The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

by P. Jones

MARKO KRAGLIEVIC AND JANKO OF SEBINJE.

Two brave and bonny knights, both bosom friends,
Were Marko Kraglievic of deathless fame,
And Janko of Sebinje, fair and wise.
Both seemed to have been cast within one mould,
For no two brothers could be more alike.
One day, as they were chatting o'er their wine,
Fair Janko said unto his faithful friend:
"My wife has keener eyes than any man's,
And sharper wits besides; our sex is dull;
No man has ever played a trick on her."
Then Marko, smiling, said: "Do let me try
To match, in merry sport, my wits 'gainst hers."
"'Tis well," quoth Janko, with a winsome smile,
"But, still, beware of woman's subtle guile."
Then 'twixt the friends a wager soon was laid;
Fair Janko pledged his horse, a stallion rare,
A fleet and milk-white steed, Kula by name,
And with his horse he pledged his winsome wife;
Whilst, for his wager, Marko pawned his head.
"Now, one thing more; lend me thy clothes," said Mark,
"Thy jewelled weapons, and thy milk-white steed."
And Janko doffed, and Marko donned the clothes,
Then buckled on his friend's bright scimitar.
As soon as Janko's wife spied him from far,
She thought it was her husband, and ran out;
But then she stopped, for something in his mien,
Which her quick eye perceived, proclaimed at once
That warlike knight upon her husband's horse
To be the outward show, the glittering garb
And a fair mirage of the man she loved.
Thereon within her rooms she hied in haste,
And to her help she called her trusty maid.
"O Kumbra, sister mine," she said to her,
"I know not why, but Janko seems so wroth.
Put on my finest clothes, and hie to him."
When Marko saw the maid, he turned aside,
And wrapped himself within his wide kalpak,
Then said that he would fain be left alone.
He thought, in sooth, that she was Janko's wife.
A dainty meal was soon spread for the knight.
The lady called again her trusted maid,
And thus she spake: "My Kumbra, for this night
Sleep in my room, nay, in my very bed.
And, for the deed that I demand of thee,
This purse of gold is thine. Besides this gift,
Thou henceforth wilt be free." The maiden bowed,
And said: "My lady's wish is law for me."
Now Marko at his meal sat all alone,
When he had supped he went into the room
Where Kumbra was asleep; there he sat down,
And passed the whole long night upon a chair,
Close by the young girl's bed. He seemed to be
A father watching o'er his sickly child.
But when the gloaming shed its glimmering light,
The knight arose; he went, with stealthy steps,
And cut a lock from off the young girl's head,
Which he at once hid in his breast, with care.
Before the maiden woke he left the house,
And rode full-speed back to his bosom friend.
Still, ere he had alighted from his horse:
"You've lost!" said Janko, with his winsome smile.
"I've won!" quoth Marko, with a modest grace;
"Here is the token that I've won my bet."
And Janko took the golden curl, amazed.
Just then a page, who rode his horse full-speed,
Came panting up, and, on his bended knee,
He handed to his lord a parchment scroll.
The letter thus began: "O husband mine,
Why sendest thou such pert and graceless knights,
That take thy manor for a roadside inn,
And in the dead of night clip Kumbra's locks?"
Thereon, in sprightly style, the wife then wrote
All that had taken place the day before.
And Janko, as he read, began to laugh.
Then, turning to his friend: "Sir Knight," quoth he,
"Have henceforth greater care of thine own head,
Which now, by right and law, belongs to me.
Beware of woman, for the wisest man
Has not the keenness of a maiden's eye.
Come, now, I pledge thy health in foaming wine,
For this, indeed, hath been a merry joke."

The greater part of the night was passed in drinking and in listening to the bard's songs. Little by little sleepiness and the fumes of the wine overpowered each single man, so that in the small hours almost all the guests were stretched on the mats that strewed the floor, fast asleep.

On the morrow the twenty-four men of the jury went, all in a body, to Vranic's house. They sat down in state and listened to the tale of the brothers' grievances, whilst they sipped very inferior slivovitz and gravely smoked their long pipes. When the tailor ended the oft-repeated story of his grief and grievances, then they went back to Bellacic's house, where they gave ear to all the extenuating circumstances which Radonic brought forward to exculpate himself. After the culprit had finished, the twenty-four men sat down in council, and discussed again the matter which had been settled the evening before.

A slight, but choice, repast was served to them; and Radonic took care that no fault could be found with the wine, for he feared that they might, in their soberer senses, change their mind and reverse their opinion.

The dinner had been cooked to perfection, the wine was of the best, the arguments Radonic had brought forward to clear himself were convincing—even the four that had been wavering the evening before were quite for him now. The majority of these men were married, and jealous of their honour; the others were going to marry, and were even more jealous than the married men. If Radonic could not be absolved entirely, still he could hardly be condemned.

Thus the day passed in much useless talking and discussing, and night came on. At sundown the guests began to pour in, and soon the house was crowded. A deputation was then sent to the Vranic family to beg them to come to the feast. The tailor at first demurred; but being pressed he yielded, and came with his brother.

The evening began with the Karva-Kolo, or the blood-dance. It is very like the usual Kolo, only the music, especially in the beginning, is a kind of funeral march, or a dirge; soon the movement gets brisker, until it changes into the usual Kolo strain. The orchestra that evening was a choice one; it consisted of two guzlas, a dipla or bag-pipe, and a sfiraliza or Pan's seven-reeded flute. Later on there was even a triangle, which kept admirable time.

A couple of dancers began, another joined in, and so on, until the circle widened, and then all the people who were too lazy to dance had either to leave the room or stand close against the wall, so as not to be in the way. Just when the dance had reached its height, and the men were twirling the girls about as in the mazy evolutions of the cotillon, Radonic, who had kept aloof, burst into the room. A moment of confusion ensued, the dancers stopped, the middle of the room was cleared, the music played again a low dirge. The guilty man stood alone, abashed; around his neck, tied to a string, he wore the dagger with which he might have stabbed Vranic had he not throttled him.

As soon as he appeared two of the twenty-four arbitrators, who had been on the look-out for him, rushed and seized him. Then, feigning a great wrath, they dragged him towards Vranic, as if they had just captured him and brought him to be tried.

"Drag that murderer away, cast him out of the house; or, rather, leave him to me. Let me kill him."

"Forgive me," exclaimed Radonic.

"Down upon him!" cried Vranic.

The arbitrators thereupon made the culprit bow down so low that his head nearly touched the floor; then all the assembly uttered a deep sigh, or rather, a wail, craving—in the name of the Almighty and of good St. John—forgiveness for the guilty man.

"Forgiveness," echoed Radonic, for the third time.

The dancers, who had again begun to walk in rhythmic step around the room, forming a kind of chassez-croisez, stopped, and the music died away in a low moan.

There was a moment of eager theatrical expectation. The murdered man's brother seemed undecided as to what he had to do; at last, after an inward struggle, he yielded to his better feelings, and going up to Radonic, he took him by the hand, lifted him up and kissed him on his forehead.

A sound of satisfaction, like a sigh of relief, passed through the assembly; but then Vranic said, in a voice which he tried to render sweet and soft:

"Listen, all of you. This man, who has hitherto been my bitterest enemy, has now become my friend; nay, more than my friend, my very brother, and not to me alone, but to all who were related to my beloved brother. All shall forego every wish or idea of revenge, now and hereafter."

Thereupon, taking a very small silver coin, he cut it in two, gave Radonic half, and kept the other for himself, as a pledge of the friendship he had just sworn.

When peace had been restored, and everybody had drunk to Radonic's and Vranic's health, then the Starescina, or the oldest arbitrator, whose judgment was paramount, stood up and made a speech, in which he uttered the decision of the jury and the sentence of the karvarina, that is to say, that, taking into consideration all the extenuating circumstances under which the murder had been committed, Radonic was to pay to Vranic the sum of a silver Maria Theresa dollar, the usual price of a goat.

"What!" cried the tailor, in a fit of unsuppressed rage; "do you mean to say that my brother's life was only worth that of a goat?"

A slight, subdued tittering was heard amongst the crowd; for, indeed, it was almost ludicrous to see the little man, pale, trembling and almost green with rage.

"No," quoth the umpire, gravely; "I never said that your brother's life was worth that of a whole herd or of a single goat; the price that we, arbitrators named by you, have condemned Radonic to pay is a silver dollar. Put yourself in the murderer's place, and tell us what you would have done."

Vranic shrugged his shoulders scornfully.

"We do not appeal to you alone, but to any man of honour, to any Iugo Slav, to any husband of the Kotar. What would he have done to a man who, pretending to be his friend, came by stealth, in the middle of the night, into his home to——"

"Then," cried Vranic, in that shrill, womanish voice peculiar to all his family, "it is not my brother that ought to have been killed. Was he to blame if he was enticed——"

"What do you mean?" cried Radonic, clasping the haft of the dagger, which he ought to have given up to Vranic.

"Silence!" said the umpire: "you forget that you have promised to love——"

"If you intend to speak of Milena," said Bellacic, interrupting the judge, "you must remember that the evening upon which your brother was killed she was spending the evening——"

"At your house? No!" said Vranic, with a scornful laugh, shrugging his shoulders again.

"Come, come," said one of the jury; "let's settle the karvarina."

"Besides," added another arbitrator, ingenuously, "Radonic has been put to the expense of more than fifty goats. Until now, no man has ever——"

"Oh, I see!" interrupted the tailor, with a withering sneer; "he has bribed the few friends my poor brother had, so now even those have turned against him."

Oaths, curses, threats were uttered by the twenty-four men, and the younger and more hasty ones instinctively sought the handles of their daggers.

"Gentlemen," said Bellacic, "supper is ready; the two men have sworn to be friends——"

"I've sworn nothing at all," muttered the tailor, between his teeth.

"Let us sit down," continued the master of the house, "and try to forget our present quarrels; we'll surely come to a better understanding when cakes flowing with honey and sweet wine are brought on the table."

They now carried in for the feast several low, stool-like tables, serving both as boards and dishes. On each one there was a whole roasted lamb, resting on a bed of rice. Every guest took out his dagger and carved for himself the piece he liked best or the one he could easiest reach, and which he gnawed, holding the bone as a handle, if there was one, or using the flat, pancake-like bread—the chupatti of the Indians, the flap-jacks of the Turks—as plates. Soon the wooden bukaras were handed around, and then all ill-humour was drowned in the heady wine of the rich Dalmatian soil. After the lambs and rice, big sirloins of beef and huge tunny-fish followed in succession, then game, and lastly, pastry and fruit.

After more than two hours of eating and drinking, with interludes of singing and shouting, the meal at last came to an end. The gentlemen of the jury, whose brains had been more or less muddled from the day before, were now, almost without any exception, quite drunk. As for the guests, some were jovial and boisterous, others tender and sentimental. Radonic's face was saturnine; Markovic, who was always loquacious, and who spoke in Italian when drunk, was making a long speech that had never had a beginning and did not seem to come to an end; and the worst of it was that, during the whole time, he clasped tightly one of the bukaras, and would not relinquish his hold of it.

As for Vranic and his younger brother, they had both sunk down on the floor sulky and silent. The more they ate and drank, the more weazened and wretched they looked, and the expression of malice on their angry faces deepened their wrinkles into a fiendish scowl.

"I think," said the elder brother, "it is time all this was over, and that we should be going."

"Going?" exclaimed all the guests who heard it. "And where do you want to go?"

"Oh, if he isn't comfortable, let him go!" said one of the arbitrators. "I'm sure I don't want to detain him; his face isn't so pleasant to look at that we should beg him to stay—no, nor his company either."

"Oh, I daresay you would like to get rid of me, all of you!"

"Well, then, shall we wind up this business?" said the judge of the karvarina, putting his hand on Radonic's shoulder.

"I am quite ready," said he.

Thereupon he drew forth his leather purse and took out several Maria
Theresa dollars.

"Shall we make it five instead of one?" he asked, spreading out the new and shining coins on his broad palm. "Now, tell me, tailor, if I am niggardly with my money?" he added, handing the sum to Vranic.

The tailor seized the dollars and clenched his fist; then, with a scowl:

"I don't want any of your charity," he hissed out in a shrill treble. "Five are almost worth six goats, and my brother is worth but one. Here, take your money back; distribute it among the arbitrators, to whom you have been so generous. No, heyduk, you are not niggardly; but, then, what are a few dollars to you? a shot of your gun and your purse is full. Thanks all the same, I only want my due. No robber's charity for me." And with these words he flung the five dollars in Radonic's face.

The sharp edge of one of the coins struck Radonic on the corner of the eye, just under the brow, and the blood trickled down. All his drunkenness vanished, his gloomy look took a fierce expression, and with a bound he was about to seize his antagonist by the throat and strangle him as he had done his brother; but Vranic, who was on his guard, lifted up the knife he had received from the murderer a few hours before, and quick as lightning struck him a blow on his breast.

"This is my karvarina," said he; "tooth for tooth, eye for eye, blood for blood."

The blow had been aimed at Radonic's heart, but he parried it and received a deep gash in the fore-part of his arm.

A scuffle at once ensued; some of the less drunken men threw themselves on Vranic, others on Radonic.

"Sneak, traitor, coward!" shouted the chief arbitrator, striking Vranic in the face and almost knocking him down; "how dare you do such a thing after having begged us to settle the karvarina for you?"

"And you've settled it nicely, indeed; gorged with his meat, drunk with his wine, and your purses filled with his money."

"Liar!" shouted the men of the jury.

"Out of my house, you scorpion, and never cross its threshold again."

"I go, and I'm only too glad to be rid of you all;—but as for you," said Vranic to Bellacic, "had it not been for you, all this would not have happened."

"What have I to do with it?"

"Did you not come to beg me to make it up? But I suppose you were anxious to have the whole affair hushed up as quickly as possible."

"Fool!" answered Bellacic.

"Oh, Milena is not always at your house for nothing!"

"What did he say?" asked Radonic, trying to break away from the hands of the men who were holding him, and from Mara Bellacic, who was bandaging up his wound.

"What do you care what he said?" replied Bellacic; "his slander only falls back upon himself, just as if he were spitting in the wind; it can harm neither you nor Milena."

"Oh, we shall meet again!" cried Radonic.

"We shall certainly meet, if ever you escape the Turkish gallows, or the Austrian prisons."

And as he uttered these last words, he disappeared in the darkness of the road.