. I've been drinking to-night; and when the wine gets to my head, then I know I'm nasty."
"No, you hate me, and I know why."
"Why?"
"Vranic sets you against me; and when your anger is roused, and your brain muddled, you come and want to kill me."
Radonic did not reply.
"But rather than torture me as you do, kill me at once, to please your friend."
Milena stopped for an instant; then she began again, in a lower tone:
"And that man is doubtless there, behind that door, listening to all that has happened."
Radonic ground his teeth, clenched his fists, snorted like a high-mettled horse, started up, and would have rushed to the door had Milena not prevented him.
"No," said she, "do not be so rash. Abide your time; catch him on the hip."
"Why does he hate you?"
"Can't you guess? Did he not want to marry me?"
Radonic groaned.
"Oh! it would not be a difficult matter to turn Vranic into a friend; but I prefer being beaten by you than touched by that fiend."
Radonic started like a mad bull; and, not knowing what to do, he gave the table such a mighty thump that he nearly shivered it.
"Listen! Yesterday, when you had rolled on the floor, and were sleeping away your drunken rage——"
"Then?"
"I went to sit on the doorstep——"
"Well, go on."
"A moment afterwards Vranic was standing in front of me."
The husband's eyes flashed with rage.
"Knowing that you would not wake, he begged me to let him come in. He saw me wretched and forlorn; he would comfort me."
"You lie!" He hissed these words out through his set teeth, and caught hold of her neck to throttle her. Then, all at once, he turned his mad rage against himself, and thumped his head with all his strength, exclaiming:
"Fool, fool, fool that I am!" Then, after a short silence, and with a sullen look: "And you, what did you do?"
"I got up, came in, and slammed the door in his face."
Radonic caught his wife in his arms, and kissed her.
"Tell me one thing more. Where were you yesterday evening?"
She smiled.
"Where do you think I was? Well, I'll tell you, because you'll never guess. I was at the witch's, who lives down there by the sea shore."
"What for?"
"Because I'm tired of this life. I went to ask her for a charm against your bosom friend."
"And what can a foolish old woman do for you?" said the husband, trying to put on a sceptical look.
"I have not been all over the world as you have; still, I know that our blood also is red."
"And what did thebaornitzatell you?"
"That a flowing beard is but a vain ornament when the head is light."
Radonic shrugged his shoulders and tried not to wince.
"Besides, she gave me this charm;" and showing him her amulet, she begged him to wear it for a few days. "It will not do you any harm; wear it for my sake, even if you don't believe in it," she pleaded softly.
Radonic yielded, and allowed Milena to fasten the little bag round his neck, looking deep into her beautiful eyes uplifted towards his. She blushed, feeling the fire of his glances.
"And now," added she, with a sigh of relief, "he'll break his viper's fangs against that bone, if our proverbs are true."
Radonic tried to keep up his character of anesprit-fort, and said:"Humbug!" but there was a catch in his voice as he uttered this word.
"Now, I feel sure that as long as you have this talisman you'll not open your mouth or reveal a single word of what I've told you."
"Whom do you take me for?"
"Yes, but at times our very eyes deceive us; moreover, Vranic is a man to whom everybody is like glass. He reads your innermost thoughts."
"He is sharp; nothing more, I tell you."
"Anyhow, that is a powerful charm, and if you'll only dissimulate——"
"Oh! I can be a match for him if I like."
"You must promise me one thing more."
"What is it?"
"No knives; no bloodshed."
Radonic did not answer for a moment, but cast on Milena an angry look, his hand seeking the handle of his knife.
"Will you promise?"
"Are you so fond of him that you are frightened I'll kill him?"
"I hate him."
"Then——"
"Still, it is no reason to murder him."
Radonic seemed lost in his own thoughts.
"Moreover, he is weak and puny, whilst you are made of iron." She laid her hand on his shoulder. "No knives, then; it's understood?"
"I promise to use no knife."
The morrow was a beautiful day; winter seemed already to be waking from its short sleep. The sun was shining brightly, and as the breeze was fresh and bracing, his cheerful warmth was pleasant, especially for people who have to depend upon his rays for their only heat. Spring seemed already to be at hand, and, in fact, the first violets and primroses might have been seen glinting in sunny spots.
Milena was returning from market, and her eyes were wandering far on the wide expanse of glittering blue waters, but her thoughts, like fleet halcyons, dived far away into the hazy distance, unfathomable to the sight itself, and she hummed to herself the following song:
"A crystal rill I fain would be,And down the deep dell then I'd go;Close to his cottage I would flow.Thus every morn my love I'd see,Oft to his lips I might be pressed,And nestle close unto his breast."
Then she sighed and tried not to think, for hers, indeed, was forlorn hope.
All at once she heard someone walking behind her, coming nearer and nearer. She hastened her steps; still, the person who followed her walked on quicker.
"What a hurry you are in, Milena," said Vranic, coming up to her.
"Oh! is it you?" she replied, with feigned surprise; then she shuddered, thinking that she had not her amulet, and was at the mercy of this artful man. "You frightened me."
"Dear me, I'm afraid I'm always frightening you! Still, believe me, I'd give my soul to the devil for one of your smiles, for a good word from you, Milena."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Children are deceived with cakes, women with sweet words, they say."
He cast a sidelong glance at her.
"You don't look well, to-day; you are pale."
"Am I?"
"Yes; what's the matter?"
"How can I look well, with that brute of a husband of mine?"
"Ah, yes! he got home rather the worse for drink yesterday evening, didn't he?"
"You ought to know; you were with him."
"Well, yes, I was; at least, part of the evening."
"And when he was as mad as a wild bull, you sent him home to me, didn't you?"
"Vranic, when will you finish persecuting me? What have I done to you?"
"Milena, it is true I am bad; but is it my fault? has not the world made me what I am? Why have I not a right to my share of happiness as other men?"
"I am sorry for you, Vranic, but what can I do for you?"
"You can do whatever you like with me, make me as good as a lamb."
"How?"
"Have pity on me; I love you!"
"How can you say you love me, when you have tried to harm me in every possible way?"
"I was jealous; besides, I saw that you hated me, therefore you know it was my only chance of success. In love and in war all means are good."
She shuddered; still, she managed to master herself and hide the loathing she felt for him.
"So you thought that, after having driven me to distraction——"
"I should be your friend in need."
"Fine friend." Then after a pause: "Anyhow, my present life is such that, rather than bear it any longer, I'll go and drown myself some day or other."
"You'd never do that, Milena."
"Why not? Therefore, if you care for me ever so little, use your influence over Radonic, undo your work, get him to be a little less of a brute than he has been of late."
"And then you'll laugh at me?"
"Who does good can expect better," and she tried to look at him less harshly than she was wont to do, and did not turn her eyes away from him.
"No, Milena, first——"
"What! first the pay, then the work? It would be against the proverb."
"Then promise me at least that you will try to love me a little?"
"No," said she, with a toss of her pretty head, and a smile in her mischievous, sparkling eyes; "I promise nothing."
He thereupon took her hand and kissed it, saying:
"I am making a poor bargain, for I am sure that your heart is empty."
"If you cannot manage to awaken love in an empty heart, it will be your fault; besides, you can always be in time to undo your work."
"How so?"
"You have me in your power, for Radonic, in your hands, is as pliable as putty, is he not?"
"Perhaps!" and the wrinkles of his cheeks deepened into a grim smile.
"Then let my husband come home a little less cross than he has been of late, will you?" she said, in a coaxing tone, and her voice had for him all the sweetness of the nightingale's trill.
"I'll try," and his blinking, grey-green eyes gloated upon her, whilst that horrible cast in them made her shiver and feel sick; but then she thought of Uros, and the idea that his life might be in danger by the power this man wielded over her husband made her conceal her real state of feelings and smile upon him pleasantly.
He put his arm round her waist, and whispered words of love into her ear, words that seemed to sink deep into her flesh and blister her; and she felt like a bird, covered over with slime by a snake, before being swallowed up.
He, at that moment—withal he was a seer—fancied Milena falling in his arms; his persevering love had conquered at last. Radonic would now be sent away to sea again, perhaps never to come back, and he would remain the undisputed master of Milena's heart.
"Well, love me a little and I'll change your life from a hell into a heaven. I'll read your slightest wish in your eyes to satisfy it."
"Thank you," she said, shuddering, disengaging herself from his grasp, but feeling herself growing pale.
"What is the matter, my love?" he asked.
"Nothing, only I told you I was not feeling well; my husband almost killed me yesterday."
"Well, I promise that it'll be the last time he touches you."
They had now reached the door of her house, and Vranic, after having renewed his protestations, went off, whilst Milena entered the house and locked herself in.
That evening Radonic came home rather earlier than usual. He was sober, but in a sullen mood, and looked at Milena sheepishly. She set the supper on the table and waited upon him; when he had finished, she took the dish and sat down on the hearth to have her meal.
"Well," quoth Radonic, puffing at his pipe, "have you seen Vranic to-day?"
"Yes, I met him when I was coming home from market."
"Henceforth," said he, "I forbid you going to market again."
"Very well," said she, meekly.
"And?"
"He accompanied me home."
"And what did he say?"
"That you were pulpy, therefore he could do with you whatever he liked."
"Ah! he said that, did he?" and in his rage Radonic broke his pipe."Then?"
"He would first undo his work, make you as gentle as a lamb, then he would send you off to sea, and——"
Radonic muttered a fearful oath between his teeth.
"Can't you understand? Has he not spoken well of me?"
"He has, the villain, and it wanted all my patience not to clutch him by the neck and pluck his vile tongue out of his mouth—but I'll bide my time."
A few days afterwards Milena heard a low whistle outside, just as if someone were calling her; the whistling was repeated again and again. She went to the open door, and she saw Vranic at a distance, apparently on the watch for her. As soon as he saw her, he beckoned to her to come out. She stepped on the threshold, and he came up to her.
"Good news, eh?" said he.
"What news?"
"Has Radonic not opened his mouth to you?"
"He has hardly said a single word all these days."
"Impossible!"
"May I be struck blind if he has!"
"Strange."
"Well, but what is it all about?"
"He told me it was a great secret; still, I did not believe him."
"But what is this great secret?"
"He is going off to Montenegro for a day or two, as he has to buy a cargo ofcastradina. Of course, he'll stay a week; and as soon as he comes back, he'll start at once on a long voyage."
"I don't believe it!"
"Yes, he is; and it's all my own doing. Now you can't say that I don't love you, Milena, can you?"
She did not give him any answer.
"You don't seem glad. Once you'd have been delighted to have a reprieve from his ill-treatment."
"Yes, but now he's only moody. He hasn't beaten me for some days."
"I told you he was as manageable as putty. Like all bullies, you can shave him without a razor, if you only know how to go about it."
"Yes; only beware. Such men never keep shape—at least, not for any length of time."
"He'll keep shape till he goes, for that's to-morrow; then——" and he winked at her as he said this.
"Come, Vranic, be kind for once in your life."
"Has anybody ever been kind to me?"
"'Do good, and don't repent having done it; do evil, and expect evil,' says the proverb."
"I never do anything for nothing; so to-morrow night I'll come for my reward."
"Leave me alone, Vranic; if not for my sake, do it for your own good. Fancy, if Radonic were to return. Surely you wouldn't shave him quite as easily as you think."
"I'll take the risk upon myself. I have lulled all his suspicions, so that he has now implicit trust in you. Besides, I'll first see him well out of the town with my own eyes; Vranic is not a seer for nothing," and he winked knowingly with his blinking eyes.
"You don't know Radonic: if you are a fox, he is no goose. He is capable of coming back just to see what I am doing."
"I think I know him a little better than you do, and a longer time.We have been friends from childhood; in fact, all butpobratim."
"That's the reason why you are ready to deceive him, then?"
"What business had he to marry you? What would I not do for your love, Milena? Why, I'd give my soul to Satan, if he wanted it."
"I'm afraid it's no longer yours to give away. But come, Vranic, if you really are as fond of me as you pretend to be, have some pity on me, be kind; think how wretched my whole life has hitherto been, leave me alone, forget me."
"Ask me anything else but that. How can I forget you? How can I cease loving you, when I live only for you? I only see through your eyes."
"Then I'll ask Radonic to take me to Montenegro with him, and I'll remain with my family."
"And I'll follow you there. You don't understand all the strength of my love for you."
Thereupon, forgetting his usual prudence, he stepped up to her, and passing his arm round her waist, he strained her to his breast, and wanted to kiss her. She wriggled and struggled, and tried to push him away.
"Unhand me," she said, alarmed; "unhand me at once, or I'll scream."
"Lot of good it'll do you. Come," he replied, "remember your promise.I've kept my part, try and keep yours with good grace or——"
"What?" she asked, alarmed.
"Or by the holy Virgin, it'll be so much the worse for you! I know——" he stopped, and then he added: "In fact, I know what I know. Remember, therefore, it is much better to have Vranic for your friend than for your foe."
"Mind, you think me a dove."
"I only know that women have long hair and little brains. Try and not be like most of them."
"Mind, I might for once have more brains than you; therefore, I entreat you, nay, I command you, not to try and see me to-morrow."
"As for that, I'll use my own discretion."
Saying these words, he went off, and left Milena alone. As soon as he had disappeared, she went in, and sank down on the hearth; there, leaning her elbows on her knees, she hid her face between her palms; then she began nursing her grief.
"They say I am happy," she muttered to herself, "because I am rich —though I have not a penny that I can call my own—because I can eat white bread every day. Yet would it not be better by far to be an animal and graze in the fields, than eat bread moistened with my own tears? Oh! why was I not born a man? Then, at least, I might have gone where I liked—done what I pleased.
"They think I am happy, because no one knows what my life has been; though, it is true, what is a woman's life amongst us?
"She toils in the field the whole of the live-long day, whilst her husband smokes his pipe. She is laden like a beast of burden; she is yoked to the plough with an ox or an ass, and when they go to pasture she trudges home with the harness, to nurse the children or attend to household work. Meanwhile, her master leisurely chats with his friends at the inns, or listens to theguzlar.
"What is her food? The husks that dogs cannot eat, the bones which have already been picked. If Turkish women have no souls, they, at least, are not treated like beasts during their lifetime.
"Oh! holy Virgin, why was I not born a man?"
That evening Radonic came home more sullen and peevish than usual; still, he was sober. He sat down to supper, and Milena waited upon him. As soon as he had pushed his plate away:
"Have you seen Vranic to-day?" he asked, gruffly.
"I have," answered the wife, meekly.
"Ah, you have!" and he uttered a fearful oath.
Milena crossed herself.
"And where have you seen him?"
"He came here at the door."
"May he have a fit to-night," he grunted. Then, after a puff at his pipe: "And what did he say?"
"That you intended starting to-morrow morning for Montenegro, to buycastradina, and——"
Radonic gave such a mighty thump on the table that thebukarawas upset. It rolled and fell to the ground before it could be caught. Milena hastened to pick it up, but the wine was spilt. The husband thereupon, not knowing how to vent his spite, gave a kick to the poor woman just as she stooped to pick it up. She slipped and fell sprawling to the ground, uttering a stifled groan. Then she got up, deathly pale, and went to sit down in a corner of the room, and began to cry unperceived.
"And what did you answer when he told you that I was starting?"
"I begged him to leave me in peace, and above all not to come to-morrow evening, if his life was dear to him."
"Ah! you begged him, did you? Well, if ever man was blessed with a foolish wife, I am."
A moment's silence followed, after which he added:
"What a fool a man is who gets married—above all, a sailor who takes as his wife a feather-brained creature, as you are. May God hurl a thunderbolt at me if I'd marry again were I but free."
Poor Milena did not reply, for she was inured to such taunts, Radonic being one of those men who pride themselves on speaking out their own minds. She kept crying quietly—not for the pain she felt, but because she dreaded the fatal consequences of the kick she had just received.
"Will you stop whimpering, or I'll come and give you something to cry for. It's really beyond all powers of endurance to hear a woman whine and a pig squeak; if there is a thing that drives me mad, it's that."
Thereupon Radonic began to puff at his pipe savagely, snarling and snorting as he smoked.
"And may I ask why you begged that double-faced, white-livered friend of yours not to come to-morrow evening?" he asked, after some minutes.
"Vranic was never a friend of mine," said Milena, proudly.
"Admitting he wasn't, still you haven't answered my question; but I suppose it doesn't suit you to answer, does it?"
"Why not? I begged him not to come because I was afraid some mischief might ensue, withal you promised me not to be rash."
"I promised you, did I? Anyhow, I find that you take a great interest in this friend of mine, far more than it becomes an honest woman." Then, with a scowl and a sneer: "If youarehonest."
Milena winced, and grew deathly pale. She did not give her husband any answer, so he, after grunting and grumbling and smoking for some time, got up and went to bed. She, however, remained where she was seated—or rather crouched—for she knew that she could not sleep.
How could she sleep?
First, she was not feeling well. The kick she had received in her side had produced a slight, dull, gnawing soreness; moreover, she felt—or at least she fancied she could feel—a gnawing pain; it was not much of a pain, only it seemed as if a watch were ticking there within her. She shuddered and felt sick, a cold sweat gathered on her brow, and she trembled from head to foot.
Some women in her state—she had heard—never got over the consequences of a blow; perhaps the kick might produce mortification, and then in a few days she would die. Yes, she felt as if she had received an inward incurable bruise. Well, after all, it was but right; she had deceived her husband; he had revenged himself. Now they were quits.
Still tears started to her eyes, and sobs rose to her throat.
Well, after all, she thought, what did it matter if she died? This wretched life would be over.
Only——
Only what?
Yes, she avowed it to herself; she longed to see Uros' fond face once more before dying. With her hand locked in his, her eyes gazing upon him, death would have almost been bliss.
With a repressed and painful yearning, her lover's name at last escaped her lips.
Radonic, who had been snoring as if he was about to suffocate, uttered a kind of snorting sound, then he started and woke with a fearful curse on his lips.
Milena, shuddering, uttered a half-stifled cry.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing, I was only dreaming. I thought that a young sailor, whom I once crippled with a kick, had gripped me by my neck, and was choking me."
"It must have been themorina" (the nightmare) "sitting on you," and Milena crossed herself.
"How is it you are not in bed?" he asked, scowling.
She did not speak for an instant.
He started up to look at her.
"Perhaps that villain is sneaking about the house, and you wish to warn him?"
"Your jealousy really drives you mad."
"Well, then, will you speak? Why are you not yet in bed?"
"I—I don't feel exactly well."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"The kick you gave me," she retorted, falteringly.
"Why, I hardly touched you! well, you are getting mighty delicate; you ought to have had the kick I gave that sailor lad, then you would have known the strength of my foot!"
"Yes, but——" She checked herself, and then added: "Women are delicate."
"Oh! so you are going to be a grand lady, and be delicate, are you? Who ever heard of a Montenegrin being delicate?" Then he added: "If you don't feel well, go to bed and try to sleep."
Thereupon he turned on the other side, and began to snore very soon afterwards.
Milena began to think of what had been and might have been.
She had sinned, foolishly, thoughtlessly; but since that fatal night she had never known a single moment's happiness. As time passed, the heinousness of her sin rose up before her, more dreadful, more appalling.
Still, was it the sin itself, or its dire consequences, that rendered her so moody, so timorous?
She never asked herself such a question; she only knew that she now started, like a guilty thing, at the slightest noise, and she shivered if anybody spoke to her abruptly. At times she fancied everybody could read her guilt in her face.
She had been more than once tempted, of late, to tell her husband that, in some months, she would be a mother. Still, the words had ever stuck in her throat; she could never nerve herself enough to speak.
Though he might probably never have got to know the real truth, could she tell him thathewas the father of her child, or, at least, allow him to think so? No, she could never do that, for it was impossible to act that lie the whole of her life. Could she see her husband, returning from a long voyage, take in his arms and fondle the child that was not his, the child that he would strangle if he knew whose it was?
Although an infant is the real, nay, the only bond of married life, still, the child of sin is a spectre ever rising 'twixt husband and wife, estranging them from one another for ever.
Then she had better confess her guilt at once. And bring about three deaths? Aye, surely; Radonic was not a man to forgive. He had crippled a sailor lad for some trifle.
She must keep her secret a little longer—and then?
Thereupon she fell on her knees before the silver-clad image of theVirgin.
"Oh, holy Virgin, help me! for to whom can I turn for help but to thee? Help me, and I promise thee never to sin again, either by word or action, all my life." And she kissed the icon devoutly. "Oh, holy Virgin, help me! for thou canst do any miracle thou likest. Show mercy upon me, and draw me from this sorrowful plight. I shall work hard, and get thee, with my earnings, as huge a taper as money can buy.
"And thou, great St. George, who didst kill a dragon to save a maid, save me from Vranic; and every year, upon thy holy day, I shall burn incense and light a candle before thy picture, if thou wilt listen to my prayer."
After that, feeling somewhat comforted, she went to bed, and at last managed to fall asleep, notwithstanding the pain she felt in her side.
On the morrow Radonic went away as usual, and Milena was left alone. The day passed away slowly, gloomily. The weather was dull, sultry, oppressive. The sirocco that blew every now and then in fitful, silent gusts, was damp, stifling, heavy. A storm was brewing in the air overhead, and all around there was a lull, as if anxious Nature were waiting in sullen expectation for its outburst. The earth was fretful; the sky as peevish as a human being crossed in his designs. The hollow, rumbling noise in the clouds seemed the low grumbling of contained anger.
Everybody was more or less unsettled by the weather—Milena more than anyone else. As the day passed her nervousness increased, and solitude grew to be oppressive.
Her husband, before leaving the house, had told her to go and spend the evening at her kinswoman's, as a bee was to be held there; the women spun, and the men prepared stakes for the vines. Bellacic was fond of company, and he liked to have people with merry faces around him, helping him to while away the long evening hours; nor did he grudge a helping hand to others, whenever his neighbours had any kind of work for him to do.
"I'll come there and fetch you as soon as I've settled my business with Vranic," said Radonic, going off.
Milena, understanding that her husband wanted her out of the way, decided upon remaining at home, and, possibly, preventing further mischief.
The day had been dark and gloomy from morning; the clouds heaped overhead grew always blacker, and kept coming down lower and ever lower. Early in the afternoon the light began to wane. Her uneasiness increased at approaching night. With the gloaming her thoughts grew dreary and dismal. She was afraid to remain at home; she was loth to go away. Unable to work any longer, she went outside to sit on the doorstep and spin. Now, at last, the rain began, and lurid flashes were seen through the several heaps and masses of clouds.
The lightning showed to her excited imagination not only numberless witches, morine and goblins, chasing and racing after each other like withered leaves in a storm, but in that horrid landscape she perceived murderous battles, hurtling onslaughts, fearful frays and bloodshed, followed by spaces that looked like fields of fire and gory hills of trodden snow. It was too dreadful to look at, so she turned round to go in. She would light the lamp and kindle the fire. At a few steps from the threshold she heard, or, at least, she fancied she heard, someone whistle outside. She stopped to listen. Perhaps it was only the shrill sound of the wind through the leafless bushes; for the wind has at times the knack of whistling like a human being.
She again advanced a step or two towards the hearth; and as she did so, she stumbled on something. She uttered a low, muffled cry as she almost fell. On what had her foot caught? She bent down, and felt with her hand. It seemed like the corpse of a man stretched out at full length—a human creature wallowing in his own blood. A sickening sense of fear, a feeling of faintness, came over her. She hardly dared to move. Her teeth were chattering; all her limbs were trembling. Still, she managed to recover her self-possession, so as to grope and put her hand on the steel and flint. Still, such was her terror, that everything she touched assumed an uncouth, ungainly, weird shape. Having found the steel, she managed to strike a light. That faint glimmer dispelled her terror, and she asked herself how she could have been so foolish as to take a coat lying on the floor for a murdered man.
The thing that puzzled her was how that coat came to be lying there on the floor. It was her husband's oldkabanica, and it must have been left on some stool.
As all these thoughts flitted through her mind, a loud crack was heard—a jarring sound amidst the hushed stillness of the house. Milena shuddered; a hand seemed to grip her throat. Her heart stopped for a moment; then it began to throb and beat as if it were going to burst. She gasped for breath.
What was that ominous noise? The hoop of a tub had broken!
To the uninitiated this might seem a trifle, but to those versed in occult lore it was a fearful omen. Someone was to die in that house, and this death was to happen soon, very soon; perhaps before daybreak.
She was so scared that she could not remain a moment longer in that house; so, wrapping herself up in her husband's old coat, she hastened out of the house. Just then Uros' last words sounded in her ears:
"If you are alone and in trouble, go to my mother; she will not only be a friend to you, but love you as a daughter for my sake."
Her husband that morning had sent her to Mara's; she could not remain alone any longer; it wasKismetthat she should go. Besides, Vranic might be coming now at any moment, and even if she swore to him that her husband had not started, he would not believe her; then she would only excite her husband to greater wrath if he came and found him alone with her. No, on the whole, it was better by far to obey her husband's behest; therefore, she started off. She ran quickly through the pouring rain, and never stopped till she was at Bellacic's door.
"Oh! Milena, is it you?" said Mara, her motherly eyes twinkling with a bright smile of welcome; "though, to tell you the real truth, I almost expected you."
"Why?"
"Because a big fly has been buzzing round me, telling me that some person who is fond of me would come and see me. Oracles are always true; besides," added she, with a smile and a sly look, "just guess of what I've been dreaming?"
"Of black grapes, that bring good luck, I suppose."
"No, of doves; so I'll surely get a letter from Uros to-morrow or the day after."
Milena looked down demurely; she blushed; then, to turn away the conversation, she added:
"To-day, for a wonder, Radonic has sent me to pass the evening with you; he'll come to fetch me later on—at least, he said he would."
"It is a wonder, indeed—why, what's come over him? He must have put on his coat inside out when he got up."
Milena thereupon told her friend why her husband did not want her at home.
"Anyhow, I'm very glad you've come, for I'm embroidering two waistcoats—one for Uros, the other for Milenko—and my poor eyes are getting rather weak, so you can help me a little with the fine stitching."
"Radonic told me that some of your neighbours are coming to make stakes."
"Are they? My husband did not say anything about it."
After some time, Markovic and his wife, and several other neighbours, made their appearance.
As every man came in, he greeted Milena, and, seeing her alone, asked her where Radonic was. She, like a true Montenegrin, warded off the question by answering with a shrug of her shoulders and in an off-hand way:
"May the devil take him, if I know where he is. I daresay he'll pop up by-and-bye."
Etiquette not only requires a wife to avoid speaking of her husband, but also to eschew him completely when present, just as more northern people ignore entirely the name of certain indispensable articles of clothing.
When all the guests were assembled, and such dainties as roasted Indian-corn, melon, pumpkin and sun-flower seeds were handed round, together with filberts and walnuts, then the bard (the honoured guest) was begged to sing them a song. The improvisatore, stroking his long moustache and twisting its ends upwards that they might not be too much in his way as he spoke, took down hisguzlaand began to scrape it by way of prelude. This was not, as amongst us, a sign to begin whispered conversation in out of the way corners, or to strike an attitude of bored sentimentality, for everybody listened now with rapt attention.
When Gjuro was about to start for war,And leave his wife alone within his hall,He fondly said: "Dear Jeljena, farewell,My faithful wife; I now hie to the camp,From whence I hope to come back soon; so forThine own sweet sake and mine be true to me."In haste the wanton woman answered back:"Go, my loved lord, and God watch over thee."He had but gone beyond the gate, when sheTook up a jug and went across the fieldTo fetch fresh water from the fountain there;And having got unto the grassy glen, she sawA handsome youth, who had adorned his capWith flowers freshly culled from terebinth.And unto him the sprightly wife thus spoke:"Good day to thee, brave Petar; tell me, pray,Where hast thou bought those blossoms fresh and fair?"And he: "God grant thee health, O Gjuro's wife;They were not got for gold, they are a gift."Then Jelka hastened back to her own house,And to her room she called her trusted maid."Now list," said she. "Go quick beyond the fieldAnd try to meet young Petar Latkovin;With terebinth you'll see his cap adorned.Say unto him: 'Fair youth, to thee I bearThe greetings of good Gjuro's wife, and sheDoth kindly beg that thou wilt sup with her,And spend the night in dalliance and delight—And give her one fair flower from thy cap.The castle hath nine gates; the postern doorWill ope for thee, now Gjuro is far off."The handmaid forthwith to the fountain sped,And found the youth. "Good day, my lord," said she."Great Gjuro's winsome wife her greetings sends;She begs that thou will sup with her this night,And grant her those sweet sprays of terebinth.Nine gates our manor has; the small side doorWill be left ope for thee, my handsome youth,As Gjuro is away." Then Petar thankedAnd longed that night might come. At dusk, with joyHe to the castle sped. He put his steedIn Gjuro's stall, and then his sword he hungJust in the place where Gjuro hung his own,And set his cap where Gjuro placed his casque.In mirth they supped, and sleep soon closed their eyes;But, lo! when midnight came, the wife did hearHer husband's voice that called: "My Jelka dear,Come, my loved wife, and open quick thy doors."Distracted with great fear, she from her bedSprang down, scarce knowing what to do; but soonShe hid the youth, then let her husband in.With feigning love she to his arms would fly,But he arrested her with frowning mien."Why didst thou not call quick thy maiden upTo come and ope at once these doors of thine?""Sweet lord, believe a fond and faithful wife:Last night this maid of mine went off in painTo bed; she suffers from the ague, my lord;So I was loth, indeed, to call her up.""If this be true, you were quite right," quoth he;"Yet I do fear that all thy words are lies.""May God now strike me dumb, if all I spakeBe aught than truth," said Jeljena at once.But frowning, Gjuro stood with folded arms:"Whose is that horse within my stall? and whoseThat cap adorned with flowers gay? And thereI see a stranger's sword upon the wall.""Now listen to thy loving wife, my lord.Last night a warrior came within thy walls,And wanted wine, in pledge whereof he leftHis prancing steed, his sword, and that smart cap,"Said Yelka, smiling sweetly to her lord.And he with lowering looks, then said: "'Tis well,Provided thou canst swear thou speakest true.""The Lord may strike me blind," she then replied."Why is thy hair dishevelled, and thy cheeksOf such a pallid hue? now, tell me why?"And she: "Believe thine honest wife. Last nightAs I did walk beneath our orchard trees,The apple boughs dishevelled thus my hair,And then I breathed the orange blossom scent,Until their fragrance almost made me faint."Now Gjuro's face was fearful to behold,Still as he frowned he only said: "'Tis well,But on the holy Cross now take an oath.""My lord, upon the holy Cross I swear.""Now give me up the key of mine own room."Then Jeljena grew ghastly pale with fear,Still she replied in husky tones: "Last nightAs I came from your room the key did breakWithin the lock, so now the door is shut."But he cried out in wrath: "Give me my key,Or from thy shoulders I shall smite thy head!"She stood aghast and speechless with affright,So with his foot he burst at once the door.There in the room he found young Latkovin."Now, answer quick: Didst thou come here by strength,Or by her will?" The youth a while stood mute,Not knowing what to say. But looking up:"Were it by mine own strength," he then replied,"Beyond the hills she now would be with me;If I am here, 'tis by her own free will."Then standing straight, with stern and stately mien,Unto the youth he said, in scornful tones:"Hence, get thee gone!" Now, when they were alone,He glanced askance upon his guilty wifeWith loathsomeness and hatred in his eyes:"Now, tell me of what death thou'lt rather die—By having all thy bones crushed in a mill?Or being trodden down 'neath horses' hoofs?Or flaring as a torch to light a feast?"She, for a trice, nor spake, nor moved, nor breathed,But stood as if amazed and lost in thought;Then, waking up as from some frightful dream:"I am no corn to be crushed in a mill,Or stubble grass for steeds to tread upon;If I must die, then, like unto a torch,Let me burn brightly in thy banquet hall."In freezing tones the husband spake and said:"Be it, then, as you list," and thereuponHe made her wear a long white waxen gown.Then, in his hall, he bound her to a pyre,And underneath he piled up glowing coals,So that the flame soon rose and reached her knees.With tearful eyes and a heartrending cry:"Oh! Gjuro mine, take pity on my youth;Look at my feet, as white as winter snow;Think of the times they tripped about this hallIn mazy dance; let not my feet be scorched."To all her prayers he turned a ruthless ear,And only heaped more wood on the pile.The lambent flames now leapt up to her hands,And she in anguish and in dreadful doleCried out: "Oh! show some mercy on my youth;Just see my hands—so soft, so small, so smooth—Let not these scathful flames now scorch my hands.Have pity on these dainty hands of mine,That often lifted up thy babe to thee."Her words awoke no pity in his heart,That seemed to have become as cold as clay;He only heaped up coals upon the pile,Like some fell demon who had fled from hell.The forked lurid tongues rose up on high,Like slender fiery snakes that sting the flesh,And, leaping up, they reached her snowy breast."Oh! Gjuro," she cried out, "for pity's sakeHave mercy on my youth; torment me not.Though I was false to thee, let me not die.See how these fearful flames deflower these breasts—The fountain that hath fed thine infant's life—See, they are oozing o'er with drops of milk."But Gjuro's eyes were blind, his ears were deaf;A viper now was coiled around his heart,That urged him to heap up the pile with wood.The rising flames began to blind her eyes;Still, ere the fearful smoke had choked her breath,She cast on Gjuro one long loving glance,And craved, in anguish, mercy on her youth:"Have pity on my burning eyes, and letMe look once more upon my little child."To all her cries his cruel soul was shut;He only fanned and fed the fatal flame,Until the faithless wife was burnt to death.
A moment of deep silence followed; the men twisted their moustaches silently, the women stealthily wiped away their tears with the back of their hands.
"Gjuro was a brute!" at last broke out a youth, impetuously.
Nobody answered at once; then an elderly man said, slowly:
"Perhaps he was, but you are not a husband yet, Tripko; you are only in love. Adultery, amongst us, is no trifle, as it is in Venice, for instance; we Slavs never forgive."
"I don't say he ought to have forgiven; in his place I might have strangled her, but as for burning a woman alive, as a torch, I find it heinous!"
Milena, who had fancied herself in Jeljena's place, could not refrain her sobs any longer; moreover, it seemed to her as if her guilt had been found out, and she wished the earth would open and swallow her alive.
"Oh, my poor Milena!" said Mara, soothingly, "you are too tender-hearted; it is only apisma, after all." Then, turning to her neighbour, she added: "She has not been well for some days, and then——" she lowered her voice to a whisper.
"I am sorry," said the bard, "that I upset you in this way but——"
"Oh! it is nothing, only I fancied I could see the poor woman burning; it was so dreadful!"
"Here," said Bellacic, "have a glass ofslivovitz; it'll set you all right. Moreover, listen; I'll tell you a much finer story, only pay great attention, for I'm not very clever at story-telling. Are you all ears?"
"Yes," said Milena, smiling.
"Well, once upon a time, there was a man who had three dogs: the first was called Catch-it-quick; the second, Bring-it-back; and the third, I-know-better. Now, one morning this man got up very early to go out hunting, so he called Catch-it-quick, Bring-it-back, and —and—how stupid I am! now I've forgotten the name of the other dog. Well, I said I wasn't good in telling stories; what was it?"
"I-know-better," interrupted Milena.
"No doubt you do, my dear, so perhaps you'll continue the story yourself, as you know better."
Everybody laughed, and the gloom that had come over the company after the bard's story was now dispelled.
"Radonic is late; I'm afraid, Milena, if you went back home, you'd have to prepare a stake for him," said Markovic. Then, turning to the bard: "Come, Stoyan, give us anotherpisma."
"Yes, but something merry," interrupted Tripko; "tell us some verses about the greatKraglievic."
The bard, contrary to his wont, was sipping his glass ofslivovitzvery slowly; he now finished it and said:
"I'll try, though, to tell you the truth, I'm rather out of sorts this evening; I really don't know why. There is an echo, as if of a crime, in the slightest noise, a smell of blood in every gust of wind. Do you not hear anything? Well, perhaps, I am mistaken."
Everyone looked at one another wistfully, for they all knew that oldStoyan was something of a prophet.
"There! listen," said he, staring vacantly; "did you not hear?"
"No," said Bellacic; "what was it?"
"Only the heavy thud of a man falling like a corpse on the ground," and as he said these words he crossed himself devoutly and muttered to himself: "May the Lord forgive him, whoever he is." Thereupon everybody present crossed himself, saying: "Bog nas ovari."
Milena shuddered and grew deathly pale; though she was not gifted with second sight, she saw in her mind's eye something so dreadful that it almost made her faint with terror. Mara, seeing her ghastly pale, said:
"Come, give us this song, but let it be something brisk and merry, for the howling of the wind outside is like a funeral wail, and it is that lament which makes us all so moody to-night."
"You are right,gospodina; besides, one man more or less—provided he is no relation of ours—is really no great matter. How many thousands fell treacherously at Kossoro." Then, taking up his bow, he began to scrape the chord of hisguzla, in a swift, jerking, sprightly way.
"What is it?" asked Bellacic.
And Stoyan replied, as he began to sing:
A falcon flies o'er Budua town;It bears a gleaming golden crest,Its wings are gilt, so is its breast;Of clear bright yellow is each claw,And with its sheen it lights the wold.
Then all the maids of Budua townAsk this fair sparkling bird of preyWhy it is yellow and not grey?Who gilded it without a flaw?Who gave it that bright crest of gold?
And to the maids of Budua townThat falcon shy did thus reply:Listen, ye maids, and know that IBelong to Mark the warrior brave,Who is as fair as he is bold.
His sisters dwell in Budua townThe first, the fairest of the two,Painted my claws a yellow hue,And gilt my wings; great Marko gaveTo me this sparkling crest of gold.
He finished, and then, as it was getting late, everyone began to wish Bellacic and Mara good-night and to go off. Several of the guests offered to see Milena home, but thedomacicainsisted that her kinswoman should remain and spend the night with her, and Milena consented full willingly, for she dreaded going back home.
When all the guests had gone, Mara took Milena in bed with her; but she, poor thing, could not find rest, for the words of the bard kept ever ringing in her ears. Then she saw again the great-coat lying on the floor, looking like a corpse; and, in the howling wind, she thought she heard a voice calling for help. Who was it? Radonic or Vranic?
It was only the wind howling outside through the trees, creeping slily along the whitewashed walls of the houses, stealthily trying to find some small cranny wherein to creep, then shrieking with a shrill cry of exultation when it had come to an open window, or when, discovering some huge keyhole, it could whistle undisturbed.
At last, just as Milena began to get drowsy, and her heavy eyelids were almost closed, she again saw thekabanica, which had—some hours ago—been lying on the floor, rise and twist itself into the most grotesque and fantastic attitudes, then—almost hidden under the hood—Vranic's face making mouths at her. She opened her eyes widely, and although consciousness had now returned, and she knew that the great-coat had been left in the other room, still she saw it plainly dancing and capering like a monkey. She shivered and shuddered; she closed her eyes not to see it; still, it became ever more distinct. Then she buried her face in the pillow, and covered up her head in the sheet; then by degrees a feeling of drowsiness came over her, and just as she was going off to sleep thekabanica, which was standing erect, fell all at once to the ground with a mighty thud that almost shook the whole house, and even seemed to precipitate her down some bottomless hole. In her terror she clutched at Mara, who was fast asleep, and woke her.
"What's the matter?" asked the elderly woman.
"I heard a loud voice; didn't you hear it?"
"No, I had just dropped off to sleep."
Thereupon both the women listened, but the house was perfectly quiet.
"What kind of a noise was it?"
"Like a man falling heavily on the ground."
"You must have been dreaming; Stoyan's words frightened you, that's all, unless the cat or the dog knocked something down. You know, at night every noise sounds strange, uncouth, whilst in the day-time we'd never notice them. Now, the best thing you can do is to try and go off to sleep."