THE WORD IS SPOKEN
“It was late in the afternoon, excellency, when the boatman put me
ashore among my own people. I had learnt from him in crossing that Ugo
Klun and Christine had sailed from the island at dawn; and when I stood
upon the quay a friend of mine confirmed the tale.
“‘The son of the woodlander--have you not heard? He came here at noon
with a wench from Zlarin, and has set off with her to the hills. She
called him husband--_olà_, he has a good wit, has Ugo, the rogue!’
“Thus he spoke--one who knew the man and had seen him that day in the
streets of Sebenico. It was a poor story, he being able to tell me no
more than this simple fact, that the two had come and gone, and that
the woman had called the man husband. And this it was that troubled
me. For if she had really stood before the altar with Ugo--then was my
work at an end, and nothing remained but to turn my steps northward
and go to my business. Yet, think as I would, I could see no means by
which this lawful consummation had come about. That the two were not
married upon the island of Zlarin I knew well. How, then, I asked,
should she call him husband rightly so soon as the ship which carried
her from Zlarin touched the quay at Sebenico? The more I thought upon
it, the more convinced I was that he had tricked her with some promise,
saying: ‘Come with me and I will shew thee this and that, and you
shall be my wife when we are in the city.’ Nay, so sure was I of this
that I went at once to the Place du Dôme, and there inquired of the
priests if any marriage had been celebrated that day, either there or
in the neighbouring churches. They were ready enough to make inquiry
for me; and presently were able to tell that no priest in Sebenico had
celebrated the Sacrament of marriage for three days. I had looked for
no other answer, yet I went from the church with pity at my heart. A
great gulf seemed to have opened between the child and myself. I could
think of her as child no more--and yet must think of the woman and of
the path she had chosen.
“Signor, there was pity at my heart for a truth, and yet more than
pity. I have told you that I had left Zlarin firm in my purpose to
follow the affair to the end, and, if need be, to let the law do for me
that which I could not do for myself. This purpose was not changed but
strengthened by my visit to the cathedral. What counsel of charity or
of kindness, I asked myself, should stay my hand? I was an old man and
could not hunt in the mountains for her I called my child, as a younger
might have done. Had I started upon such an errand, the very stones
would have called out upon me for a fool. Yet I knew that I had but to
whisper a word in the ear of the police-inspector in Sebenico to trap
my man as surely as though a prison then held him. Long I hesitated,
standing in the busy street, and thinking again upon all that might be,
saying what I could for the motives of the one and the surrender of the
other. For I knew that once the word was spoken, that once the police
knew that Ugo Klun, the son of the woodlander, had been drawn for the
army at Jajce and had fled from the service, no afterthought could save
him. There was no retreat from a step like that. Either I let the man
and woman go, or I separated them for ever. Excellency, do you wonder
that my will faltered, and that the word came slowly to my lips?
“It came slowly--aye, an hour passed and found me still walking in the
Place du Dôme. Perchance I had never spoken, and had returned to Pola,
if a sudden memory of my talk with little Christine had not recurred to
me at the very moment when I was telling myself that she was no longer
a child and must take upon her own shoulders the burden she had sought.
I remembered then that she had confessed rather to aversion than to
love; had told me of her dread of the man’s touch, of her fear when
he held her in his embrace. ‘She has gone with him,’ I said, ‘in the
hope that he will carry her to those cities she has seen in her dreams.
Love is no part of the bargain. He or any other, what matter so long
as she is taken from the savage life she lives to that current of the
greater life which is her ambition. It may be that she knows nothing
of that which awaits her; that in her childish fancy she sees herself
running through the world hand in hand with this friend she has found,
maintaining to old age the simple affections of her island home. What
the awakening will bring, God alone can tell. It may be that he will
leave her; and that she, cut adrift in a land where woman is reckoned a
little lower than the animals, will become the victim of those who know
neither fear nor pity.’
“In the island it was different, excellency. We remain children of
Italy, faithful sons of the Church; the old spirit of our past still
breathes upon us the breath of freedom and of faith. But cross the
mountains and all is changed. It is to pass from the West to the East;
to leave a land where woman is the creature of reason and of affection
for one where she is but a beast of burden and the slave of passion.
To such a land the man was now leading the child. I knew that her
exceeding beauty was the most dangerous weapon she could carry for the
journey, I foresaw the day when she would be alone--excellency, I spoke
the word.
“The sun was setting over the gulf; a great arc of golden light
fell upon the distant islands when at last I brought myself to this
resolution.
“‘Better,’ I said, ‘that she should awake from her dream this very
night than that the morrow should tell her what bargain she has made.’
Perhaps it was that my own abiding love for her helped me in some
measure to the action. I whispered to myself that so soon as the man
was in prison at the fort I would take her to Pola with me. She would
be my daughter in fact if not in name. I would spend money to give her
education; and those wonderful gifts of hers should make her famous
among the musicians of Italy. As for the woodlander, she would forget
him in a month. She would even laugh at herself for this day’s work,
and thank me for my share in it. The man would serve his years in the
_landwehr_, and those days he must spend in a cell would help to make
a good soldier of him. They would catch him in a few hours, for he had
left the town in a rumbling waggon, and that would be no match for the
troopers at the fort sent out to the pursuit of a deserter.
“This I said to myself going up the hill to the office of the police.
Once I had bent my mind to the resolution, I hesitated no longer. A few
words to a sergeant at the bureau--and my purpose was fulfilled. He
took down my story, noting that Ugo Klun, the son of the woodlander
at Jajce, had been drawn for service with the hussars, but had fled to
the hills; that he was seen in Sebenico at noon that day, and was then
supposed to be upon the road to Verlika.
“‘You have done well,’ said he; ‘there is too much of this sort of
thing, and we are in trouble at Vienna about it already. We shall catch
your man before midnight; and that will be something. You must drink a
glass of wine with me, my friend.’
“I declined his offer, pleading that I had been long away from home and
must see to my own affairs before the dark fell. But I had not taken
many steps from his office when a man, who had there listened to our
talk, pulled at the sleeve of my coat and spoke a word to me.
“‘_Accidente_, old Andrea,’ cried he, ‘but you are no friend to the
lovers!’
“‘How--what mean you?’ said I, drawing back from him.
“‘To put fetters upon a man’s legs when he is away with his bride. _Per
Baccho_, that is cunning work!’
“My heart was chilled at his words, and my lips trembled when I said:
“‘She is no bride of his.’
“‘No bride of his?--then the devil must have divorced them. She was
married before my eyes this very morning. I had business last night at
Incoronata, and she came there at Mass to-day. The priest married them
before I sailed. _Santa Maria_, but you have laid his sheets well, old
Andrea!’
“I turned from him impatiently, and went in silence and in gloom to my
house. That Christine had chosen to cross not to the city, but to a
neighbouring island, and there to receive the Sacrament of marriage,
was a thing I had never looked to hear.
“‘Now God forgive me,’ said I, ‘for those whom He has joined together I
have this night put asunder.’”