The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WEDDING

Milenko had been most lucky in his voyages, and had reaped a golden harvest. As steamers had not yet come into any practical use, and the Adriatic trade was still a most prosperous one, ship-owners and captains had a good time of it. In fact, his share of the profits was such as to enable him to buy the ship on his own account. Still, now that the karvarina business was settled and Uros' death was avenged, he did not care any more for a seafaring life; and, moreover, his heart was at Nona with the girl he loved.

The time he had been away had seemed to him everlastingly long, and, besides, he had been all these months without any news from his family. He was, therefore, overjoyed upon reaching Trieste to find a whole packet awaiting him.

The very first letter that caught his sight was one in a handwriting which, although familiar, he could not recognise. Could it be from Ivanka? Now that they were engaged, she, perhaps, had written to him; still, it hardly seemed probable. Perhaps it was from Giulianic, for, indeed, it was more of a man's than a woman's handwriting. Looking at it closer, he thought, with a sigh, that if poor Uros were alive, he would surely believe it came from him. At last he tore the letter open. It began:

"Ljubi moj brati."

"Can it be possible," said Milenko to himself, "that Uros is still alive?"

He gave a glance at the signature; there was no more doubt about it, the writer was Uros himself. In his joy, he pressed the letter to his lips; then he ran over its contents, which were as follows:

"MY BELOVED BROTHER, – You will, doubtless, be very much surprised to get this letter from me, as I do not think anybody has, as yet, written to you; nor is it likely that you have met anyone from Budua giving you our news. Therefore, as I think you believe me in my coffin, it will be just like receiving a letter from beyond the grave. Anyhow, if I am still alive, it is to you, my dear Milenko, that I owe my life, nay, more than my life, my happiness.

"The day you went away I remained for several hours in a fainting-fit, just like a dead man. My heart had ceased to beat, my limbs had grown stiff and cold; in fact, they say I was exactly like a corpse. I think that, for a little while, I even lost the use of all my senses. At last, when I came to myself, I could neither feel, nor speak, nor move; I could only hear. I lived, as it were, rather out of my body than within it. I heard weeping and wailing, and the prayers for the dead were being said over me. My mother and Milena were kissing my face and hands, and their tears trickled down on my cold lips and eyelids. It was a moment of bitter anguish and maddening terror. Should I lie stiff and stark, like a corpse, and allow myself to be buried? The idea was so dreadful that it quite paralysed me. I again, for a little while, lost all consciousness. Little by little I recovered my senses; I could even open my eyes; I uttered a few faint words. In fact, I was alive. From that moment I began to recover my strength. In less than a fortnight I was able to rise from my bed. From that day my mother's visits not only were shorter, but Milena ceased to come. They told me that the monks had objected to her presence. I was afraid this was an excuse, and, in fact, I soon found out that she had been at the point of death, and, as she was at our house now, my mother was taking care of her. Her illness protracted my own, and my strength seemed once more to pass away. But Milena returned to me, and soon afterwards I was able to leave the convent.

"Can I describe my happiness to you, friend of my heart? You yourself will shortly be married to the girl you are fond of, and then you will know all the bliss of loving and being loved.

"But enough of this, for you will say that either my illness or my stay in the convent has made me maudlin, sentimental – and, perhaps, you will not be quite wrong.

"Let me rather ask you, captain, how you have been faring, and on what seas you have been tossing. Oh! how I long to hear from you, and to see you. I hope you will soon be back amongst us, where a great happiness is in store for you; but more than that I cannot say.

"I sincerely trust you have not met with my enemy, and that your hands are not stained with blood. God has dealt mercifully towards me; He has raised me, as it were, from the dead. Let us leave that wretched wanderer to his fate. Moreover, the first day I was able to leave my cell I walked, or rather I should say I crawled, to church to hear Mass. It was on Rose Sunday, which, as you know, is a week after Easter, and the convent garden was in all its youthful beauty. The priest recited the Scriptures for the day, and amongst the other beautiful things that he read were these words, which seemed addressed to me; they were: 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' Hearing them in church, I almost fancied it was God Himself speaking; and they made such an impression upon me, that I swore to forego all thoughts of karvarina, feeling sure that the Almighty will, sooner or later, keep the promise He made to me.

"If I did not know you, my dear Milenko, I might imagine you saying to yourself: 'His illness has crushed all manly spirit out of him.' Still, I feel sure you will not say that of me.

"How often I have been thinking of you, especially the day I left the convent; and on my wedding-day my thoughts were more with you than at home.

"Have your ventures been prosperous? Anyhow, do not invest more money in new ships, for our fathers have just bought a very large schooner. It had been built for a ship-owner, who, having laid out more money in his trade than he could afford, was only too glad to dispose of it. The christening will take place as soon as you come back. Of course, the name chosen is The Pobratim.

"I do not write to you anything about your family, for your father has written to you several times, although, by the letters we have from you, none of them seem to have reached you as yet. "UROS."

Milenko hastened to open his father's letters, and he found there the "happiness which was in store for him," to which Uros alluded, for Bellacic wrote:

"You will be surprised to hear that we have a new addition to our circle of friends, a family you are well acquainted with. I do not ask you to guess who these people are, for you would never do so. Therefore, I shall tell you Giulianic has come to settle in Budua. The country round Nona, which, as you know, is rather marshy and consequently unhealthy, never agreed with any of them; for reasons best known to themselves they have chosen Budua as their residence. I had known Giulianic years ago, and I was very glad to renew his acquaintance; your mother is greatly taken up with his daughter, who seems to cling to her as to a mother. It appears that when Uros met them last, he played some practical kind of joke upon them and rendered himself rather obnoxious; but his marriage has settled the matter to everybody's satisfaction, especially to Ivanka's, for she and Milena are already great friends. I need not tell you how much your mother longs to have you back."

Milenko, after reading all his letters, could hardly master his impatience any longer; a feeling of home-sickness oppressed him to such a degree that, in his longing, he almost felt tempted to leave his ship and run away. But as ill-luck would have it he could not find a cargo either for Cattaro or Budua; therefore, having unloaded his ship, he bought a cargo of timber, which then found a ready market everywhere, and sailed at once for his native town.

"The north-easterly wind 'll just last all the way out of the Adriatic," said Janovic, the new boatswain they had engaged in Trieste, "and we'll get to Budua in three days, so we'll have just time to unload and go to Cattaro for the feast of San Trifone and the grand doings of the marinerezza, that is, if the captain 'll give us leave."

"Oh, that 'll be delightful," replied Peric, "for I've not seen it yet. What is it like?"

"The feast of the marinerezza," said Janovic, sententiously, "is more beautiful than any kind of pageantry I've seen; why, the carnival of Benetke" (Venice), "the procession of Corpus Domini in Trst" (Trieste), "or the feast of the Ramazan, at Carigrad" (Constantinople), "cannot be compared to it. So it's useless my describing it to you; it's a thing you must see for yourself."

Five days after their departure from Trieste, the Giustizia di Diowas casting her anchor in the roads of Budua. Although winter was not yet over, spring seemed already to have set in; the sky was of a fathomless blue, the sun was warm and of an effulgent brightness, the brown almond-trees were covered with white blossoms; Nature had already put on her festive garb.

His two fathers, his brother of adoption, Giulianic, Danko Kvekvic, and a host of friends, were waiting on the shore to welcome him back. Then they accompanied him all in a body to his house. His mother, Mara Bellacic and Milena were waiting for him on the threshold. Presently, Giulianic went to fetch his wife and daughter. Ivanka came trying to hide her blushes; nay, to appear indifferent and demure. In front of so many people, Milenko himself felt awkward, and still there was such a wistful, longing look of pent-up love in his searching glances as he bashfully shook hands with her, that, in her maidenly coyness, her eyelids drooped down, so that their long dark lashes kissed her blushing cheeks.

That day seemed quite a festivity for the little town. The pobratimhad many friends; and besides, all the persons who had taken the awful oath of the karva tajstvo were anxious to know if Captain Milenko had met Vranic during the many months that he had been away; therefore, Markovic's house was, till late at night, always crowded with people.

When Milenko related to them how he had tried to save Vranic, and how miserably the poor wretch had perished, everybody crossed himself devoutly, and extolled the God of the Orthodox faith as the true God of the karvarina.

A few days after Milenko's arrival, his father went to Giulianic and asked him for Ivanka's hand.

"I am only too happy to give her to the man of her choice," said Giulianic, "for although I had, indeed, accepted Uros for my son-in-law, still I did so only in mistake. Not only was it Milenko who first gallantly exposed his life to save us, but Ivanka, as she confessed to her mother, fell in love with him the very moment she awoke from her fainting-fit and found herself in his arms. Of course, she ought never to have done so, for no proper girl ought ever to fall in love but with the man chosen by her parents; still, young people are young people all the world over, you know," said Giulianic, apologisingly.

After that, the fathers discussed the dower, and the mothers talked about the outfit, the kitchen utensils, and the furnishing of the house.

Then followed a month of perfect bliss. During that time, they went occasionally to look after the schooner, which was being fitted up with far more luxury than sailing ships usually were; they visited their fields and their vineyards; but most of their time was spent in merry-making.

One day they all went on a pilgrimage to the Convent of St. George, where they left rich gifts to the holy caloyers for Uros' recovery; another day they visited the famous subterranean chapel of Pod-Maini, adorned with beautiful Byzantine frescoes. They also showed Ivanka the tower where Boskovic, the great magician, lived; but she, being a stranger, had never heard of him; and so they told her that he was an astrologer who possessed a telescope with which he read all the names of the stars.

Another time they went for a sail on the blue, translucent waters, and Milenko showed his bride that high rock jutting over the sea, which is situated half-way between Castel Lastua and Castel Stefano, and known as the Skoce Djevojka (The Young Girl's Leap).

"Did a young girl jump down from that height?" asked Ivanka, shuddering.

"Yes. She was a young girl of exceeding beauty, from the neighbouring territory of Pastiovic, and to escape from a Turk who was pursuing her she threw herself down into the abyss beneath. But I'll tell you her story at full length some other time."

Although the hand of time seemed to move very slowly, still the month of courtship came to an end. Now all the preparations for the wedding were ready, for the nuptials were to be solemnised with great pomp and splendour.

On the morning of that eventful day, everyone connected with the wedding had risen at daybreak to attend to the numerous preparations required. The principal room in Giulianic's house had been cleared of all the furniture, so as to make room for the breakfast table, which was to be spread there. At that early hour, already the lady of the house was presiding over the women in the kitchen, who were cooking a number of young lambs and kids, roasting huge pieces of beef, numberless fowls on spits, or baking pojace (unleavened bread) on heated stones.

The men, as a rule, fussed about, creating much confusion, as men usually do on such occasions. They fidgeted and worried lest everything should not be ready in time. They delayed everything, and, moreover, kept wanting and asking for all kinds of impossible things. The barbers' shops were all crowded. At a certain hour – when the bridegroom was expected – a number of people had gathered round about the house to see him come. At the gate, for Giulianic's villa was out of the town walls, two sentinels were placed to keep watch. The elder was Zwillievic, Milena's father, who had come from Montenegro for the purpose; tall and stalwart, with his huge moustache and his glittering weapons at his belt, he was a fierce guard, indeed. The other was Lilic, only a youth, who for self-defence had but a strong stick.

Both of them were very merry, withal they seemed to be expecting some powerful foe against whose assault they were well prepared. The youth, especially, was so full of his mission, that he hardly dared to take any notice of the loungers who crowded thereabouts.

At last there was a bustle, and the guards were on the alert.

"Here they are, here they are!" shouted the children.

The persons expected were in sight, and, except for their rich festive attire, they looked, indeed, as if they were bent upon some predatory expedition, so manly and warlike was their gait.

The persons expected were about twelve in number; that is to say, the bridegroom and his followers – the svati, or knights.