ANDREA BEARS WITNESS
“You have told me, signor, that you know neither Jajce nor her
mountains. May it be my privilege, if you are of a mind to see the
wonders of this incomparable land, to be your companion in the venture!
And when that day shall come, let it be a day neither of dreadful
summer nor of unrelenting winter; a day when the hills are sweet with
the air of spring; when the rills run down foamed with golden light;
when the grass of the woods is carpeted with the year’s first flowers.
Then we shall see the minarets of the city rising up like silver
towers above the fresh waters of the river; then will the thunder of
her cascade make music for our ears. She will win a victory over our
affections; we shall hold her in perpetual honour.
“I am led to speak in this way since I am still mindful of my last
journey to the town of the falling rivers, and of the many troubles
that beset my path when I sought Christine in her new home. You may
ask well enough how it was that I, having, in my misconception, sent
soldiers to save her from shame, did not at once search for her in
the mountains and carry her back to Sebenico. As God is my witness,
I did this, and all else that might bring back to me the daughter I
loved. Ten days I rode in the heights, asking of all that passed by for
tidings of my child; ten days I searched the woods and the villages
between Livno and my own city. But that very secrecy which the lad Ugo
had observed stood between me and my desires. None but the shepherd
knew where Christine had slept upon the night of her marriage. Vague
rumours of a sharp pursuit in the mountains, intelligence of the fate
of Orio, divergent accounts of the capture of the deserter, of his
attack upon his commanding officer and his death--these things came
slowly to our ears in a province where gossip is high treason and the
publication of news often a felony. Indeed, I had begun to look upon
little Christine as one snatched from my love and my life, to say
that I should never hear her pretty prattle or touch her hand again,
when--and that was five months after she had left the island--the
summons from Jajce came to me, and I learnt not only of her new estate,
but of her happiness and her fortune.
“She wrote the letter with her own hand--no longer the childish scrawl
which was her gift from the priest at Zlarin, but neater characters,
telling of some education and of culture. I read there that she was not
forgetful of the old time or the old friends; but it was plain that the
fervour of childhood had left her, and that she had put on the sober
dignity of womanhood. Such love as she expressed for me was expressed
in measured terms; she spoke of her great gratitude to the Count and
of his unceasing kindness to her; she made mention of Father Mark and
of her other friends; and she concluded by exhorting me to cross the
mountains to Jajce and there to tell all I knew of her early life and
circumstances--‘for,’ she said, ‘this I owe to my benefactor, and you
alone can pay the debt.’
“I read her letter, and on the third day after, having suffered much by
the way, I was driving my sleigh over the frozen park of Count Paul’s
château. The scene was one to linger in the memory, excellency, a
scene to bear witness to the glory of God, and of nature, which is
God’s child. Peak upon peak, shining in the sun like domes of ice, rose
up above the path I followed; Jajce herself had put upon her a mantle
of snow; her frozen cascades were so many ropes of gold and of jewels;
the great lake had become a vast mirror, like a mirror of silver; the
hills themselves were full of the dismal howling of the wolves. From
such desolation it was good to pass to the warmth and the welcome of
the house of the Zaloskis; good to hear the barking of the dogs, to see
the bright flame of the fires, to feel the spreading heat of the many
stoves. But better than all was it to remember that little Christine
was then in the house, and that I was about to hear her voice again.
“They received me in the great hall, excellency, the priest coming
forward to meet me, and whispering a word in my ear before he led me
to his master. He had a kindly face, open and sincere; and ill as
Christine had liked him at the first, I make sure that she has reason
now to love him. This, indeed, his words proved, as you shall learn
subsequently.
“‘My friend,’ said he, ‘you must first drink a glass of prune brandy,
and warm yourself with the soup which Hans shall bring us. I know very
well what the cold may be on the hills. Let us thank God for these
thick walls around us.’
“He poured me a glass of the liquor, which was like fire to the
stomach; and when I had drunk it I asked for Christine.
“‘She is in the library with the Count,’ said he, and I thought with
just a little bitterness; ‘it is astonishing what service she seems to
be to him. There is nothing like a woman’s hand, Signor Andrea, and
hers is very ready. I have said from the first that she is no peasant’s
child.’
“‘You have spoken well,’ I replied; ‘she is no peasant’s child. Her
father could remember the day when he was first man in Zara; her mother
had a gift of music above the common. The vagaries of trade and the
coming of the Austrian--I speak freely, for I read your nationality in
your face--brought ruin to their house. God be praised that she has
found another home!’
“‘Amen to that,’ cried he. ‘You must forgive us if the singular nature
of her story has made us desirous to learn all that can be learnt. I
took this opportunity of speaking to you, since I would rather hear
anything that is to be told than have it come suddenly to the ears of
the Count. Christine’s influence over him is very remarkable. Heaven
forbid that I should speak against him--but he is another man since
this little guest crept into his life. You will understand that I
should not like him to hear ill of her.’
“‘Hear ill of her!’ cried I; ‘_per Baccho_, Father, I would like to
know the man that would speak it. Hear ill of her--Holy Mother, what
talk!’
“‘Then you are able to say that she is a good girl?’
“‘A good girl--_cospetto_, she is as innocent as a child at her first
Communion. What! you would condemn her for running away to the hills
with a lout who had promised to save her from a convent? That is pretty
charity, Father!’
“‘I condemn her for nothing, signor; I am only anxious to know.’
“‘Then you know now,’ said I, and I spoke with some heat; ‘you have
the word of Andrea of Sebenico.’
“‘The glory be to God,’ said he; ‘and now I will take you to her, for
she has been asking for you all day.’
“He led the way from the hall, excellency, and passed down a vaulted
corridor of stone, from the further end of which I heard the loud
tones of a man’s voice--a rich and resonant voice, which would have
held cavalry at the charge. I thought it strange that Father Mark, who
hitherto had shewn some conceit of bearing and of manner, should become
timid and reserved so soon as he heard his master speaking; but thus
it was; and when we came to the door at the end of the passage he was
humble and as fearful as a schoolboy.
“‘The Count is busy, I fear,’ said he, knocking timidly; ‘he is angry
with the Prefect, and is putting down notes of his reply. Ah! that is a
full stop; now we can go in.’
“Excellency, the full stop was a blow with the fist upon a cabinet
or a table--a blow like the fall of a hammer upon the iron. We took
advantage of its echoes to open the door, and a moment later little
Christine’s arms were about my neck. Ah! that was an hour to remember,
an hour of my life--to have the wanderer’s cheek against my own, to
hear her pretty words, to know that she could still call me Father
Andrea. Yet I forgot not in whose presence I stood, and so soon as
I had returned my child’s greetings I turned towards the Count and
saluted him with proper respect.
“‘Herr Count,’ said I, ‘this is a happy day for me,’ and with that I
continued to bow to him, until suddenly he stopped me peremptorily.
“‘Sit down, sit down, Signor Andrea,’ cried he; ‘you have been long in
the coming, but are none the less welcome for that. We will give you
a glass of hot wine, and then you shall talk to us. I’ll wager it was
cold out yonder. Christine, see that the old man is made comfortable.’
“Excellency, I was hurt that he should have spoken of me in this way,
for, poor as I am, there is old blood in my veins; yet I saw that he
meant no hurt, and that his manner was the manner of a soldier, little
given to courtesies. Nay, it was impossible not to feel respect for
one who had so many of those gifts which men value. Rough of speech,
huge of person, not wanting kindly eyes, to be reckoned handsome by
the women, oddly dressed in a dark green military tunic--you would have
marked Count Paul even in a regiment of Guards. There was a command in
the lightest word he spoke, an invitation to obedience which few dared
to resist. Yet you felt that his approval was something to be won and
kept, that a kind word from him was precious as the gifts of others.
“But while I say this of the man, it is difficult to speak of the new
Christine I found in the château of Jajce. Oh, she was changed beyond
words, signor. Five months had made a woman of her; had robbed her of
none of the graces of her childhood, yet had added other graces to
them. She was always a tall child; but she had grown since I had seen
her, and now stood up almost to the shoulder of the Count. Her new
dress, brought from Vienna; her new manner of speech, for they had
taught her much German; her pretty airs, like the airs of a little
princess, all became her exceedingly. I saw that she was worthy of the
château--was worthy of any fortune that could come to her; and this I
made bold to tell the Count when he began to question me.
“‘Herr Count,’ said I, ‘she was the best of children, and I have loved
her as one of my own.’
“‘And yet you left her four years to starve upon the island of Zlarin,’
said he, drily.
“Christine, eager to see that my wants were attended to, had run away
while he spoke thus harshly. I did not fail to observe that the Count
followed her steps with his eyes--nay, that his eyes rested upon her
alone when she was in the room.
“‘Sir,’ said I, ‘it is true that necessity carried me from my duty to
the child during the space of four years; but now that I am able, I am
willing to repay. If it is your wish, I will take her back with me on
the morrow, and will make it my charge to see that she is educated by
the Sisters as I have promised.’
“Excellency, it was a wise answer, putting off at once the burden of
his reproaches. He replied to me with your English word.
“‘_Verdammt!_’ said he, bringing his fist heavily upon the table, ‘she
shall go to no convent! You hear that, old man? Then speak no more of
it.’
“‘Herr Count,’ said I, ‘your wish is a command to me. Yet there is one
by whom it might not be so regarded. I speak of Christine’s husband,
Ugo Klun.’
“‘Her husband, Signor Andrea!’ he cried with a start of surprise. ‘But
he was shot in the mountains five months ago!’
“‘So the word goes,’ I answered; ‘but there is another story. Few know
the hills like Ugo, Herr Count.’
“It was plain that this suggestion came very ill to him. He got up from
his chair and paced the room twice before he spoke again.
“‘Pshaw!’ he exclaimed at last; ‘this is all nonsense. I have read the
corporal’s report with my own eyes. He killed the fellow himself, and
helped to bury him. Your tongue wags too fast, my friend; see that you
keep it still when the girl comes back.’
“I bowed my head, excellency, being careful to lose nothing of my
dignity before him. But when Christine came running back again, and I
observed the restlessness of his hands and the flush upon his face, the
whole of his secret was mine, and no longer was anything hid from me.
“And in my heart I said: ‘God help them both if Ugo Klun is living
still in the cave above the Verbas.’”