THE "KARVARINA"
Radonic had never been much of a favourite amongst his fellow
countrymen, for he was of an unsociable, surly, overbearing
disposition; still, from the day he had killed Vranic public opinion
began to change in his behalf. A man gifted with an evil eye is a
baleful being, whom everyone dreads meeting--a real curse in a town,
for a number of the daily accidents and trivial misfortunes were
ascribed to the malign influence of his visual organs. It was,
therefore, but natural that Radonic should, tacitly, be looked upon
as a kind of deliverer. Besides this unavowed feeling of relief at
having been rid of the _jettatore_, no one could feel any pity for
Vranic; for even the more indifferent could only shrug their
shoulders, and mutter to themselves, "Serve him right," for he had
only met with the fate he had deserved.
As for Radonic, he daily grew in the general esteem. There is
something manly in the life of a highwayman who, with his gun, stops
a whole caravan, or asks for bread, his dagger in his hand. It is a
reversion to the old type of prehistoric man. But, more than a
highwayman, Radonic was a _heyduk_, fighting against the Turks, and
putting his life in jeopardy at every step he made.
For a man of Radonic's frame of mind, there was something enticing in
the life he was leading; struggles and storms seemed congenial to his
nature. On board his ship he would only cast away his sullenness when
danger was approaching, and hum a tune in the midst of the tempest;
in fact, he only seemed to breathe at ease when a stiff gale was
blowing.
He arrived at Cettinje on the eve of an expedition against the Turks,
just when every man that could bear a gun was welcome, especially
when he made no claim to a share of the booty. Having reached the
confines of Montenegro, amidst those dark rocks, in that eyrie of the
brave, having the sky for his roof and his gun for a pillow, life for
the first time seemed to him worth living. He did not fear death
--nay, he almost courted it. He felt no boding cares for the morrow;
the present moment was more than enough for him. Though he lacked
entirely all the softness of disposition that renders social life
agreeable, he had in him some of the qualities of a hero, or, at
least, of a great military chief--boldness, hardihood and valour.
During the whole of his lifetime he had always tried to make himself
feared, never loved. He cared neither for the people's admiration nor
for their disdain; he only required implicit obedience to orders
given. With such a daring, unflinching character, he soon acquired a
name that spread terror whenever it was uttered; and in a skirmish
that took place a week after his arrival at Cettinje, he killed a
Turkish chieftain, cut off his head, and sent it, by a prisoner he
had taken, to the _Pasha_ of the neighbouring province, informing
this official that he would, if God granted him life, soon treat him
in the same way. A high sum was at once set upon his head, but it was
an easier thing to offer the prize than to obtain it.
Radonic would have been happy enough now, had he not been married,
or, at least, if he had been wedded to a woman who loved him, and who
would have welcomed him home after a day's, or a week's, hard
fighting--who would have mourned for him had he never come back; but,
alas! he knew that Milena hated him. Roaming in the lonely forests,
climbing on the trackless mountains, lurking amidst the dark rocks
and crags, his heart yearned for the wife he had ill-treated.
A month, and even more, had elapsed since Vranic had been murdered.
Zwillievic, his father-in-law, had been in Budua, and he had then
come back to Cettinje; but, far from bringing Milena with him, he had
left his wife there to take care of this daughter of his, who, in the
state in which she was, had never recovered from the terrible shock
she had received on that morning when she stumbled upon Vranic's
corpse.
All kinds of doubts again assailed him, and jealousy, that had always
been festering in his breast, burst out afresh, fiercer than ever; it
preyed again upon him, embittered his life. After all, was it not
possible that Milena was only shamming simply not to come to
Cettinje? Perhaps, he thought, one of the many young men who had
tried to flirt with her, was now at Budua making love to her.
He, therefore, made up his mind to brave the _pamdours_ (the Austrian
police), to meet with the anger of Vranic's brothers, just to see
Milena again, and find out how she fared, and what she was doing. He,
one evening, started from Cettinje, went down the steep road leading
to the sea-shore, got to the gates of the town at nightfall, and,
wrapped in his great-coat, with his hood pulled down over his eyes,
he crossed the town and reached his house.
He stopped at the window and looked in; Milena was nowhere to be
seen. He was seized by a dreadful foreboding--what if he had come too
late? Two women were standing near the door of the inner room,
talking. He, at first, could hardly recognise them by the glimmering
light of the oil-lamp; still, after having got nearer the window, he
saw that one of them was Mara Bellacic, and the other his
mother-in-law.
He then went to the door, tapped gently, and pushed it open; seeing
him, both the women started back astonished.
His first question was, of course, about his wife. She was a little
better, they said, but still very ill.
"She is asleep now. You can come in and see her, but take care not to
wake her," added Milena's mother.
"Yes," quoth Mara, "take care, for should she wake and see you so
unexpectedly, the shock might be fatal."
Radonic went noiselessly up to the door of the bedroom and peeped in.
Seeing Milena lying motionless on the bed, pale, thin and haggard, he
was seized with a feeling of deep pity, such as he had never felt
before in the whole of his life, and he almost cursed the memory of
his mother, for she had been the first to set him against his wife,
and had induced him to be so stern and harsh towards her.
He skulked about that night, and on the following day he sent for
Bellacic, for Markovic, and for some kinsmen and acquaintances, and
asked them to help him out of his difficulties. They at once
persuaded him to try and make it up with Vranic's relations, to pay
the _karvarina_ money, and thus hush up the whole affair.
While public opinion was favourable to him, it would be easy enough
to find several persons to speak in his behalf, to act as mediators
or umpires, and settle the price to be paid for the blood that had
been spilt.
Although the Montenegrins and the inhabitants of the Kotar, as well
as almost all Dalmatians, are--like the Corsicans--justly deemed a
proud race, amongst whom every wrong must be washed out with blood,
and although they all have a strong sense of honour, so that revenge
becomes a sacred duty, jealously transmitted from one generation to
another, still the old Biblical way of settling all litigations with
fines, and putting a price for the loss of life, is still in full
force amongst them.
In the present case Vranic's brothers were quite willing to come to a
compromise, that is to say, to give up all thoughts of vengeance,
provided, after all the due formalities had taken place, an adequate
sum were paid to them. First, they had never been fond of their
brother; secondly, they knew quite well that Radonic was fully
justified in what he had done, and that, moreover, everybody
commended him for his rash deed; thirdly, having inherited their
brother's property, the little sorrow they had felt for him the first
moment had quite passed away.
Markovic and Bellacic set themselves to work at once. Their first
care was to find six young and, possibly, handsome women, with six
babes, who, acting as friends to Radonic, would go to Vranic's
brothers and intercede for him.
It was rather a difficult task, for Radonic had few friends at Budua.
All the sailors that had been with him had not only rued the time
spent on his ship, but had been enemies to him ever afterwards. He
had married a wife from Montenegro, envied for her beauty, and not
much liked by the gentler sex. Milena had been too much admired by
men for women to take kindly to her; still, as she was now on a bed
of sickness, and all her beauty blasted, envy had changed into pity.
After no end of trouble, many promises of silk kerchiefs, yards of
stuff for dresses, or other trifles, six rather good-looking women,
and the same number of chubby babies, were mustered, and, on a day
appointed for the purpose, they were to go, together with Markovic
and Bellacic, to sue for peace.
In the meanwhile Radonic had stealthily called on a number of
persons, had invited them to drink with him, related to them the
number of Turks he had shot, and by sundry means managed to dispose
them in his favour. They, by their influence, tried to pacify the
Vranic family, and a month's truce was granted to Radonic, during
which time the preliminaries of peace were undertaken.
At last, after many consultations and no end of smooth talking, the
day for the ceremony of the _karvarina_ was fixed upon. Markovic and
Bellacic, together with the six women, carrying their babes and
followed by a crowd of spectators, went up to Vranic's house. As soon
as they got to the door, the women fell down on their knees, bowing
down their heads, and, whilst the babes began to shriek lustily, the
men called out, in a loud voice:
"Vranic, our brother in God and in St. John, we greet you! Take pity
on us, and allow us to come within your house."
Having repeated this request three times--during which the women
wailed and the babies shrieked always louder--the door at last was
opened, and the murdered man's two younger brothers appeared on the
threshold.
Though all the household had been for more than two hours on the
look-out for this embassy, still the two men put on an astonished
look, as if they had not the remotest idea as to what it all meant,
or why or wherefore the crowd had gathered round their house.
Standing on the threshold they inquired of the men what they wanted,
after which they went and, taking every woman by the hand, made her
get up; then, imprinting a kiss on every howling babe, they tried to
soothe and quiet it. This ceremony over, the women were begged to
enter the house and be seated. Once inside, Bellacic, acting as chief
intercessor, handed to the Vranics six yards of fine cloth which
Radonic had provided him with, this being one of the customary peace
offerings. Then, taking a big bottle of plum brandy from the hands of
one of his attendants, he poured out a glass and offered it to the
master of the house; the glass went round, and the house soon echoed
with the shouts of "_Zivio!_" or "Long life!" and the merriment
increased in the same ratio as the spirits in the huge bottle
decreased.
When everybody was in a boisterous good-humour--except the two
Vranics, for strong drink only rendered them peevish and
quarrelsome--the subject of the visit was broached.
Josko Vranic, the elder of the two brothers, would at first not
listen to Bellacic's request.
"What!" exclaimed he, in the flowery style of Eastern mourners, "do
you ask me to come to terms with Radonic, who cruelly murdered my
brother? Do you wish me to press to my heart the viper from whose
teeth we still smart? Do you think I have no soul, no faith? Oh! my
poor brother"--(he hated him in his lifetime)--"my poor brother,
murdered in the morning of his life, in the spring of his youth, a
star of beauty, a lion of strength and courage; had the murderer's
hand but spared him, what great things might he not have done! Oh, my
brother, my beloved brother! No; blood alone can avenge blood, and
his soul can never rest in peace till my dagger is sheathed in his
murderer's heart. No, Radonic must die; blood for blood; life for
life. I must find out the foul dog and strangle him as he strangled
my beloved brother, or I am no true Slav. Tell me where he is, if you
know, that I may tear him to pieces; for nothing can arrest my arm!"
Josko Vranic was a tailor, and a very peaceful kind of a tailor into
the bargain. It is true that, when his brain was fuddled with drink,
he was occasionally blood-thirsty; but his rage expended itself far
more in words than in deeds. For the present, he was simply trying to
act his part well, and was only repeating hackneyed phrases often
uttered in houses of mourning, at funerals, and at wakes.
All his thoughts were bent on the sum of money he might obtain for
_karvarina_, and he, therefore, thought that the more he magnified
his grief, the greater would be the sum he might ask for blood-money.
Bellacic and Markovic, as well as the other friends of both parties
gathered in the house, deemed it advisable to leave him to give
utterance to his grief. Then, when he had said his say and the
children were quieted, Radonic's friends began to persuade him to
forego all ideas of vengeance, and--after much useless talking--many
prayers from the women, and threats from the babes to begin shrieking
again, Vranic agreed that he would try and smother his grief, nay,
for their sakes, forget his resentment; therefore, after much
cogitation, he named a jury of twenty-four men to act as arbitrators
between him and the murderer, and settle the price that was to be
paid for the blood. This jury was, of course, composed of persons
that he thought hated Radonic, and who would at least demand a sum
equivalent to L200 or L300. He little knew how much his own brother
had been disliked, and the low price that was set on his life.
These twenty-four persons having been appointed, Radonic called upon
all of them, and got them to meet at Bellacic's house the day before
the ceremony of the _karvarina_; he sent there some small barrels of
choice wine, and provisions of all kinds for the feast of that day, as
well as for the banquet of the morrow, for he knew quite well that
the gall of a bitter enemy is less acrid after a good dinner, and
that an indifferent person becomes a friend when he is chewing the
cud of the dainty things you have provided for him.
As soon as supper was over, and while the _bucara_ of sweet _muscato_
wine was being handed round, Bellacic submitted the case to the
twenty-four arbiters, expatiated like a lawyer on the heinous way
Vranic had acted, how like a real snake he had crept between husband
and wife, trying to put enmity between them, and how he had succeeded
in his treachery, doing all this to seduce a poor distracted woman.
"Now," continued Bellacic, "put yourselves in Radonic's place and
tell me how you yourselves would have acted. If you have the right to
shoot the burglar who, in the dead of night, breaks into your house
to rob you of your purse, is it not natural that you should throttle
the ruffian who, under the mantle of friendship, sneaks into your
bedroom to rob you of your honour? Is the life of such a man worth
more than that of the scorpion you crush under your heel? Vranic was
neither my friend nor my enemy; therefore, I have no earthly reason
to set you against him, nor to induce you to be friendly towards
Radonic. I only ask you to be just, and to tell me the worth of the
blood he has spilt."
Bellacic stopped for a moment to see the effect of his speech on his
listeners. All seemed to approve his words no less than they did the
sweet wine of the _bucara_; then after a slight pause, he again went
on.
"Radonic may have many faults, nay, he has many; are we not all of us
full of blemishes? Still, the poor that will be fed for many days
from the crumbs of our feast will surely not say that he is a miser.
Still--withal he is lavish--one thing he is fully determined not to
do, that is to pay more for the blood he has spilt than it is really
worth.
"It is true that the heirs of the dead man are filling the whole town
with their laments; but do you think that those who mourn so loudly
would gladly welcome their brother back, nay, I ask you how many hands
would be stretched out to greet Vranic if the grave were to yawn and
give up the dead man. Who, within his innermost heart, is not really
glad to have got rid of a man who carried an evil influence with him
whithersoever he went?
"But speaking the truth in this case is almost like trying to set you
against the exaggerated claims of the late man's brothers; whilst you
all know quite well that I only wish you to act according to your
better judgment, and whatever your decision be, we shall abide by it.
You are husbands, you are Slavs; the honour of your homes, of your
children, of your wives is dear to you; therefore, I drink to your
honour with Radonic's wine."
As the _bucara_ could not go round fast enough, so glasses were
filled, and toasts were drunk. After that, Bellacic left the room, so
that the jury might discuss the matter under no restraint. Although
twenty of the men were in favour of Radonic, still four thought that
the arguments used in his favour had been so brilliant that Bellacic
had rather charmed than convinced them. They were, however, overruled
by the many, and the bumpers they swallowed in the heat of the
argument ended by convincing them, too.
"Gentlemen," said Bellacic, coming back, "I shall not ask you now if
Vranic's life was worth a herd or a single cow, a flock or a single
sheep, or even a goat, for here is Teodoroff, the _guzlar_, who is
going to enliven us with the glorious battle of Kossovo, and the
great deeds of our immortal Kraglievic."
The bard came in, and he was listened to with rapt attention during
the half-hour that his poem lasted. No one spoke, or drank, or even
moved; all remained as if spell-bound; their eyes seemed to seek for
the words as they flowed from the poet's lips. At last the _guzlar_
stopped, and after a few moments of silence, shouts of applause broke
forth. Just then Radonic came into the room, and the twenty-four men
all shook hands with him heartily, and, excited as the audience was
with the daring deeds of Marko Kraglievic, Bellacic made him relate
some of his encounters with the Turks, and show the holes in his coat
through which the bullets had passed.
"And now, Teodoroff," said Radonic, finishing the story of his
exploits, "give us something lively; I think we've had enough of
bloodshed for the whole evening."
"Yes," added Bellacic; "but let us first finish the business for
which we have been brought together, and then we can devote the
remainder of our time to pleasure."
"Yes," retorted one of the twenty-four arbitrators, "it's time the
matter was settled."
"Well, then," quoth Markovic, "what is the price of the _jettatore_'s
life?"
"As for me," said one of the younger men, "it's certainly not worth
that of a cow!"
"No, nor that of a goat!" added another.
"Well, let's be generous towards the tailor," said Bellacic,
laughing, "and settle his brother's life at the price of a huge
silver Maria Theresa dollar, eh?"
Some of the arbitrators were about to demur, but as the proposal had
come from them, they could not well gainsay it.
"Then it's settled," said Bellacic, hastening to fill the glasses;
"and now, Teodoroff, quick! give us one of your best songs; something
brisk and lively."
The _guzlar_ took up his instrument, played a few bars as a kind of
prelude, emitted a prolonged "Oh!" which ended away in a trill, and
then began the tale of
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.