STARIGRAD
The caique reached Trieste in time to meet the _Spera in Dio_, which,
having discharged her goods, had taken a cargo of timber for Lissa.
At Trieste, the _pobratim_ bade good-bye to Captain Panajotti; and
he, having found there two of his countrymen, was able to set sail
for the Levant. From Lissa the _Spera in Dio_ returned to Trieste,
and there her cargo of sardines was disposed of to great advantage.
The young men had been sailing now six months with the captain, and
he, seeing that they were not only good pilots, clever sailors,
reliable young men, but sharp in business to boot, agreed to let them
have the whole management of the ship, for he was obliged to go to
Fiume, and take charge of another brig of his, that had lost her
captain. Moreover, being well off, and having re-married, he was now
going to take his young wife on a cruise with him.
"And who was the captain of your brig in Fiume?"
"One of my late wife's brothers, and as he seems to have disapproved
of my second marriage, he has discarded my ship."
"And is he married?"
"Of course, he is; did you ever know any unmarried captain? Land rats
always seem to look upon marriage as a halter, whilst we sailors get
spliced as young as possible. Perhaps it's because we are so little
with our better halves that we are happy in married life."
"And when you give up the sea will you settle down in Fiume?"
"I suppose so, though Fiume is not my birth-place."
"Isn't it? Where were you born, then?"
"Where the dog-king was born!"
"And where was the dog-king born? For, never having heard of him
before, I am now quite as wise as I was," said Uros.
"Well, they say that Atilla, who was a very great king, was born at
Starigrad, the old castle, which, as you know, is not very far from
Nona. Starigrad is said to have been built on the ruins of a very old
city, which was once called Orsopola, but which now hardly deserves
the name of a town. The village where I was born goes by the name of
Torre-Vezza, but we in Slav know it as Kulina-pass-glav."
"What a peculiar name, The Tower of the Dog's Head," added Milenko.
"Yes, it is also called The Tower of the Dog-King
Kulina-pass-kraljev."
"And why?" asked Uros.
"Because it was the tower where Atilla was born, and as the king
happened to have a dog's ears, the place was called after him The
Tower of the Dog-King."
"How very strange that a king should have a dog's ears."
"Not so very strange either. Once, in olden times, a king actually
had ass's ears; but that was long before constitutional monarchy: I
doubt whether people would stand such things nowadays. Some
historians say that he had a dog's head, but that, I daresay, is an
exaggeration; and perhaps, after all, he had only big hairy ears,
something like those of a poodle. Anyhow, if the legend is to be
believed, it does not seem wonderful that Atilla was somewhat of a
mongrel and doggish in his behaviour."
"Let's hear the legend," said Uros.
Thereupon, the captain and his two mates, lying flat on their
stomachs, propped themselves up on their elbows, and began to puff at
their cigarettes. Then the captain narrated as follows:
About four hundred years after the birth of our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ, there lived in Hungary a King who was exceedingly
handsome. The Hungarians are, as you must know, a very fine race; but
this monarch was so remarkably good-looking, that no woman ever cast
her eyes upon him without falling in love with him at once. This King
had a daughter who was as beautiful a girl as he was handsome a man,
and all the kings and princes were anxious to marry her. She had a
great choice of suitors, for they flocked to Hungary from the four
quarters of the globe. She, however, discarded them all, for she
could not find the man of her choice amongst them. Some were too
fair, others a shade too dark; the one was too short, the other was
tall and lanky. In fact, one batch of kings went off and another
came, but with no better success; fair-bearded and blue-eyed
emperors were the same to her as negro potentates, she hardly looked
upon either.
The King at first was vexed to find his daughter so hard to please,
then he grew angry at seeing her throw away so many good chances, and
at last he decided that she was to marry the very first man that
should come to ask for her hand, fair or dark, yellow or
copper-coloured.
The suitor who happened to present himself was a powerful chief of
some nomadic tribe. He was not exactly a handsome man, for he was
shock-headed, short and squat, with sturdy, muscular limbs, big,
broad hands and square feet. As for his face, it was quite flat, with
a pug nose, thick lips and sharp teeth. As for his ears, they were
canine in their shape, large and hairy.
Though he was not exactly a monster, still the girl refused him,
horrified. The man, gloating upon her, said, with a leer, that a time
might come when she would lick her chops to have him. Nay, he grinned
and showed his dog-like teeth as he uttered this very low expression,
rendering it ever so much the more obnoxious by emitting a low canine
laugh, something between a whine and a merry bark. The poor Princess
shuddered with horror and said she would as lief be wedded to one of
her father's curs.
The father now got into a towering passion and asked the Princess why
she would not marry, and the damsel, melting into tears, and almost
fainting with grief and shame, confessed that she was in love with
him--her own father.
Fancy the King's dismay!
He had been bored the whole of his life by all the women, not only of
his Court, but of his whole kingdom, who were madly in love with him.
Wherever he went there was always a crowd of young girls and old
dames, married women and widows, gazing at him as if he had been the
moon; grey eyes and green eyes, black eyes and blue eyes, were always
staring, ogling or leering at him; and, amidst deep-drawn sighs, he
always heard the same words: "Ah! how handsome he is!" His fatal
beauty made more ravages amongst the fair sex even than the plague or
the small-pox; the cemeteries and lunatic asylums were peopled with
his victims. His dreams were haunted by the sighs and cries of these
love-sick females. At last he had decided to live in a remote castle,
in the midst of a forest, where he would see and be seen by as few
women as possible; but even here he could not find rest, his own
daughter had not escaped the infection. That was too much for the poor
King. He at once banished the Princess, not only from his sight--from
his castle--but even from his kingdom. He wished thereby to strike
the rest of womankind with terror.
The poor girl, like Cain, wandered alone upon the surface of the
earth; bearing her father's curse, she was shunned by everyone who
met her; for the Hungarians have ever been loyal to their kings.
She was, however, not quite alone; for as she left the royal palace
she was met on her way by an ugly-looking cur, with a shaggy head, a
short and squat body, sturdy muscular legs, big paws, a pug nose,
sharp white teeth, and huge flapping ears. He was not exactly a fine
dog, but he seemed good-natured enough; and as he followed her steps,
he looked at her piteously with his little eyes.
She walked about for three days; then, sick at heart, weary and
faint, she sank down, ready to die. She was on a lonely highway, with
moors all covered with heather on either side; so that she could see
nothing but the limitless plain stretching far away in the distance
as far as the eye could reach. In that immense waste, with the bright
blue sky overhead, and the brown-reddish heath all around, where not
a tree, not a shrub, not a rock was to be seen, she walked on and on;
but she always seemed to be in the very centre of an unending circle.
Then a feeling of terror came over her; the utter loneliness in which
she found herself overpowered her. And now the mongrel cur, which had
remained behind, came running after her, the poor beast, which at
first she had hardly noticed, comforted her; he was now far more than
a companion or a protector, he was her only friend.
She sank down by the wayside, to pat the faithful dog and to rest a
while; but when she tried to rise, her legs were so stiff that they
refused to carry her. However, the sun, that never tarries, went on
and left her far behind. She saw his fiery disc sink like a glowing
ball far behind the verge of the moor; then darkness, little by
little, spread itself over the earth. Night being more oppressive
than daylight, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks; then she
lay down on the grass, and began to sob bitterly and to bewail and
moan over her ill-timed fate. She was again comforted; for the ugly
cur came to sniff at her, to rub his nose against her cheeks, and
lick her hands, as if to soothe and assuage her sorrow.
Tired as she was her heavy eyelids drooped, shut themselves, and soon
she sank into a deep sleep.
That night she had a most wonderful vision. Soon she felt her body
beginning to get drowsy and the pain in her weary head to pass away;
then consciousness gradually vanished. Then it seemed that she saw
two genii of gigantic stature appear in front of her; the mightiest
of the two bent down, caught her up as if she had been a tiny baby
only a few months old, clasped her to his breast, then spread out his
huge bat-like wings and flew away with her up into the air. It was
pleasant to nestle in his brawny arms and feel the wind rush around
her. He carried her with the rapidity of the lightning across the
endless plains of Hungary, over the blue waters of the Danube, over
lakes and snow-capped chains of mountains, and wide gaping chasms
which looked like the mouths of hell. The genius at last alighted on
the summit of a very high peak, and from there he slid down, making
thus a deep glen that went to the sea-shore. The other genius took up
the dog in his arms, transported him likewise through the air, and
perched himself on the top of another neighbouring peak. The
mountain-tops on which they alighted were the Ruino and Sveti Berdo
of the Vellibic chain. Once on their feet again the two Afrites laid
down their burdens, and built--till early morning--a huge castle of
massive stone, not far from the sea. Their task done, they placed the
Princess in a beautiful bed, all inlaid with silver, ivory and
mother-of-pearl; they whispered in her ear that henceforth, and for
the remainder of her life, she would have to keep away from the sight
of men, for her beauty might have been as fatal as her father's had
been. Then they rose up in the air, vanished, or rather, melted away,
like the morning mist.
You can fancy the Princess's surprise the next morning when--on
awaking--she found herself stretched on a soft couch, between fine
lawn sheets, in a lofty chamber, finer by far even than the one she
had had in her father's palace. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that
she was dreaming, and then lay for a few moments, half asleep and
half awake, hardly daring to move lest she might return, but too
soon, to the bitter misery of life. All at once, as she lay in this
pleasant sluggish state, she felt something moist and cold against
her cheek. She shuddered, awoke quite, turned round and found
herself in still closer contact with the cur's pug nose.
The Princess drew back astonished, unable to understand whether she
was awake or asleep, and, as her eyes fell on the cur, she was
surprised to see a kind of broad and merry grin on the dog's face,
for the mongrel evidently seemed to be enjoying her surprise.
The young girl continued to look round, bewildered, for, instead of
being on the dusty roadside, where she had dropped down out of sheer
weariness, she was lying on a comfortable bed, in a splendid room.
She stared at the costly tapestries which covered the walls, at the
beautiful inlaid furniture, at the damask curtains all wrought in
gold, at the crystal chandelier hanging down from the ceiling; and as
she gazed at all these, and many other things, the cur, with his big
hairy front paws on the edge of the couch, was standing on his hind
legs, looking at the beautiful young girl.
The poor girl blushed to see the cur leering at her so doggedly. She
rose quickly, put on the beautiful dresses that were lying on a chair
ready for her, and went about the house.
What she had taken for a dream, or a vision, was, in fact, nothing
but plain reality. She had, during the night, been carried from the
plains of Hungary down to the shores of the Adriatic, and shut up in
a fairy castle, alone with the faithful dog. From her windows she
could see the mountains on which the two Afrites had alighted, and on
the other side the sun-lit, translucent waters of the deep blue sea.
The castle, which seemed to rise out of the steep inaccessible crags
on which it was perched, was built of huge blocks of stone. It had
thick machicolated towers at every corner, gates with drawbridges and
barbicans. The apartments within this stronghold, the remains of
which are still to be seen, were as sumptuous and as comfortable as
any king's daughter might wish. Her protectors had provided her with
all the necessities of daily life, for every day, at twelve, a dainty
dinner, cooked by invisible hands, was laid out in the lofty hall,
whilst in the morning a cup of exquisite chocolate was ready for her
on the table in her bedroom; besides, she found all that could induce
her to pass her time pleasantly, for she had statues, pictures, birds
and flowers. She could walk in the small garden in the midst of the
square court, or under the marble colonnade that surrounded it; she
could stitch, sew, embroider, play the lute, or paint. Still, she was
quite alone, and time lay heavy on her hands. She could see, from the
windows of the second floor, people at a distance stop and stare at
the wonderful castle that had risen out of a rock, like a mushroom,
in the space of a night; but nobody ever saw her. Alone with the cur
from morn to night, from year's end to year's end; he followed her,
step by step, whithersoever she went, and whatever she did he would
wag his tail approvingly. If she sat down, he would squat on his
haunches, on a stool opposite, and gloat on her with his little eyes
so persistently that she felt her head grow quite dizzy, and she
almost fancied that she had a human being sitting there in front of
her, watching lovingly her slightest movement; and then the strangest
fancies flitted through her brain.
Several times she had tried, as a pastime, to teach the dog some
tricks; but she soon gave it up, for he always inspired her with a
kind of awe. He was such a knowing kind of a cur, that he invariably
seemed to read all her thoughts within her brain, and, winking at
her, did the very thing she wanted him to do, before she had even
tried to teach him the trick. Then, as he saw her open her eyes
wonderingly, he would look at her, grinning, as if he were making fun
of her; or else he sniffed at her in a patronising kind of way, as if
he would say:
"Pooh! what a very silly kind of girl you are. Couldn't you, a human
being, think of something better than that?"
It happened one day that, as they sat opposite each other, looking
into each other's eyes--he as quiet as a stone dog on a gate, she
with her tapering fingers interlocked, twirling her thumbs as a means
of passing her time--the Princess was thinking of her many rejected
suitors, whose hearts she had broken; even of the last one, the
short, squat man, with sturdy limbs, large hands and feet, a shaggy
head and huge ears. And she sighed, for though he was much more of a
Satyr than like her Hyperean father, still he was a man.
Thereupon, she looked at the cur, with its sturdy limbs, its shaggy
head and huge ears; and she sighed again. The dog winked at her.
"Cur," she said to herself, "you are ugly enough; still, if you were
a man I think I could fall in love with you."
The cur stood on his hind legs, his head a little on one side; there
was a knowing, impudent look in his eyes. Then he uttered a kind of
doggish laugh, something between a whine and a bark; then, after
showing his teeth in a grinning kind of way, he licked his chops at
her sneeringly.
The words of her last suitor were just then ringing in her ears. She
looked at the cur in amazement, for she almost fancied he had uttered
those selfsame words.
The cur was evidently mocking her, as he rolled his shaggy head
about, and gloated at her just as her last suitor had done.
Thereupon, she blushed deeply, and covering her face with her hands,
she burst into tears.
The poor dog thereupon came to lick the tears that oozed through her
fingers, so that she felt somewhat comforted by the affection which
this poor mongrel showed her.
This, thought she, is the end of every haughty beauty who is hard to
please and who thinks no one is good enough for her. She rejects all
the best matches in early youth, she turns up her nose at every
eligible _parti_, until--when age creeps on and beauty fades--she is
happy to accept the first boor that pops the question. As for
herself, she had not even a boor whom she could love, not even the
churlish man with the huge ears.
That evening, undressing before going to bed, the Princess stood, sad
and disconsolate, in front of her mirror. She was still of a radiant
beauty, quite as handsome as she had ever been; but alas! she knew
that her beauty would soon begin to fade in that lonely tower.
What had she done to the gods to deserve the punishment she was
undergoing? Why had the genii shut her up in that tower to pine there
unheeded and unknown? Why had they not left her to wander about the
world, or even die upon those blasted heaths of her country? Death
was better than having to waste away in a living death, doomed to
eternal imprisonment.
It was a splendid night in early May. The moon, on one side, silvered
the placid waters of the Adriatic, whilst it gleamed on the still
snow-capped tops of the Vellebic, on the other. The breeze that came
in through the open casement wafted in the smell of the sea, and of
the sage, the hyssop and lavender that grew all around. A nightingale
was trilling in an amorous strain, blackbirds whistled in plaintive
notes, just as in the daytime the wild doves had cooed their eternal
love-song to their mate.
The poor girl leaned her plump and snowy arms on the white marble
window-sill and sighed. How lovely the world is, she thought, and
then she remained as if entranced by an ecstatic vision. Within the
amber moon that rolled on high and flooded all below with mellow
light, the Princess saw a lover with his lass. Their mouths were
closely pressed in one long kiss, as thirsty lips that cleave unto
the brim of some ambrosial aphrodisiac cup. Above, the stars were
shining forth with love, whilst, down below, the whole earth seemed
to pant; the night-bird's lay, the lisping waves' low voice, and the
insect's chirp all spoke of unknown bliss. The very air, all laden
with the strong scent of roses, lilies and sweet asphodel, was like
the breath of an enamoured youth who whispered in her ear sweet words
of love. A scathing flame was kindled in her breast, and in her veins
her blood was all aglow; her shattered body seemed to melt like wax,
such was the unknown yearning which she felt upon that lovely night
in early May. With reeling, aching head and tottering steps, the
forlorn maiden slowly crept to bed, and while the hot tears trickled
down her cheeks, oblivion steeped her senses in soft sleep.
That night the wandering moon, that came peeping through the lofty
windows, saw a strange sight. Upon her round disc a broad, sallow
face could now be plainly seen, grinning good-humouredly at what she
beheld.
That night the Princess had a dream, or rather a vision. No sooner
did she shut her eyes and her senses began to wander and lose
themselves, than she saw the shaggy cur come into the room, with his
usual waddling gait, wagging his tail according to his wont. He came
up to her bed, stood upon his hind legs, put his big paws upon the
white sheets, and began to look at her just in the very same way he
had done that morning when she awoke to find herself shut up within
the battlemented walls of that lonely tower by the sea. She was
almost amused to see him stare at her so gravely, for he looked like
a wise doctor standing by some patient's bed. Until now there was
nothing very strange in this vision, but now comes the most wonderful
and interesting part, which shows how truth and fancy, the
occurrences of the day before and long-forgotten facts, are often
blended together to make up the plot of our dreams.
As the Princess was looking upon the dog's paws, she saw them change,
not all at once, but quietly undergo a slow process of
transformation. They, little by little, grew longer and shaped
themselves into fingers and broad hands. She looked up--in her sleep,
of course--and beheld the fore part of the legs gradually lengthen
themselves into two sturdy arms. The dog's shaggy head became
somewhat blurred, and in its stead a man's tawny mass of hair
appeared. In fact, after a few minutes, the last rejected suitor,
who, indeed, had always borne a strong likeness to the ugly cur that
had followed her in her exile, now appeared before her.
He was not a handsome man; no, far from handsome; still, on the
whole, it was better to have as her companion a human being than a
dog. Still, strange to say, she now liked this man on account of his
strong resemblance to the faithful dumb cur, the only friend she had
now had for years.
"You said that if I were a man you could love me," quoth he, in
something like a soft and gentle growl, sniffing at her as he spoke,
evidently unable to forbear from his long-acquired canine customs.
"Well, now, do you love me?"
The young girl--in her dream--stretched out her hand and patted the
man's dishevelled hair as she had been wont to caress the cur's
shaggy head; such is the force of habit.
"I told you that the time would come when you would lick your chops
to have me back; so you see my words, after all, have come true."
It was a churlish remark, but the young girl had got so accustomed to
the cur's strange ways, that she did not resent it; she even allowed
the man to kiss her hands, just as the mongrel had been wont to lick
them, which shows how careful we ought to be in avoiding bad habits.
It was then that the rolling, rollicking moon came peeping through
the window with a broad smile on her chubby round face, just as if
she was approving of the sight she saw.
On the morrow, when the Princess awoke, she looked for the cur
everywhere, but, strange to say, he was nowhere to be found. She
ransacked the whole house, but he had disappeared; she peered through
the barbicans, glanced down from the battlements; she mounted to the
top of the highest tower, strained her eyes, and gazed on the
surrounding country, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.
A sense of loneliness and languor came over her. It was so dreary to
be shut up in those large and lofty halls, that, at times, the very
sound of her steps made her shiver. Her very food became distasteful
to her.
From that day--being quite alone--she longed to have, at least, a
little child which she might love, and which might help her to
beguile the long hours of solitude. Every day her maternal instincts
grew stronger within her, and every evening, as she stood leaning on
the marble window-sill, she prayed the kind genii, who had taken pity
on her when she had been wandering on the moor, and almost dying of
weariness, of hunger and of thirst, to be kind to her, and bring her
a tiny little baby to take the place of her lost cur, for life
without a child was quite without an aim.
Months passed; the blossoms of the trees had fallen, the fruit had
ripened, the harvest had been gathered, the days had grown shorter,
the sea was now always lashed into fury, all the summer-birds had
flown far away, the others were all hushed; only the raucous cries of
the gulls were heard as they flew past the tower where she dwelt. The
days had grown shorter and shorter, the wind was cold, the weather
was bleak, when at last her wish was granted.
It was on a dreary, stormy night in early February; the Princess was
lying on her bed, unable to sleep, when all at once the window was
dashed open, and a huge stork flew in. It was the very stork, they
say, that, years afterwards, was so fatal to the town of Aquileja,
not very far from there. At that moment the poor Princess was so
terrified that she quite lost her senses; but when she came back to
herself, she found a tiny baby--not an hour old--lying in bed by her
side.
The wind was blowing in a most terrific way. The Quarnero, which is
always stormy, was nothing but one mass of white foam. The huge waves
dashed together, like fleecy rams butting against each other. The
billows ever rose higher, whilst the waters of the lowering clouds
overhead came pouring down upon the flood below. All the elements
seemed unchained against that lonely tower. The clouds came pouring
down in waterspouts upon it; the breakers dashed against it; the two
ravines, the big and the little Plas Kenizza--formed by the genii as
they had slid down the mountains--were now huge torrents, rolling
down with a roaring noise against the white walls of the tower,
making it look more like an enormous lighthouse on a rock than a
princely castle. The thunder never stopped rumbling; the forked
lightning darted incessantly down upon the highest pinnacles and the
whole stronghold, from its battlements down to its very base. Such a
terrific storm had never been known for ages; in fact, not since the
days when the mighty Julius had been murdered.
By the lurid light of the incessant flashes, the Princess first saw
her infant boy; and she heard its first wail amongst the deafening
din of the falling thunder-bolts. With motherly fondness, she pressed
the baby to her breast; whilst her heart was beating as if it were
about to break. What a thrill of unutterable bliss she felt that
moment; but, alas! all her joy passed into sorrow when she perceived
that her beautiful baby--beautiful, at least, to a mother's eyes--had
two dear little dog's ears.
Dogs' ears are by no means ugly--although they are occasionally
cropped. Why was it, then, that the Princess saw them with horror and
dismay?
Ears, the young mother thought, are the very worst features man
possesses. They stand out prominently and look uncouth, or they
sprawl out along the sides of the head; they are either as colourless
as if they had just been boiled, or as red as boiled lobsters.
Anyhow, she was somewhat fastidious about the shape and tint of those
appendages, so that now the sight of those huge hairy lobes was
perfectly loathsome to her, and as she looked upon them she burst
into tears. The poor forlorn baby, feeling itself snubbed, was
wailing by her side. After a little while she took up her infant; the
disgust she felt was stronger than ever; moreover, she was thoroughly
disappointed. She had begged for a baby, not for a little puppy. In
her vexation--she was a very self-willed girl, as princesses often
are--she took up the babe, got out of the bed, and in two strides she
was by the window. She would cast the little monster into the dark
night from where it had come. She herself did not want it.
As she reached the open window the two genii, her protectors, stood
before her.
"Stop, unnatural mother!" cried the taller of the two. "What are you
about to do?"
The Princess shrank back, frightened and trembling. There are a few
things at which we do not exactly like to be caught: infanticide is
one of them.
"Know," said the Afrite, in a voice like a peal of thunder, "that the
child, though with dog's ears, is not only of royal lineage, but he
is, moreover, the son of a great genius. About four hundred years ago
another Virgin gave birth to a Child, who, later on, was put to death
upon a cross because the people did not want him as their king. Well,
now, the followers of that virgin's child are our bitterest enemies;
our only hope is in your son; he will grow up to become a mighty
warrior and avenge us. He will waste the towns on which the gold
cross glistens, he will make their kings his captives, and all their
priests his slaves. The blood of the Christians will run in torrents,
even as the rain comes down the ravines to-night; his shafts will be
like the thunderbolts that have fallen on your tower to-night. His
name--which will be heard all over the world like the rumbling in the
clouds--will be The Scourge of God, and he will chastise men for
their evil deeds. Wherever he passes the grass will wither under his
feet, and the waste will be his wake. Only, that all these things
might come to pass, thou must well bear in mind that his head be
never shorn nor his beard shaven; let the tawny locks of his hair
fall about his shoulders like a lion's mane, for all his strength
will lie therein. As soon as his arm is able to wield a weapon, the
trail of blood flowing from a heifer's wound will show him where the
sword of the great god of war lies rusting in the rushes; with that
brand in his hand all men will bow before him, or fall like grass
beneath the mower's scythe. Love alone will overcome him, and a young
girl's lust will lull him into eternal sleep. He will be versed in
magic lore, and be able to read the starry skies as a written scroll.
From his very infancy he will feel a wholesome hatred for the
Nazarenes, his foes as well as ours."
Having uttered these words, the Afrite rose up like smoke and faded
away in the dark clouds.
In the meanwhile the child grew up of a superhuman strength, short of
stature but square, and with very broad shoulders; and when he was
but seven years of age the gates of the castle, hitherto always shut,
opened themselves for him. From that time he passed his days in the
dells and hollows of the mountains, chasing the wild beasts that
abounded in those gorges and in the neighbouring forests, almost
inaccessible to man. His mother saw him but little, for he only came
back to the castle when heavily laden with his prey.
He was but a youth when he organised a band of freebooters; and with
their help he sacked and plundered all the neighbouring towns and
villages, and the plains all around were strewn with the bones of the
dead. Being not only invincible, but just and generous to his men, he
soon found himself at the head of an army the like of which the world
had never seen. He destroyed the immense town of Aquileja, the
largest city of the Adriatic coast, and even burnt down the forest
which stretched from Ravenna to Trieste. Whithersoever he went the
houses fell, the temples and the theatres crumbled down, and he left
desolation behind him; so that, before he had even reached the age of
manhood, the words of the genius were fulfilled.
At that time the old King of Hungary happened to die, leaving no
heirs to ascend his throne. Anarchy desolated the land. The nobles,
who were at variance as to whom they were to elect, having heard, in
some mysterious way, that their beautiful Princess was still alive,
and that the great conqueror who was at that time plundering Rome was
her son, sent an embassy to the Princess, asking her to return to her
country, and begging her, as a boon, to accept the crown for her
child.
The Princess, whose name was Mor-Lak (the Daughter of Misfortune),
lived to a good old age. When she died she left her name to the sea
and to the channel, the waters of which bathe the town in which she
dwelt; therefore, the people who live thereabouts are, to this day,
called Morlacchi. If they have no more canine ears, their hair is
still as tawny as that of the dog-king, though all the other
Dalmatians are dark. Moreover, if you go to Starigrad you can see, as
I told you, the ruins of the Torre Vezza, the fairy tower where the
virgin's son was born; likewise the huge chasms of the Ruino and the
Sveti Berdo, the holy mountain where the Afrites slid down, in
remembrance of which the inhabitants still call them the Paklenizza
Malo and the Paklenizza Veliko, or, the Gorges of the Big and the
Little Devil.
A few days afterwards, the captain bade the young men good-bye, and
started for Fiume, whilst they, having their cargo ready, set sail
for Odessa. The weather was fine, the wind was fair; therefore, the
first voyage during which they were in sole command of the ship was a
most prosperous, though a rather rough one. For during four days they
had shipped several seas, so that they had the water up to their
waists, and, with all that, no water to drink; but these are the
incidents appertaining to a seafaring life, which sailors forget as
soon as they set foot on shore.