THE "KARVA TAJSTVO"
The sun had already set as Mara and her friend left the convent gates
and slowly wended their way homewards. The mother's heart was heavily
laden with grief, for although the holy men had done their best to
comfort and encourage her, still doubt oppressed her, and she kept
asking herself whether she would still find her son alive on the
morrow. Now the darkness which slowly spread itself over the open
country, and rendered the surrounding rocks of a gloomier hue, the
broad, blue sea of a dull, leaden tint, only made her sadness more
intense.
Dusk softens the human heart; it opens it to those tender emotions
unfelt during the struggle of the day, whilst the raging sun pouring
from above enkindles the fierce passions lurking in the heart. That
dimness which spreads itself over the world at nightfall, wrapping it
up as in a vaporous shroud, has a mystic power over our nature. That
clear obscure mistiness seems to open to the mind's eye the distant
depths of borderland; we almost fancy we can see dim, shadowy figures
float past before us. The most sceptic man becomes religious,
superstitious and spiritual at gloaming.
The two women hardly spoke on their way; both of them prayed for the
sufferer lying in the convent; but whilst they prayed their minds
often wandered from Uros to Milena, who had been left at home ailing.
When they arrived at the gates of the town night had already set in.
Mara hastened home with her friend, but Milena was not there; they
both went to Radonic's house to look for her. They were afraid lest,
in her state of health, she might have heard of her husband's death.
A dreary night awaited the women there. After the child had left her,
Milena, who had fallen into a swoon, had been delivered of a son; but
the infant, uncared for, and finding the world bleak and desolate,
had fled away, without even waiting for the holy water and the salt
to speed it forth to more blessed regions.
Milena had only been roused to life by the throes of childbirth, and
no sooner had her deliverance taken place than she again fainted
away.
Mara's neighbour having, in the meanwhile, been informed by her
little boy of Milena's illness, hastened at once to her help.
Moreover, on her way thither, she called the _babica_ (or midwife),
but when she reached Radonic's house, she found the new-born infant a
cold corpse and the mother apparently dead. The two women did their
utmost to recall Milena to life, but all their skill was of no avail.
At last, at their wits' end, a passer-by was hailed and begged to go
for the doctor at once.
When Mara came, all hopes of rousing Milena to life had been
despaired of, but what the skill of the scientific practitioner and
of the wise old woman could not bring about, was effected simply by
Mara's presence. After Uros' mother had stood some time by her side,
stroking her hair, pressing her hand on the sufferer's clammy
forehead, and whispering endearing words in her ear, Milena opened
her eyes. Seeing Mara standing beside her, the sight of that woman
whom she loved, and whose son she doated on, slowly roused her to
life. Consciousness, little by little, crept back within her. When
she heard from the mother's lips that Uros was not dead, nay, that
there was hope of his recovery, she whispered:
"If I could only see him once more, then I should be but too happy to
die."
After this slight exertion she once more fainted, but she was soon
afterwards brought back again to life, and Mara then was able to make
her take the cordial the doctor had prepared for her.
A few hours later, when the physician took his leave for the night,
prescribing to the women what they were to do, he and the midwife
warmly congratulated each other, not doubting that their skill had
snatched the young woman out of the jaws of death.
After a night of pain and restlessness, Milena, early on the next
morning, exhausted as she was, fell into a quiet, death-like sleep.
Mara then left her to return to the Convent of St. George to see if
Uros were still alive and how he was getting on. Milenko's mother
went with her. They had not been away long when Milena, shuddering,
uttered a loud cry of terror, sat up in her bed and looked straight
in front of her.
"What is the matter?" said the midwife, running up to the bedside.
"Don't you see him standing there?" cried the awe-stricken woman.
"There is nobody, my dear; nobody at all."
"Yes! Radonic, my husband, all covered with wounds! He is dying--he
is dead!" and Milena, appalled, stared wildly at the foot of the bed.
"It is your imagination; your husband is with your father at
Cettinje."
"No, no; I tell you he's there; help him, or he'll bleed to death!"
and the poor woman, exhausted, fell back on her bed unconscious.
The midwife shuddered, for, although she saw nobody, she was quite
sure that the apparition seen by Milena was no fancy of an overheated
brain, but Radonic's ghost, that had come to visit his wife, for the
news of the _heyduk_'s death had been carefully withheld from Milena.
The midwife went to the fount of holy water, took the blessed sprig
of olive which was over it, dipped it into the fount and sprinkled
the bed and the place where the ghost had stood, uttering all the
while the appropriate prayer for the purpose. Then she sprinkled
Milena, and made the sign of the Cross over her. After that she gave
her some drops of cordial, and little by little brought her back to
her senses, vowing all the while not to remain alone again in that
haunted house.
When Milena recovered, "My husband is dead, is he not?" she asked.
"But--no," said the midwife, hesitatingly.
"You know he is. Did you not see him standing there? He had one wound
on the head and several in the breast."
The elderly woman did not answer.
"When did he die?" quoth Milena.
"Some days ago; but----"
"He was killed by the Turks, was he not?"
"Yes."
"Why did no one tell me?"
"Because they were afraid to upset you."
"He is dead," said Milena to herself, staring at the spot where she
had seen her husband, "dead!" Then she heaved a deep sigh of relief.
The midwife tried to comfort her, but she did not seem to heed her
words.
"My babe is dead, all are dead!"
Presently the doctor came in to see how she was getting on.
"Is Uros dead?" was Milena's first question.
"No, he is still alive; a message came from the convent this
morning."
"But is there any hope of recovery?"
"If he has lasted on till to-day he may yet pull through; he is young
and healthy."
"Can I get up to-day?" asked Milena, wistfully.
"Get up?" asked the doctor, astonished.
"Yes."
"Did you hear her?" said the physician, turning towards the midwife.
"She asks if she can get up. Yes, you can get up if you wish to kill
yourself."
A look of determination settled in the young woman's eyes; but
neither the doctor nor the midwife noticed it.
"Anyhow, it is a good sign when the patient asks if he can get up,
except in consumption," added the physician, taking his leave. "If
you keep very quiet, and lie perfectly still, without tossing about
and fretting, you'll be able to get up in a few days."
Milena pressed her lips, but did not say anything in reply; only,
after a little time:
"Do I look very ill?"
"No, not so very ill, either."
"Give me that looking-glass," she added.
The midwife hesitated.
"Is that the way you are going to lie still and get well; you must
know that yesterday you were very ill."
"I know; but please hand me the looking-glass."
The midwife did as she was bid. Milena took up the glass and looked
at herself scrutinisingly, just like an actor who has made up his
face.
"I am very much altered, am I not?"
"Oh, but it'll be all over in one or two days! Wait till to-morrow,
and----"
"But to-day I think people would hardly recognise me?"
"Oh, it is not quite as bad as that! besides----"
Milena opened her eyes questioningly, and looked at the midwife.
"I care very little whether I am good-looking or not; whom have I to
live for now?"
"Come, you must not give up in that way. You are but a child, and
have seen but little happiness up to now; you are rich, free,
handsome; you'll soon find a husband, only don't talk, take a cup of
this good broth, and try to go to sleep."
"Very well, but I know you are busy, so go home and send me your
daughter; she can attend upon me; besides, _gospa_ Markovic will soon
be here."
The midwife hesitated.
"Go," said Milena; "I'll feel quieter if you go."
"But you must promise me to keep very quiet, and not to attempt, on
any account, to get up."
"Certainly," said Milena; "the doctor said I was not to rise; why
should I disobey him? Besides, where have I to go?"
The midwife, after having tucked her patient carefully in bed and
made her as cosy as she could, went off, saying that her daughter
would soon come to her.
Milena, with anxious eyes and a beating heart, watched the midwife,
and, at last, saw her go away and close the door after her. She
waited for some time to see that she did not return; then she
gathered up all her strength, and tried to rise.
It was, however, a far more difficult task than she had expected, for
she fancied that she had fallen from the top of a high mountain into
a chasm beneath, and that every bone in her body had been broken to
splinters. If she had been crushed under horses' hoofs, she could not
have felt a greater soreness all over her body. Still, rise she
would, and she managed to crawl slowly out of her bed.
Her legs, at first, could hardly hold her up; the nerves and muscles
had lost all their strength, she fancied the bones had got limp; her
back, especially, seemed to be gnawed by hungry dogs.
Having managed to get over her first fit of faintness, she, holding
on to the bed and against the wall, succeeded in dragging herself
towards the table and dropped into a chair.
She sat there for a while, making every effort to overcome her
faintness, but she felt so sick, so giddy, and in such pain, that her
head sank down on the table of its own weight, and she burst out
crying from sheer exhaustion.
When she had somewhat recovered, she slowly undid her long tresses,
and her luxuriant hair fell in waves down to the ground. She shook
her head slightly, as if to disentangle the wavy mass, plunged her
fingers through the locks to separate them, and felt them lovingly,
uttering a deep sigh of regret as she did so; then after a moment's
pause, she shrugged her shoulders, took up a pair of scissors, and,
without more ado, she clipped the long tresses as close to her head
as she possibly could, carefully placing each one on the table as she
cut it off. Then she felt her head, which seemed so small, so cold,
and so naked; she took up a mirror with a trembling hand and
quivering lips pulled down at each corner. After she had seen her own
reflection in the glass, she burst into tears. She had hardly put
down the mirror, when Frana, the midwife's daughter, came in.
The young girl, seeing Milena, whom she had expected to find in bed,
sitting on the chair with all her hair clipped off, remained rooted
to the spot where she was standing.
"Milena, dear, is it you?"
"Yes," replied Milena, mournfully.
"But why did you get up? and why have you cut off your beautiful
hair?" asked the midwife's daughter, scared.
"My hair burdened my head; I could not bear the weight any more;
besides----"
The young girl looked at Milena, wondering whether she were in her
right senses, or if the grief of having lost her husband and her
child had not driven her to distraction.
"Besides what, Milena?"
"Well, I am not for long in this world, you know!"
"Do not say such foolish things; and let me help you back to bed."
Milena shook her head, and fixing her large and luminous deep blue
eyes on the young girl, she said, wistfully:
"Listen, Frana. Uros is dying, perhaps he is dead! I must see him
once more. I must go to him, even if I have to die on the way
thither!"
"What! go to the Convent of St. George?"
Milena nodded assent.
"But what are you thinking about? How can you, in your state, think
of going there?"
"I must, even if I should have to crawl on all-fours!"
"But if you got there, if I carried you there, they would never let
you go in; you know women----"
"Yes, they will; that's why I've cut off my hair."
"I don't understand."
"I'll dress up as a boy; you'll come with me; you'll say I'm your
brother, and Uros' friend. You'll do that for me, Frana?"
And Milena lifted up her pleading eyes, which now seemed larger than
ever and lighted up with an inward ethereal fire.
The young girl seemed to be hypnotised by those entreating eyes.
"But where will you find the clothes you want?"
"If you can't get me your brother's, then borrow or buy a suit for
me; but go at once. You must get me a cap, and all that is required,
but go at once."
"Very well; only, in the meantime, go to bed, take some broth, and
wait till I return."
"But you promise to come back as quickly as you can?"
"Yes, if you are determined to put your life in danger, and----"
"And what?"
"If you don't care what people say."
"Frana, if ever you love a man as I love Uros, you will see that you
will care very little for your own life, and still less for what
people might say about you."
Frana helped Milena to go to bed again. She made her take a cup of
broth, with the yolk of an egg beaten into it; placed, on a chair by
her bed, a bowl of mulled wine, which she was to take so as to get up
her strength; put away the long locks of hair lying on the table, and
at last she went off.
Presently, Milenko's mother came to see Milena, and stayed with her
till Frana returned, and then she was persuaded to go back home. When
she had gone, Frana undid the bundle she had brought, took out a
jacket, a pair of wide breeches and leggings, the _opanke_; lastly,
the small black cap with its gold-embroidered crimson crown.
Frana helped Milena to dress, and, in her weak state, the operation
almost exhausted her. The broad sash, tightly wound round her waist,
served to keep her up, and, leaning on Frana's arm, she left the
house.
"I have managed to find a cart for you, so we need not cross the
town, but go round the walls, in order that you may not be seen;
besides, the cart will take us to the foot of the mountain, not far
from the convent."
"How shall I ever be able to thank you enough for what you have done
for me, Frana?"
"By getting over your illness as quickly as possible, for if any harm
should come of it my mother 'll never forgive me, and I don't blame
her."
The sun was in the meridian when the cart arrived at the foot of the
mountain and the two friends alighted. As they climbed the rough and
uneven path leading up to the convent, Milena, though leaning on
Frana's strong arm, had more than once to stop and rest, for at every
step she made the pain in every joint, in every muscle, was most
acute. It seemed as if all the ligaments that bind the bones of the
skeleton together had snapped asunder, and that her body was about to
fall to pieces. Then she felt a smarting, a fire that was burning
within her bowels, and which increased at every effort she made; in
fact, had it not been for the young girl, she would either have sunk
by the roadside or crawled up--as she had said herself--on all-fours.
Her head also was aching dreadfully, her temples were throbbing, and
she was parched with fever. Her limbs sank every now and then beneath
her weight; still, her love and her courage kept her up, and she
trudged along without uttering a word of complaint. At last they
reached the convent. Then her strength gave way. Anxiety, pain and
shame overpowered her, and she fell fainting on the threshold. Frana
summoned help; but, before the monks came, Milena had recovered, and
was sitting down on a bench to rest.
In the meanwhile Uros was lingering on--a kind of death in life; the
vital flame was flickering, but not entirely extinguished; the ties
that fastened the soul to life were still strong. Towards midnight he
had sat up in his bed, and--as the monks thought--the Virgin and
Christ had appeared to him, then he had, for some time, not given any
further signs of consciousness. Nay, the monks were so sure the
sufferer was passing away, that they, in fact, began reciting the
prayers for the dying. They did so with much fervour, regarding Uros
almost as a saint, for never had mortal man been so highly favoured
by the Deity. Little by little, however, life, instead of ebbing
away, seemed to return; but the sufferer's mind was quite lost.
In the morning, first his father had come, together with his friend
Janko, and a little while afterwards Mara came.
The monks related to the wondering parents how the Virgin had
appeared, bringing with her the infant Christ for him to kiss.
Milenko, however, kept his peace, feeling sure that if he expressed
an opinion as to the weird apparition, his words would be regarded as
blasphemy.
Coming to himself, Uros recognised his parents, and as Mara bent upon
him to kiss his brows:
"Milena," whispered Uros, almost inaudibly.
"Milenko," said the mother, "he wants you."
"No," said Milenko, softly to Mara, "it is not me he wants; he has
been calling for Milena since he has been coming back to life. I am
sure that her presence would quiet him, and, who knows? perhaps add
to his recovery."
The poor mother said nothing; she only patted her boy's brown hand,
which seemed to have got whiter and thinner in this short space of
time.
"I think it is so hard to refuse him a thing upon which he has set
his heart," said Milenko, pleadingly.
Mara still gave no answer.
"Perhaps I am wrong in mentioning it--but you do not know how dearly
he loved this cousin of his."
Mara's eyes filled with tears.
"Could these priests not be persuaded to let her come in just for a
moment?"
"Milena is too ill to come here; in fact----"
"Is she dead?" asked the young man.
"No, not dead, but as ill as Uros himself is."
"What is the matter with her?" asked Milenko.
Mara whispered something in the young man's ear.
Danilo Kvekvic had left the sufferer to attend to his own duties. All
the monks of the convent had, one by one, come to recite an orison by
the bedside, as at some miraculous shrine; then Uros was left to the
care of his parents; even the old monk, after administering to the
young man's wants, had gone to take some rest.
For some time the room was perfectly quiet; Mara and Milenko were
whispering together in subdued tones; the _pobratim_'s fathers stood
outside.
After a little while Uros began to be delirious, and to speak about
Radonic and Vranic, who were going to kill Milena.
"There, you see, she is dying; let me go to her. Why do you hold me
here? Unhand me; you see she is alone--no one to attend upon her."
(The remainder of his words were unintelligible.)
The tears rolled down Mara's cheeks, for she thought that her son's
words were but too true; at that moment Milena was probably dying.
"She came to me for help, and I----"
"Milenko," added the delirious man, "get the ship ready; let us take
her away."
"Yes," said Milenko; "we have only to heave the anchor and be off."
Uros thereupon made an effort to get up, but the pain caused by his
wound was so great that he fell fainting on his bed with a deep moan.
The two men standing at the door came to the sufferer's bedside. Mara
herself bent over him to assist him. Just then Milenko was called
out--someone was asking for him.
The fever-fit had subsided. The sufferer, falling back on his pillow,
exhausted, seemed to be slowly breathing his last.
The tears were falling fast from Mara's eyes. The two men by the bed
were twisting their bristling moustaches, looking helplessly forlorn.
Just then Milenko appeared on the threshold, followed by a wan and
corpse-like boy. Bellacic frowned at the intruder. Mara, at the
sight, started back, opening her eyes widely.
"You?" said she.
Milena's head drooped down. Milenko put his arm round her waist to
keep her up.
"You here, my child?" added Mara, opening her arms and clasping the
young woman within them.
Milena began to sob in a low voice.
"The blessed Virgin must have given you supernatural strength, my
poor child; still, you have been killing yourself."
Milena did not utter a word. She pressed Mara's hand convulsively;
her face twitched nervously as she looked upon her lover lying
lifelessly on his bed; then (Mara having made way for her) the
exhausted woman sank down upon her chair.
"I told you," said the old monk, coming in, "that in your weak,
exhausted state it was not right for you to see your friend, but
nowadays," added he, in a grumbling tone, "young people are so
headstrong that they will never do what is required of them for their
own good. Now that you have seen him, I hope that you are satisfied
and will come out."
"Just let me stay a little longer, till he comes to himself again,
only a very few minutes," said Milena, imploringly, and clasping her
hands in supplication.
"Please let him stay; Uros 'll be so glad to see him when he opens
his eyes. He'll keep very quiet till then."
"Be it so," said the monk; "only the room is getting too crowded. The
best cure for a sick man is sympathy and fresh air."
"You are right," said Milenko, "but I give up my place to him;
besides, I have some business in town."
As Bellacic accompanied the _pobratim_ out--
"Where are you going?" said he.
"To find out Vranic, and settle accounts with him."
"No, no! Wait!" said the father.
"Wait! for what?"
"Let us not think of vengeance as long as Uros lives."
Milenko did not seem persuaded; Bellacic insisted:
"Don't let us provoke the wrath of the Almighty by more bloodshed."
As they were thus discussing the matter, the doctor from Budua
arrived, having been sent by Danilo Kvekvic at the request of the
monks.
The old practitioner, the same one who had attended Milena, looked at
Uros, shook his head gravely, as if he would say: "There is no hope
whatever;" then he touched the sufferer's pulse and examined his
wound. He approved of the treatment he had received, and then, after
a few moments' brown study, and after taking a huge pinch of snuff, as
if to clear his head, he said, slowly, that all human effort was
vain; the young man could not last more than a few hours--till
eventide, or, at the longest, during the night.
"Umph!" grunted the old man, shrugging his shoulders; "he is in the
hands of God."
"Of course, of course. We are all in the hands of God."
"I thought," added the caloyer, "he would not pass yesterday night,
especially after the Most Blessed appeared to him, holding her Infant
in her arms."
"What!" said the doctor; "you mean to say that the Virgin appeared to
him?"
"Of course, and I was not the only one who saw her, for, besides,
Blagoslav, Danko Kvekvic, and this young man"--pointing to Milenko
--"were also in the room."
"Then God may perform another miracle in his favour," said the
doctor, incredulously, "for he is beyond all earthly skill."
Uros, in fact, was sinking fast, and, although the old man clung to
hope, still the doctor's words seemed but too true. After some time
the sufferer seemed to give signs of consciousness, and when Milena
placed her thin white hand on his forehead, he felt the slight
pressure of her fingers, and, with his eyes closed, said:
"Milena, are _you_ here?" and a faint smile played over his lips.
"Yes, my love," whispered Milena, "I am here."
Uros opened his eyes, looked at her, and seemed bewildered at the
change which had come over her; still, he said nothing for a while,
but was evidently lost in thought, after which he added:
"Milena, have you been here all night?"
"No, I only came here just now."
"You look ill--very ill; I thought you were dying."
Milena kissed his hand, bathing it with tears. Uros once more sank
down on his bed exhausted; still, after a few moments' rest, he again
opened his eyes and looked round for his father. Bellacic understood
the mute appeal, and bent down over him.
"Father," said he, "I don't think I am in this world for a long time.
I feel that all my strength is gone; but before----"
The father bent low over his son.
"Before what?" he asked.
"Before dying----"
"Well, my son?"
"Will you promise, father?"
"Yes, I promise; but what is it you want, my darling?"
"To be married to Milena," he said, with an effort.
The tears trickled down the elderly man's sunburnt cheeks.
"I promise to do my utmost," said he.
He at once turned round and explained the whole affair to his wife.
Milena, who seemed to have guessed Uros' request, had hid her face in
her hands and was sobbing. Thereupon Bellacic left the room and went
to find the old monk, who had gone out with the doctor. Taking him
aside, he explained the matter to him.
"What!" said the old monk, "bring another woman into the convent, and
a young woman besides?"
"Oh, there is no need to bring her in!"
"What do you mean?"
"She is already in," replied Bellacic, unable to refrain from
smiling.
"How did she come in? When did she come in? And with whom did she
come in?" asked the caloyer, angrily.
"She came in just before the doctor; you yourself accompanied her."
The old man stared at Bellacic.
"She is the one who came in dressed in boy's clothes; the midwife's
daughter accompanied her as far as the----"
"What! do you mean to say that there are three women, and that one of
them is a midwife?" quoth the monk, shocked.
Bellacic explained matters. The caloyer consented that Danilo Kvekvic
should be sent for to perform the wedding rites _in extremis_,
provided Milena left the convent together with Mara that very
evening, and did not return again on the morrow. Bellacic, moreover,
having promised to give the church a fine painting, representing the
Virgin Mary as she had appeared to Uros the evening before, the whole
affair was settled to everyone's perfect satisfaction.
Mara, who had taken Milena into the adjoining room, said to her:
"Uros has made his father a strange request, and Bellacic has
consented; for who can gainsay a dying man's wish?"
"I know," said Milena, whose lips were twitching nervously.
"He wishes to be married to you."
Milena fell into Mara's arms and began to sob.
"But," said Milena, "I am so frightened."
"Frightened of what?"
"My husband."
Mara, bewildered for a moment, remembered that Milena had never been
told of Radonic's death.
"I know," continued the young woman, "that he was killed, for he
appeared to me only a few hours ago; and I am so frightened lest he
should be recalled again and scare Uros to death."
"Oh! if incense is burning the whole time, if many blessed candles
are lighted, and the whole room sprinkled with holy water, the ghost
will never be able to show itself in such a place; besides, my dear,
you know that you were almost delirious, so that the ghost you saw
must have only been your fancy."
"Still, I did not know that he was dead, and I saw him all covered
with wounds, and as plainly as I see you now; he looked at me so
fiercely----"
Milena shuddered; her features grew distorted at the remembrance of
the terrible apparition, and, in her weak state, the little strength
left in her forsook her, and she fell fainting into Mara's arms.
It was with great difficulty that she was brought back to life, and
then she consented to the marriage.
A messenger was sent to Budua to ask Danilo Kvekvic to come and
officiate, and the midwife's daughter went with him to bring Milena a
dress, as it would have almost been a sacrilege for her to get
married in a boy's clothes.
Danilo Kvekvic came at once; the young girl brought the clothes and
the wreaths, and everything being ready, the lugubrious marriage
service was performed; still, it was to be gone through once more,
when Uros should have recovered, if he ever did recover. The monks
crowded at the door, looking on wonderingly at the whole affair, for
in their quiet, humdrum life, such a ceremony was an unheard of
thing, and an event affording them endless gossip.
The emotion Uros had undergone weakened him in such a way that he
fell back fainting. His pulse grew so feeble that it could not be
felt any more; his breathing had evidently stopped, a cold
perspiration gathered on his brow; his features acquired not only the
rigidity, but also the pinched look and livid tint of death.
"I am afraid that it is the beginning of the end."
He began once more reciting the prayers for the dying. Danilo Kvekvic
sprinkled him with holy water. All the rest sank on their knees by
the bed. A convulsive sob was heard. Milenko, unable to bear the
scene any longer, rushed out of the room.
Whilst he was sobbing, and the friars outside were trying to comfort
him, the old monk came out.
"Well, father?" said the young man, with a terror-stricken face.
"It is all over," said the old man, shaking his head gravely.
Milenko uttered a deep groan; then he sank on his knees, kissing the
monk's hand devoutly.
"Thank you, father, for all that you have done for my brother. If
earthly skill could have recalled him to life, yours would have done
so. Thank you for your kindness to me and to all of us. Now my task
begins; nor do I rest until it is accomplished."
Unable to keep back the tears that were blinding him, nor the sobs
rising to his throat, he rose and ran out of the convent.
Arriving at Budua, he went everywhere seeking for Vranic; but he
could not find him anywhere. Nothing positive was known about him;
only, it was said that three children had seen him, or someone
looking like him, outside the city walls. Later on, a young sailor
related that he had rowed a man answering to Vranic's description on
board of a ship bound for the coasts of Italy. The ship, a few hours
afterwards, had sailed off.
Weary and disheartened, Milenko went home, where he found his father
and mother, who had come back from the convent.
"Well," said the father, "have you heard anything about Vranic?"
"He has fled; my vengeance has, therefore, to be postponed. It might
take weeks instead of days to accomplish it; months instead of weeks,
and even years instead of months. But I shall not rest before Vranic
pays with his own blood for his evil deed," said Milenko.
"You would not be a Slav, nor my son, if you did not act in this way.
Uros had certainly done as much for you."
"And now," added Milenko, "as I might be called away from this world
before accomplishing this great deed of justice, we must gather,
to-night, such of our friends and relations as will take with us the
terrible oath of blood, the _karva tajstvo_."
"Be it so," said Janko Markovic. "I, of course, will take the oath
with you, my son, and will help you to the utmost of my power."
Milenko shook his father's hand, and added: "Danilo Kvekvic will be
the officiating priest. He, being a relation, will not refuse, will
he?"
"No, certainly not. He may, of course, demur, but by his innuendoes
he led me to understand that he will be waiting for you."
"He is a real Iugo Slav."
Milenko and his father busied themselves at once about the great
ceremony. They went to all the relations and friends of the two
families, begging them, now that Uros was dead, to join with them in
taking the oath of revenge against Vranic, the murderer.
Not a man that was asked refused. All shook hands, and promised to be
at Markovic's house that night, and from there accompany him to the
priest's.
Night came on. Milenko's mother had gone to sit up with Mara and
Milena; Bellacic had remained to pray at his son's bedside, together
with the good monks. One by one the friends and relations of the
_pobratim_, muffled up like conspirators, knocked at Markovic's door,
and were stealthily allowed to enter. _Slivovitz_ and tobacco were at
once placed before the guests. When they were all gathered together,
and the town was asleep, they crept out quietly and wended their way
through the deserted streets to the priest's house.
Milenko tapped at the door.
"They are all asleep at this house," said one of the men; "you must
knock louder."
Hardly had these words been uttered than a faint ray of light was
seen, and, contrary to their expectations, the door was opened by
Danilo himself.
"Milenko! You, at this hour of the night? I thought you were at the
convent, reciting prayers over my nephew, your _pobratim_."
"A _pobratim_ has other duties than praying--the holy monks can do
that even better than myself."
"But I am keeping you standing at the door; what can I do for you?"
"We have a request to make, which you will not be surprised at. You
must follow us to church."
"To church, at this hour of the night?"
"Yes. We wish--one and all here present--to take the oath of blood
against the murderer."
"But, my children, think of what you are asking of me. Our religion
commands us to forgive our enemies. Christ----"
"We are Slavs, Danilo Kvekvic," said one of the men.
"But Christians, withal, I hope?"
"Still, vengeance with us is a duty, a sacred duty."
"I am the _pobratim_," quoth Milenko, "the brother of his choice. Did
I not swear before you to avenge any injury done to Uros, your
nephew? Do you wish me to forget my oath--to perjure myself?"
"Mind, it is the priest, not the uncle, who speaks," said Danilo,
sternly; "therefore, remember that the _karva tajstvo_ is illegal by
the laws of our country."
"By the laws of Austria," cried out several of the men, "not by the
laws of our country. We are Slavs, not Austrians."
"Come, Danilo, we are men, not children; trifling is useless, words
are but lost breath in this matter," said Janko Markovic. "We are
losing time."
"If you do not follow us with a good will----"
"I see that you mean to carry out your intentions, and that preaching
is useless; therefore, I am ready to follow you."
Saying this, he put his cap on his head, and opened the door.
"And the key?" asked Milenko.
"What key?"
"The key of the church."
"Why, I happen to have it in my pocket."
The church being opened, what was their surprise to see it draped in
black; but Danilo Kvekvic explained that there had been a funeral
service on that very day, and so the church had remained in its
mourning weeds.
Thereupon he shut and locked the doors. Some tapers were lighted on
the altar, and the priest, putting on his robes, began to read the
service.
The few candles shed but a glimmering light in the sacred edifice,
and the small congregation, kneeling on the benches by the altar,
were wrapt in a gloomy darkness which added a horror to the mystery
of the ceremony.
The service for the dead having been read, Kvekvic knelt and partook
of the Holy Communion; then, lighting two other tapers, he called the
congregation to him. All gathered at the foot of the altar, and knelt
down there. He then took up the chalice, where, according to the
Orthodox rites of the Communion, bread and wine were kneaded
together. Milenko, as the head of the avengers, went up to the altar,
and, bowing before the sacred cup containing the flesh and blood of
Jesus Christ, he made a slight cut in the forefinger of his left
hand, and then caused a few drops of his own blood to fall on the
Eucharist. He was followed by his father, and by all the other
partakers of the oath. When the last man had offered up a few drops
of blood, the priest mixed it up with the consecrated bread and wine
already in the cup.
"Now," said he, with an inspired voice, "lift up your hands to
heaven, and repeat after me the following oath."
All the men lifted up their hands, each one holding a piece of Uros'
blood-stained shirt, and then the priest began:
"By this blessed bread representing the flesh of our Lord Jesus
Christ, by the wine that is His own blood, by the blood flowing from
our own bodies, for the sake of our beloved Uros Bellacic, heinously
murdered, and now sitting amongst the martyrs in heaven, and from
there addressing us his prayers, I, Milenko Markovic, his _pobratim_;
I, Janko Markovic, his father of adoption; I, Marko Lillic, his
cousin" (and so on), "all related or connected to him by the ties of
blood, or of affection, solemnly swear, in the most absolute and
irrevocable manner, not to give our souls any peace, or any rest to
our bodies, until the wishes of the blessed martyr be accomplished by
taking a severe revenge upon his murderer, Josko Vranic, of this
town, on his children (if ever he has any), or, in default, on any of
his relations, friends and acquaintances who might shelter, protect,
or withhold him from our wrath; and never to cease in our intention,
or flag in our pursuit, until we have obtained a complete and cruel
satisfaction, equal, at least, to this crime committed by this common
enemy of ours. We swear to God the Father, God the Son, and God the
Holy Ghost, that not one of us will ever try to evade the dangers his
oath may put him to, or will allow himself to be corrupted by gold or
bribes of the murderer or his family, or will listen with a pitiful
ear to the prayers, entreaties, or lamentations of the person or
persons destined to expiate the crime that has taken place; and,
though his kith-and-kin be innocent of the foul deed perpetrated by
their relation, Josko Vranic, we will turn a deaf ear to their words,
and only feel for them the horror that the deed committed awakes
within us.
"We swear, moreover, by the blessed Virgin and by all the saints in
heaven, that should any of us here present forget the oath he has
taken, or break the solemn pact of blood, the others will feel
themselves bound to take revenge upon him, even as upon the murderer
of Uros Bellacic; and, moreover, the relations of the perjured man,
justly put to death, will not be able to exact the rites of the
_karvarina_."
Thereupon, the men having taken the oath, the priest at the altar
sank down on his knees, and, uplifting the chalice, continued as
follows:
"We pray Thee, omnipotent God, to listen to our oaths, and, moreover,
to help us in fulfilling them. We entreat Thee to punish the murderer
in his own person, and in that of his sons for seven successive
generations; to persecute them with Thy malediction, just as if they
themselves had committed the murder. We solemnly declare that we will
not consider Thee, O Lord, as just; Thee, O Lord, as saintly; Thee, O
Lord, as strong; nor shall we regard Thee, O Lord, as capable of
governing the world, if Thou dost not lend a listening ear to the
eager wishes of our hearts; for our souls are tormented with the
thirst for revenge."
When they had all finished this prayer, if it can be called a prayer,
they, one by one, went and partook of that loathsome communion of
blood with all the respect and devotion Christians usually have on
approaching the Lord's Table. After that Danilo Kvekvic knelt down
once more, and uplifting his hands in supplication:
"O Lord, Protector of the oppressed," said he, "Thou punishest all
those who transgress Thy wise laws and offend Thee, for Thou art a
jealous God. Help these parishioners of mine to fulfil an act of
terrestrial justice. Punish, with all Thy wrath, the perpetrator of
so abominable a crime; let him have no rest in this world, and let
his soul burn for ever in hell after his death; scatter his ashes to
the winds, and obliterate the very memory of his existence. Amen."
"Amen," repeated every man after him.
Thereupon he blessed them all; and coming down from the altar he
shook hands with each one, no more as a priest, but as a relation of
the murdered youth, and thanked them for the oath they had taken.
The candles having been put out, the door of the church was
stealthily opened, and, one by one, all the men crept out and
vanished in the darkness of the night.