NAJA

For some time I had known that my companion Pero was unhappy. He was

silent and self contained, but whenever I was with him for any length of

time I felt that something weighed heavily upon his soul.

One evening we were walking by the bank of the Danube, in the

neighborhood of D----. It was a warm night of summer. Friendly little

stars mirrored themselves in the water, when the thin clouds slipped off

them. From the village the wind brought the sound of violins, and from

the thickets called nightingales. Below rushed the river, and from a

black, unsightly mass some distance away, came the ponderous rolling of

a mill-wheel. Then from the mill or from a boat, rose the voice of a

girl in song. Pero started nervously and then paused:

“That’s _her_ song!” He stood in silence until the song died away upon

the darkness. Then he told me his story. Here are the words:

* * * * *

“When I think of her I am overwhelmed with grief and longing. I saw her

first in the forest. I was hunting quail, but the heat was so great I

was forced to seek shelter of the trees. She stood near with her herd,

stitching busily on a bright colored apron. I paused to look at her. I

had never seen such a beauty before. It was not easy to find words to

address her. At last I asked her, I think, the way to the village. She

did not answer at once. She seemed more engrossed in her sewing and she

did not even look at me. I repeated the question, whereupon she replied

in an unfriendly manner, and more with her hand than with words.

“Fearful heat!” I exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from my forehead. I

took the gun from my shoulder and seated myself upon a tree stump.

The girl acted as if I were not there.

“Who are you, child?”

She did not answer. She moved on a little way as if she were about to

follow the herd.

“Can’t you open your mouth?” I began roughly, like a peasant. “Why

don’t you tell me your name?”

“What business is that of yours? I’m from that village--_there_--” she

said, as in the act of going away. She stopped sewing and called the

herd together which had scattered.

“What business is that of mine? Among Christian people it is customary

to tell your name when it is asked. Are you Tejka or Miljenka or

Mara--?”

“No; I am the Naja of Toscha Nedeljković.”

Then she became very red and ran away.

The devil take the hunt!--I thought, and turned and followed the girl.

After that I was in the forest every day with Naja. At first she was

shy, and would not come near. Sometimes she was ugly tempered if I

approached her as a peasant would. By degrees she became accustomed to

me and confiding, and said that I was not just like the other gentlemen.

She chattered about her household duties, the gossip of the village. She

declared the village boys were angry because she worked no more in the

spinning room, and did not join in the _Kolo_ dance.

“And why don’t you?”

“How do I know? I don’t want to. Do you know what village people say?

They say that in the spinning room many things are spun besides yarn.

They say, too, that the girl who laughs in the spring, weeps in the

fall. But I jest and laugh. But my father says a peasant has no reason

to laugh. I suppose he means because of the land-measuring.”

“You mean the commensuration?”

“Something like that.”

“What business is that of yours, Naja? That’s an affair of men--not

women.

“True. But I can talk of it with you, if I don’t with others. I have

heard--everyone says so in the village--that our _pope_ has plotted with

the _indznir_[6] to give the old graveyard to the rich estate

owners--and to give the peasants a new one somewhere in the forest.”

“Well! That does not concern you, does it?”

“Why doesn’t it? My ancestors, my grandfather and my great grandfather

are there. That graveyard has belonged to our race ever since we came

from Bosnia, and now the land-owners want to drive their cattle over it

and give us a graveyard in the forest where the wolves are, and the

foxes.”

I looked at her in astonishment. She had become pale and she looked at

me with eyes that reminded me of the Montenegrin maiden in Čermak’s

painting of the “Death of the Voyevode.”

My love affair with her was not really much more important than this.

That is the reason I did not know what a deep place she had made in my

heart. I did not find out until it was too late.

Before daybreak I left the house to go hunting. When I reached the

village all was quiet. The road led past the farm of Nedeljković. In the

plum garden by the brook, I saw Naja. She had just washed her face and

was in the act of combing her hair. She looked enchantingly young and

pretty. Her long black hair hung unbound, and through her little shirt

which was open, I saw her breasts. At this sight I could not restrain

myself, but rushed up to her, flung my arms about her and kissed her.

With a loud cry she freed herself from my arms. At first she had not

been angry because she thought it was just one of the peasant boys, but

when she turned and saw me, she was confused and tried to cover her

breasts with her bare arms. Now I was sorry for what I had done.

“Dear, beautiful Naja!” I exclaimed.

“If I were dear to you, you wouldn’t have done that!” was the reply,

moving away out of reach. I stood and stared at her not realizing that a

peasant could have fine feelings. I had injured her. I had tried to play

with her like a peasant boy.

She walked across the garden, sat down by a bed of pinks and wept. For

shame I did not dare approach her. After a while she glanced over at the

place where I was standing, and I thought her face brightened, that a

little beam of joy stole out of her reddened eyes. In the meantime the

sun had risen above the horizon, and a rosy brightness fluttered over

the plum trees and the thin grass stalks. Upon a sudden the garden burst

into a glory of rose color and white, and only across the distant valley

still hung the violet tints of night. Everything else smiled under the

light of the new day. Above me in a plum tree, a little bird sang as if

its throat would burst. I breathed deeply, my soul expanded and I did

not try to know if the new light upon her face was merely that of the

rising day. “Naja! Naja!” I exclaimed triumphantly, and started toward

her. Just then some one called me. I heard loud, merry laughter. I

turned and saw my friend Geza, the land-owner, behind me. He was a

hunter, too, and fond of playing pranks. I was ashamed and wondered if

he had heard my shout of triumph. I breathed easier when I learned from

his conversation that he thought it was just an ordinary love affair. I

went with him, and I did not dare look back toward Naja.

Later that day I did not meet her, nor the next nor the next. On the

fourth day I was summoned to a distant place. There I remained four

months and probably I should have stayed longer, had I not been summoned

to the district court.

Twelve hours later I learned how important the affair was. In Naja’s

village the peasants had risen in revolt against the land allotment. The

plowmen of the landed proprietors who tried to plow the fields which had

belonged to the peasants were knocked down and beaten. The peasants took

the village elders, the mayor and the _pope_, and shut them up in a

guard house. Military aid was summoned, and I was detailed to head it.

Unfortunately I had the reputation of being an energetic man. I do not

know that I was really energetic, but the fact remained that I had

succeeded in putting down the most stubborn uprisings, not only among

the peaceful, indolent Slavonian people, but among those Croatians in

whom there is some of the blood of the peasant, King Gubec, who led the

peasant revolution of 1573. I had always considered it my first duty to

serve the government. O, greatly regretted folly! Such follies clothe

themselves in all sorts of high sounding names. But in the end, like

truth, they must stand naked. I was fully under the sway of this belief

then, and supposed I was reaching heights of power, when I showed no

indulgence to the rebellious people.

This time I did not worry at all as to whether I should be able to put

things in order. I considered the report exaggerated, and thought calmly

of the day when, with a battalion of soldiers, I should enter the

village. In addition I was thinking happily that I should see Naja

again. I had forgotten all about the talk with her about the land

allotment. I did not for a moment connect the revolt in any way with

Naja, although I was told that, during my absence, a peasant girl had

come a number of times to inquire about me.

“Wasn’t it Naja?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I tell you she was a beauty. You probably know well

enough who she was, young man,” declared my old landlady with a sly

laugh.

“Shut up!” I replied. I wanted to shake off her inquisitiveness.

“Why did you not tell her where I was?”

“Why should I? You were too far away. And then I thought perhaps it

would make you angry. God knows how peasant girls carry on these days.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense!” I interrupted. I hastened out to buy Naja a

silk handkerchief and some fine knitting yarn. I was impatient to see

her again. During the ride to the village I thought a good deal more

about her than about putting down the revolt.

I found out, however, that reports of the revolt had not been

exaggerated. I came, indeed, just in time to rescue the _pope_ and the

village elders. The guard-house had already been set on fire at one

corner. But we had a comparatively easy time in the village. In some of

the open fields it was not much harder. The few peasants threw

themselves flat upon the ground to prevent the plowing. They complained

that the rich men had bought up the courts and the elders. But when the

soldiers with bayonettes drew near, and pressed a few of them to the

wall the crowd ran away. It was harder work in the forest and the

pastures. Here weapons had to be used. But the great centre of

opposition was the graveyard. There almost the entire village was

assembled. Young and old men, women and children. They were each

provided with some sort of weapon even if it were only a stick.

A few had guns, scythes and hoes. A ragged lubber pounded upon a drum as

if he were “possessed.” Before we reached there it was a sight to see;

they were laughing, yodeling, cursing and cracking jokes.

They are noisy! A good sign. A barking dog does not bite. When we came

in sight there was a silence. There was something awe inspiring in the

gleam of bayonettes, something disagreeable, like the writhing of a

serpent, and the effect was not lost upon the people. Fright disabled

them for a moment. I made use of this opportunity to tell them to go

back to their homes. But--either I spoke in a different manner than

usual--or my voice did not have the usual firmness, the effect failed. A

deafening cry followed my words.

“We will not yield! The _pope_ and the elders sold us! They took the

best fields themselves and then went over to the proprietors. What shall

we do when they rob us of everything? And now the hungry wolves haven’t

enough; they want to take away the graveyard where our fathers, and our

fathers’ fathers have slept for ages--since we came from Herzgovina two

hundred years ago.”

Then I recalled Naja’s words and trembled. I darted forward with no

other object in view than to see if she was there. I took a breath of

relief when I did not see her. What would she think of me if she saw me

here? Would she not hate me. To the devil with the whole affair!

The anger of the peasants increased. The more I delayed the more angry

they became. To an angry man or a wild animal one must never show lack

of determination. It will be mistaken for weakness. The peasants were

making bold to attack the soldiers. The captain turned to me to give an

order. At length the uproar increased until I did not know what to do.

At length, with an effort, I made myself calm. I gave command to attack.

The peasants received the soldiers with rocks and shots. Blood shedding

could not be avoided. In spite of that knowledge I told the soldiers to

fire into the air. The peasants guessed this and did not move.

“You don’t dare to shoot. We belong to the emperor. The emperor is our

father. He will not let you shoot down his people. Have no fear!”

That was my answer. The crowd began to hoot at the soldiers. A fight

developed in which four soldiers and fifteen peasants fell. The crowd

fled and we held the graveyard.

Suddenly upon a hilltop a woman appeared. She implored the crowd to turn

back, not to fear nor to run away.

“Cowards! At a shot you run like rabbits. If there is a man here let him

come to me! What do you think will become of you if you desert the

graves of your fathers? Here! here! Now if you are such heroes fire at

my breast!”

I recognized the voice of Naja, as she threw open the embroidered shirt,

and uncovered a breast as white as the snow. It took me a few seconds to

comprehend the sad situation. Blood pounded in my ears. My mind was

dulled. A command of the captain aroused me. I saw him lying on the

ground bleeding. Then I do not know exactly what happened, whether or

not I gave an order--I only remember this picture--Naja, her white

breast spotted with blood. Then I saw her fall.

What happened afterward I did not care. I ran to her. She knew me. She

could not speak, but I threw myself down upon the grass beside her. I

covered the wound with a cloth, then I bore her to the village, out of

the noise. I had scarcely placed her on her bed when she died.

When I tore myself free a moment from the grief that overpowered me and

got up, her wide, dead eyes were looking straight at me.

With her all my joy died, too. Could a man do worse than I did? And why

was I her murderer? For the pleasure of them who are not well disposed

toward the peasants. Remember: “The voice of the people is the voice of

God!”

Pero had finished. We had reached his dwelling in the meantime. His thin

features were white; upon them I read the greatness of his sorrow.

When two years later I read that he had been killed in the battle of

Zajcar, I thanked God. But whenever I think of Naja, the peasant girl,

hope brightens my heart. A nation that has daughters like her--such a

nation need have no fear of the future.