The Pobratim Part 33

As all these thoughts flitted through her mind, a loud crack was heard--a jarring sound amidst the hushed stillness of the house.

Milena shuddered; a hand seemed to grip her throat. Her heart stopped for a moment; then it began to throb and beat as if it were going to burst. She gasped for breath.

What was that ominous noise? The hoop of a tub had broken!

To the uninitiated this might seem a trifle, but to those versed in occult lore it was a fearful omen. Someone was to die in that house, and this death was to happen soon, very soon; perhaps before daybreak.

She was so scared that she could not remain a moment longer in that house; so, wrapping herself up in her husband's old coat, she hastened out of the house. Just then Uros' last words sounded in her ears:

"If you are alone and in trouble, go to my mother; she will not only be a friend to you, but love you as a daughter for my sake."

Her husband that morning had sent her to Mara's; she could not remain alone any longer; it was _Kismet_ that she should go. Besides, Vranic might be coming now at any moment, and even if she swore to him that her husband had not started, he would not believe her; then she would only excite her husband to greater wrath if he came and found him alone with her. No, on the whole, it was better by far to obey her husband's behest; therefore, she started off. She ran quickly through the pouring rain, and never stopped till she was at Bellacic's door.

"Oh! Milena, is it you?" said Mara, her motherly eyes twinkling with a bright smile of welcome; "though, to tell you the real truth, I almost expected you."

"Why?"

"Because a big fly has been buzzing round me, telling me that some person who is fond of me would come and see me. Oracles are always true; besides," added she, with a smile and a sly look, "just guess of what I've been dreaming?"

"Of black grapes, that bring good luck, I suppose."

"No, of doves; so I'll surely get a letter from Uros to-morrow or the day after."

Milena looked down demurely; she blushed; then, to turn away the conversation, she added:

"To-day, for a wonder, Radonic has sent me to pa.s.s the evening with you; he'll come to fetch me later on--at least, he said he would."

"It is a wonder, indeed--why, what's come over him? He must have put on his coat inside out when he got up."

Milena thereupon told her friend why her husband did not want her at home.

"Anyhow, I'm very glad you've come, for I'm embroidering two waistcoats--one for Uros, the other for Milenko--and my poor eyes are getting rather weak, so you can help me a little with the fine st.i.tching."

"Radonic told me that some of your neighbours are coming to make stakes."

"Are they? My husband did not say anything about it."

After some time, Markovic and his wife, and several other neighbours, made their appearance.

As every man came in, he greeted Milena, and, seeing her alone, asked her where Radonic was. She, like a true Montenegrin, warded off the question by answering with a shrug of her shoulders and in an off-hand way:

"May the devil take him, if I know where he is. I daresay he'll pop up by-and-bye."

Etiquette not only requires a wife to avoid speaking of her husband, but also to eschew him completely when present, just as more northern people ignore entirely the name of certain indispensable articles of clothing.

When all the guests were a.s.sembled, and such dainties as roasted Indian-corn, melon, pumpkin and sun-flower seeds were handed round, together with filberts and walnuts, then the bard (the honoured guest) was begged to sing them a song. The improvisatore, stroking his long moustache and twisting its ends upwards that they might not be too much in his way as he spoke, took down his _guzla_ and began to sc.r.a.pe it by way of prelude. This was not, as amongst us, a sign to begin whispered conversation in out of the way corners, or to strike an att.i.tude of bored sentimentality, for everybody listened now with rapt attention.

THE FAITHLESS WIFE.

When Gjuro was about to start for war, And leave his wife alone within his hall, He fondly said: "Dear Jeljena, farewell, My faithful wife; I now hie to the camp, From whence I hope to come back soon; so for Thine own sweet sake and mine be true to me."

In haste the wanton woman answered back: "Go, my loved lord, and G.o.d watch over thee."

He had but gone beyond the gate, when she Took up a jug and went across the field To fetch fresh water from the fountain there; And having got unto the gra.s.sy glen, she saw A handsome youth, who had adorned his cap With flowers freshly culled from terebinth.

And unto him the sprightly wife thus spoke: "Good day to thee, brave Petar; tell me, pray, Where hast thou bought those blossoms fresh and fair?"

And he: "G.o.d grant thee health, O Gjuro's wife; They were not got for gold, they are a gift."

Then Jelka hastened back to her own house, And to her room she called her trusted maid.

"Now list," said she. "Go quick beyond the field And try to meet young Petar Latkovin; With terebinth you'll see his cap adorned.

Say unto him: 'Fair youth, to thee I bear The greetings of good Gjuro's wife, and she Doth kindly beg that thou wilt sup with her, And spend the night in dalliance and delight-- And give her one fair flower from thy cap.

The castle hath nine gates; the postern door Will ope for thee, now Gjuro is far off."

The handmaid forthwith to the fountain sped, And found the youth. "Good day, my lord," said she.

"Great Gjuro's winsome wife her greetings sends; She begs that thou will sup with her this night, And grant her those sweet sprays of terebinth.

Nine gates our manor has; the small side door Will be left ope for thee, my handsome youth, As Gjuro is away." Then Petar thanked And longed that night might come. At dusk, with joy He to the castle sped. He put his steed In Gjuro's stall, and then his sword he hung Just in the place where Gjuro hung his own, And set his cap where Gjuro placed his casque.

In mirth they supped, and sleep soon closed their eyes; But, lo! when midnight came, the wife did hear Her husband's voice that called: "My Jelka dear, Come, my loved wife, and open quick thy doors."

Distracted with great fear, she from her bed Sprang down, scarce knowing what to do; but soon She hid the youth, then let her husband in.

With feigning love she to his arms would fly, But he arrested her with frowning mien.

"Why didst thou not call quick thy maiden up To come and ope at once these doors of thine?"

"Sweet lord, believe a fond and faithful wife: Last night this maid of mine went off in pain To bed; she suffers from the ague, my lord; So I was loth, indeed, to call her up."

"If this be true, you were quite right," quoth he; "Yet I do fear that all thy words are lies."

"May G.o.d now strike me dumb, if all I spake Be aught than truth," said Jeljena at once.

But frowning, Gjuro stood with folded arms: "Whose is that horse within my stall? and whose That cap adorned with flowers gay? And there I see a stranger's sword upon the wall."

"Now listen to thy loving wife, my lord.

Last night a warrior came within thy walls, And wanted wine, in pledge whereof he left His prancing steed, his sword, and that smart cap,"

Said Yelka, smiling sweetly to her lord.

And he with lowering looks, then said: "'Tis well, Provided thou canst swear thou speakest true."

"The Lord may strike me blind," she then replied.

"Why is thy hair dishevelled, and thy cheeks Of such a pallid hue? now, tell me why?"

And she: "Believe thine honest wife. Last night As I did walk beneath our orchard trees, The apple boughs dishevelled thus my hair, And then I breathed the orange blossom scent, Until their fragrance almost made me faint."

Now Gjuro's face was fearful to behold, Still as he frowned he only said: "'Tis well, But on the holy Cross now take an oath."

"My lord, upon the holy Cross I swear."

"Now give me up the key of mine own room."

Then Jeljena grew ghastly pale with fear, Still she replied in husky tones: "Last night As I came from your room the key did break Within the lock, so now the door is shut."

But he cried out in wrath: "Give me my key, Or from thy shoulders I shall smite thy head!"

She stood aghast and speechless with affright, So with his foot he burst at once the door.

There in the room he found young Latkovin.

"Now, answer quick: Didst thou come here by strength, Or by her will?" The youth a while stood mute, Not knowing what to say. But looking up: "Were it by mine own strength," he then replied, "Beyond the hills she now would be with me; If I am here, 'tis by her own free will."

Then standing straight, with stern and stately mien, Unto the youth he said, in scornful tones: "Hence, get thee gone!" Now, when they were alone, He glanced askance upon his guilty wife With loathsomeness and hatred in his eyes: "Now, tell me of what death thou'lt rather die-- By having all thy bones crushed in a mill?

Or being trodden down 'neath horses' hoofs?

Or flaring as a torch to light a feast?"

She, for a trice, nor spake, nor moved, nor breathed, But stood as if amazed and lost in thought; Then, waking up as from some frightful dream: "I am no corn to be crushed in a mill, Or stubble gra.s.s for steeds to tread upon; If I must die, then, like unto a torch, Let me burn brightly in thy banquet hall."

In freezing tones the husband spake and said: "Be it, then, as you list," and thereupon He made her wear a long white waxen gown.

Then, in his hall, he bound her to a pyre, And underneath he piled up glowing coals, So that the flame soon rose and reached her knees.

With tearful eyes and a heartrending cry: "Oh! Gjuro mine, take pity on my youth; Look at my feet, as white as winter snow; Think of the times they tripped about this hall In mazy dance; let not my feet be scorched."

To all her prayers he turned a ruthless ear, And only heaped more wood on the pile.

The lambent flames now leapt up to her hands, And she in anguish and in dreadful dole Cried out: "Oh! show some mercy on my youth; Just see my hands--so soft, so small, so smooth-- Let not these scathful flames now scorch my hands.

Have pity on these dainty hands of mine, That often lifted up thy babe to thee."

Her words awoke no pity in his heart, That seemed to have become as cold as clay; He only heaped up coals upon the pile, Like some fell demon who had fled from h.e.l.l.

The forked lurid tongues rose up on high, Like slender fiery snakes that sting the flesh, And, leaping up, they reached her snowy breast.

"Oh! Gjuro," she cried out, "for pity's sake Have mercy on my youth; torment me not.

Though I was false to thee, let me not die.