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 THE 
 INTERPRETERS SERIES 
 
 jugo-.slav 
 Stories 
 
 EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 PAVLE POPOVIC 
 
 Q 
 
 B
 
 
 W\^
 
 THE INTERPRETERS' SERIES 
 
 JUGOSLAV STORIES
 
 THE INTERPRETERS' SERIES 
 
 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 
 
 Edited by Sarka B. Hrbkova 
 
 MODERN GREEK STORIES 
 Edited by Demetea Vaka 
 
 JUGOSLAV STORIES 
 
 Edited by Pavle Popovic
 
 THE INTERPRETERS' SERIES 
 
 JUGOSLAV 
 STORIES 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL 
 AND EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION BT 
 
 PAVLE POPOVIC 
 
 Profetsor at the University of Belgrade 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 
 
 1921
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 
 
 Printed fn the United States of America
 
 SBtF 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 3 
 
 By Pavle Popovic 
 
 The First Matins With my Father .... 19 
 By Lazar Lazarovich 
 
 Kan josh Maeedonovich 51 
 
 By Stjepan Mitrov Ljubisa 
 
 Vidosava Brankovich 79 
 
 By Zmaj-Jovan Jovanovich 
 
 The First Furrow 109 
 
 By Milovan Glisich 
 
 By the Well 123 
 
 By Lazab Lazarovich 
 
 The Kum's Curse 151 
 
 By Janko Veselinovich 
 
 Povareta . 187 
 
 By Simo Matavulya 
 
 Hodja Saleek 205 
 
 Svetozar Corovich 
 
 Eternity 227 
 
 By Janko Veselinovich 
 
 T
 
 JUGOSLAV STORIES
 
 PRONUNCIATION OF SERBIAN LETTERS 
 
 C as ts in lots. 
 
 J as y in yet. 
 
 Lj as 1 in million (Italian g\ in egli). 
 
 Z as s in pleasure (French j in jour).
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 When I was very kindly asked to prepare a short 
 Anthology of modern Serbian fiction I felt very much 
 at a loss. It was in the month of May 1919 and I 
 was in Paris attending the Peace Conference and at 
 the very height of my work in the Press Division of 
 the Serbian Delegation. 
 
 How was it possible to prepare an Anthology at a 
 time so unfavorable for literary work? The greatest 
 difficulty of all was to find the necessary books. I 
 had none with me and my countrymen who had come 
 to the Conference and who had taken the greatest 
 pains to have on hand statistical reports and maps 
 had never thought of bringing any woiks of pure lit- 
 erature. There were none in the libraries of Paris 
 and they would have to be sent from Belgrade. But 
 even this was not altogether practical for almost all 
 the Public Libraries in Serbia, as well as most of the 
 private ones, were destroyed and pillaged by the enemy 
 during the war and many Serbian books which ordi- 
 narily could have been very easily obtained had for 
 that reason become extremely rare. Besides where 
 could translators be found, for there are very few 
 English speaking people who understand and read 
 Serbian. My task was clearly a difficult one and yet 
 
 3
 
 i JTGO-SLAV ST OKIES 
 
 I was asked to work rapidly so that the book might 
 be published in a few months — and it had to be done. 
 
 Under these conditions I have not been able to make 
 qnite the same selection of stories as I should have 
 done before the war. "When an anthology of Serbian 
 stories is brought before the American public for the 
 first time it should represent all of the best things that 
 Serbian literature has produced in that kind of work. 
 Unfortunately I did not succeed in securing the works 
 of all the Serbian writers of fiction especially those of 
 some of the younger men whose work I particulariy 
 regret that I have been obliged to omit since much of 
 it shows great freshness, originality and vigor. 
 
 However, the authors who appear in this anthology 
 are all excellent and the stories we have gathered to- 
 gether are the finest that a number of our best authors 
 have produced- 
 
 •'The First S/Iatios With My Father" is perhaps 
 the greatest story in our collection. Lazar Lazaro- 
 vich (1S51-1S90) still stands first among Serbian story 
 tellers, though there have been many men of talent 
 since his day. He is great in every way and although 
 he only wrote a dozen short stories each one is a little 
 masterpiece. Each is a true picture of life, a vigorous 
 piece of characterization, a model of construction and 
 written moreover in a most correct and expressive 
 literary style. 
 
 Lazarovieh was bom an artist. He had the artistic
 
 IXTRODrCTIOX 5 
 
 instinct, tlie sense of proportion and of harmony in a 
 very high degree and he added to these gifts the serious 
 stndy of life,, manners and character. He knew 
 thoronghly the life of the Serbian peasant and of 
 the small towns for he was bom in the conntry and 
 became a district medical officer, which brought him 
 into close contact with the peasants for many years. 
 It is really a very great loss that he should have died 
 while still so young a man and that he did not have 
 more leisure to devote to literary work. 
 
 In the story which we are diseu&dng it is worth 
 noticing with what skill in climax, care in detail and 
 yet with what simplicity in tone and handling the 
 story of a gambler is told. There are no detailed 
 analyses, no minute descriptions and no long drawn 
 out and tiresome bits of narrative. The life of a 
 gambler is not displayed in the full glare of midday. 
 You do not know what the hero himself thinks or feels 
 at each stage of the story, nor do you see the gambling 
 companions who surround him. The whole story is 
 seen from afar, from one comer of the background 
 and in a very personal light. The life of the gam- 
 bler is told by one who is not a gambler himself, by 
 a child — and there are many childlike qualities in his 
 narrative. We rather receive the impression that 
 a drama is being enacted than watch the drama and its 
 incidents themselves. This results in simplifying the 
 plot into a short and vivid narrative and makes a
 
 6 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 short story which contains an entire novel. Even the 
 great scene itself, the fatal night of the gambling, is 
 not given as a whole. You only hear a few words at 
 the end of it. You only see what you can make out 
 through the keyhole of the door in a few seconds filled 
 with the fear of being caught. Nevertheless it is as 
 clear and as broadly drawn as if we had been present 
 at every incident at the gaming table during the whole 
 night. The final scene is intensely dramatic and en- 
 tirely unexpected. When you read the first sentence 
 of the story which is so simple and promises so little, 
 you would never imagine that in a few pages it could 
 develop such dramatic effects. 
 
 The other story by Lazarovich ' ' At The Well " is as 
 good as the one we have just discussed. It is hard to 
 tell which of the two is the better. The last is the 
 equal of the first in every way and probably surpasses 
 it in elegance of form. It is dramatic and touching 
 in the highest degree and perfect in style, colour, care 
 for detail and composition. 
 
 It may perhaps be necessary to explain the sur- 
 roundings in which this story takes place. There is 
 in Serbia a veiy ancient institution called a "La- 
 druga," an association made up of many families of 
 the same origin. The head of the family lives there 
 with his sons and his daughters, their wives and hus- 
 bands and children. These children when they reach 
 the proper age also marry and their children stay iii
 
 INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 the family even when their turn comes to be married. 
 This entire world is like one family and no member of 
 it separates himself from it to found his own house- 
 hold. The oldest member is the head and also the 
 ruler and if he is very old he is helped by one or two 
 of those nearest his own age. He is greatly honoured 
 and respected by all the members of the Association. 
 A complete hierarchy exists among them and every one 
 according to his age and ability exercises his rights 
 and does his share in the Association. The youngest 
 ones have a limited sphere of rights and duties and 
 are directly under those who are older than themselves 
 and only very rarely and exceptionally do they have 
 anything to do personally with the head of the As- 
 Bociation. 
 
 The second story in the book, "Kanjosh 
 Macedonovich," is by Stjepan Mitrov Ljubisa (1821- 
 1878) a writer without very much training but with 
 a great deal of talent. It is simple and charming. 
 It is really a kind of fairy story, the tale of a merchant 
 who gets the better of a brigand, of a dwarf who con- 
 quers a giant, of a Serbian David who overcomes an 
 Italian Goliath. That is what the slory of Kan josh 
 really is and though it borders doubtless on the myth, 
 the legend and the fairy tale, yet this fantastic story 
 is transformed into a vivid picture of reality through 
 the natural, straightforward narrative of the author. 
 Poor Kan josh, honest and unsophisticated, is the true
 
 8 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 son of a free mountain country, upright and simple, 
 with a great deal of common sense and a very clear 
 and vigorous sense of justice. He is thrown suddenly 
 into the midst of a decadent and vicious society, 
 among spies and cowards who pretend to be brave to 
 gain prestige, and scoundrels who, according to cir- 
 cumstances, either assume airs of uprightness and 
 dignity or prostrate themselves before you as humble 
 suppliants and flatterers. This gives the material for 
 these scenes of comedy which are drawn with so much 
 spirit and talent. The straightforward narrative with 
 its plot of true comedy is written in a simple and 
 condensed but supple and lively style, and in pictur- 
 esque and idiomatic language. 
 
 I do not suppose that it will be necessary to give 
 a long historical and geographical explanation to make 
 the American public enjoy the story. I might merely 
 say that the little Serbian state of Pastrovich is on the 
 shore of the Adriatic just south of Dalmatia and to 
 the east of the Bocce di Cattaro. After the break-up 
 of the Serbian Empire when the Adriatic coast was 
 conquered by the Venetian Eepublic, this little Ser- 
 bian state, though under the suzerainty or protection 
 of that republic, still enjoyed a certain autonomy and 
 some rights of which the other Venetian subjects on 
 the Dalmatian coast were deprived. Still the Re- 
 public of St. ]\Iark put all kinds of difficulties in the 
 path of its pretended protege and obviously tried to
 
 INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 exploit it and to take away its liberties. Our story, 
 which is indeed foiiuded on an historical narrative of 
 the XV Century, gives a faithful picture of the rela- 
 tions between the Venetian Republic and the Serbian 
 people of the period. Perhaps the American reader 
 may also see a symbol of what may be the relations 
 between Italians and Serbs in the near future along 
 this same Adriatic shore. 
 
 The third story ''Vidosava Brankovich" is, I must 
 frankly admit, not quite so well written. Its style 
 has a touch of rather banal romanticism and of bom- 
 bast 'and yet possesses a certain poetic quality. The 
 author, Zmaj-Jovan Jovanovich (1833-1904), is one 
 of the best Serbian lyric poets, and although lyrie 
 poets 'are rarely good short-story writers it cannot be 
 denied that they put a certain poetic quality into every- 
 thing they write. There is real pathos in the sorrow- 
 ful story of the family on which the curse of the 
 people rests. There is poetry in the mysterious and 
 lugubrious refrain which appears and reappears in the 
 story from time to time. It has also one unforgettable 
 moment — ^the dream of the mythical young girl on 
 the eve of her wedding. You can not thoroughly un- 
 derstand this tragic story unless you recall the battle 
 of Kossova (1389) which determined the fate of the 
 mediaeval Serbian Empire that had flourished for 
 many centuries. There the Turks conquered the Serbs 
 who lost their independence. Popular Tradition and
 
 10 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 the national epics have always been disposed to attri- 
 bute that catastix)phe to treason and to name as the 
 traitor Vuk Brankovich, one of the most powerful 
 Serbian nobles of the period. Our poet has chosen to 
 show the last descendants of Vuk's family, the blunt 
 old man Urosh Brankovich and his young daughter the 
 mystical Vidosava, as the principal characters in the 
 story. It is Vuk's crime that these two, in spite of 
 their innocence and their virtues, are forced to expiate. 
 
 ''The First Furrow" by Milovan Glisich (1827- 
 1908) is a very short and simple story. Glisich is 
 really a humorist and his stories and plays have a 
 great deal of life and brilliant local colour but occa- 
 sionally he liked to write serious stories and this tale is 
 one of them. It is only a sketch, a mere outline, noth- 
 ing at all really, yet it is truly touching. At the period 
 that we are passing through to-day this story becomes 
 symbolic. There are many unhappy women in Serbia 
 widowed by the war and left with little children like 
 the heroine of our story. In a few years they too 
 will see their children grow up and reach the age when 
 they can be useful and plough their first furrow in 
 that earth which, thereafter, they will cultivate by 
 their own strength. Our story, even though it was 
 written thirty years ago, is symbolic of the next Ser- 
 bian generation which will certainly rebuild their de- 
 vastated fatherland. 
 
 *'The Curse" is the best story of Janko Veselino-
 
 INTRODUCTION 11 
 
 vich (1862-1905) a young man of great talent, orig- 
 inality and vigour who heedlessly dissipated his 
 strength and his youth and died prematurely. He was 
 at first merely a village schoolmaster but later held a 
 small government post at Belgrade. 
 
 This story shows us a thoroughly patriarchal world 
 and one which has long ago ceased to exist with its 
 tribunal which held its sessions under an old oak, its 
 honest but despotic authorities and unquestioned sub- 
 mission to those in the authority, its profound respect 
 for ancient customs and manners and a superstitious 
 belief in the efficacy of the curse. Above all, respect 
 for the ' ' Kum ' ' is what this world most vigorously ob- 
 served. The Kum is the witness or groomsman and 
 later on the Grodfather of the children who result from 
 the marriage at which he has assisted. He was always 
 considered as a member of the family and was held in 
 particular respect by all its members. All homage 
 to him ! If it was he who launched a curse upon you. 
 Beware! You may be sure that every evil will fall 
 upon your head. Even to-day the Kum enjoys much 
 prestige in the family but in those older times his 
 authority was really very great. 
 
 Veselinovich is not, like Lazarovich, a consummate 
 artist and he lacks his qualities of style but still he 
 touches a very high level in "The Curse." The little 
 disagreement between two estimable people develops 
 logically and clearly and the situation becomes big
 
 12 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 with dramatic and pathetic consequences of the high- 
 est import. If he is not a great artist Veselinovich 
 nevertheless has real power. 
 
 The two stories which follow; "Povereta" and 
 "Hodja Saleek," are among the best written by Simo 
 Matavulya (1852-1908) and Svetozar Corovich (1875- 
 1918). The first story is laid in Dalmatia where 
 Matavulya was born and the second in Herzegovina 
 the fatherland of Corovich. Dalmatia and Herze- 
 govina are two ancient Serbian states which as a result 
 of the late war have been reunited to the mother 
 country. Dalmatia is the Adriatic coast, in the south- 
 erly part of which lies Pastrovich described in "Kan- 
 josh Macedonovich." The northern part, to which the 
 Dalmatian archipelago belongs, is the scene of the 
 story by Matavulya. Herzegovina is the back country 
 of the coast south of Bosnia. Both of those countries 
 are west of Serbia proper. The inhabitants are how- 
 ever as Serbian as the Serbs of Serbia. Among them 
 are a few Mohammedans and one of these is shown 
 in Hodja Saleek, the principal character in Corovich 's 
 story. 
 
 These two stories of Matavulya and Corovich, have 
 a great deal of local colour. The first shows us the 
 impoverished, simple and naive world of the deep 
 sea fisherman, very catholic and very bigoted in its 
 faith. The world of the second story is just as simple, 
 naive and archaic bu tit is a Mohammedan world.
 
 INTRODUCTION 13 
 
 The stories are both realistic in their treatment and 
 remarkable for their picturesqueness and their truth 
 to life. They are rather impressions than stories and 
 hold our interest more by their picture of the life they 
 describe than by any interest in the plot. The first 
 has a certain amount of dramatic quality, the second 
 is remarkable for its humour and wit. 
 
 We have concluded our collection with another story 
 by Veselinovich, — ''Eternity," not because this au- 
 thor and Lazarovich are the only ones who deserve to 
 be represented by two examples of their work but be- 
 cause we wished to include one story which was 
 fundamentally a folk story and one which, told here 
 by a Serbian man of letters, still lives in the popular 
 tradition of our country. There is a legend that tells 
 of an emperor who was very virtuous and was allowed 
 to ascend into Heaven for a moment. He did not per- 
 ceive that he stayed more than three hundred years, 
 but when he came back to his country he was aston- 
 ished to find everything changed and entirely new peo- 
 ple there, who did not know him. A Serbian book of 
 the sixteenth century tells how a monk, walking in Ihe 
 garden of his convent, was struck by the marvellous 
 song of a little bird he had never before seen. When 
 the song was over he wanted to go back into the con- 
 vent but found a wall where had been the door by 
 which he had gone out. When finally he got back to the 
 convent he found there a generation of monks whom he
 
 14 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 did not know and discovered that three hundred and 
 forty years had passed in his absence. In an old Ser- 
 bian manuscript of the middle ages it is related that the 
 Prophet Jeremiah charged Abimelech to go out of 
 Jerusalem to pick some figs in the country nearby. 
 He did so, but before getting back he felt tired and, 
 lying down to rest under a tree, fell asleep. When 
 he awoke he hurried back with his basket of figs but 
 was greatly astonished to find the city of Jerusalem 
 ruined, sacked and without inhabitants. There was 
 no trace of Jeremiah of whom he vainly sought tidings. 
 At last it was explained to him that he had slept under 
 his tree for four hundred and twenty-six years and 
 that during that time the Emperor of Babylon had 
 stormed and sacked the city and made prisoners of 
 all the inhabitants. There are indeed many other 
 stories of the same sort. This particular legend is 
 widely known in our country, and appears in many 
 popular ballads and many old manuscripts. The 
 American reader will quickly realize that this is at 
 bottom the same legend as that of Rip Van Winkle. 
 
 But our story as it is told by Veselinovich has com- 
 bined with it another idea foreign to the original 
 legend and which has no intrinsic connection with 
 it. It is the story of a crime, a mysterious murder, 
 which makes the version of Veselinovich less clear and 
 logical than the other Serbian versions of the story. 
 
 These are the Serbian stories which we introduce
 
 INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 to the American public for the first time. I trust that 
 they may have a warm welcome. They deserve it 
 not only because they come from a friendly country 
 which has shown such heroism during the great war 
 but also because they have such real literary value. 
 If they should be gladly welcomed by American read- 
 ers this will be largely due to the translators, who have 
 done their best to give a true rendering of these 
 stories, which are frequently very difficult to interpret, 
 and to show clearly the spirit which inspires them. 
 The principal merit however is due to the American 
 publisher who first had the idea of bringing out this 
 book and who has made a great effort to realize it. 
 
 PAVLE POPOVIC 
 Belgrade, 
 Feb. 1920.
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 
 By Lazae Lazarovich 
 
 17
 
 Lazar Lazarovich was bom in 1851 at Labach, 
 •1 Serbia), a town which was completely destroyed 
 in 1914 during the great war. He completed his law 
 course at Belgrade and then his medical course at 
 Berlin and was a practicing physician throughout 
 his life, first in the country and then in Belgrade. 
 He was elected a corresponding member of the Serb- 
 ian Royal Academy. 
 
 Lazarovich was the author of a dozen short stories 
 which aroused ihe most immense enthusiasm among 
 the public and founded the realistic school of Serbian 
 fiction. He died in 1890. 
 
 18
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 
 By Lazar Lazarovich 
 
 I was only nine years old at the time. I don't re- 
 member the exact details of what happened, so I can 
 only tell you what I recall. My sister who is older 
 than I am remembers too, but my younger brother, 
 on the contrary, knows nothing about it. I was never 
 fool enough to tell him. 
 
 When I was grown up, I questioned my mother, 
 who told me many things about the affair. My 
 father, naturally, never breathed a word. 
 
 He, my father, was of course always dressed as a 
 Turk. I can still see him putting on his clothes. He 
 wore a short under vest of red velvet edged with sev- 
 eral rows of gold braid, and over that a green cloth 
 jacket. Behind his belt, which was stamped in gold, 
 he stuck a thin walking stick with an. ivory top and 
 a dagger with silver scabbard and ivory handle. A 
 fringed sash, tied on the left side, covered the belt. 
 His trousers were ornamented with silk braid and em- 
 broidery, huge flaps hung half way down his legs, 
 and he wore white stockings and flat shoes. A Tuni- 
 sian fez, worn a little over the left ear, served as head- 
 gear. He carried in his hand an ebony pipe with an 
 
 19
 
 20 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 amber mouthpiece, and stuck in his sash on the right 
 side was a tobacco pouch embroidered in gold and 
 false pearls. He was a real dandy. 
 
 His disposition was peculiar, and though it is true 
 that he was my father, since I have started to tell 
 the story, there is no use in lying about it. He was 
 extremely severe, he always commanded, and if his 
 orders, given once for all, were not immediately exe- 
 cuted, there was nothing left for you to do but to 
 escape as fast as possible. Passionate and forcible, 
 he required that everj^thing should be done in his way ; 
 in short, no one dared to have the audacity to con- 
 tradict him. When he was really angry, he would 
 blaspheme the Allelulia. He never gave but one 
 blow, but my dear fellow, you were on the ground 
 as soon as you were hit! He was easily offended; 
 when he scowled, bit his lower lip, and twisted his 
 moustache, turning up the ends, his eyebrows joined 
 across his forehead, and his black eyes gleamed. Woe, 
 if at that moment someone came to tell him that I 
 did not know my lesson. I don't know why I was so 
 afraid. He might have boxed my ears once. But 
 his eyes made me shiver, and when he turned them 
 on you like a bullet from a sling, you would begin 
 to tremble like an apple twig, without rhyme or rea- 
 son. 
 
 He never laughed, at least never like other people. 
 I remember one day, when he was holding my little
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 21 
 
 brother on his knee. He had given the child his watch 
 to play with, and Djokica insisted on jamming the 
 watch into his mouth and yelling like one possessed 
 because he couldn't open it. My sister and I almost 
 died of laughing, and the thing seemed amusing even 
 to my father, for he several times partly opened his 
 mouth on the left side and his face wrinkled at the 
 corner of his left eye. This was an extraordinary 
 event, and was his way of laughing at a thing which 
 would have made anyone else roar so that they could 
 be heard at the Inn of Tetreb. 
 
 I remember the day that my uncle died, Papa's 
 brother and partner, whom he cared for deeply. My 
 aunt, my mother, my cousins, all of us children sobbed 
 and groaned, with tears and lamentations, all, all, 
 crying aloud. But Papa never faltered, he did not 
 shed a tear, or even say an "Oh" of pain. Only as 
 he w^ent out of the house his lower lip trembled nerv- 
 ously and he shivered. He was white as linen and 
 supported himself against the doorway, but he did 
 not open his lips. 
 
 Even at the risk of his head, he would never go 
 back on what he had said, though the thing might 
 be required by his conscience. I remember the day 
 that he dismissed his clerk, Proka. I saw clearly that 
 he hated doing it, and that he was sorry for the man, 
 but he did not give in. He liked Proka better than 
 any of the other clerks. I remember that he had never
 
 22 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 struck him but once when, after drawing some brandy, 
 Proka had closed the spigot so badly that almost the 
 value of a keg had flowed away. Except that one 
 time he had never laid a finger on him. He trusted 
 him in everything, even sending him to the village 
 to collect the money for things that had been sold 
 on credit, and things like that. And why do you 
 suppose he sent Proka away? For no reason at all! 
 Just because he had seen him gambling for pennies! 
 
 But wait, you will soon be still more astonished ! 
 
 It was near the feast of St. George. Proka came 
 into the shop to have his agreement renewed. Papa 
 took ninety groschen out of his pocket and said, ''Here 
 is your money. I have no more need of you. Go and 
 find a place where you can gamble for pennies." 
 Proka, holding his fez before his eyes, and shedding 
 a veritable rain of tears, began to plead for pardon. 
 I could see that my father was touched, but do you 
 think he yielded? 
 
 He only pulled another ducat out of his pocket 
 and gave it to Proka, saying, "Take this, and get 
 out." Proka left, and my father inwardly repented 
 having dismissed, without cause, the most useful of 
 his clerks. 
 
 He never joked, either with us his children, or 
 with my mother or with anyone else. He had a cu- 
 rious manner of treating my mother. 
 
 God forbid that it should be said that he was like
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 23 
 
 some men who beat their wives, and do other things of 
 that kind, but he was cold and churlish with my 
 mother — worse than a stranger, he really was. 
 "Whereas my mother, good as any saint, brooded over 
 him with her eyes as an ostrich does over her eggs. 
 When he spoke harshly, and her tears choked her, 
 she always hid them, not only from us but from him. 
 He never went out with her, and she did not dare 
 open her mouth to ask him to take her anywhere. 
 
 He would not tolerate any suggestions from her 
 about the shop or about his business. 
 
 One day she said to him: 
 
 ''Mitar, why don't you give any brandy to 
 Stanoje? There will soon be plenty of the new, and 
 where will you put it?" 
 
 He only answered this by shouting: 
 
 **Are you hungry, or do you need anything? The 
 money is in your hands, if it gives out you have only 
 to say so. But don't meddle with my affairs." 
 
 My mother bowed her head and was silent. 
 
 He talked very little with anyone. His group of 
 friends met at the cafe, and it was only with them 
 that he said a few words. He had a great respect 
 for his partner, Ilija, the only man who ever spoke 
 frankly to him, and of whom my father was, in a 
 certain way, a little afraid. 
 
 It could be seen that he loved us, his children, and 
 my morther, but he held us under very severe control.
 
 24 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 I do not remember to have ever received any mark 
 of affection from him. It is true that at night, he 
 tucked us in again when we were uncovered, and 
 he would not let us lean over the well or climb the 
 mulberry trees, but what did that mean to me ? Other 
 fathers did as much, and also brought their children 
 candy and gold paper and balls that bounced as high 
 as the poplar trees. 
 
 He went to church only on the feast of St. George, 
 but to the cafe he went every night. We had supper, 
 and immediately after it he put his chibouk under 
 his left arm, his tobacco pouch in his belt, and behold 
 he was gone! In summer he came back at nine 
 o'clock, and in winter even earlier, though sometimes 
 midnight had struck before he was at home. 
 
 This troubled my poor mother and sister, but I at 
 that time knew nothing of what such revelry meant. 
 They never went to sleep before my father's return 
 even if he did not get back until dawn. Sitting up 
 in their beds they dared not even light a candle. He 
 went into a rage at once, you see, if he found one 
 burning. One day when he had come in I heard him 
 growl. 
 
 "What is the meaning of that candle burning at 
 such an hour?" 
 
 "It is so that you can see to undress, Mitar," said 
 my mother.
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 25 
 
 "Do you think that I don't know how to light a 
 candle, or that I am too drunk to find one ? ' ' 
 
 "But no, Mitar," said my mother, soothingly, "I 
 only thought " 
 
 "You thought what? You wanted the neighbours 
 to think that there was a corpse in the house ! ' ' 
 
 A corpse ! Do you imagine for a moment that he 
 meant that ? He who cared so little about the neigh- 
 bours? He merely did not want my mother to pay 
 any attention to his goings and comings, and in his 
 anger he did not know what to accuse her of. He 
 would have preferred finding my mother asleep, or if 
 she must lie awake, that he should at least be able to 
 go on a spree without having any fuss made about it. 
 That evidently irritated him. 
 
 He drank very little, and then only wine. When he 
 had to taste the brandy that he bought, he always 
 spit it out at once, making a grimace. 
 
 He cared no more, and God knows how little that 
 was, for coffee. You ask me ' ' What did he do all night 
 in the cafe?" 
 
 It was a bad thing, that was what it was. It seems 
 to me that if he had drunk hard it would have done 
 only half as much harm. But you will see. 
 
 It shortened my mother's life by half. Sometimes 
 she cried and choked, but she never complained to 
 anyone. 
 
 One day he came home very late. Nothing hap-
 
 26 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 pened. Again the next day, nothing. Do you sup- 
 pose, my dear fellow, that my mother did not know 
 that he no longer had a watch ! At last the poor wo- 
 man asked him, "Where is your watch, Mitar?" 
 
 He frowned, and turning away his eyes, answered. 
 
 "I have sent it to Belgrade to be repaired." 
 
 ''But it went quite well, Mitar." 
 
 "I suppose that I am neither one-eyed nor an 
 idiot, and that it is probable that I know whether a 
 watch goes well or not." 
 
 What could my mother do? She was silent, but 
 later she said to my sister with tears, "This is very 
 hard on me, he will throw away everything that we 
 possess, and in my old agQ I shall have to live by wash- 
 ing other people's shirts." 
 
 Another time it was barely ten o'clock, when he 
 suddenly returned from the cafe. 
 
 An astrachan cap was cocked over one ear, a chain 
 as thick as your finger hung across his breast, and a 
 pistol encrusted with gold and precious stones Avas 
 stuck in his belt. He came in, and from the look of 
 the few wrinkles around his left eye, he seemed to be 
 in a good enough humor. 
 
 As soon as he was in the house, he pulled out his 
 watch, as if to see what time it was. 
 
 "You have come back?" said my mother, waking 
 with a start. "And is your watch repaired?" 
 
 "It is repaired."
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH ]\IY FATHER 27 
 
 * ' And what is that chain ? ' ' 
 
 "It is a chain, like any other chain," he answered 
 in a quiet voice, without shouting. 
 
 "I know that," said my mother, "but where did 
 you get it?" 
 
 "I bought it." 
 
 ' ' And that cap ? Only Mica the treasurer has one 
 like it." 
 
 "I bought that also." 
 
 "He sold it to you?" 
 
 "He sold it." 
 
 "And what . . . ?" 
 
 But here my father looked at mj'- mother in a cer- 
 tain manner, and she was silent. 
 
 He began to undress. I risked an eye outside of 
 my coverlid. 
 
 He took out of his pocket a package as big as my 
 fist, and tossed it onto the table, where it rang; noth- 
 ing less than ducats, my dear fellow. 
 
 "Here, keep this," he said, and went into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 ^[y mother took up the paper between two fingers — 
 as you might say — the way that she would have lifted 
 dirty linen. 
 
 "What shall I do with this money?" she asked my 
 sister. "It is accursed. It is from the devil, and the 
 devil will take it back in the same way that he has 
 given it."
 
 28 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 As you see there was neither life nor happiness in 
 this thing. My mother was unhappy, and we were 
 unhappy with her. 
 
 My mother has told us that he was formerly quite a 
 different sort of man, and I remember myself, as if 
 in a dream, that when I was tiny he held me on his 
 knee, and that he made me a whistle out of a reed, 
 and took me with him in the cart out into the fields. 
 *'But," said my mother, "after he began to go with 
 the treasurer Mica, Krosta who lives in Makevie 
 Street, Albert the druggist, and a few others, every- 
 thing was upside down, and went crookedly." 
 
 He grew cross, and would allow no questions, al- 
 ways saying, "Mind your own affairs," or "Have you 
 nothing else to worry about?" 
 
 He was good at nothing, and as I have told you he 
 realized that what he was doing was wrong, but that 
 which had taken possession of him, and from which 
 God preserve us, would not let him go. 
 
 And yet, though it seems absurd to say it, he was 
 really a fine man. Yes, by the Lord he was ! But . . . 
 
 One day when he came home he was not alone! 
 My mother was surprised. He passed by the door 
 with someone and they were whispering together. 
 They went into the courtyard. Then we hoard the 
 neighing and stamping of a horse. I did not know 
 what it meant. 
 
 When he came in later I began to snore and my
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 29 
 
 sister pretended to be asleep. He said good evening, 
 and nothing more. Both he and my mother were si- 
 lent, and as for me, I waited. At last my mother said 
 in a choked voice. 
 
 "He has taken the black horse!" 
 
 * * He has taken him. ' ' 
 
 Again they were silent, but my mother blew her 
 nose several times, and I thought that she was crying. 
 
 "Mitar, for the love of God, and in the name of our 
 children here, stop this traffic with the devil. The 
 man who leagues himself with him is damned in this 
 world and the next. Look what happened to Jovan 
 who gambled with cards, think of him ! A man of his 
 position, who has sunk until to-day he must pick up 
 nutgalls for other people, and buy skins in the villages 
 for the Jews. For the love of God, have you no pity 
 for me. who when I grow old will have to seek my 
 crust of bread in the houses of others, or these children 
 of ours who will have to serve strangers?" And she 
 began to sob. 
 
 "Whait's the matter with you that you call on me in 
 the name of the children, and that you mourn me be- 
 fore I am dead? What makes you howl about a 
 wretched nag? It was not she that owned me, but I 
 that bought her ! Tomorrow, if you want them, I will 
 buy ten." 
 
 My mother only cried the harder. 
 
 "I know, dear Mitar," she said patiently, "but your
 
 30 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 enemies will take everything from you. my be- 
 loved, leave those wretched cards alone. Remember 
 that it was by the strength of our backs and the sweat 
 of our blood that we were able to raise this roof above 
 our heads. Is it possible that some miserable money 
 lender will turn me out of my own house? 
 
 ''But who is turning you out?" 
 
 "No one is turning me out, my dear, but I shall be 
 turned out if you go on as you are doing. It is a 
 trade accursed of God." 
 
 "Haven't I told you a hundred times not to preach 
 to me, or to whimper without any cause. There is no 
 reason to think that some crow has picked out my 
 brain so that I need my wife for a guardian. ' ' 
 
 She said no more, that brave soul. Her throat con- 
 tracted and she shed no more tears. They ran down 
 her breast and fell on her heart, and turned to stone 
 there. 
 
 The days followed each other, and he kept on in 
 just the same way. Sometimes he brought home rolls 
 of money, which he lost again as he had won it. He 
 often came back without his rings or watch or gold 
 embroidered belt. 
 
 Again he would have two or three watches and 
 several rings. One day it would be a pair of high 
 boots, a cloak, a saddle, or a dozen silver spoons ; once 
 it was even a barrel full of liquorice, and all sorts of
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 31 
 
 other trifles. One evening he brought a black horse, 
 the same one that had belonged to us before. 
 
 The next day he bought a new harness; the false 
 martingale hung below the knees of the beast, and the 
 fringes beat against his jaws. Lly father harnessed 
 him to the carriage, shut the door of the shop with a 
 chair, and drove through the town ! The pebbles flew 
 from under the horse 's hoofs. 
 
 We were prepared for anything. My mother cried. 
 and was anxious. How could she be anything but un- 
 happy? The shop was deserted. He sent away the 
 clerks one after another. Everything went wrong in 
 that unlucky house, and the money ran away like rain. 
 
 His companions, heaven help us, began to come to 
 us. They shut themselves up in the big room and 
 lighted several candles ; ducats rang and cards slid on 
 the table, pipes smoked, and our servant Stojan never 
 stopped making them coffee (the next morning he 
 showed us some ducats that had been given to him for 
 fees). My mother stayed with us in the other room. 
 Her eyes were red, her face pale, her hands dry, and 
 she repeated over and over again, "0 God be with 
 
 us 
 
 I" 
 
 He became, at last, completely detached from the 
 household life. lie never spoke. He never looked my 
 mother in the face. He never caressed us, his children, 
 and while not using really abusive words to us, he 
 was very far from ever saying a kind one. Everybody
 
 32 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 kept away from the house. He did give us whatever 
 we needed. If I asked for money to buy a slate pencil, 
 he gave me enough to pay for a whole package. My 
 clothes were the finest in the whole school, and for 
 food he bought the very best to be found in the city. 
 But all the same, something that I did not understand 
 made me suffer w^henever I looked at my mother and 
 sister. They had become older, and grown pale and 
 grave and sad. They went nowhere, hardly even to 
 see a few neighbours at the Slava, and very few wo- 
 men came to us. Only the men came, and most of 
 these were dissipated "good for nothings" as my 
 mother called them. There was hardly any work done 
 in the shop. "Do you expect me," said my father, 
 "to amuse myself by selling twenty cents worth of 
 indigo to a boor ? That is good enough for the Jews. ' ' 
 
 My mother was no longer able to protest. She told 
 me that he had said to her one day, ' ' If you will listen, 
 listen, and understand what I am telling you ; if ever 
 again you say one word of that kind to me, I will find 
 another house and move into it, and then you can 
 preach here to whoever you choose. Keep that clearly 
 in your mind ! ' ' 
 
 She was as silent, poor soul, as if she had been 
 ducked. Her heart was rent, she grew whiter day by 
 day, and never stopped imploring God for help. "My 
 God, ' ' she prayed, ' ' do not abandon me. ' '
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH IMY FATHER 33 
 
 And then . . . you can probably imagine what 
 the end of all this was ! 
 
 One night they all came. A certain Pero Zelenbach 
 was with them, a pig merchant, who as he expressed 
 it, "worked Pesth." His moustache was waxed and 
 his hair, which was separated by a part in the back, 
 was allowed to fall in curls over his cheeks. He was 
 fat faced and corpulent and wore a curious little hat 
 over one ear. He wore a gold chain on his waistcoat 
 like the one papa had formerly owned, and on his 
 hand was a ring that sparkled, really, my dear fellow, 
 it sparkled so that you couldn't look at it. He wad- 
 dled in his walk, and spoke in a hoarse bass voice, and 
 you were confused before his little yellow-green eyes, 
 which inspired a sort of dread, such as one feels when 
 looking at an* owl. 
 
 They arrived, as I said. Stojan was in his place at 
 the stove making their coffee. 
 
 Four candles were lighted. The tobacco smoke rose 
 as if from a chimney. They drank coffee in silence 
 like Turks, but the cards fell, and you could hear the 
 ducats ring. 
 
 It was a terrible night ! 
 
 We were shut up in the other room with my mother. 
 She no longer cried. Neither did my sister. With 
 faces set and sunken eyes, they gazed straight in front 
 of them in deadly fear. What happened at my uncle's 
 death was nothing coinparcd to this.
 
 34 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 My father came into our room several times. He 
 was covered with sweat. He had unbuttoned his vest 
 and unhooked his shirt, so that one could see the coarso 
 hair on his chest. He was scowling like a Turk. 
 
 * * Give me more, ' ' he said to my mother. 
 
 Her heart shrank. Silent, as if made of stone, she 
 opened the chest and gave him handfulls of money 
 which he tied in a handkerchief. He glanced nerv- 
 ously from side to side, and stamped his feet where he 
 stood, as I do when the boys are waiting for me out- 
 side and I want my sister to cut me a piece of bread. 
 He took the money, turned away his head, and mut- 
 tered as he went out, "More than that." 
 
 After that you might have said that he ran away 
 from the place. 
 
 But still saying, "More than that, more than that," 
 he came, I think, five more times into our room, and 
 this went on until it was almost three o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 "Give," he said to my mother, and his face was 
 livid. 
 
 My mother went to the chest, her legs trembled and 
 she staggered. 
 
 Hidden under my coverlid, I could still see how my 
 father's tall figure was shaking and how he supported 
 himself against the stove. 
 
 ' ' Be quicker ! " he said to my mother, losing all pa- 
 tience and with impatient gestures of his arms.
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 35 
 
 My mother handed him the money. 
 
 *'Give me all of it," he said. 
 
 ''These are the last ten ducats," she answered. It 
 was no longer a voice or a whisper that we heard, but 
 something like a death rattle. 
 
 He gathered up the money and rushed out of the 
 room. 
 
 My mother sank beside the chest, and fainted. My 
 sister screamed. I sprang out of bed. Djokica did 
 the same. We sat down on the floor around her, and 
 began to kiss her hand, crying, ' ' Mamma, Mamma. ' ' 
 
 She put her hand on my head and murmured some- 
 thing. Then she rose and lit a small taper and the 
 votive lamp before St. George. 
 
 "Come children, pray to God, that he may deliver 
 us from misfortune," she said. Her voice rang like 
 a bell, and her eyes shone like the star of the shep- 
 herds, radiant in the sky. 
 
 We ran after her to the icon, and all knelt down; 
 while Djokica, kneeling in front of mother, turned 
 his face toward her, crossed himself, and repeated, 
 poor little chap, the half of the pater which he had 
 already learned. Then he crossed himself again, kissed 
 mother's hand, and gave himself up to gazing at her. 
 Two rivers of tears poured from her eyes. Her look 
 was upturned to the saint and to God. There, on high, 
 was something that she could see, her God, whom she 
 adored and who looked down again upon her. At that
 
 36 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 moment there came over her face an expression of 
 rapture, a sort of radiance, and it seemed to me that 
 God caressed her with his hand, and that the Saint 
 smiled, and that the dragon died beneath his spear. 
 Then my eyes were dazzled, and I fell forward on the 
 edge of my mother's dress and against her left arm 
 which supported me, and I prayed for the hundredth 
 time, "Oh God, you see my mother! My God, I be- 
 seech you for my father!" Then I added, I don't 
 know why, " Oh God, kill that Zelenbach!" 
 
 "We prayed like this for a long time. 
 
 At last my mother rose and climbing on a chair, 
 kissed the image of St. George, my sister did the same, 
 and lifted up Djokica and me so that we could kiss it 
 also. Then my mother took the spray of dried basil 
 which was kept behind the icon and the vial of water 
 that had been blessed at the Epiphany from where it 
 hung below the image. She dipped the basil in the 
 water and murmuring something, she made with the 
 spray a sign of the cross in the room. After that, 
 opening the door very softly, she tiptoed down to the 
 big room, on the door of which she made another cross 
 with her spray of basil. 
 
 Ah, how light I felt then, and how happy, as if I 
 had just come from taking a bath. Why is it that I 
 never have that sort of feeling now? 
 
 My mother had hardly made her sign of the cross 
 on the door of the big room, when a tumult began in-
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 37 
 
 side. It was impossible to distin^ish anything, ex- 
 cept that once we heard Zelenbach shout with all his 
 might. 
 
 ' ' Who can force me to go on with the game ? Who 
 is the man who will try that ? ' ' 
 
 Then there was more confused noise and violent dis- 
 puting. We heard the door open, then a murmur, and 
 steps . . . 
 
 But papa did not come back to our room. We waited 
 in vain. The dawn began to break, we fell asleep, 
 Djokica and I, but still he did not come. 
 
 When I awoke the sun was already high. I felt 
 horribly tired, but couldn't close my eyes again, so I 
 got up. 
 
 Everything seemed in some strange way solemn, but 
 sad. Out of doors, the air was calm, a clear shaft of 
 sunshine fell through the open window, and in front 
 of the icon, a little flame still trembled in the lamp. 
 My mother and sister were as white as linen, their 
 eyes were soft with tears and their faces seemed made 
 of wax. Without letting even their fingers crack, they 
 moved about on tiptoe, and in silence, except for a 
 few whispered words of prayer. They did not give us 
 any breakfast or ask if we were hungry, and my 
 mother did not send me to school. 
 
 "What does it mean," I asked myself, "is there a 
 death in tlie house, or has my uncle come back, and 
 shall we have to bury him over again?"
 
 38 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 Then I felt frozen with fear, remembering what had 
 happened during the night, and I murmured mechanic- 
 ally, "Oh God, you know what I prayed to you for 
 papa," and again, "My God kill that Zelenbaeh." 
 
 "Without thinking I dressed, went out of my room, 
 and turned naturally toward the big room, but recoiled 
 at once as I felt my mother seize my arm. I turned to 
 her, but she told me nothing, only putting her finger 
 to her lips ; and then led me to the house door and left 
 me there. She went back to her room, and I, following 
 her with my eyes, did not know what to think. I 
 slipped back on my toes to the big room, and put my 
 eye to the keyhole. 
 
 I noticed carefully what I saw. The table was in 
 the middle of the room, the chairs were scattered about 
 and two or three were overturned. Strewn over the 
 floor were thousands of cards, cigars, some whole and 
 some trodden on, a broken coffee cup, and lying on- a 
 card gleamed one gold ducat. The tablecloth was pulled 
 half off. On the table were scattered playing cards, 
 overturned cups full of stubs and cigar ashes and some 
 empty saucers into one of which someone had cleaned 
 out his pipe. Besides this there were four empty 
 candlesticks, in one of which the coarse paper which 
 had been around the candle still burned with a line 
 of black smoke that rose and broke against the ceiling. 
 
 On a chair by the table, with his back to the door,
 
 THE FIRST ]\IATINS WITH MY FATHER 39 
 
 my father was sitting. His elbows were on the table, 
 his head in his hands, he did not move. 
 
 I watched a long time but he remained motionless. 
 I was frightened, and imagined some mysterious 
 trouble. It seemed to me, I don't know why, that my 
 father was dead, and I was surprised that a corpse 
 could breathe. Then I thought that his strong arms 
 were made of cardboard, and he could never use them 
 to strike again, and other fancies of the same kind 
 came into my mind. 
 
 God knows how long I would have stayed there 
 watching if my mother's hand had not touched me 
 again. She said nothing, but with her eyes she showed 
 me the way to the house door. 
 
 And I, I don't know why, took off my hat, kissed her 
 hand, and left the house. 
 
 That day was a Saturday. 
 
 When I went out into the street, all the world were 
 following their ordinary lives and attending to their 
 business. Sturdy peasants were bringing all sorts of 
 things to the market place, merchants were examin- 
 ing the bags of vegetables and feeling of the lambs. 
 The new Guard shouted, and directed where each man 
 should put his cart. The children stole cherries. 
 Sretan, the towncryer, went through the streets, call- 
 ing out that it was forbidden to let pigs run free in 
 the streets. Trivko showed quarters of lamb, crying,
 
 40 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Come and buy roasts," and Josa the drunkard dab- 
 bled his feet in a puddle. 
 
 "What is the matter, is your shop closed?" Ignace 
 the furrier who was passing at the moment asked me. 
 
 "Yes," I said. 
 
 "Mitar isn't ill?'* 
 
 "No," I answered. 
 
 "He has gone away somewhere?" 
 
 "To the village," I replied, and escaped from the 
 courtyard. 
 
 And now there arrived two "witnesses" or "boys 
 of honor" as they were called, that is to say two of 
 my schoolfellows who had been sent by the teacher 
 to see why I had not come to school. 
 
 I never remembered until that moment that I should 
 have gone. I caught up my books and a piece of bread, 
 and looked at my mother and the witnesses. 
 
 "Say to the master, children, that Misa could not 
 come earlier, that he was detained. ' ' 
 
 That dear hand! Could I ever kiss it enough, — 
 when she was asleep — when she could not see me. 
 
 I do not know what happened at home while I was 
 at school, but I know that when I returned everything 
 was just as I had left it. My mother and sister were 
 sitting with their hands on their knees, the dinner 
 was not cooked, and they tiptoed by the big room and 
 sighed as they had done when my uncle died. Djokica, 
 out in the court, had tied a coffeepot to the cat's tail
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 41 
 
 and was watcMag it run. The clerks were sewing on 
 blouses in their room, while Stojan had buried him- 
 self in the hay and was snoring as if it was midnight. 
 
 My father was sitting in the same place. He had 
 not stirred. His furlined coat, fastened around his 
 broad shoulders, gaped open at the waist from his 
 heavy breathing. 
 
 Vespers had rung long ago. 
 
 The day was sinking to its close, and in our hearts 
 reigned the same despair, to which no one could see 
 any end, but only clouds that gathered thicker and 
 thicker. Everything grew more intolerable, more ter- 
 rible and more desperate. 
 
 ** Return again, my God, and have mercy." 
 
 I sat on the doorstep, in front of the house. I held 
 some schoolbook in my hand, but I did not read it. I 
 saw in the window my mother's white face, resting on 
 her little feverish hand. My ears rang, and I could 
 not think at all. 
 
 Suddenly a key grated in the lock. My mother dis- 
 appeared from the window. I simply could not think. 
 
 The door of the big room was open. He stood on the 
 threshold — he — my father ! 
 
 His fez, pushed back a little, showed the hair which 
 fell over his wide brow. His moustache drooped, and 
 his face had grown sombre and much older. But his 
 eyes, those eyes ! They had not the least resemblance 
 to what his eyes had been. They had simply vanished,
 
 42 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 sunk into his head; half covered by the lids, they 
 moved slowly and looked out with no interest or ex- 
 pression. They looked for nothing and they noticed 
 nothing. There was about them a sort of emptiness, 
 like spectacles with the glass broken out. On his lips 
 was a sad gentle smile, such as had never been seen 
 there before. It was the same expression that my 
 uncle had had, when, just before his death, he asked 
 for the sacrament. 
 
 He went slowly down the hall, opened the door of 
 our room, looked in, and then passed through without 
 a word. Having closed the door behind him, he went 
 out into the street, and walked slowly toward the house 
 of his partner Ilija. 
 
 Thomas, the latter 's son, told me later that his 
 father and mine were shut up together in a room, that 
 they talked a long time about something in a low 
 voice, that they had had paper brought, and ink, and 
 that they had written something and put seals on it. 
 What this was he did not know, and no one ever found 
 out. 
 
 At about half past nine, we were all in bed except 
 my mother who sat with folded hands, gazing at the 
 candle. At that moment the gate of the courtyard 
 creaked. My mother blew out the candle and slipped 
 into bed. 
 
 My heart beat under my blanket as if someone was 
 hitting my chest with a hammer.
 
 THE FIRST MATINS "WITH MY FATHER 43 
 
 The door opened and my father came in. He moved 
 once or twice across the room, and undressed without 
 lighting the candle and went to bed. For a long time 
 I heard him turning in his bed, and then I fell asleep. 
 
 I don't know how long I had slept, when I felt 
 something damp on my forehead. I opened my eyes 
 and watched. The full moon looked directly into our 
 room and its rays fell on my mother 's face, like spider- 
 webs. 
 
 Her eyes were closed, she had the look of a person 
 who is very ill, and her breath came quick and short. 
 
 Above her stood my father, motionless, with his 
 eyes riveted on her face. 
 
 After a little while he came to our bed, but merely 
 looked at us and at my sister. Then he placed himself 
 once more in the middle of the room, encircled it again 
 with his eyes and muttered, "They are asleep." 
 
 But he shuddered at the sound of his own voice, and 
 seemed to turn to stone. There, in the centre of the 
 room, he stood a long time without any change except 
 that I saw his eyes soften from time to time as he 
 looked, first at us and then at my mother. 
 
 We never made a sign ! 
 
 Then, moving quietly and without ever taking his 
 eyes off us he carefully unhooked his silver pistol from 
 the cloakstand where it hung, thrust it into his coat, 
 pulled his fez over his eyes, and walking with quick 
 long strides, went out of the house.
 
 44 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 The door had hardly closed after him when my 
 mother rose up in her bed. My sister did the same. 
 You might have thought them spirits! 
 
 My mother got up quickly, but with caution, and 
 went to the door. My sister followed her. 
 
 "Stay with the children," whispered my mother, 
 and went out. 
 
 I sprang up and started for the door. My sister 
 caught me by the arm, but I slipped out of her grasp, 
 and said : 
 
 ''Stay with the children." 
 
 As soon as I was out of the house I ran to the hedge- 
 row and slipping along it, hiding under the cherry 
 trees, I got to the well, behind which I hid myself. 
 
 The night was divinely beautiful. The sky was 
 clear, the moon brilliant, the air full of freshness, 
 and nothing was moving anywhere. I saw my father 
 look into the window of the clerk's room, and then 
 go on. At last he stopped under the shed roof, and 
 drew out his pistol. But, just at this moment, my 
 mother, coming from I don't know where, appeared 
 beside him. 
 
 The poor man was frozen with terror. He gazed at 
 her with open mouth. 
 
 "Mitar, my dear, my Lord and Master, what do you 
 mean to do?" 
 
 My father trembled. Stuck there like a candle, he
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 45 
 
 looked at my mother with empty eyes, and said in a 
 voice like a cracked bell: 
 
 "Go away, Marica, leave me, I am lost." 
 
 ''What! Lost, my lord? May God help you, why 
 do yon say that ? ' ' 
 
 "I have thrown away everything!" 
 
 "But, my dear, it was you who first earned it!" 
 
 My father started back, and stood abashed before 
 my mother. 
 
 "Yes, but all," he said, "all, all." 
 
 "And even if that is so?" said my mother. 
 
 "The horse too," he replied. 
 
 "An old nag," she answered. 
 
 "And the field!" 
 
 "Just dirt." 
 
 He came close to my mother, and looked into the 
 white of her eyes, as if he would scorch her, but she 
 stood like a saint of the good God. 
 
 "The house too," he said, opening his eyes very 
 wide. 
 
 "And what of that," said my mother, "so long as 
 you, yourself, are here strong and well?" 
 
 "Marica!" 
 
 "Mitar!" 
 
 "What do you mean, Marica?" 
 
 "I mean that God has let you have life, as he has 
 our children. It is not the house nor the field that
 
 46 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 takes care of us, but you, our provider. We will never 
 suffer from hunger while you are with us. ' ' 
 
 My father seemed moved. Putting his hand on my 
 mother's shoulder, he began — 
 
 "Mariea! Do you . . ." His voice choked. He 
 covered his eyes with his sleeve and was silent. 
 
 My mother took his hand. 
 
 "When we were married," she said, ''we had noth- 
 ing but one blanket, just one, and only two or three 
 tubs and barrels. While now, thank Grod, the house is 
 full." 
 
 I saw a drop fall, which shone in the moonlight, as 
 it traced its path down my father's sleeve. 
 
 "And have you forgotten that the garret is full of 
 gall nuts?" 
 
 "Yes, it is full of them," said my father, in a 
 voice as soft as silk. He took his sleeve away from his 
 eyes, and let his arms fall. 
 
 "What is that wretched ducat doing there? What 
 is that money lying on the ground?" 
 
 * ' Take it for your business ! ' ' 
 
 "We will put it into wheat !" 
 
 "Are we too old to begin again? By the grace 
 of God we are well and our children have good health. 
 Let us pray to the good God and go to work." 
 
 "Like the honest people we are!" 
 
 "You are not stupid like some men. I would not
 
 THE FIRST MATINS WITH MY FATHER 47 
 
 give your arms for all the money of Panaros and 
 others like him." 
 
 "And then we will buy another house." 
 
 "We will bring up our children in the right path," 
 said my mother. 
 
 "So that they may not curse me when I am dead. 
 How long it is since I have seen them ! ' ' 
 
 * ' Come and see them, ' ' said my mother, and she led 
 him like a child, by the hand. 
 
 In three bounds I was back in my room. I whispered 
 to my sister, "get into bed," and then pulled the 
 blanket over my own head. 
 
 Those two crossed the threshold, just as the church 
 bells rang for the early mass. They reverbelrate 
 through the night and the christian soul trembles. 
 Like a bed of dry branches, their sound softens grief 
 and pain, and breaks the chains of vanity, so that the 
 contrite soul can speak with heaven. 
 
 "Rise my son, and let us go to church!" 
 
 When I was in Belgrade, last year, buying some 
 merchandise I saw Pero Zelenbach, at Torpieder, in 
 the dress of a convict. He was breaking stones.
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH. 
 
 A Tale of the Pashtrovichi, taken from the Fifteenth 
 Century. 
 
 By Stjepan Mitrov Ljubisa (1824-1878) 
 
 49
 
 Stjepan Mitrov Ljubisa was bom in Budva (Pas- 
 trovich) Bocce di Cattaro, Dalmatia, in 1824. He had 
 little education lia\'ing only attended school during 
 the first four elementary years' course. For a while 
 he was clerk in the Mayor's office in his native village 
 and then in 1861 he was elected deputy to the Diet 
 of Lara (Dalmatia). Later on he was chosen deputy 
 to the Parliament at Vienna, as Dalmatia was at that 
 time a part of Austria-Hungary though at present 
 it is, except for a few places still under discussion, 
 part of the Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats and Slo- 
 venes. He was a politician of high character and 
 merit and defended well the rights of the Serbs in 
 Dalmatia. A writer of great talent, he published two 
 volumes of stories which are all based on the popular 
 legends of his native country. He died in 1878. 
 
 50
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 
 By Stjepan Mitrov Ljubisa 
 
 In the middle of the coast of the territory of the 
 Pashtrovichi is a small inlet — a bare coast which the 
 people even to-day call "The Fine Sand." This, 
 a long time ago, was the place where the people met 
 for their assembly and made decisions when the com- 
 munity was free and governed itself independently. 
 
 Four judges and twelve nobles from every tribe, a 
 man for each, chosen freely and in turn would sit on 
 a boundary above the sand and the other householders 
 one after the other on "The Sand." There they 
 would make decrees and judge the most important 
 matters. A skilled clerk would on each occasion enter 
 in a great book what the assembly had' decided, or 
 what judgments the judges had pronounced. 
 
 Every year on Bidov's day in the height of the 
 summer the assembly chose freely the judges and 
 nobles for the year. They handed them the code of 
 law, the ancient books, the charter and the silver 
 seal; and the newly-elected swore to the assembly 
 that they would impartially administer justice and 
 carry out the laws and decisions of the assembly. 
 
 In the famine-stricken year 1423, at the beginning 
 of April, Gembo the voivoda of the coast enticed and 
 cheated them into putting themselves of their own 
 
 51
 
 52 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 free will under the protection of the winged lion of 
 St. Mark, pretending that it was in order that the 
 Turks might not scorch them up. It was agreed in 
 writing on "The Sand" that their constitution should 
 be left to tliem in its entirety and that no kind of toll 
 should be taken from them, neither a monetary tax 
 nor a tax of persons. Do not ask me how Venice kept 
 her word, and how little by little she mutilated and 
 shaved away the concessions that had been agreed 
 upon. You know it yourself or you can easily find 
 out. It was just as when a young man, swift and cun- 
 ning, continually implores and beseeches a young and 
 ignorant girl, and she, poor thing, gives way a little 
 to-day, a little to-morrow until she becomes his slave, 
 and at last can refuse him nothing. 
 
 One spring day at the chief assembly which the 
 judges and nobles had summoned at the usual place 
 of justice to divide the dried-up reed-beds, there came 
 late to the assembly Kanjosh Macedonovich, a man of 
 low stature but as alive and alert as though he could 
 balance on the point of a needle. A sword at his belt 
 and a helmet on his head he cried : — 
 
 "God help you, brothers!" 
 
 He had just come from a visit to Venice and so 
 they all embraced and kissed him. 
 
 When he sat down the judges began questioning 
 him about Venice and the tidings he had collected 
 there and brought with him.
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 53 
 
 "I have plenty to tell you if you will not be tired 
 of listening/' said Kan josh. "As you have heard I 
 took some merchandise to Venice this winter and 
 filled a ship to the brim with olive oil, wine, pitch, and 
 skins. When I came there, spies pressed upon me, 
 to extort and fleece me: 
 
 " *0f each hundred peppercorns give thirty to St. 
 Mark, ' said the head of the spies ; and one who spoke 
 our language brokenly added : — 
 
 " 'And enough drink for us!' 
 
 <( 'Thirty per cent! That is half, if you are to 
 reckon my trouble, waste of time and the hire of the 
 boat. Saint Mark, Thanks and Glory to him ! neither 
 eats nor drinks, and I have agreed with the Doge that 
 I should give him nothing, but that I should kiss his 
 hand, and that he should defend me from the Turk.' 
 
 " 'Cheap indeed!' said the spy^ *if you are to do 
 nothing but kiss his hand.' And he began to smile 
 and to laugh. And so, I swear by Sunday, the devil 
 drank up my mind, and if he had not gone into the 
 castle I should have cut him in two with my sword. 
 Then my trouble with the Doge would have been for 
 nothing. 
 
 "And I having made an end in that way, knocked 
 about and tore through the town until good fortune 
 brought me to a good-hearted man. lie took me along 
 with him that I might have my complaints written 
 down in the house of a bald man who took a ducat
 
 54 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 from me for writing doAvn my wrongs on a span of 
 paper. 
 
 " '"Wait,' I said. *Do not be in a hurrj^ let me 
 tell you different things — ' but he said witheringly to 
 me: — 
 
 " 'I know better when I am asleep than you when 
 you are full}^ awake.* 
 
 * ' Then he would no longer listen to me but instant- 
 ly shut the door. 
 
 "So I took that evil letter and they led me with 
 it to a fine house and said that I should wait. 
 
 *'I waited and waited three good hours, until my 
 sorrow enveloped me. Then at last the door opened 
 and out stumbled a lame man in green clothing like a 
 lizard. He took my paper from my hand, fixed his 
 spectacles on his nose, then, scarcely having read it 
 through he said : — 
 
 " 'These are not our affairs, but hasten where you 
 came from. ' 
 
 "I cried out: — 'But whose affairs are they, for the 
 wounds of God? Why do you torture me?* 
 
 "He did not turn round, but limping in the direc- 
 tion of the doors he mumbled : — 
 
 " 'The forty.' 
 
 "I thought: — What devil will collect them at 'onael 
 But my guide told me that they were always assembled. 
 
 " 'But,' he said, 'hasten before they disperse.' 
 
 "When I came there the guard cried: —
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 55 
 
 " 'They are not judging to-day, but another day. 
 Come earlier to-morrow.' 
 
 * ' It was getting dark, and I had eaten nothing, but 
 was filled with sorrow from my throat to my breath, 
 and I went straight to bed without food. 
 
 "A devilish dream I had the whole night; but I 
 turned about and threw myself over until dawn. At 
 daybreak I rose and went round Venice from end to 
 end. The sun was already three lances risen, but the 
 town was deserted and without people; for there 
 everyone sleeps until midday. When it is dusk they 
 feast; but before dawn they lie down. By God's help 
 I found a guide and I went with him to the Forty. 
 
 ""We went into the palace and waited in the first 
 vestibule two whole hours, until a man in black cloth- 
 ing and cap came out. I should say he was the priest. 
 
 "I advanced and gave him the letter and he said 
 to me: — 
 
 ** * To-day we have a great rush of business, but 
 come the day after to-morrow and bring your letter.' 
 
 "And I the next day but one waited again three 
 hours before the doors, and I wearied God praying 
 him not to turn from me until at least a servant had 
 been touched. They went into a room and brought 
 out a young man, dried up and tall as though they 
 had drawn him from a grave. He solemnly brought 
 that ill-omened complaint and wrote under it five or 
 six words, then he directed me to a second, and the
 
 56 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 second to a third, until the soul of the third was 
 touched. 
 
 ** *And why did you not come to me before,' he 
 said, 'instead of making a web round the town like a 
 butterfly round a candle.' 
 
 **Then he also admonished me with the following 
 words : — 
 
 *' *Com-e to-morrow,' he said, *in order that I may 
 give you information on the smallest detail, for you 
 are too late for that work to-day.' 
 
 "And I went the next day but there was no trace 
 of him and the wretched doors were closed. I knocked 
 and beat my breast but there was no answer from the 
 chicken-hearted soul. 
 
 "I waited there until dark night, until my brain 
 began to turn to water. Then, sad and sorrowful, I 
 thought over my situation and went to an inn, pre- 
 tending to pull myself together with wine. I was 
 just about to eat some meat when there resounded and 
 shrilled through the inn : — 
 
 " *What is the news, man?' 
 
 *' 'Evil,' said a man from Grach. 'It could not be 
 worse. ' 
 
 " ' Tell us, man, that I may know about it, too.' 
 
 "The man of Grach began to tell how a certain great 
 man from Fur withdrew his fealty from the Doge and 
 burst into rebellion against him, 
 
 ** *He put up a tent,' said the man of Grach, 'on
 
 KAN JOSH MACEDONOVICH 57 
 
 a certain little island in the middle of the city. The 
 water all round protected him, and he called the Doge 
 to a combat, or if he did not either come out himself 
 in combat or send a combatant in his place, he (the 
 Doge) was to hand over to him the keys of the treasure 
 of Saint Mark and his only daughter for a wife. 
 Venice remained under this impost,' said the man of 
 Grach laughing. ' There was not a champion, and the 
 Doge lost courage with his age in his heart. He was 
 read}' to give the man of Fur his daughter and to 
 give up the sovereignty to him.' 
 
 " 'And was it not possible,' said I, 'in such a great 
 city to find a champion?' 
 
 " 'No, God be with me, not a single one,' answered 
 the man of Grach. 'Everyone feels comfortable for 
 himself. ' 
 
 " 'Just see how small I am, and yet how willingly 
 I would try my hand with him!' 
 
 "Those men began to laugh among themselves at 
 seeing me such a handful of misery, and one who had 
 looked me all over, said : — 
 
 " 'Men are not measured by a handrule; but by 
 their boldness and sense. ' — and this man accompanied 
 me right up to the sleeping room, and the whole way 
 lie questioned me and asked me who I was and where 
 I came from. 
 
 "In the morning I had hardly on my shoes when 
 there was a man beside me.
 
 58 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 " 'Quick!' he called, 'the court is waiting for you.* 
 
 "I thought: — The one who deceived me yesterday 
 is summoning me ; but when I came to the judgment 
 it was another and more spacious house — steps of 
 marble, and pillars as high as a white poplar. 
 
 * * I went into a court where sat three old men under 
 a black curtain. If a candle had not been burning I 
 should have seen nothing — and in front of them was 
 a golden cross. They asked me whence I came, and 
 why I was knocking about Venice. I told them all in 
 order, as I am now telling you, until one broke in : — 
 
 ** 'I am not asking you about trifles (mark that! 
 'trifles') but what were you drivelling about last 
 night in the inn?' 
 
 *'I told him all truly and shortly: — *I was not 
 drivelling, nor was I drunk, but I was talking well — 
 better than you are now. ' 
 
 "One of them smiled : — 'But are there really among 
 you true servants who would die for the Doge?' 
 
 " 'Yes, a hundred,' said I. 
 
 "They added something in a whisper, until the 
 same one spoke again: — 
 
 " 'Here is a letter for you, granting that you may 
 sell merchandise freely without customs duty.' 
 
 "At that one of the men with him laughed : — ' Some- 
 one has been playing a joke on you, but we will tell 
 him how he must treat the Pastrovichi when they 
 bring merchandise — and here are ten ducats for yov
 
 Kj^NJOSH MACEDONOVICn 59 
 
 for your waste of time. Come here early to-morrow 
 and we \Wll talk over something — not three hundred 
 in the evening and nothing in the morning.' 
 
 * * I said to them : — 
 
 " 'I will not take a single piece of money from 
 you, my lords, if you have given judgment that the 
 spy was joking, and that he shall pay for his joke. I 
 am going about my work now, and you shall behold me 
 to-morrow when it is finished. ' 
 
 "I sold my merchandise for ready money and set- 
 tled my affairs, and when I went to the court next 
 morning, there those three were waiting for me since 
 dawn. 
 
 * ' They gave rae a little table to sit at and brought 
 me about half a pint of coffee. 
 
 "I thought that I would return it as a bribe; but 
 that seemed shameful to me and I drained it to the 
 bottom. 
 
 ''One judge began : — 'Would you oblige me by tak- 
 ing to your brothers the Doge 's greeting and affection^ 
 and ask them to send the Doge a champion to fight a 
 boaster with whom it is not worthy for the Doge to 
 soil his hands?* 
 
 "I answered that I would be willing to take the 
 affection and greeting of the honored Doge to my 
 brothers if I were to hear those words from his own 
 lips.
 
 60 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 " 'As regards your asking for a champion for the 
 Doge, to destroy his rebel — I consider that if it is not 
 a glory for the Doge to fight him himself, neither 
 would it be worthy for him to send anyone in his 
 place, for that would mean two shameful deeds.' 
 
 ''The judge saw that he did not prevail and he 
 said to me : — ' You have not understood it rightly ; but 
 come to-morrow at midday to the Doge's palace that 
 we may bring you before the Doge and that you may 
 make your homage and receive your instructions.' 
 
 "The next day I dressed myself in a green velvet 
 dolman that I had had made the year before in 
 Ragusa, and a tunic and leggings of pure spangles 
 that I had got in Skador in the summer. On my 
 girdle was a superfine sword in a silver sheath that 
 my grandfather had bought for me in Spain, and on 
 my head a Constantinople helmet — on the top of which 
 there stood a swan's feather almost as high as myself. 
 
 "When I came to the Doge's entry there were 
 nobles like chaff, all dressed in silk embroidered ^vith 
 gold. Serv^ants came up and accompanied me to their 
 lord. All collected around me like birds round a 
 white owl, to look at me and to touch my clothes. 
 What a pity that I was not taller! 
 
 "At that moment a great door opened and there 
 came forth an old man white as a sheep. 
 
 ' ' ' Here is the Doge ! ' they cried — and behind him 
 out stumbled the Doge.
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 61 
 
 *'The moment I saw him I said to myself: — 'That 
 man could not even pull a tail, much less fight ! ' 
 
 ' ' He went straight to me, struck me on the shoulder 
 and took my right hand as though we had seen each 
 other a hundred times, and had eaten together. He 
 turned to one of those nobles who had been most polite 
 and began to talk to him in a half-voice, so that I 
 could neither hear nor understand anything, until the 
 noble began our language, and I should say it was like 
 the Kotorski dialect. 
 
 '' 'The mighty Doge of most illustrious power,' he 
 said, 'confers upon me the honorable task of inter- 
 preting his words to you. You are fortunate if you 
 accept them. He, and all the nobles with him, esteem 
 highly your brotherhood which has lately sought ref- 
 uge under the shadow of the winged lion to escape 
 from the Turkish yoke — one of the truest people who 
 have had the good fortune to live under this rich and 
 just empire which is the seat of God. Now the suitable 
 moment has come for you to establish firmly tliis opin- 
 ion of the Doge. There is need for a champion for the 
 Doge, who shall go out to battle against a mad and 
 worthless rascal who hates to live and is trying to 
 immortalize himself by a disgusting deed. The Doge 
 might pick anyone for his champion — not one, but 
 three hundred — and champions of a kind to make the 
 world tremble, but the Doge has driven away all 
 pretenders to his daughter's hand because he wishes
 
 62 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 to open the path of glory, honor and immortality to 
 your brothers who have lately become his sons. Go 
 home, then, as quickly as possible, take your brothers 
 the greeting and affection of the Doge and let them 
 send him — the quicker the better — a champion for him 
 suitable in form and in heroism, and this champion 
 will, if God grant it, establish their renown and 
 fortune. ' 
 
 ' ' I bent myself to the black ground and said to my- 
 self : — 'How nicely these lords know how to butter 
 and paint!' and to the Doge I said that I did not 
 doubt in the very least that my brothers would will- 
 ingly and with pleasure accept such a noble honor, 
 and that they would send the Doge a hero worthy of 
 him. 
 
 **They would have liked to give me travelling ex- 
 penses of I do not know how many ducats, but I re- 
 fused it and turned from Venice on the Monday in 
 Holy Week. Now decide wisely whether you will send 
 anyone and what God and fortune will give him. ' ' 
 
 One of the nobles who had not moved an eyelid the 
 whole time Kan josh was speaking began first: — 
 
 "At the time I fought the capitulation and put 
 obstacles in the way of it to the very muscles of my 
 heel, urging that we should leave such Latin rascals 
 alone, for I knew even then that an agreement with 
 them would not help you. If it had not been for that 
 Furlan who has put the Venetians 'into a goat's
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH €3 
 
 horn,' Kan josh would have paid thirty per cent and 
 the drink and he would have knocked about Venice 
 in vain until Easter from one evil to another and have 
 become the laughing stock of that scoundrel the spy. 
 At the time of the capitulation you answered : — ' The 
 Turks will consume us. ' Now in which of your ills will 
 the Venetians on their dry land help you, when the 
 Turks have attacked across Albania? Would it not 
 have been better for us to hold by the same thread as 
 the other Serbs and to defend our independence at the 
 point of the sword ? Do you see the people of Ragusa, 
 how wisely they have behaved, and this though they 
 are not fighters. Now to kill this Furlan is to wash 
 an ass's tail instead of holding the reins. Every year 
 again you will give your seamen and a tax and they 
 will receive your complaints as they received that of 
 Kan josh. Do you not agree with this? They will 
 destroy those few houses by the sea and send the Turks 
 to crush you. Our charter was recognized by nine 
 Roman and Byzantine emperors from Diocletian to 
 Constantino. The Pope of Rome confirmed it and so 
 did that Lujo from Hungary who cut off fourteen 
 hundred heads beyond the Bare Height. The Serbian 
 emperors from the Nemanjas to the Brankovich also 
 confirmed it. If you had paid attention to me, the 
 Venetians also would have confirmed it without a 
 surrender. The idea of their opening the path of 
 glory and honor to us! As much of it, perhaps, as
 
 64 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 God has given them at home ! But now at least hear 
 me. An opportunity has come to correct our faults 
 and to save ourselves from such Latin rascals. Let us 
 send the Doge a champion, but first let him nullify our 
 treaty and surrender, let him promise that we will 
 always and in every war he neighbours against the 
 non-Christian ; but that we will not have the Venetians 
 as our lords as long^^s one of us endure. They them- 
 selves broke the contract when they inflicted such suf- 
 ferings upon Kan josh — 'Come to-day, come to-mor- 
 row to pay us the tax.' If we kill this Furlan it is 
 well — but if not? Let us think out another way for 
 us to cut ourselves free at one stroke, so that we may 
 be masters of our own house. They thought as I do 
 now — those men who remained on the land, on the 
 moor, on the top of the Bare Height. There are to- 
 day a thousand men who would die to preserve our 
 future freedom and independence. Let the man whose 
 life is dearest to him go to take prisoner this Furlan. 
 An honorable destruction is better than a shameful 
 return. ' ' 
 
 Imagine whether they were excited at these words, 
 until one of the judges began to speak softly: — 
 
 "It may be that we shall not send a champion, and 
 that we may be grateful for these honors, if you think 
 that this Furlan is better for us than the Doge. It 
 may be that we shall break our contract and go to war 
 with the Venetians; but look all around the question
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 65 
 
 first. I have a reason for this — ^not one, but many. 
 Suppose that we do not pay the tax, we have 
 nowhere to send merchandise save Venice. Is it not 
 BO ? Now as soon as we cease to be one of the Venetian 
 peoples we shall pay the import tax, and as com- 
 panions in war we shall give seamen forever. If they 
 are torturing us now when we are theirs, what should 
 we do if we had estranged them ? Pull yourselves to- 
 gether and find a better train of reasoning, for this 
 is a very poor one. When you mention emperors and 
 princes, M'e have always had a master who has held us 
 by the hair even though we governed ourselves inde- 
 pendently, and therefore it cannot be so strange to us 
 to-day. As to your saying that it would be better 
 for us to resist with the other Serbs — I ask 'Where 
 are they?' Serbia has fallen, Bosnia has fallen and 
 now it is Albania's hour. The Serbian rulers have 
 fled into the Hungarian lands, and the poor people 
 remain under the yoke. The banship of Zeta has 
 fallen and the people have fled into the mountains 
 there. Who then wiU help us when the Turkish fleets 
 sweep over the sea? The Serbs cannot know either 
 of our life or of our death for a year, and how can 
 they help ? As to your accusation against the Vene- 
 tians — that they have levied the tax in spite of agree- 
 ment — tell me of one man who has paid it — make me 
 believe that Kanjosh would have given it if it had not 
 been for the Furlan. Sailors only go on a voyage
 
 66 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 because it is pleasanter for them to idle on ships than 
 to till the earth at home, and you say that the Vene- 
 tians take them by force ! These are reproaches ; but 
 let heroism and evil fortune go, and keep what you 
 have got. Mighty empires have fallen and fearful 
 armies have gone down before the might of Asia. The 
 West trembles and the East blows — its last candle is 
 put out. And we — a handful of men on a spot which 
 is plundered from sea and from land — how are we to 
 fight, unless it is with fists, for our own heads 1 Say, 
 if you will, that I am prejudiced ; I see clearly. "With- 
 out the help of Venice, we shall remain slaves eter- 
 nally." 
 
 One of the people began to speak : — 
 
 "And I, I agree with him that your contract be firm 
 with the stronger power, even so far as to think that 
 it is better to make it firm with a striking deed. To 
 put the Venetians in our debt is to open the path of 
 honor for ourselves. Let Kanjosh go as champion to 
 the Doge, and if God grant that he kill that Italian 
 dragon, let him seek to have the solemn contract hon- 
 ored, so that the spies of the Doge should not drag us 
 away against our will in the streets of Venice. If he 
 perish, then we will send a second and a third cham- 
 pion. Perhaps this Furlan -svill not kill us all. ' ' 
 
 All agreed to this; but Kanjosh sprang to his feet 
 and cried : —
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 67 
 
 "I dare not go, for I am small, and the Doge is 
 looking for a group of men to go against this Furlan ! ' ' 
 The majority cried out: 
 
 " If he kills you, we will send some one larger. You 
 are versed in the ways of Venice, but ariother man 
 would not even know how to get to the Doge 's palace 
 for a month. If you die, we will mourn for you di- 
 vinely and every one of us when he goes to Venice will 
 make a pilgrimage to your grave. You might carry 
 out that business there yourself in order not to con- 
 fuse the assembly with such idle matters." 
 
 Kanjosh said : — 
 
 ''You are joking; but I tell you seriously that I 
 accept the honor of going in combat against this Fur- 
 lan ; and let it be in the hands of God. But draw up 
 a proper commission so that the Doge may know that 
 I come from the head of the whole people. ' ' 
 
 The clerk wrote down a letter as the judges dictated 
 it, then he read it aloud to the people, word for 
 word : — 
 
 "From our judges, leaders, nobles and the whole 
 people — in the name of the people of the faithful 
 community of the Pashtrovichi. To the illustrious Dogo 
 greeting — and to his Venetian nobility honor and 
 homage. Our noble brother Kanjosh Macedonovicli 
 brought us loving greetings from you and a request 
 that we should send a brother who would go forth to 
 a contest of heroes in place of the Doge. We are al-
 
 68 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 ways ready and worthy. To please the illustrious 
 power of Venice, we send you here that same Kan josh, 
 and we say : — 
 
 ** 'Where he is, there are we all also.' 
 
 ** Grateful for the honor that you have done us, we 
 trust first in God and then in our old-time fortune 
 that we shall win against this as against all other 
 enemies of the Doge. 
 
 "Decided in the customary place of justice on the 
 Feast of the IMartyrs in the spring, and sealed with 
 a hanging seal. ' ' 
 
 Kanjosh came to Venice on Palm Sunday at the 
 most beautiful time of the year. He did not loiow 
 where to go, or where not to go; but he went to the 
 house of those three where he had drunk the coffee. 
 At first the guard would not let him enter but called 
 to him : — 
 
 "You cannot go there, but if you wish to be judged 
 get along to the Forty." 
 
 Kanjosh saw that they were beginning again to send 
 him from pillar to post and he answered the guard 
 sharply : — 
 
 "That is not their work. "Why should I go to the 
 Forty and not to the Three? If you want to know 
 who I am, I am the Doge's champion." 
 
 Kanjosh had hardly uttered this good news when 
 the guard raised his cap from his head and led Kan- 
 josh from chamber to chamber until they came be-
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 69 
 
 fore the Three. When the Three saw Kanjosh they 
 frowned, because they thought the Pashtrovichi were 
 not going to send a champion for the Doge. Kan- 
 josh bowed to them and handed them the letter. All 
 three pressed forward to look at what was written, 
 and one of them said, after they had talked among 
 themselves : — 
 
 ""We hoped that a better and a taller hero than you 
 would have come. ' ' 
 
 Kanjosh was angry enough to burst: — 
 
 ''Better and taller men go forth to better and taller 
 men ; but you just fall to my share. I have come first 
 to you because I do not wish to go before the Doge 
 except in triumph — and it were well that you receive 
 me!" 
 
 "Very well," said all three, ''if you do not wish to 
 go before the Doge but to hasten to your destruction 
 to-morrow. Is your sword sharp?" 
 
 "For those heroes of yours," answered Kanjosh, 
 ' ' It will not be necessary to sharpen it, it would only 
 wear away the steel. Tell me where the battle is and 
 the champion, and then we shall see what who is go- 
 ing to give to whom." 
 
 They gave him a companion and told him to go 
 with Kanjosh to lead him to the Furlan, and they told 
 him where to bury him. 
 
 The sun had passed half across the sky when they 
 came to the shore : —
 
 70 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 ''There you are," said the guide, "On that island 
 is the champion and here is a little boat for you, and 
 you go alone.'' 
 
 Kan josh said to him : — 
 
 "Come with, me, stupid one. Turn the boat and 
 carry me over. I will give you pay, and you may be 
 my second. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I have not gone mad, nor do I hate life, nor is it 
 my lot before God, to lose my life for glory ! ' ' and he 
 fled leaving no trace. 
 
 Kanjosh remained alone. 
 
 "Now what shall I do? I might have been sitting 
 at home like a gentleman! Some of my sins have 
 brought me to this, that I should die vainly here — 
 and that it should be for a man, not to right any 
 wrong, but for a cowardly puffed-up nobody. I will 
 go now for the night, then to-morrow I will go again 
 before the judges so that they may give me a com- 
 panion who will be my second, so that if I die at least 
 my grave may be known. As things are now I may 
 perish foolishly before the duel. ' ' 
 
 At this moment a little boat set off from the island 
 and reached the shore. Was it really the Furlan with 
 a broad sword at his belt and dressed in a wolf -skin ? 
 He cried aloud to Kanjosh : — 
 
 "What is there — evil fortune to you! Who are 
 you?"
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 71 
 
 *'I," said Kan josh, ''am the Doge's champion — but 
 come to the place where we are to fight. ' ' 
 
 "Do not jest, but tell me who you are!" cried the 
 Furlan. 
 
 ■'You will soon know who I am," answered Kan- 
 josh. "But let us begin fighting quickly, I have no 
 time to waste ! " And he seized his sword and gnashed 
 his teeth. 
 
 Each embarked in his own boat and went over, 
 turning the boat by the rudder. When they reached 
 the island both jumped simultaneously onto the shore, 
 and Kanjosh pushed his boat off from the shore. 
 
 "What are you doing," called the Furlan, "east- 
 ing off your boat ? Are you in your right mind 'i ' ' 
 
 "We do not need two," answered Kanjosh, "I shall 
 return in yours, and you will need neither a boat nor 
 a horse, for you have drunk your glass to the dregs." 
 
 The Furlan was terrified, and began to tell of how 
 many heroes he had fought and killed. 
 
 Kanjosh called to him : — "Be quiet, you coward ! 
 You have not even seen a hero, much less killed one. 
 Throw me your broad sword that I may bind your 
 hands and lead you to the Doge so that he may pity 
 you and pardon you when he sees you in such a posi- 
 tion." 
 
 "Let disaster and battle go,'' said the Furlan, "and 
 come to my tent. Let us dine — and believe me, un- 
 known hero, that Doge for whose sake you are going
 
 72 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 to die, is an enemy to you just as much as he is to me, 
 and I pity you because the Devil has brought you 
 here in order that I may drain that innocent blood 
 of yours." 
 
 ''Do not pity me," cried Kanjosh, and he drew his 
 sword from the scabbard and rushed upon the Fur- 
 Ian. The Furlan, however, beat off the sword with 
 his broad sword and on the blunt edge of it there was 
 a dent big enough for a thumb to go into. Kanjosh 
 returned to the attack a second and a third time; 
 but the Furlan, in a skilful way, beat him off 
 until Kanjosh by springing round, turned him in 
 such a way that the sun was in his eyes. The Furlan 
 struck once and so accurately that if Kanjosh had 
 not sharply let his body go, the Furlan would have 
 cut him asunder. When the Furlan smote a second 
 time, Kanjosh sprang round him and cut him with 
 his sword from the left breast up to the right shoulder 
 blade. The Furlan fell, and there flowed from his 
 wound unclean blood as though an ox had been 
 slaughtered, 
 
 Kanjosh came up to him, drew the ring from his 
 finger and unbelted his sword. Then he left him to 
 breathe his last. 
 
 He embarked in the little boat and reached the 
 shore. There on the shore was collected every wo- 
 man in Venice. It was a matter of nine anxieties to
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 73 
 
 make his way with those women accompanying^ him 
 with song and rejoicing. 
 
 "Those women were harder for me," said Kanjosh 
 later, "than the Furlan and his broad sword." 
 
 The news flew through the town like lightning that 
 the Furlan had fallen. One man said that he had 
 seen his head, another his heart, another described the 
 battle as though he had seen the whole thing with his 
 own eyes and a hundred collected round him to listen. 
 The bells in all the churches rang, the shops shut be- 
 fore dark, flutes and big drums played, the town was 
 illuminated so that one could see as though it were 
 midday, and the people flocked together from every 
 quarter to the high ground to their church, to thank 
 God and to make offerings because the city had been 
 saved from so imminent a danger. 
 
 In the first dusk about three hundred men dressed 
 in uniform dress, and behind them the world in gen- 
 eral in masses, ^\'ith torches and great wax candles, 
 came to the house of Kanjosh and carried him in 
 a golden litter to the Doge's palace. There lauda- 
 tions of Kanjosh and rejoicings lasted the whole night 
 through. The Doge and his nobles questioned him 
 about the duel and about the Furlan. They looked at 
 him and tried his sword, while he gave the ring and 
 the broad sword of the Furlan to the Doge as a gift. 
 
 "Here are the tokens for you, my liege Doge, that 
 I took from my dead opponent. May all your en-
 
 74 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 emies both on sea and on dry land perish as this Fur- 
 Ian has to-day!" 
 
 Thus Kanjosh spoke, and the Doge took him by 
 both hands and kissed him in the middle of his fore- 
 head. 
 
 The following day at midday the Doge with all the 
 nobility came to Saint Mark's for a thanksgiving, and 
 behind them an immense multitude that stretched 
 further than the eye could see. The church was dec- 
 orated just as it is on the highest saints' days. They 
 allotted a place for Kanjosh shut off and high up, be- 
 side the Doge, and the church was filled to overflowing 
 with nobles pressed one upon another so that they 
 could not move. 
 
 After the religious service, the Doge with Kanjosh 
 on his right hand, and the nobles and his suite, set 
 forth to the great chamber where the Doges were 
 given their crowns and the emperors were received. 
 Its vaulting was all adorned with gold, its marble 
 columns were twisted round "wdth golden thread. The 
 chairs were of velvet with pearl ornamentation, and 
 the Doge's throne was of elephant hide adorned with 
 lion skin. 
 
 The Doge sat down and from his throne began to 
 speak Italian. When he had finished, one of the nobles 
 present translated the Doge's words to Kanjosh into 
 his own language — full of honey and gratitude they 
 were to him and to the community that had sent him.
 
 KANJOSH MACEDONOVICH 75 
 
 "Now," said the interpreter, "see here we have 
 opened the treasiire of Saint Mark, come up and 
 take as much as you wish and what you yourself 
 ask for." 
 
 Kanjosh drew close to a bronze coffer of three 
 locks — a coffer full to suffocation of golden ducats. 
 
 Kanjosh looked at the treasure, smiled, drew out 
 a ducat from his purse, and threw it into the coffer. 
 
 ''What are j'ou doing?" cried the astounded in- 
 terpreter, and Kanjosh replied: — 
 
 **If you were to take things out of that coffer in- 
 stead of putting them in, the treasure would quickly 
 be finished, you would see the bottom of it very 
 quickly, ' ' 
 
 Shortly after this the same noble said to Kanjosh 
 that the Doge would be exceedingly pleased if Kan- 
 josh would remain among them, and that he would 
 gladly give him his only daughter for a wife. 
 
 "I thank you," said Kanjosh "for such a noble 
 offer. In our commimity it is an unbroken custom 
 that each one should marry within his own brother- 
 hood and so we preserve the honor of our sisters." 
 
 "But you must take some kind of present," said 
 the Doge. 
 
 "I ask," said Kanjosh, "that you should not le\'y 
 a tax upon us, nor take our sailors — that you adhere 
 honorably to the agreement that we ratified before 
 the surrender, and for a better guarantee, that the
 
 76 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 piece of shore in Venice beside the sea where our 
 merchandise is unloaded be called by the name of 
 our people. Other gifts or tokens I neither seek nor 
 would accept." 
 
 The senate ordered that that place always be 
 called the Slavonic Market "La Riva degli slavoni" 
 and decreed that Slavonic merchandise brought there 
 should be unloaded and shipped without tax or cus- 
 tom. These orders and decrees, however, lasted as 
 long as a cat's husband. The Venetians turned the 
 name of the place to a low and base use "Riva del 
 schiavoni" (The seaboard of the slaves) and little 
 by little they introduced the tax and began to take 
 an impost — paying no regard either to the agreement 
 or to the word that had been given to Kanjosh. For 
 this reason there grew up a proverb among the people 
 that is remembered even to-day: — 
 
 "As they did, so they prospered."
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 
 By Zmaj-Jovan Jovanovich 
 
 77.
 
 Zmaj-Jovan Jovanovich was born in 1833 at Novi 
 Sad, (Bachka) which was formerly in Austria-Hun- 
 gary and is now a part of the Kingdom of the Serbs, 
 Croats and Slovenes. He completed his course first of 
 all at the Law School and then at the ]\Iedical School 
 at Vienna and was a practicing physician during his 
 whole life, first in his native town and then at Bel- 
 grade and other places in Serbia. He was editor of 
 many satirical and political journals of a verj'^ liberal 
 character and he founded a magazine for young peo- 
 ple and became a very popular poet among children. 
 He was a member of the Serbian Royal Academy. 
 He died in 1904. 
 
 Jovanovich was one of the best lyric poets of Serbia 
 and wrote many volumes of satirical, political and 
 love poems. He translated the works of some of the 
 Russian poets (Lemiontoff), and of the Germans 
 (Goethe and Heine) and also of the Americans (Long- 
 fellow), etc. 
 
 78
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH ^ 
 By Zmaj-Jovan Jovanovich 
 
 It happened a long time ago, what I am going to tell 
 you, more than a hundred years ago. 
 
 Those who could testify to it are all dead, but a 
 murmur of it still lives feebly in the neighborhood of 
 
 P and in order that it too may not be lost with 
 
 some old woman — as might very likely soon happen — 
 I am writing it down here as I remember once having 
 heard it somewhere. 
 
 He who comes for the first time to our beautiful, 
 cultivated Srem, to the beautiful Frushka Gora must 
 not expect to find there the Serbian Alps, neither must 
 he expect the savage beauty of rocky heights such 
 as the eye cannot reach, nor fearsome precipices where 
 the ray of the sun cannot penetrate, nor must he ex- 
 pect there a Serbian JStna or Vesuvius belching forth 
 fire, lava, and stones. He will find all that — even 
 to excess — in Montenegro. 
 
 Here the beauty is of another kind. 
 
 God created Frushka while he was taking rest. 
 
 Frushka seems to me like a modest woman, a good 
 
 * The story turns upon the curse which rests upon the Bran- 
 kovich family. By national tradition it was Vuk Brnnkovicli 
 who hetrayetl the Serbian army to the Turks at Kosaovo (1.TS9) 
 an<l who was therefore the cause of the fall of the Serbian 
 Empire.
 
 80 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 mother. Cultivated, undulating, fertile, vine-cov- 
 ered hills are as it were her breasts for her beloved 
 children the Serbs, and the children are grateful, for 
 they have adorned their mother with precious stones — 
 for are there not fourteen monasteries, fourteen 
 precious stones 1 
 
 In this cultivated Srem, in this beautiful FrusEka 
 
 Gora beside the Danube lies the \dllage of P . 
 
 There we will stay for a short time. 
 
 Let him who will come with me into the chamber, 
 but lightly, on tiptoe. More softly, more softly, the 
 invalid is asleep — has just closed his eyes! An an- 
 cient, feeble, blind old man is praying tremblingly to 
 God over his sick daughter. More softly ! Let us not 
 disturb his praj^er. A fine young man with crossed 
 hands is standing beside the bed, looking at the sick 
 girl as though he were looking at his Saviour. 
 
 The blind feeble old man is Urosh Brankovich, 
 
 priest of the village of P , and how the whole 
 
 neighbourhood, for the last fifty years, has honoured 
 and loved him! There are few people in the village 
 whom he has not christened, few couples whom he has 
 not married, and all who have gone to God in the true 
 faith during that time, father Urosh has absolved and 
 buried. 
 
 A year ago he was far more fortunate and satisfied — 
 a year ago he looked out over the fair earth with clea/
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 81 
 
 eyes and saw, and he had something worth seeing. 
 Five beloved sons, like five falcons, loved and served 
 him, and a beloved daughter Vidosava unfolded 
 amongst them like a flower such as there is not on the 
 earth. 
 
 He looked at his good fortune ; but he did not dare 
 to believe in it, for his thoughts often led him to a 
 bloody field, to an enormous grave into which thou- 
 sands of Serbian heroes, and their empire with them, 
 had fallen. He often remembered his ancestry, he 
 remembered the ill-omened Vuk, and then he would 
 always heave a sigh and think: — 
 
 * ' Can I really be fortunate, can a blessing fall upon 
 me? It is all a deceitful dream and hard will it be 
 for me when I wake ! ' ' 
 
 He thought this, but he told no one of it. 
 
 Time and again, when he was celebrating the holy 
 service, he trembled before the altar, and his throat 
 would contract as though he were not worthy to pray 
 to God. Time and again he would glance at the holy 
 elements and, as though he were the greatest sinner, 
 would hardly dare to receive them. And why? 
 Truly not even he himself knew. 
 
 There is no blacker nor more fearful sin than to 
 betray one's people. 
 
 Fearful is that sin, and it falls upon the innocent 
 also!
 
 82 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 lu the course of one year, five deep wounds and 
 five black illnesses are much; and to whom does evil 
 fortune give strength enough to lose five fair sons in 
 a year, and to return home alive from five graves? 
 
 Urosh Brankov^ch lost all his five falcons, all his 
 five sons. He wept bitterly for the fourth, but his 
 tears wiped the fair earth from his eyes. His four 
 black graves drew four black veils over his eyes — 
 over the four dark graves. He could not see the fifth 
 — for the fifth son the fond father could not even 
 weep. Where could he have found tears? Their 
 source had dried up, and what else could the eyes 
 have done after weeping for four sons? 
 
 Ill fortune, when she runs, does not know what is 
 enough. 
 
 When they had buried the fifth son of Brankovich 
 and were returning home, Vidosava led her father by 
 the hand. The rain was pouring out of the sky, out of 
 the earth. Their way led them across a stream which 
 was so rapid after the great rain that it bore rocks 
 and blocks of wood along with it. Now it had become 
 a regular torrent. The water had already begun 
 slowly to lift the little bridge that went over the 
 stream and Vidosava, intending, as many had already 
 crossed, to see whether she and her father could still 
 cross to the other side, stepped on to the bridge.
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 83 
 
 There is no blacker nor more fearful mi than io 
 betray one's people. 
 
 Fearful is that sin, and it falls upon the innocent 
 also! 
 
 Old Urosh called out: — 
 
 "My daughter, my only help, where are you? 
 Where are you, unhappy Vida?" 
 
 But the water had already swept Vida away — ^the 
 torrent carried her along — it carried her with force 
 and the waves had swallowed her up. Vida had gone 
 after her brothers. 
 
 Die, old man Urosh ! 
 
 Be satisfied now, henvy curse ! 
 
 Urosh, half dead, fell to the ground. He did not 
 know when or how he was carried to his house ; how 
 he was put on his bed, or how long he lay there. When 
 he had regained consciousness a little, there was va- 
 cancy in his breast, so that there was no longer illness 
 or grief there. He only whispered now and then: — 
 
 "Take me, God, take me." 
 
 The torrent had bom Vidosava away, the waves had 
 swallowed her up ; but it was not her lot to find peace 
 so quickly. 
 
 It is easy to die in misfortune. Then death is be- 
 loved and precious; it is easy, sweet. But it is sad to 
 stretch out the hands to cold death from a rosy life, 
 from the wing of fortune.
 
 84 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 As soon as Vida lost courage in the waves, she let 
 her arms drop and gave herself up to cool death. Al- 
 ready consciousness of life had gone, already her 
 tender heart had beat its last painful throbs, when 
 powerful hands seized her round the waist, raised her, 
 and gave her again to life. 
 
 The young Stevan Brovich of a neighouring village 
 was the glory of the youth of the neighbourhood, a 
 young man without an equal, full of life, full of heart, 
 love and proud heroism, and brave as only a Serb can 
 be. The young Stevan Brovich happened to be near 
 when the water carried Vida away. He flew to the 
 stream and, as though he were at a dance, he sprang 
 to danger, to practically certain death. 
 
 Anyone looking on might have said two or three 
 paternosters without knowing whether he was saying 
 them for the preservation of Stevan and Vidosava, or 
 for the repose of their souls. 
 
 Good fortune, however, came quickly, and the 
 young man with the girl issued forth onto dry land. 
 
 In the pure air Vidosava recovered herself a little, 
 and then with a wonderful, golden, heavenly glance, 
 she looked at her deliverer. In this glance there was 
 more sorrow than satisfaction. Stevan could never 
 have desired a greater recompense and Vida's heart 
 never troubled nor contracted. Both breathed si- 
 lently. Feebleness, however, overcame the girl 
 again, and she fell unconscious into Stevan 's arms.
 
 \ 
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 85 
 
 So they carried her home and put her on her bed, 
 to tend her like the apple of their eyes, to treat her 
 with every earthly and heavenly remedy, so that such 
 a flower should not wither nor perish — a flower en- 
 shrined in the hearts of many, and which every ac- 
 quaintance loved like his own soul. 
 
 This was the room into which we cam© before the 
 beginning of the story, in which Vidosava had already 
 been lying ill for two or three days. 
 
 The windows were covered so that the sun hardly 
 penetrated through the green curtains. A holy quiet 
 reigned in the room — ^you only heard Vida's laboured 
 breathing. On the table wild thyme, lovage and other 
 flowers, smelling sweetly, responded to her breathing, 
 and responding to her breathing, smelt sweetly — as 
 though they too were praying softly from their hearts 
 for the sick girl. 
 
 These are mighty and chosen medicines — ^the 
 father's prayer, deep and holy, — and Stevan's long- 
 ings, heart-felt, powerful and full of hope. 
 
 Which will help Vida first, which will reach God 
 first, which remedy will be the first to bring Vida 
 back to health? 
 
 If only there were not on the earth heavy curses 
 that fall upon the innocent as well as upon the 
 guilty!
 
 86 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 II 
 
 From that time Stevan was much changed. It was as 
 though he had saved his good fortune from the water, 
 he was so cheerful in his heart ; or he only felt, per- 
 haps, that he would be full of joy if Vida were soon 
 restored to health. That she should look at him again 
 with those eyes! — That glance for the sake of which 
 he would ever be ready to spring to death. 
 
 The days passed by, and still Vidosava was ill. 
 A very heavy fever burned through her blood, it 
 carved many coloured pictures before her closed eyes, 
 and played violently with her spirit and with her 
 imagination, so that it was sad, and sometimes even 
 fearsome, to listen to her sufferings. 
 
 Every morning at dawn Stevan came from his vil- 
 lage to P , and on his way he would pick the 
 
 flowers of every kind, violet, blue, and white, that 
 went so well beside the burning face of the sick girl. 
 
 Today Stevan came very early; but again he found 
 the old father on his feet — full of attention to his 
 beloved daughter. 
 
 "Honoured father," said Stevan, kissing the grey 
 old man's hand," last night I did not shut my eyes, 
 I had no sleep. I am more ill than that dear invalid. 
 See, I have come to you before dawn. You will not 
 cure me, but it will be much easier for me if you will 
 hear me out."
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 87 
 
 "Speak, my son," said the old man. "Who should 
 I hear if I do not hear you. I have you now in place 
 of all my five sons. God sent you to save my darling 
 for me." 
 
 "Kind father, I am not a spoilt stranger full of 
 tears and sighs. It must be a powerful sickness that 
 makes me complain; but I am going to groan like a 
 coward. I am a Serb by up-bringing and by edu- 
 cation — taught not to give in to my heart however 
 much it drives, or however much it burns "^^nth desire ; 
 but ever since the time when I sprang to death and 
 was saved from the open grave with Vidosava, I have 
 not been myself, I hardly know myself. I can no 
 longer control my heart. It has become strong, pow- 
 erful, and headstrong, and I have become feeble, small, 
 — nothing but, as it were, my heart's shadow that 
 must go after it. I can no longer command any one 
 desire or any one thought but that she should be mine. 
 My heart is all Vida's, it is in her service and serves 
 her. When I first looked into her heart I understood 
 her spirit. From that moment onwards I saw that 
 without that heart, viathout that spirit, without those 
 eyes, without Vidosava, I could not live. It is easier 
 for me now that T have told you a little. Vidosava 
 will get well, it cannot be otherwise as God lives and 
 is merciful. Then father, — is it not so, father? — 
 then Vidosava will bo mine for eternity." 
 
 While Stevan was speaking these words Vidosava
 
 88 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 now and again sighed, and the old priest shook his 
 head two or three times, and now a dark cloud came 
 upon his forehead. lie thought deeply, and in his 
 blind eyes there glistened two pure drops. 
 
 Stevan, amazed at these disagreeable and baneful 
 signs, looked impatiently to see when and what father 
 Urosh would decide. 
 
 He waited for a long time, shivering with appre- 
 hension, until he heard these words from the old 
 man: — 
 
 "My son, where are you? Sit down beside me. If 
 I cannot see you, I can at least embrace you. There ! 
 There! You are very dear to me and I must grieve 
 you exceedingly. How fortunate it would be if the 
 blessing of God were to fall upon jou, how fortunate 
 if you had been created one for the other! Who 
 would desire it as much as I ! But listen to me, and 
 then judge, and think over, and consider, what you 
 have heard, and what you can do. 
 
 "My name is Urosh Brankovich. I am a Serb in 
 body and in spirit, and my origin has always caused 
 me unhappiness, has always hurt me; but I have al- 
 ways comforted myself with tliinking that Vuk's sin 
 was not my sin, and I have tried with all my power 
 to wash the disgrace from his family. All my five 
 sons I adjured to live for nothing but their race ; and 
 if they felt in themselves any drops of Vuk's blood,
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 89 
 
 to put the fiercest serpent to their hearts to suck out 
 that poison from them. 
 
 " 'To love your people, that is everything for a 
 Serb,' I said to them, 
 
 '* 'Tread fortune, tread salvation under your feet, 
 if they do not accord with this.' 
 
 ''My sons obeyed me. Would that they were alive! 
 With them my face would never have become dark- 
 ened. 
 
 "On Vidov's day — my darling Vidosava was born 
 at the very moment her mother died. We received 
 her into black swathing bands. She came into the 
 world to lose her mother. Wonderfully was the child 
 bom, and wonderful she always was. At four years 
 old she knew more than another child of eight. She 
 never cried until she saw the picture of Vuk Branko- 
 vich that had been in our hands from ancient times. 
 Then she shrieked as though she were in the heat of 
 a furnace. 
 
 "Later, I do not know where, she learnt that sad 
 poem of Kossovo, of the betrayal. She would sing 
 that poem perpetually with a sorrowful voice, and her 
 face steadily became more pale. 
 
 "Her gracious smile did not dare to play upon her 
 beautiful little lips, her fine eyes sometimes were still, 
 then clouded and suffused with tears, as though she 
 were reaching out into the sad past or into the future. 
 If anyone asked her: —
 
 90 .TUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 " 'What is it, Vida — in God's name!' She would 
 answer solemnly but shortly: — 
 
 " 'The curse.' 
 
 "A year ago, Milan, my eldest son, wooed a ^irl and 
 came happily to the house. Vida went out to meet 
 him. 
 
 " '0 my imhappy brother, are you really happy? 
 How can a Brankovich be happy. Milan, Milan, 
 there is no blacker sin than to betray one's people. 
 Milan, Milan, the curse is heavy— the curse that falls 
 upon the innocent also.' 
 
 "She said this, and kissed liim, just as one kisses 
 the dead. 
 
 ''That very day Milan fell ill. The se<^;ond day he 
 died. 
 
 "Shortly after this she sprang up from sleep calling 
 out: — 
 
 " 'Vlajko, brother Vlajko, where is my Vlajko? 
 Heavy is the sin that falls upon the innocent also!' 
 
 "That spring Vlajko 's bay horse came into the 
 courtyard without Vlajko; and Vlajko, out hunting, 
 had fallen head foremost, and had remained dead 
 at the place where he had fallen. 
 
 "In the same way she foretold or anticipated the 
 deaths of Mirko and Radmilo. 
 
 "From that time onwards I looked upon her as 
 some kind of mysterious person. I believed whatever 
 she said, even though it were most fearful.
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 91 
 
 "I often said to her — 'Do not speak, do not an- 
 ticipate, if you know G-od. I love you as I love the 
 memory of my four sons — more than life, than my 
 soul; but it is a heavy sorrow to hear such tidings 
 from one I love so much.' 
 
 "At this she would say to me: — 
 
 *' 'You love me, you are fond of me? It is hard 
 for whoever cares for me and for whoevei- falls in 
 love with me. I am of evil fortune. Fearful is the 
 sin that falls upon the innocent also ! ' 
 
 "Then she would look into my eyes and would 
 say : — 
 
 " 'Now the yoimg Djordje and Jovan Brankovich 
 perpetually appear to me with vacant holes where 
 their fair eyes had been. Behind them, see ! Another 
 Djordje, Grgnrn Brankovich all blind with bloody 
 eyelids! My father, my father, and you too are a 
 Brankovich ! ' 
 
 "When I heard that I trembled, but it was in vain, 
 and shortly afterwards eternal darkness fell upon the 
 pupils of my eyes. 
 
 "One morning my last son Damjan came to me and 
 kissed my hand. 
 
 " 'Beloved father,' he said to me, 'My days too are 
 numbered. Last night I heard her weeping terribly 
 in her sleep and two or three times she called my 
 name. Father save me ! ' 
 
 " 'Who will save you if (lod will not forgive,' I
 
 92 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 said. 'My Damjan it will not be good fortune.' — 
 See now what kind of good it has been ! All my five 
 sons, one beside the other, are in the earth, in the 
 grave. They have taken away my house from me, 
 my bed." 
 
 The old man was silent. 
 
 And Stevan? The old man's words stupefied him 
 and cast him into a sea of deep thoughts. He quickly 
 pulled himself back, however, and recovered himself; 
 and then he felt nothing but how strongly he loved 
 Vidosava. He felt that whether the sick girl meant 
 good or evil fortime for him, nothing could separate 
 him from her. 
 
 "As you love me, old Brankovich, I have been with 
 you in the prison of Eger for twenty-two years and 
 you have never kissed me — you have had no time! 
 Up to the present we have reckoned the unfortunate 
 ones of the Brankovich family and have we reckoned 
 them all? No — we have not yet. But let us leave 
 it. We have nearly come to the end — But quickly! 
 Kiss me once. It falls sweetly. It is sweet ! Quick ! 
 Quick! 
 
 Stevan bent down to kiss the girl's outstretched 
 hand. At that moment Vida opened her eyes and 
 called out wildly: — 
 
 "You are not a Brankovich! Do not pull me out 
 of the water ! Leave me to death ! Leave me, leave 
 me, and may good fortune be yours!"
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 93 
 
 After this slio again closed her eyes, sighed, and 
 sobbed. 
 
 Through her sobs now and again could be dis- 
 tinguished : — 
 
 . to betray one's people 
 Fearful is that sin, and it falls upon the innocent also! 
 
 III. 
 
 The flowers were half withered, the golden leaves 
 had fallen. It was a death bed on which summer had 
 just breathed her last. 
 
 The sun was glimmering feebly, then slowly it be- 
 came enveloped in mist. 
 
 The birds still sang a little, but it was not like the 
 happy chirping that one hears in May. In every 
 sound there was a note of ** goodbye" and through 
 every "goodbye" trembled a sorrowful "alas." 
 
 A cold wind rustled the countless grey leaves. This 
 was the throne on which the new ruler — Autumn, the 
 mournful queen, sat and slept. 
 
 They had already gathered the vintage in 
 Frushka Gora and the vintage songs were silent, and 
 the great resounding clappers no longer made a sound, 
 but lay quietly somewhere behind the stove. In place 
 of their sound the wind bore only the whistling of the 
 yellow leaves and the heavy breaking of dry branches.
 
 94 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 It was only the stream that had not forgotten its 
 murmuring and still sang its song with the same voice. 
 But how different it is to listen to its song accompanied 
 by the song of the nightingale and the smell of the 
 violet on the green flowery meadow, from what it is 
 now; when, left alone, it sings because sing it must; 
 but it would be better to say it weeps for its beloved 
 companions who have vanished. 
 
 Round the house of old Brankovich spread a large 
 garden. Beauty at one time had walked through it, 
 while there appeared on ever}^ bed, on every bush and 
 on every branch a delicate hand that tended it all. 
 Now all the paths were overgrown, the beds unweeded. 
 Disorder grew and trampled down all that pains and 
 good will had formerly beautified. 
 
 There walked Vidosava in black clothing. It ap- 
 peared on her face that she had been seriously ill, but 
 that charming beauty of hers, steeped in pallour, al- 
 ways gave one the impression of looking at moonlight. 
 
 The time was mournful and ill-omened, but 
 Vida steadily became happier. She wept for her 
 brothers : but a certain belief that the loss of them w^as 
 inevitable softened the bitterness of her tears, and 
 gave strength to her tender heart. That prophetic 
 spirit, if I may so call it, that had troubled the beau- 
 tiful child was dead — had vanished. But in addition 
 to this her sweetness had grown, and Vidosava stead- 
 ily became a true girl, such as she ought to have been.
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 95 
 
 But can a girl be without love? 
 
 As a violet must smell sweet, so a heart must sigh. 
 
 The violet itself does not know that it smells sweet. 
 
 And why did Vidosava sigh now? She sighed be- 
 cause everj'thing had turned out so sweetly for her. 
 She sighed, but she herself did not know why. 
 
 Stevan, who came to visit old Urosh almost every 
 day, had just dismounted. He walked through the 
 garden with Vidosava, with her he spoke of every 
 kind of beauty and grace, with her he sat on a marble 
 bench looking at the red clouds round the sun, calling 
 her "little sister." 
 
 Vida did not believe that she had the right to love 
 Stevan. Some pitiless spirit still whispered to her : — 
 ' ' Send this young man away from you. It would be 
 a shame that he sliould fall under the curse ! ' ' 
 
 But something stirred in her heart — it was so sweet 
 and so heavy — . It was difficult! 
 
 Already there appeared in the distance a cloud of 
 dust that the fierce black horse of Stevan had raised. 
 Vidosava looked in that direction and sighed involun- 
 tarily. Afterwards, if you had happened to be close 
 at hand, you would have heard a charming but mourn- 
 ful voice and the mournful song : — 
 
 "Whether they are griefs, or whether they are 
 sorrows, 
 
 Griefs are worse than sorrows. 
 
 Neighbours will come for sorrows
 
 96 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 But no one knows about griefs 
 
 Save the heart in which are the griefs." 
 
 How steadily he became sweeter and more beloved 
 every day! 
 
 Love grew, and why could not good fortune grow 
 beside it? 
 
 It was a blessing for old Urosh that in his blindness 
 he saw something that he had never been able to see 
 with his eyes. He saw that every day his daughter 
 was more happy and more cheerful. 
 
 ** Something smells sweet here," said Urosh one 
 evening when Stevan and Vidosava had led him 
 through the garden. 
 
 "It is that great bush of rosemary," responded 
 Vidosava. 
 
 * ' And there must also be a seat of turf. Let us sit 
 down, children, and smell that beautiful scent. Isn't 
 it beautiful, Stevan, and what do you say, my Vido- 
 sava?" 
 
 Rosemary was a fortunate symbol. It guided their 
 thoughts and guided their words, and they spoke of 
 earthly joys, of love, and of faithfulness. 
 
 All three were suddenly constrained. They grew 
 silent, lost in thought. 
 
 Only one word, and all three hearts would imme- 
 diately become happier. 
 
 The old man, however, did not intend to begin, and
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 97 
 
 Stevan's throat was contracted. Yidosova sat beside 
 the old man, and sometimes looked at her father's 
 face, sometimes at the war of thought and annulling 
 of desire on the face of the young- man. She did not 
 know in the least what to think, and trembled like 
 a reed, fearing the first word that should be spoken. 
 
 Lost in thought the old man took hold of Stevan's 
 hand just exactly at the place where there was a gold 
 ring on his finger. 
 
 "What kind of a ring is that, Stevan?" 
 
 **My mother gave it to me on her death bed and 
 made me promise that one day I would put it on the 
 finger of my betrothed. And — in God's name, . . " 
 
 At these words Stevan burned like living fire, and 
 the pale girl became even more pale, like the most 
 beautiful white rose. 
 
 "And in God's name I will either wear the ring 
 myself until the grave, or you will take it, Vida." 
 
 Oh fortune, how golden you are, and love, you have 
 been beautifully prepared. By these moments you 
 have overweighed all the misfortune and evil that 
 attack a man! 
 
 The rosemary smelt sweet, how beautifully, how 
 strongly, how tenderly! 
 
 The sun sank down reflected in the sweet tears of 
 blind Urosh and in the ring on Vidosava's hand. 
 
 When the happy ones separated, each one was cal-
 
 98 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 culating within himself how many days there were 
 until that famous Saint George's Day. 
 
 IV 
 
 "Wliat preparations were made for that famous 
 Saint George's Day? How did Stevan and Vidosava 
 pass the time? 
 
 Wild winter had come, — those hard frosts, snow 
 storms, and falls of snow had come, — and those cold 
 winds. 
 
 This was not winter, neither were they frosts nor 
 winds ! It was not fierce, or hard, or cold, or frosty ! 
 
 To our betrothed pair it was as though rosy snow 
 had fallen, as though a little rose had been torn up 
 in the sky. Frost does not freeze warm love, and the 
 winds brought it that beautiful peace that nothing else 
 feels — ^brought it from somewhere, God knows where, 
 the sweet smell of rosemary, the flower so dear to 
 them. 
 
 Then those winter evenings! 
 
 Quiet jo3% peaceful happinesa, full satisfaction ! 
 When Bozana, Vida's old nurse, sat near the stove 
 and began those old stories, so that trembling seizes 
 you, your hair clings together, your heart burns, and 
 your tears flow. If she stops for a little you hear her 
 spindle buzzing, just as a guslar breaks off his song 
 at the most beautiful places — to play what cannot be
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 99 
 
 sung, because it can only be felt. On the plain the 
 gun is fired, the horse neighs, the greyhound gives 
 short barks. Here is Stevan from the hunt — just as 
 though he had come alive out of the old story : — 
 
 "God help you, my fortune! — " and the candle 
 dances and trembles — and old Urosh 's tears overflow. 
 
 How was it with Vidosava, with the beautiful be- 
 trothed ? Many of my readers will know better than 
 I can express it. 
 
 When he came to the house and Vidosava received 
 him, he would whisper to her, almost ashamed, "How 
 many days are there still before Saint George's Day"?" 
 
 Very little happened until Saint George 's Day. The 
 winter passed as in a dream. 
 
 The flowers and leaves burst forth ever more beau- 
 tifully, and the voices of nightingales came ever 
 sweeter and sweeter; but more beautiful than their 
 voices was what the day brought to Vidosava: — 
 
 "My I>arling! 
 
 "You know how much I love you; but it is sweet 
 to me to speak of it. You are my world, my life, my 
 all. The day after tomorrow will dawn, the day 
 when you will not Ijlush to sanctify your love before 
 the altar, and to give yourself to me before God and 
 the world. Tomorrow will bring the wedding guests 
 to you. The wedding guests have been chosen, every- 
 thing is fitting. hap[>y and worthy. 
 
 \
 
 100 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Be happy and rejoice, my bride, 
 *'Your true Stevan." 
 
 Do you Imow that beautiful flower on whose slender 
 green stalk hang delicate pale little green cups? The 
 cups when they are overturned pour forth a beautiful 
 scent, and the scent pours forth like a river, and over 
 it, it is as though invisible vilas were floating and 
 singing:— 
 
 * ' Georgica, where thou art sown, 
 
 There thou art plucked. 
 
 It is beautiful, it is holy, it is wonderful, 
 
 Saint George's Day." 
 
 The Lily of the Valley is the flower, and Bozana 
 entwined it in Vidosava's hair, and how beautifully 
 it went with that luxuriant, silken hair. And the old 
 nurse spoke to her: — 
 
 "There, there, my pigeon. Now you are adorned 
 like that maiden of flowers about whom I am always 
 telling you, whom seven emperors sought. But why 
 are you so mournful when you should be most full of 
 joy?" 
 
 "Dear nurse, I must tell you a strange and dis- 
 quieting dream I dreamt, I was dressed just as I 
 am now, and I was walking across the room, when 
 a stem voice called to me to stop. I looked up and
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 101 
 
 saw that I was standing exactly under the picture of 
 our unfortunate ancestor. I was quite trembling and 
 he raised his hand, took hold of the frame and slowly 
 came out of it, — and the place he left empty was red 
 like blood. "When he came to me he said : — 
 
 '* 'My daughter, you are a bride. There — let me 
 bless you, and give you a present.' Then he made a 
 movement behind my precious ring and took it from 
 my finger. 
 
 " 'This diamond,' he said, 'I will take away, it 
 looks like a crystalized tear. Here is a more beautiful 
 stone for you, this ruby which is a drop of Serbian 
 blood from the field of Kossovo. I will put it into 
 your ring for you. It will last better and there shall 
 be blessing in it for you ! ' 
 
 "After this he was returned to his place and be- 
 came again the same old picture as he has always 
 been. Sweet nurse I still tremble if I remember it 
 vividly, and I dare not say a word to my father." 
 
 And Vidosava was all trembling and, as before, 
 there appeared again in her heart, written in black, 
 the words : — 
 
 There is no blacker nor more fearful sin than to 
 betray one's people. 
 
 Fearful is that sin, and it falls upon the innocent 
 also!
 
 102 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 V 
 "The swaying branch broke off."* 
 
 The fierce horses are already girthed — white, black, 
 and grey, and they are not quiet but are kicking with 
 their feet. On them the fine white trappings are 
 vibrating. 
 
 Quick let us get on our way! 
 
 Quick let us get on our way! 
 
 But still the dance cannot be broken up — the dance 
 that had, as it were, groAVTi out of their happines.s — 
 and how can Vidosava turn her back upon her dear 
 father ! 
 
 There were tears — they were never bitter. There 
 were blessings, and may God accept them. 
 
 But the happy, frolicsome wedding guests cared 
 nothing for this and made themselves ready, sing- 
 ing :— 
 
 "Do not weep, fair Vida, for the time has come. 
 It was not in your court that the sweetness was 
 
 bom, 
 But it was in ours that the sweetness was born — 
 
 Hero Stevan." 
 
 So they whipped up the four white horses on which 
 * A line of a popular song.
 
 VIDOSAVA BRANKOVICH 103 
 
 were Vidosava with the chief wedding guest, and the 
 other wedding guests behind them. There arose a 
 cry, a tumult such as there had never been. After a 
 single moment not even dust could be seen, because 
 Serbian wedding guests do not go upon the ground, 
 but %. 
 
 Vacancy and quiet remained round the old man 
 Urosh. 
 
 The whole time the path led the wedding guests 
 beside the Danube. On one side were high mountains 
 and vineyards, and on the other side rocks which the 
 cold Danube washed. 
 
 Vidosava was as pale as though now her dream of 
 the night before were founded on fact. 
 
 The sun was nearly in the west, and its beautiful 
 rays played among the standards and plumes, and 
 gilded the guns and arms, and when it fell upon the 
 precious stone in Vidosava 's ring, every kind of col- 
 our burst forth in it. Now it would be like the blue 
 of the upper part of the sky such as only angels see : 
 now like violets such as there are not in the world : 
 now like an orange, such as only a thirsty Persian 
 woman, sleeping on the lap of her lover could dream 
 of. Sometimes, again, red, rosy, exactly like that 
 blood spilt on Kossovo. 
 
 It was at just such a moment that Vidosava looked 
 at her ring. 
 
 She cried out like an angry serpent in a cleft; —
 
 104 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Blood, mighty blood. ... it is. ... " 
 
 And the unhappy girl let her head fall upon the 
 chief wedding guest. The chief wedding guest sprang 
 down to stop tlie horses — as though anyone could stop 
 horses at their highest speed. The horses began to 
 wince and to jump aside. 
 
 At that very moment fierce Turkish officials came 
 up, firing the charges from their pistols. No more 
 was necessary. 
 
 The Danube echoed as though thunder had con- 
 vulsed it. The maddened horses bore the unfortu- 
 nate bride into a cold grave. 
 
 All this took place in one moment. 
 
 The wedding guests were petrified. A shudder 
 went through their hearts; but by this time Stevan 
 was already in the Danube, having sprung to death 
 to bear life and fortune out of it as was evilly fore- 
 told. 
 
 The water east out both of them. 
 
 Still only one embrace — but what warmth in it. 
 Still just one whisper, but it was laboured and fear- 
 ful because it was spoken in the lap of death. 
 
 "Did I not say, Stevan? Indeed I did — that the 
 curse was heavy. But forgive me!" 
 
 Already twenty swimmers were swimming swiftly 
 to drag them out and save them, but what can a man 
 do against heavy curses, against the ordinance of 
 God?
 
 VIDOSAVA BKANKOVICH 105 
 
 Stevan and Vidosava lie deep in the Danube in 
 their embrace, and their souls deserve to be happier 
 in that place where old Urosh came soon after them. 
 
 I had already entirely forgotten this story just as 
 though I had never heard it; but some years ago I 
 was in Novi Sad at a funeral. The dead man was a 
 count ; but he died without a single relation, a blind, 
 poor man — quite blind — and he was called Branko- 
 vich. That was perhaps the last branch of the family. 
 
 Then I remembered — and it was as though I heard 
 Vidosava 's voice speaking sorrowfully to a mighty 
 people gathered together: — 
 
 ''There is no hlacker sin than to tetray one's 
 people. 
 
 Fearful is that sin, and it falls upon the innocent 
 oLsoI"
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 
 By Milovan Glisich 
 
 107
 
 MiLOVAN Glisich Tfos bom in 1847 at Valjevo, 
 Serbia. He took the philosophical course at the 
 University of Belgrade and became editor of the 
 Journal Officiel there and later on Assistant Director 
 of the National Theatre in the same city. He died in 
 1908. Glisich translated a number of Eussian and 
 French novels by Gogol, Tolstoy and Merimee and 
 many plays, principally French comedies. He also 
 wrote two comedies which are the most popular plays 
 in the repertoire of every Serbian theatre. He was 
 the author of a number of stories, mostly humorous 
 ones. 
 
 108
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 
 By Milovan Glisich 
 
 At the end of the village of Vellica Vrbniea, high 
 up near the mountain of Vratana, there can be seen 
 from Latkovacki Pogledi, a modest peasant's cottage 
 with two or three other little buildings grouped 
 around it. 
 
 This is the house of the widow Miona. 
 
 Sibin Dzamich was killed in the second war, be- 
 hind Jankova Klisura. 
 
 Stories are still told of his exploits and of his cour- 
 age, and whenever anyone speaks of Sibin at Velika, 
 they always say, 
 
 ''May God keep Him" 
 
 His Miona was left alone with three orphans, two 
 sons and a daughter. They stood very close on the 
 steps of the ladder, Ognjan the eldest was only seven. 
 
 There can be no greater misfortune for a peasant 
 household than to be left without a head. 
 
 The same sorrow had fallen on many other homes 
 in the countryside. Many other widows had mourned 
 their husbands, and been consoled. After a year or 
 two, some had remarried and taken their children 
 with them into the new home, others had gone back 
 to their own families. 
 
 109
 
 110 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 Sibin's Miona would not follow the example of her 
 companions in misfortune. Courageous, intelligent 
 and hardworking, she undertook to do even the heaviest 
 of the farm work. 
 
 It seemed to Miona that her Sibin would come back, 
 and how could she face him if he found his house 
 deserted and in ruins? 
 
 Sibin had brothers and relatives, but none of them 
 had lived with him. They were all industrious peo- 
 ple, sympathetic and kind hearted and no day passed 
 that one of them did not come to Miona 's house to 
 help her a little in her work. 
 
 It was Sibin's younger brother Jelenko who ren- 
 dered her the most service. How many times did he 
 not say to his sister-in-law. 
 
 "Why will you not listen to me, my sister? Why 
 will you not come to our house? Can't you see, my 
 poor sister, that with three children you can never 
 get through all this ? You don 't know what to do fii*st. 
 With a hundred arms you could not do everything, — 
 just you alone. Why not come and live with us, at 
 least until the children are big and strong?" 
 
 "I cannot, brother," answered Miona, sighing. 
 
 "But why not? In our house everything would be 
 easier and more comfortable for you." 
 
 "But brother, how can I let the fire go out on this 
 hearth, where my children were first warmed ? What 
 should I say to my children by and by when they ask
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 111 
 
 me, 'Mother what is that house, smothered with alders 
 and weeds, which no one goes to even by day?' If 
 I should do that the bread and salt that I ate with 
 Sibin would bring me sorrow. God preserve me from 
 it ! Never, brother, never. ' ' 
 
 Jelenko could do nothing but shrug his shoulders, 
 and go and borrow a pair of horses to plough and 
 harrow as much land as Miona needed for sowing. 
 
 These good people always helped her with the work 
 that was too heavy for a woman's weaker hands. 
 They ploughed part of her fallow land, harrowed and 
 sowed it, and prepared it for the crop as carefully 
 as if the fields were their own. Miona did all the rest 
 herself. She hoed, weeded and hai'vested. She never 
 complained that the work was too hard. When her 
 family wanted to help with that also, she was almost 
 hurt. She always thanked them, and said, "You 
 helped me through the most difficult part. This I 
 can do quite alone." 
 
 II 
 
 The years passed, one after another, and Miona grew 
 so accustomed to her task that she felt that for her 
 there could be no other kind of life. Her children 
 had grown bigger. Ognjan was almost fifteen and 
 going to school. He was already a big strong lad. 
 Dusanka was thirteen and took most of the household
 
 112 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 cares from her mother's shoulders. If IMiona went 
 out early to the fields or the pastures to gather a few 
 more sheaves or to pile in cocks the hay that Jelenko 
 had mowed the day before, she found her dinner ready 
 when she came back to the house at noon. Dusanka 
 had prepared it as well as any farmer's wife, and 
 she even knew how to make bread. The youngest 
 boy, Senadin, was nine. He still made popguns out 
 of the alders, but he knew how to take care of the 
 lambs, and to lead the sheep to pasture, and he, too, 
 made himself useful. 
 
 God be thanked, all of Miona's children were 
 healthy, happy, intelligent and industrious. Miona's 
 heart overflowed as she looked at them. 
 
 "My lovely birds," she whispered, sighing, "God 
 All powerful, I beseech you to keep me in health and 
 strength until their wings are stronger." 
 
 God is good. He granted the prayer of the lonely 
 widow. The men of the village admired Miona's per- 
 severance. They all praised her, and used her as an 
 example to their wives, when they had to reprove them 
 for their moments of idleness. One thing only sur- 
 prised them, why she, being alone, should send Ognjan 
 to school, and deprive the household of his help. They 
 even almost blamed Miona for this, and Jelenko spoke 
 to her about it. One day, when he was at her house 
 with his old uncle Jedzimir, and they had discussed 
 a quantity of things, he said to his sister-in-law ;
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 113 
 
 *' Really, everyone is surprised at what you are 
 doing. You are hardworking, you are sensible, and 
 yet you are committing a folly," 
 
 "But what, brother?" she asked, looking at him, 
 a little startled. 
 
 "Why do you not keep that child at home to help 
 you in the lighter work? Many people richer than 
 you, and with larger families, find it impossible to 
 spare their children. You are poor and suffering, 
 and yet — " 
 
 "I will never allow my children to be the worst 
 brought up in the village, brother" answered Miona, 
 flushing a little, "my Sibin, whom God keep, often 
 planned that if nothing happened to him, we would 
 make Ognjan study. I am fulfilling his wishes. I 
 have worked hard for so many years, it will do me 
 no harm to struggle a little longer." 
 
 "That is true, my niece," said old Jedzimir, in his 
 turn. "That is all fine and good, but on the other 
 hand, you are alone in the house, and for you any 
 aid, however small, is of value." 
 
 "Ognjan will finish his school in July, and after 
 that will stay with me. If God keeps us in good 
 health, I shall send Senadin to school next autumn. 
 I don't want my children to be blind even though they 
 have eyes." She spoke with conviction, and so firmly 
 that Jelf'nko and Jed/.imir had nothing to say. They 
 talked a little of other things and then went away.
 
 114 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "That is no woman, that is a man," said Father 
 Jedzimir softly as they left Miona's house. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Lent had begun and winter was nearing it's end. 
 The harsh east wind, Ustoka, and the icy north wind, 
 Sever, no longer blew. The wind from the south, 
 Beli-Vetar, played with the branches of the great 
 beech trees, coming from Zupa and going even as far 
 as Neredja and Kapaonik. The snow was almost all 
 gone and only what lay on Suho Rudiste paid no at- 
 tention to Beli-Vetar; that would not melt till later, 
 under the heat of June. 
 
 On every side the diligent farmers were out in the 
 fields. They turned over the fallow land, and sang 
 as they worked, hoping for a good year. 
 
 It was noon when Miona got back from the town 
 where she had gone to see Senadin. 
 
 She had kept her word, Ognjan had graduated 
 from the first class at the feast of St, Peter, and 
 shortly after the Transfiguration, Senadin had en- 
 tered the fourth class. 
 
 Miona was climbing up through the orchard, when 
 Dusanka came suddenly out of the house. She had 
 something rolled up in a little many-coloured bag, 
 and w^as hurrying somewhere. 
 
 "Where are you going Dusanka?"
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 115 
 
 "Oh, is it you, have you oome back so soon?" 
 Dusanka answered, a little confused. ' ' That is lucky, 
 because the house will not be left empty. I am going 
 to meet my brother." 
 
 "Yes, and where is he?" 
 
 "In the field, down beyond the clearing. He told 
 me to bring him his lunch." 
 
 "Isn't he coming back to the house to eat?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "He took the oxen and the plough." 
 
 "Oh," cried Miona, "and why did you not tell 
 me that at once, my dear scatter-brain child? Give 
 me the little bag, I will take it to him." 
 
 "No, let me mother, you are tired, and beside — ," 
 
 "Beside what, my child?" 
 
 "My brother begged me not to tell you right away. 
 He said, 'I want to give pleasure to my mother.' " 
 
 "May God give him back that pleasure! I am not 
 tired, child, I did not even know that I had come 
 back so quickly. It was not quite nice of you not 
 to tell me right away. See how late it is, already 
 past noon. Has he been gone long ? ' ' 
 
 "He can hardly have reached the field yet." 
 
 Miona snatched up Dusanka 's bag. glanced into 
 it to see what was prepared, and hurried (luickly 
 away. Dusanka, surprised, stood at the door and 
 watched her mother go.
 
 116 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 IV 
 
 The field beyond the clearing needs only one day's 
 ploughing. The ground is not very fertile, and even 
 in good years, the harvest is never more than two or 
 three stacks of wheat. 
 
 Ognjan had ploughed the first furrow, and was 
 about to start again, when suddenly his mother ap- 
 peared. 
 
 *'Ah! just see how my boy works," cried Miona 
 happily. Running to Ognjan she began to embrace 
 and kiss him. The boy stood still, a little taken aback. 
 
 *'May your labour be fortunate, my master. What 
 a superb furrow, and how deep it is ! Oh, I am silly, 
 I chatter when you are tired, my w^orker! Here, 
 take this, it was your sister who prepared your lunch 
 for you." 
 
 Miona quickly emptied the bag of all that it con- 
 tained, spread it out, and placed on it a little salt, some 
 onions, cooked potatoes, a small loaf, a bowel of pea 
 soup, and a small gourd of wine ; saying as she did so ; 
 
 "Ah, see what a girl Dusanka is! She has even put 
 in wine. ]\Iy daughter is growing up ! She already 
 knows what will be good for a tired man. Stop your 
 plough, my son, you have worked enough." 
 
 Her eyes filled vnth. tears. 
 
 "What is tlie matter, mother?" asked Ognjan, as he 
 sat down. "You are crying."
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 117 
 
 "It is nothing, my son, nothing. See, I am laugh- 
 ing. Take some food, I know that you are hungry. 
 The truth is that I was delayed a little in the town. 
 You don 't know how pleased the schoolmaster is with 
 our Senadin!" 
 
 "You sit down too, mother, so that wo can eat to- 
 gether" said Ognjan, breaking off a piece of the loaf 
 for her. 
 
 "No, my son, I will eat at the house. Dusanka is 
 waiting for me" answered i\Iiona, still standing and 
 almost waiting on her son. ' ' You think perhaps that 
 I am tired, Ognjan, but I am not. I can be all day 
 on my feet. But look at my son! He works like a 
 grown man! Dusanlia told me, but I thought she 
 was joking, the little scamp." 
 
 Again her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them 
 away with her hands, and laughed. 
 
 Ognjan was almost shy. He flushed, and wanted to 
 say something, but did not know what. 
 
 Miona offered him the food again. 
 
 She began to talk to him as if to a child, but still 
 always standing before him. She said that she would 
 keep the wheat from that field to use only for feast 
 days. She would make from it the cesnica, the Christ- 
 mas biscuit, and that kolac cake which is made only 
 for the Slava. Tlie best flour is made from old graiu. 
 
 "If the seed will only sprout!" said Ognjan, "You 
 know well, mother, that this field is one of our least
 
 118 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 fertile ones. The grain from here is almost always 
 rotted." 
 
 *'0h, it will sprout, my son, it must sprout! There 
 is no better ground, even in Morava. Here, there 
 has never been either rot or tares. ' ' 
 
 Ognjan finished eating, got up, took the plough 
 again, and gave the oxen a couple of blows with his 
 pole. 
 
 Miona stood watching her son, who hopped about 
 like a young cock, pulling the ploughhandles and bal- 
 ancing the plough, sometimes to one side and some- 
 times to the other. This is difficult work, and the 
 boy's arms were still weak. 
 
 Several times Miona longed to run and help him, 
 but something held her back, she knew not what. 
 
 She packed the little bag again, and went slowly 
 back to the house. 
 
 How often she turned to look back at Ognjan. She 
 could still see him when he was turning the third 
 furrow. 
 
 A strange new joy seized her. She wanted to cry 
 and to laugh. She did not know why. After a little 
 while she whispered to herself, ''It is my turn, this 
 time, for God should give me joy. Am I not happy! 
 Who could think otherwise! Oh, how happy I am! 
 I have a son, I have a master! The hands of others 
 will work for me no longer. No, no one has such a 
 child. How he works! Jelenko himself could not
 
 THE FIRST FURROW 119 
 
 do better. He is a man already. In one or two 
 years, if God is willing, I shaU have him married. 
 My house will sing again." 
 
 Dusanka never remembered having seen her mother 
 so cheerful as when she returned from the field be- 
 yond the clearing. 
 
 She came into the house, humming a gay little song.
 
 BY THE WELL 
 By Lazae Lazarovich 
 
 121
 
 Lazar Laz^vbovich was born in 1851 at Labach, 
 (Serbia), a town which was completely destroyed 
 in 1914 during the great war. He completed his law 
 course at Belgrade and then his medical course at 
 Berlin and was a practicing physician throughout 
 his life, first in the country and then in Belgrade. 
 He was elected a corresponding member of the Serb- 
 ian E/oyal Academy. 
 
 Lazarovich was the author of a dozen short stories 
 which aroused the most immense enthusiasm among 
 the public and founded the realistic school of Serbian 
 fiction. He died in 1890. 
 
 122
 
 BY THE WELL 
 By liAZAR Lazarovich 
 
 How the wind blows ! so that great clouds of mist 
 are quivering above the furrows like whitish phan- 
 toms. They are borne along in the direction in which 
 the wind is blowing, and then they hang in thin white 
 crystals, like pendants, to one's beard and moustachas 
 and to one 's horse 's coat. 
 
 I shall go to the house of Matija Djenadich. That 
 is his house, there, with the wooden flask of brandy 
 hanging out on the plum tree in front of it. "Who- 
 ever passes, let him taste." That is what Matija 
 wishes; and when you come to his house they receive 
 you with open arms. 
 
 What a house it is ! A regular old-fashioned Ladru- 
 ga* Come in the evening when they are expecting 
 you. One of the sons' wives meets you on the very 
 road with a torch in her hand, a second stands in the 
 orchard, a third in front of the store-house, a fourth 
 
 * The Larlruga has a common menage and represents a very 
 strong association. No member possesses any property of his 
 own, all goods belonging to the family as a whole. Each 
 member of the community has a fixed duty to perform, and 
 the entire family is ruled by an elder, who is almost always 
 its oldest member. He decides where the young men are to go 
 and what they are to do. He has charge of the selling of all 
 that is saleable, he keeps the money-box and attends to the 
 payment of taxea. His authority ia undisputed. 
 
 123
 
 124 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 beats off the dogs, a fifth is in the kitchen, a sixth in 
 the room, into which they take you, A whole assemblage 
 of wedding guests ! And everything in their house is 
 happy, modest, and content. God grant, though, that 
 you do not cross any member of the household, for 
 si:c of the sons are in the army ! 
 
 They have no need of their neighbours to help them 
 — why should they, with so many hands? They can 
 plough three ploughs continuously without an effort ; 
 and when merchants come to buy the pigs, Matija's 
 belt becomes comfortably fat. 
 
 I knew their Arsen when he was a boy. He would 
 take his flute from his belt and screech beside Burma- 
 zovich 's house, for there was a girl there, a daughter. 
 And what a girl ! If you rode alongside her and, as 
 the saying is, she turned her dark eyes in your direc- 
 tion, the world turned around you and you could 
 hardly keep your saddle. 
 
 But Arsen got used to her eyes and was not afraid of 
 them. He put his foot on one rail of the fence, his 
 elbow on another, rested his face in the palm of his 
 hand and spoke to her: 
 
 * ' I am ashamed to mention it to father, and, as for 
 grandfather, I simply dare not." 
 
 Anoka was not confused, as she should have been. 
 She looked out craftily from her eyes, turned a little 
 aside and, hiding her anger, said : 
 
 "Very well then. I shall marry Philip Maricich!"
 
 BY THE WELL 125 
 
 "What ! Do you think I will give you up to anyone 
 else? I assure you that the man who so much as 
 touched you with his finger would not have one bone 
 left unbroken in his body ! ' ' 
 
 Anoka tapped on the ground with her foot like a 
 spoilt child. She swelled out her breast, her eyes 
 glittered, and she tossed her head : 
 
 "Really? And perhaps you wish me to plait my 
 grey hairs ? You shall see ! ' ' 
 
 But Arsen heard no more. He seized her by the 
 hand and drew her towards the fence and to him. She 
 resisted firmly, but all the same came forward, nearer 
 and nearer — a mysterious fire overcoming her as the 
 man's hand encircled her waist. 
 
 A good sort of girl she was, but Burmazovich had 
 spoilt her terribly. So many of his family had died 
 at the time of the cholera that he had cherished Anoka, 
 like a little water in the palm of his hand. 
 
 One should not spoil a child and give it its way, even 
 though it be the only child in the world. 
 
 That evening Arsen came home lost in thought. 
 Contrary to his custom, he first went to the store-room 
 and, with a wine-taster, he drank freely from a barrel. 
 Normally he never drank. 
 
 Next he sat down on a bench alone in the darkness 
 and looked at the life in the courtyard. The fire was 
 flickering with a red flame at the kitchen door — It 
 licked the saucepan and the chains on which it sung.
 
 126 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 The fire seemed even to reach Arsen himself. He felt 
 a certain warmth and wondered how such a thing could 
 be, that the flame from the kitchen should actually 
 warm him. Now and again black pictures of men and 
 dogs in the courtyard passed by the fire. From the 
 stable sounded the stamping of a horse ; in front of the 
 storeroom the oxen, with which Nenad had just come 
 from town, were being unyoked. A hen plumped 
 down from the mulberry tree and settled among her 
 companions with much fluttering. Every noise sounded 
 clearly through the evening silence. A mouse dared 
 already to start nibbling under the very log on which 
 Arsen was sitting. 
 
 His head began to swim. At first he heard, under 
 his left breast, his heart beating as though something 
 had frightened him. Then all at once he began to 
 laugh, without reason, madly. 
 
 He knew not why he laughed, nor yet why, immedi- 
 ately afterwards, he burst into tears. He only knew 
 that through his laughter and through his tears Anoka 
 appeared in a dim picture, and this beat so wonder- 
 fully upon his heart that it seemed to him that now he 
 would die. He leaned upon the barrel from which he 
 had drunk a short time before and began to die, but so 
 sweetly that it seemed to him as though Anoka were 
 embracing him and as though the wild horse of the 
 Ostojich were carrying him. 
 
 He slept there for a little while ; then Velinka, one
 
 BY THE WELL 127 
 
 of his sisters-in-law, came in with a torch in her hand 
 to look for something in the store-room. She started 
 when she caught sight of Arsen on the log besides the 
 barrel with the wine-taster in his hand. She ap- 
 proached him timidly and touched his shoulder. 
 
 ''Darling!" 
 
 Arsen opened bloodshot eyes. 
 
 ' ' You are drunk, poor boy ! ' ' 
 
 He agreed cheerfully. 
 
 *'Yes, drunk!" 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "Why? Because I want to kill Philip Marieich!" 
 
 He waved the wine-taster above his head, struck it 
 on the ground, broke it, and began to laugh. 
 
 This made Velinka laugh also. 
 
 "But why, darling? What has Philip done to 
 you?" 
 
 ' ' He wishes to marry Anoka ! ' ' 
 
 ' * Well ? Let him many her ! " 
 
 ' ' I will never let him ! ' ' 
 
 He threw himself forward a little and wished to get 
 up, but his back found the companionship of the barrel 
 so pleasant that it obstinately returned to its former 
 position. 
 
 Velinka restrained her laughter. 
 
 **But why, darling? Do you wish to marry her 
 yourself?" 
 
 "Certainly I do."
 
 128 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 And when he had said this, he was embarrassed ; he 
 turned himself towards the barrel, began to cry and 
 to speak through his tears. 
 
 "Yes. Has not my brother married? I also wish 
 
 He tried to strike his knee in emphasis of this, but 
 his fist, without question or permission, struck the log. 
 As a punishment he thrust it between his teeth and 
 bit it. 
 
 Velinka laughed all the more. 
 
 "There, there, poor child. Then you shall marry, 
 darling. Don't be afraid. I will speak to father this 
 evening and he will speak to grandmother and then 
 grandmother will arrange the affair with grandfather 
 as it ought to be. Come along, let me take you to your 
 room so that grandfather shall not see you like this. 
 Poor fellow; go to sleep! Don't worry — we'll find a 
 girl for you, even if it is Anoka you wish for. ' ' 
 
 "I do wish it, indeed I do." 
 
 The sister-in-law led the drunken youth through the 
 house in the dark to his room. She covered him with 
 the coverlet and went to the kitchen to tell her sisters- 
 in-law what had happened. 
 
 Not one rejoiced at the news. They laughed, it is 
 true, but the smiles did not come from the heart. 
 
 "She is not for our house!" 
 
 "A coquette!"
 
 BY THE WELL 129 
 
 "That is not the worst, but a regular spoilt child, 
 God help us!" 
 "She would make mischief amongst us!'* 
 
 Matija Djenadich was an old man. On his forehead 
 could still be seen the scar of the wound he got in the 
 entrenchments of Hajduk Veljko. The whole village, 
 as well as his own family, called him grandfather. 
 His wife died long ago in the retreat, but his elder 
 brother's wife was still left and she now divided the 
 headship of the family with him. Her name was 
 Radojka. She sat at the table on the grandfather's 
 right hand, and nothing of real importance was de- 
 cided in the house until she had given her opinion, or 
 at least until the grandfather had asked it. She under- 
 stood her position thoroughly and did not abuse it. 
 The grandfather, for example, would ask: 
 
 "What do you say, sister-in-law, about Maricich's 
 enclosure ? Shall we take it ? " 
 
 "As you decide, brother. Yours is the man *s head. ' ' 
 
 She kissed the grandfather's hand; and all the rest, 
 both men and women, kissed hers, although this was 
 not generally the custom in the village. 
 
 In addition to Matija and Radojka, there was an- 
 other member of the family council — the grandfather's 
 eldest son, Blagoje, Arson's father. Except for these 
 three, no one was consulted about anything in the 
 household, but all cheerfully obeyed. If, however,
 
 130 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 Matija took the taxes, Radojka went to church and 
 Blagoje to bed down the stock — the house was like a 
 school when the teacher has gone away. Everything 
 was friendly, happy and pleasant, and everyone looked 
 upon this as an occasion for a good joke and a laugh. 
 When, however, any one of the three reappeared at 
 the door, solemnity, order and submission were estab- 
 lished immediately. Sometimes the three would con- 
 ceal themselves on purpose that the children might be 
 merry, and that the men might smoke tobacco without 
 constraint. 
 
 The grandfather was — was — how shall I tell you? 
 You know — an old man — nearly a child. Sometimes 
 he would become furious on the very smallest pro- 
 vocation — rage, abuse, fire up and even wish to strike. 
 Sometimes, again, soft as cotton wool, he would seek 
 only to kiss the children, would give them as much as 
 ten paras and burst into tears for no reason at all. 
 
 He would say, for example, "See! I am left like a 
 withered tree in the mountain," and would fall into 
 lamentation. 
 
 Youth, folly; old age, feebleness; as the Serbs say. 
 
 The day after Arsen's drinking, Blagoje came to 
 Radojka with a very solemn face. 
 
 "Aunt, our Arsen has fallen in love with that span- 
 iel of Burmazovich's." 
 
 * * Arsen ? The on* we made a man of this summer ? ' * 
 
 "The same."
 
 BY THE WELL 131 
 
 "That spaniel, you say, of Burmazovieh 's ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Anoka?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' She is not for our house ! ' ' 
 
 "No. And I said so, but he has fallen in love with 
 her very violently. Velinka told me last night that 
 he did something shameful." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Do not tell grandfather, promise!" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Well, Velinka says he was drunk and that he 
 raged and threatened to kill Philip Maricich — for he, 
 you know . . . visits there!" 
 
 The grandmother considered. At last she answered : 
 
 "I ^\ill speak to grandfather to see what he v/ill 
 say." 
 
 "You will not mention, please, anything about the 
 other thing?" 
 
 "God be with you." 
 
 When Radojka told the whole story to the grand- 
 father afterwards, he thought and thought. At last 
 his eyebrows moved. 
 
 "Sister, it is as you say. But I have heard from 
 old men that one should not restrain children in such 
 matters. We have a large house, thanks be to God. 
 I believe that tliere are no less than eighty souls in it." 
 
 "There are, certainly, and more."
 
 132 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "There are? Thanks be to God! I should thmk 
 this one would take after the other children." 
 
 "God grant it!" 
 
 Some days after this Anoka said to one of her 
 friends : "I knew that everything must go according 
 to my wish. And indeed there is not such a girl as 
 myself in nine villages." Then she drew from her 
 bosom a case with a little looking-glass and began to 
 arrange her curls. 
 
 It was a pity that, when she went to Djenadich's 
 house, she still remained the same spoilt child she 
 had been in her father's. She knew everj'thing best. 
 Always things had to be according to her will. She 
 would not do as she was told. She would say: "I 
 did not do that in my father's house!" or "Why 
 should I knead bread for a Tsar's army? One loaf 
 is enough for Arsen and me." 
 
 The women folk dared not speak. They complained 
 sometimes to their husbands, but none ventured to 
 mention anything to Radojka or to the grandfather. 
 
 For a long time they endured and concealed their 
 discomfort. They worked entirely for Anoka and ac- 
 cording to her wish. There was something command- 
 ing, tyrannical, in her bearing, so that you had to 
 obey her. Perhaps it was her beauty also that dom- 
 inated the women. Her sisters-in-law complained of 
 her among themselves, but they protected and de- 
 fended her before the elder people and before stran-
 
 BY THE WELL 133 
 
 gers. God knows to what an extent they would have 
 endured without a storm, had not Anoka, before she 
 had been six months in the house, become utterly self- 
 willed. It is impossible even to mention certain things 
 she said; as, for instance, when they called her to 
 plant cabbages, or when one of them asked her to 
 look after her child. Finally she began to ask to 
 be dressed differently and better than the others. The 
 unfortunate Arson said to her that his grandfather 
 and Radojka bought all the clothes and that he dare 
 not suggest to his grandfather to buy a new spangled 
 bodice for her and not for the others. She answered 
 that she had not married his grandfather, and that 
 she would go to her father and ask him to buy her 
 one, because her husband was a weakling "and had 
 not the courage even to get her a pin without asking 
 that greybeard." Arsen was in a terrible position. 
 If only she would not look at him with those eyes of 
 hers he would have had control over her. Sometimes 
 he even put his hand to his belt, bit his pipe and seized 
 his stick by the middle, but the moment she looked 
 at him he stood at attention as though he were stand- 
 ing before a bishop. 
 
 So she became more and more uncontrolled and be- 
 gan purposely to flout them all. She let the dogs into 
 the kitchen so that they cleared all the meat from the 
 saucepan ; she paid no attention when she turned the 
 cock of the wine barrel; her bread was burned so
 
 134 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 that the whole baking had to be thrown to the pigs; 
 she wore holiday clothes on a working day; she did 
 not so much as turn her head to see what the children 
 were doing, and it was her fault that Jovanka's child 
 fell into the quick-lime. There was not one of her 
 sisters-in-law to whom she had not given an offensive 
 nickname; she called Radojka an "old trollop," and 
 the grandfather "the cholera." Each day there was 
 greater trouble and annoyance, and when anyone said 
 anything to her, she inunediately threatened to return 
 to her father. It was unbearable for the women, and 
 on one occasion when Anoka, who ought to have been 
 in charge, went to the fair, they met in secret council. 
 
 "I do not know, my sisters, how we have sinned 
 against God that we should suffer this." 
 
 "Nor I, indeed." 
 
 "This really is ruin and misfortune." 
 
 * ' Things cannot remain like this, alas ! ' ' 
 
 "Let us tell grandmother and she will tell grand- 
 father." 
 
 "You tell them, Selena." 
 
 "Why me?" 
 
 "Didn't she say to you that you had taken her 
 bracelet?" 
 
 "Yes, but why? Didn't she say to you that your 
 husband was a wild priest ? ' ' 
 
 "And she said to Llirjana that she came here from 
 positive hunger."
 
 BY THE WELL 135 
 
 "And to Velinka that her child was not her hus- 
 band's." 
 
 But even then the women would hardly have made 
 up their minds to speak, had not Radojka for a long 
 time past both listened and watched what was happen- 
 ing, and had not Arsen himself, when Anoka tore her 
 brand new bodice on the woodpile the very next day, 
 gone to the grandfather with a complaint. 
 
 Arsen was a quiet man. From childhood he had 
 learnt nothing beyond obedience. He was not even 
 capable of selling wood unless they told him at home 
 how much to ask for it and for how much to let it go. 
 
 The grandfather was sitting alone in his room when 
 Arsen came in. As he could not do any other work 
 he was shelling peas. 
 
 Arsen took off his cap and approached his grand- 
 father. 
 
 The grandfather frowned. He did not raise his 
 head nor give Arsen his hand. He only said drily: 
 ' ' May you live long ! ' ' 
 
 "Grandfather — I beg you — I — it's a shame for me 
 to come here — but I cannot help it " 
 
 The grandfather looked at him frowning. 
 
 "I — " continued Arsen, " — I had to come — do not 
 be angry." 
 
 The grandfather lifted his head, threw away the 
 basket of peas in his anger and cried: 
 
 "I know all that! And what kind of a man you
 
 136 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 are! To havo saddled yourself with that — that " 
 
 He was silent for a little. 
 
 "With that—! To split up my house!" 
 
 Arsen, poor wretch, was petrified when he heard 
 that his grandfather knew all. His voice forsook 
 him: — 
 
 *'I beg you, grandfather — I did not know . . . 
 What shall I do ? Forgive me!" 
 
 He sought to take his grandfather's hand. The 
 grandfather drew his hand back. 
 
 ' ' Keep off ! Do not soil my hands ! Are you really 
 a man?" 
 
 Arsen turned his head away and covered his eyes 
 with the sleeve of his coat. 
 
 "Do what you will with me and vnih her. Kill 
 me and turn her out! God will forgive you! Only 
 I beseech you, do not turn me away from you. ' ' 
 
 The grandfather's beard trembled a little. He 
 wished to conceal his emotion. He straightened him- 
 self magisterially, raised his head towards the ceiling 
 and bent down a little. 
 
 "You see, my son, you chose yourself. Did I say 
 to you either do it, or don 't do it ? " 
 
 "No, most assuredly not. It is I alone who am 
 guilty. ' ' 
 
 "And now it is for me to straighten out what you 
 entangled?" 
 
 "For God, and then you."
 
 BY THE WELL 137 
 
 "But how am I to do so?" 
 
 If Radojka had been there she would have noticed 
 a look of childish cunning in the half -closed eyes of 
 the old man. 
 
 "As God shows you " said Arsen. 
 
 "And you — her ... I mean — do you really 
 dislike her?" 
 
 Arsen was confused. He would have liked to be 
 silent, but his grandfather steadily looked him straight 
 in the eyes. 
 
 "She is an obstinate person." 
 
 "I know, I know, but I ask you — do you care for 
 her?" 
 
 Arsen was again silent. He would have liked to 
 evade the question, but his grandfather steadily looked 
 him in the eyes. 
 
 "It must be," said Arsen, "that her father abso- 
 lutely spoilt her. You know, she was his only child." 
 
 The grandfather seemed to lose patience. 
 
 "Do you hear, I say, what I ask you? I ask you 
 to tell me, do you love Anoka? Tell me that." 
 
 Arsen bent down his head. He covered his face 
 with his hand and began to turn his shoulders from 
 left to right with embarrassment. Drawling out his 
 words he answered: 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "But you must know, because I must be ruled by
 
 138 JUGO-SLAV STOKIES 
 
 that, so that there shall not be something wrong 
 again, and that you should say this and that." 
 
 "I shall say nothing." 
 
 *'Good. Now go, and I will think it over." 
 
 Anyone who could read the grandfather's mind 
 could have seen at once that he had already decided 
 what to do, and that he was satisfied with his plan. 
 
 That evening when they w^ere sitting at supper, the 
 men w^ere arranged according to their seniority, as 
 was the custom. Except for Radojka not one of the 
 women was there. They ate apart, save the two or 
 three who served the men. 
 
 It happened to be Anoka's turn to serve. 
 
 While the other two carried the food in and out 
 and served the drink, she leaned on the door with 
 her shoulders and fingered her nose. 
 
 The grandfather did not look at her. They were 
 all silent. As for Radojka, her heart beat, beat. An- 
 oka did not dream of what was coming. 
 
 After they had had supper, the men began to cross 
 themselves and to wait for the grandfather to get up. 
 
 The grandfather put aside his piece of bread, his 
 spoon and fork, and put his knife into its sheath. He 
 leant on his elbows, looked around at everyone and 
 fixed his glance on Anoka. 
 
 Something made her start. She let her hands fall 
 by her side, straightened herself and turned to go out.
 
 BY THE WELL 139 
 
 "Wait, daughter!" cried the grandfather in an un- 
 usually clear voice. 
 
 All of them started. 
 
 In that same voice the grandfather continued — 
 
 "You, my child — you. I hear that everything is 
 uncomfortable for you in my house among ray 
 people." 
 
 Who has ever heard a woman answer? Anoka was 
 silent, but she clutched her thigh with her hand and 
 the nails went into the flesh. 
 
 ' ' I will not allow this, while I am alive. I will not 
 allow my house to be a place of forced labour for 
 any one of my children. I hear that these women" 
 (he nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen) 
 — "that these women bully you and treat you badly. 
 But I am master here ! ' ' 
 
 Anoka saw something crafty in the grandfather's 
 distorted face, and along with her aversion, she felt 
 for the first time a certain uneasiness. 
 
 "They have all annoyed you a great deal. They 
 would all like you to work and slave entirely for them, 
 as though you had come here from some destitute 
 house." 
 
 He became so awkwardly affectionate and tender 
 that Anoka's hair began to rise on her head. 
 
 "I will not allow that! I am old and weak and it 
 is hard for me to keep control by myself among so
 
 140 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 many people. But see, I will not allow any more — 
 I " 
 
 His eyes stared, his lips began to tremble. He 
 called out in a harsh and fiightening way : — 
 
 "All of you! You listen too, Radojka, and you, 
 Blagoje, and all the rest. I order all of you and your 
 wives to obey her there." With his hand, which 
 trembled like a reed, he pointed to Anoka. " I do not 
 wish her to work at anything in my house nor to soil 
 her fine fingers — not even to draw the wine. May 
 God kill him w^ho does not obey her in everything or 
 annoys her in the very least in anything!" 
 
 He sprang up. Poor old man! Dignified and at 
 the same time laughable and pathetic. As he went 
 out he shook like a jelly. 
 
 They all crossed themselves and got up, keeping 
 silence as they passed Anoka, and turning aside lest 
 they should touch her. 
 
 A fearful and horrible rage tore through Anoka. 
 Like a mad thing she flew to the women in the 
 kitchen — 
 
 * ' Have you heard — you '? " 
 
 Women and not to hear? 
 
 ' ' I want my bed made under the lime tree. I want 
 grandfather's mattress, grandmother's pillow, Blago- 
 je's quilt, and I want you, Petri ja, you whose brother 
 is in prison, to take a stick and to drive the hens 
 away from the lime tree and to stand over me the
 
 BY THE WELL 141 
 
 whole night. And she who does not obey — may God 
 kill her! Now then, quickly, do you hear?" 
 
 No one spoke a single word. They were as though 
 stunned, and particularly by the grandfather's words: 
 ''May God kill him!" 
 
 Arsen fled at once to the threshing floor. He buried 
 his head among the piled up sheaves and breathed 
 heavily. In vain — sleep is not a quilt to be pulled 
 over the head at will. 
 
 And the women made preparations for Anoka to 
 sleep. 
 
 But it was not so easy to fall asleep as she thought. 
 As never before she now felt loneliness, and with no 
 roof over her head she felt herself a rider of a wild 
 horse without a bridle, a pilotless ship driven by the 
 wind. Her own wild heart was crushing down upon 
 her and there was no one to beat it off. 
 
 But her spirit was stubborn. She would not yield. 
 She addressed herself angrily : "I order you to sleep ! 
 Obey, lazy wretch ! I order you ! Do you wish God 
 to kill you?" 
 
 The half moon blazed in the sky. Everything was 
 at once dead and ready at any moment to burst into 
 life again. Something evil was worming its way 
 gradually into Anoka's brain to make its nest there. 
 
 Matters could not go on like this. What was she 
 to do? If .she returned to her father — what could she
 
 142 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 say to him ? * ' The grandfather ordered them to obey 
 me ! " No, she could not go to her father. 
 
 And the night was drawing steadily on, and at last 
 it too would pass, and day would break, and the sun 
 would shine, and she, poor girl, what had she to look 
 to ? To be still more self-willed ? How could she be 
 more so? To make peace? How? By humiliating 
 herself? 
 
 Her thoughts were interlacing themselves like 
 threads in a web. Her thoughts were being washed 
 clean; they were being rinsed out. Weariness con- 
 quers passion and love and hate and hunger and 
 thirst. A whole mountain was weighing down her 
 eyelids and still she could not shut them. The weari- 
 ness was so unendurable that, come what might, and 
 had she been able to do so, she would have turned 
 the world over with a wave of her hand, put her head 
 under a watermill stone and slept — the sleep even of 
 death. 
 
 But the grandfather had not laid his commands 
 upon sleep, neither did sleep fear his curses. 
 
 Anoka arose. She saw a shadowy picture of Petrija 
 standing above her. Suddenly something broke within 
 her. Quite without warning and with infinite power 
 some chord of sweetness resounded in her heart. 
 
 "Petrija, go and sleep!" 
 
 Petrija said nothing. She threw away the stick and 
 turned to go.
 
 BY THE WELL 143 
 
 "Petrija!" 
 
 Petrija was astounded and stood as though dug into 
 the ground. 
 
 ''Petrija, sister, forgive me?" 
 
 The woman's heart melted, trembled, and over- 
 flowed. 
 
 * ' Anoka, my soul, God will forgive you. ' ' 
 
 "Petrija, sister!" 
 
 She took her by the hand — sat down beside her, 
 embraced her. Both buret into tears. 
 
 How sweet was their sobbing — like that of a baby 
 at the breast. 
 
 Everything was silent. Under the naked sky there 
 was no other sound, only the sobbing of the two as 
 they kissed each other. And the moon seemed to lift 
 his eyebrows. 
 
 "Petrija, my heart, I am going to die! You will 
 wash me, sister! Put enough basil with me. Bite 
 an apple too and throw it into the coffin. No one now 
 loves me but you." 
 
 "Be quiet, foolish one, how should they not love 
 you?" 
 
 "No, no, I know." 
 
 "How can you know, my darling, when you have 
 never spoken to us until now? I would die sooner 
 than allow anyone to speak unkindly of you." 
 
 They sobbed again and embraced each other. 
 
 "But grandfather "
 
 144 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Grandfather, my soul, is good and old. Only go 
 to him alone like this, and you will see." 
 
 "Well, I will go. Good-bye my heart. If I 
 die " 
 
 Petrija put her hand on Anoka's mouth. 
 
 Anoka removed the hand, and putting it round her 
 neck, said: "If I die, do not speak evil of me. But 
 now go." 
 
 "No, I will not leave you while I am alive!" 
 
 "But I pray you, as I pray to God " 
 
 "But where are you going?" 
 
 "Leave me — I am so happy! Leave me, so God 
 help you and your child also. Leave me. You do 
 not know what it is to me!" 
 
 Petrija concealed herself behind the house to see 
 where Anoka would go ; but it was still dark and she 
 could not see how Anoka went to the door of the 
 grandfather's room and sat on the threshold. 
 
 The grandfather too had not shut his eyes the whole 
 night through. 
 
 The first cocks crowed, the first messengers of a new 
 day and of new life. To Anoka their song had never 
 before seemed so beautiful. 
 
 The grandfather rose, threw off the quilt, crossed 
 himself, drew his legs under him and remained alone 
 in the darkness sitting on his bed, busy with many 
 thoughts. The second cocks crowed. The grand- 
 father rose and started for the well. On the thres-
 
 BY THE WELL 145 
 
 hold, but with difficulty through the dim dawu, he 
 caught sight of the form of a human being. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 ''I am Anoka, grandfather. I want to die. For- 
 give me if you can." 
 
 The grandfather was astounded and trembled. 
 
 ' ' My child, do not sin before God. Do you see this 
 lock of hair ? No sheep has whiter. ' ' 
 
 Anoka seized the comer of his coat and kissed it. 
 
 "I have sinned horribly against you and I have 
 disturbed your house. Forgive me if you can, for 
 God's sake." 
 
 Nothing is easier than to make an old man weep. 
 Tears came to his eyes. He took Anoka's head be- 
 tween his hands and kissed her. 
 
 "Come here." 
 
 She went behind him into the room. 
 
 "Sit here." 
 
 She sat on the bench, the grandfather on the bed. 
 
 "Shell those peas for a little while." 
 
 She shelled the peas. 
 
 The grandfather watched her contentedly as she 
 shelled them. 
 
 Both were silent. Only the heart did its work and 
 day broke. 
 
 "Now come here." 
 
 She went behind him to the stable and attended 
 to all the horses as he showed her. She showed no
 
 146 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 fear even of Blagoje's horse, which was uncertain, 
 both with teeth and hoofs. 
 
 **Now come here." 
 
 He went in front of her once more, this time to the 
 pigsty. She broke up nine pumpkins and threw them 
 to the pigs. 
 
 The household had waked up. They were coming 
 out one by one, following the two timidly and with 
 wide open eyes. But they took care, however, that 
 the grandfather and Anoka should not see them. 
 Arsen was so disconcerted and embarrassed that he 
 climbed into a walnut tree, hid himself among the 
 leaves, and looked on at this never-before-seen wonder. 
 
 The grandfather had become younger. He seemed 
 to leap over the ground. 
 
 **Cometothe well." 
 
 They came to the well. 
 
 *'Draw." 
 
 Anoka drew up the bucket. 
 
 *'Pour it out." 
 
 Anoka poured it out from a gourd, and the grand- 
 father poured out the whole bucket over his face and 
 head. 
 
 "Now dry me." 
 
 Anoka smoothed back his hair and began to dry him. 
 It was easy to wipe away the water, but the old man's 
 eyes were feeble, and his tears fell without ceasing.
 
 BY THE WELL 147 
 
 The grandfather caught sight of some of the watch- 
 ers iu the courtyard. 
 
 * ' Come here, you ! Why are you not washing ? See 
 Anoka is waiting to pour out the water." 
 
 A kind of childish satisfaction played over his face. 
 
 "All, all. She will pour it out for all of you." 
 
 The men and women approached the well with tim- 
 idity, and all, when they had washed, said ** thank 
 you" to Anoka, as though they were gentlefolk. 
 
 Arsen gathered courage. He drew nearer to the 
 well, spread out his legs, bent forward and held out 
 his hands: — 
 
 "Now!" 
 
 She began to pour. Arsen was in the ninth heaven. 
 
 ' ' Is that how you pour ? All up the sleeves ! ' ' 
 
 "Wait a little, it will come all right." And she 
 pulled up his sleeves with her left hand; with her 
 right she tilted the gourd. 
 
 "May you live long!" 
 
 Petrija ran from one sister-in-law to the other. All 
 were bathed in tears. They whispered among them- 
 selves, waved their arms and beat themselves on the 
 breast. 
 
 The grandfather, shaking as he walked, went to his 
 room. He opened a coffer and took out a necklace of 
 some old eagles. He put the necklace and a little 
 towel in his breast and went again to the well.
 
 148 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 All had washed and Anoka had poured out for them 
 aU. 
 
 Everything was wrapped in a kind of mysterious 
 holiness, and "the voice of the Lord on the waters" 
 sang in everyone's ears. If a gun had gone off sud- 
 denly, they would have begun crossing themselves.* 
 
 The grandfather looked at them all with kindly 
 dignity. 
 
 "And is no one pouring out for her?" 
 
 All rushed to the bucket. 
 
 "Yes, because I suggested it. Now I wish to pour 
 out for her myself. Come, my child, wash yourself. ' ' 
 
 I do not know whether his hands or Anoka's heart 
 trembled most. He dried her with his towel. He 
 hung the necklace on her neck. 
 
 "Poor child! But keep in mind, all of you, what 
 I said to you last night: 'He who troubles her in 
 anything, may God kill him.' " 
 
 * The ceremony of great Church festivals in Serbian countries 
 is announced by the sound of guns. The passage refers to the 
 Day of Christ's Baptism, when a very impressive service is 
 performed on the edge of the water. During the songs and 
 the firing the community stands bareheaded.
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE. 
 By Janko Veselinovich 
 
 149
 
 Janko Veselinovich was born in Sabach, Serbia, 
 and graduated from the Normal School for primary 
 teachei-s. While a schoolmaster in a village school 
 he devoted himself to reading Serbian books to com- 
 plete his inadequate education. The example of Laz- 
 aix)vich inspired him most of all and he began to 
 write stories which were very sympathetically re- 
 ceived. Veiy young, full of talent, and popular from 
 the very beginning, he wasted his youth and his 
 health without a thought of the morrow. Then pov- 
 erty came upon him — ^he had only a small government 
 post at Belgrade, or a job as editor of some unim- 
 portant review — and illness. The struggle to live, 
 and the miseries of political life under the regime of 
 the two last Obrenovichi (the kings Milan and Alex- 
 ander) finally brought about his death which occurred 
 in 1904, Gifted with a fertile imagination and nat- 
 urally prolific he wrote half a hundred stories, six 
 novels, two plays and various literary essays. 
 
 150
 
 THE Kmi'S CURSE* 
 By Janko Veselinovich 
 
 Villagers, like townspeople, beguile the long winter 
 nights. Some of them either establish themselves 
 round the still which they jokingly call the priest, 
 and there they ''make confessions"; or they collect 
 at someone's house and there they drink, sing to the 
 gusla, talk, and tell stories. 
 
 I once was in such a little village. There was a 
 large company. We had drunk, sung, and talked to 
 satiety. One of the company begged an old man, 
 Ranko Dragonovich to tell us something. He twisted 
 his moustaches, drank a glass of wine, drew some thick 
 clouds of smoke from his long pipe, and began to tell 
 this story. 
 
 I 
 
 In the whole of our village there is not an older 
 man than myself. Whichever one of us is here — I 
 know when he was born. I remember much! I re- 
 member when our church was not here and when there 
 was an old one there in the graveyard. I remember 
 when Ravnje was invaded, I was eight years old then. 
 I remember when Lord Milosh was chosen prince, 
 
 * The * ' Kum ' ' is the godfather at the christening and also 
 the chief witness at the vvclding. In Serbia the kum is an 
 object of particular veneration. 
 
 151
 
 152 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 when he was driven out, and when he came again. I 
 remember a great deal. I know when the Turks came 
 over there, when the monks went from village to vil- 
 lage and heard confessions and beat the women in 
 order that the women might not deprive them of any 
 cuts of roast meat — and I hated them worse than the 
 Turks. 
 
 And today I recollect when the captains began to 
 judge, as they do now, in districts; and when they 
 began to appoint the mayors. Before that there was 
 not a captain ; but the village — that is the villagers — 
 proclaimed a man mayor, gave him a staff, and he 
 was mayor after that as long as he was willing to 
 carry on the work honestly. As soon as he began to 
 deal falsely we turned him out and chose another, 
 That is how it was done before, in the old world. 
 
 In our village my neighbour Stanojlo Puretich was 
 mayor. He was indeed rich and surrounded with a 
 family — ^that man! There is nothing of that kind 
 today. He was master, then there were his four 
 brothers, then two of his nephews, then two more 
 and a son unmarried, three marriageable girls, then 
 wives, children; a full house and belongings for half 
 a village. Fields, meadows, pastures and woods. On 
 the fields were stubble or fruitful maize and on the 
 pastures fed a stud of horses and complete herds of 
 oxen, sheep, and pigs. 
 
 Stanojlo was a tall man, straight as a candle, stout
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 153 
 
 and powerful. One had only to glance at those pow- 
 erful hands of his to bow before him. He must have 
 been about fifty years old, because he was getting 
 grey. He was extraordinarily strong in character. 
 What he said he did not unsay, even though it might 
 mean the loss of his head. He paid attention to no 
 one ; but did everj^thing u"pon his own judgment. In 
 his house no one dared to go against his orders. In 
 the community it was the same, because he would get 
 angry then and beat everything he got hold of. He 
 generally carried a whip in his hand and would beat 
 whoever he could reach when he was angry. 
 
 There was no master like him in the world. The 
 people and the children were like him, and all like 
 angels. He just got up in the morning — and he got 
 up early — and called: — 
 
 ''Milisav!" 
 
 The eldest brother came, and he then allotted the 
 work, and each one went off to his task. No one dared 
 to make confusion ! Then he washed himself, crossed 
 himself several times, went to the loft, climbed up into 
 it and gathered maize into a sack. Then he sat down 
 and shelled it, then he went out and fed the little 
 pigs (this was his favourite work). When he came 
 back he called the daughter-in-law who was serving 
 him — she was generally the youngest of the wives. 
 She came and poured water for him, and when she 
 had washed his hands she brought his breakfast.
 
 154 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 Whether he feasted on dry meat or bacon, or fasted 
 on bean soup — feast or fast — there was always on 
 a little plate a cake white as snow and so supple 
 that it twisted under the knife like a strap. He took 
 his cake, crossed himself, called upon God's name and 
 His Holy Archangels, and bent his head. Afterwards 
 he breakfasted. When he had eaten, his daughter-in- 
 law took away his plate and served him with wine. 
 He took out his long pipe, put out his hand for his 
 tobacco pouch that he had made out of a bladder, and 
 filled his precious pipe. His daughter-in-law brought 
 him a live coal and then he smoked. 
 
 When you come to his house you are received like 
 a bishop — God forgive me! Just glance at what is 
 done among those people. Stanojlo generally is silent 
 and smokes ; but when he wants anything he has only 
 to cough and the daughters-in-law fly as though they 
 had wings! They seek round with their eyes to see 
 what is wanted — for Stanojlo says nothing. 
 
 And you — you have only just to mention what you 
 want, and it is before you that instant. 
 
 For instance: You would drink boiled brandy — 
 Just say so — and one is free to ask for things in 
 Stanojlo 's house — 
 
 "Bring boiled brandy, ray child." 
 
 And immediately it is before you, as though the 
 woman had been holding it in her lap like an apple. 
 There — that is how Stanojlo was in his own house.
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 155 
 
 And in the village? In the village he was as fierce 
 as in his house. Formerly there was no court of jus- 
 tice such as there is today; but the court then was 
 under any leafy tree — either in front of the mayor's 
 house or in the middle of the village. It was there 
 generally that the mayor gave judgment between liti- 
 gants who came to him with disputes. In our village 
 — just by the cross — ^there was such a tree. There is 
 none there now. 
 
 Stanojlo went out to the cross.* The men who had 
 anything to dispute or complain about, came to him, 
 called upon God and greeted him, then they brought 
 their complaint before him. Stanojlo listened to each 
 one attentively and then said: "Let such and such 
 a thing be done in such and such a way. ' ' And so it 
 was. 
 
 When it was necessary for us to be collected to- 
 gether either for a conference or for a corvee Stan- 
 ojlo immediately — the day before the assembly — sent 
 an order to the crier, one-eyed Veljko, and he made 
 it known to the people. He had to call upon the 
 desert places and to be heard throughout the village. 
 And then — just don't come, and see what happens! 
 
 Perhaps you would defend yourself by saying that 
 you had not heard. Stanojlo would just look at you 
 and then burst out: "Twenty-five strokes. Veljko 
 told him! He says that he did not hear!" 
 
 *Cros8roacl8 where there ia generally erected a great cross.
 
 156 JUGO-SLAY STORIES 
 
 Beseech, implore, call him your brother, bring down 
 the sky upon the earth, it is no good. "What Stanojlo 
 has said must be, even if by reason of his decision 
 he were to go to war with God. Veljko hisses like 
 a serpent and thereafter you scratch yourself well and 
 hear each time when Veljko calls. 
 
 When he collected a tax, he marked it all on a 
 tally-stick — and then he knew everyone by name — 
 who had given and how much he had given. And in 
 this also he was violent. He simply said: — 
 
 "A week from today I wish the tax to be in my 
 hands." 
 
 And then he mounted his white horse, seized that 
 cursed whip, and the man who did not give would be 
 whipped as his nobody. Sometimes this meant the 
 man's being sold up to pay the tax. The older men 
 loved this and praised Stanojlo whenever it happened. 
 
 "This is worth while! That is how to be mayor! 
 He will not let a man be a trouble for long. Be like 
 this or like that. Beat him and let him steam. After- 
 wards there is no escape. What Stanojlo says must 
 be — like bread if you wish to be satisfied. Assuredly 
 other villages have not mayors like that." 
 
 The younger generation did not exactly love Stan- 
 ojlo. He did not please them because he was too self- 
 willed whether he had or had not the right, but they 
 did not dare to go against the will of the elder ones. 
 
 And Stanojlo — he was mayor as he had been pro-
 
 THE Kmi'S CURSE 157 
 
 claimed. No one could have had any conception that 
 anyone could be found to oppose him, and yet such 
 a man was found. 
 
 II 
 
 It was his kum Sreehko Sokovieh. 
 
 Small, grey, red-faced, with some front teeth miss- 
 ing ; but a brisk-walking little old man was Sreehko — 
 or as we called him in the village — Chicha-Srechko.* 
 God rest his soul. He was a happy little old man. 
 He could never have a discussion with a man without 
 turning round like a weather-glass and beating the 
 ground with his stick. When he saw that you were 
 attending and were coming round to his opinion, he 
 simply did not know what to do for joy. It was as 
 much pleasure to him as though he had obtained God 
 knew what. 
 
 Chicha-Srechko was of great importance in the vil- 
 lage. When it was necessary to increase anyone's 
 barley, they would immediately call Chicha-Srechko 
 and he then, happy because no wise man was willing 
 to do anything without his advice, would come at once 
 and would speak much on every point and advise that 
 such and such a thing should be done. 
 
 He would never actually say in words, however, 
 
 * * ' Chicha ' ' literally means an uncle. It is used as a prefix 
 of affection for an old man. "Chicha-Srechko," "Chicha- 
 Jova. ' '
 
 158 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 that he enjoyed this; — rather he would be angry, 
 wriggle and throw himself about, and say to each 
 one that he had to leave his work to go there and mix 
 himself up in the affairs of the mayoralty — but in 
 the end he did it for love of the community. We saw, 
 however, how much he enjoyed it, how he thought 
 that with his remonstrance he was concealing his 
 pleasure from us, and we only laughed when he 
 turned his back upon us. 
 
 On one occasion, I do not know why, he had a dis- 
 agreement with his godson, Mayor Stanojlo. Stanojlo 
 advised something and Chicha-Srechko did not ap- 
 prove; but began to prove that Stanojlo 's advice was 
 not at all sound. Stanojlo — accustomed to having 
 his advice accepted — could hardly bear this in front 
 of people; and from that moment he hated his kum 
 Srechko and was on the lookout for a suitable op- 
 portunity for gratifying his desire to pay him back 
 for his affront. 
 
 Chicha-Srechko, again, began gradually to insinu- 
 ate against Stanojlo — calling him ''the self-willed." 
 Wherever people were gathered together talk about 
 Stanojlo began immediately. The younger genera- 
 tion was exceedingly anxious that there should be a 
 discussion with Chicha-Srechko. 
 
 Stanojlo heard of this. He went almost mad when 
 they told him of it. 
 
 'Whv should he alone defy me? Why are the
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 159 
 
 others silent and he alone curses me? He shall pay 
 me for that at once." 
 
 So Stanojlo thought, and hardly had he taken this 
 decision when he held back, thinking: 
 
 "What shall I do to him. The man is old; and 
 also — also he is my kum. Who would dare to do 
 this?" 
 
 Day after day he delayed. The men went on with 
 their business. It seemed that Chicha-Srechko was 
 pacified; but again little by little there grew up a 
 murmur against Stanojlo, and Stanojlo again waited 
 for an opportunity to pay his kum Srechko for all 
 this — and that opportunity was given him. 
 
 It was exactly on Ognjenja Marija (17th July). 
 It was a general custom for the men not to work on 
 that day; but to collect beside the cross and to talk 
 there. Both Stanojlo and Srechko were there with 
 other honest householders. They sit down and talk. 
 
 ''Who is that?" said Chicha-Jova. 
 
 "Mirko," said Chicha-Srechko putting his hand 
 over his eyes. 
 
 "Which Mirko? Is it Stojich?" 
 
 "Yes, he." 
 
 "What is he hurrying like that for?" 
 
 "I do not know, God be with me!" said Chicha- 
 Srechko. 
 
 And at that instant Mrko was among them. 
 
 "God help you!"
 
 160 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 ' ' God hear you ! ' ' 
 
 ''What are you doing?" 
 
 "Why we are sitting." 
 
 "Why are you so covered with sweat?" Chicha- 
 Srechko asked him. 
 
 "Well, I was looking for you." 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "Yes. Those boys of yours who look after the 
 hedges have let the oxen into my maize and it is all 
 broken down." 
 
 "It cannot be!" 
 
 "Come and see." 
 
 "But how oould it be allowed?" 
 
 "How indeed. I told you that your palings up to 
 my meadow had been overturned and that you would 
 have to put them up. You know — thanks to God — 
 that that black ox 'of yours is a thief. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, yes, and I told the children to look after him, 
 and now they have let him go. There is much dam- 
 age, you say?" 
 
 "Very much, indeed." 
 
 Stanojlo's eyes flashed. 
 
 "Veljko!" he called. 
 
 One-eyed Veljko came up. 
 
 "Have you given notice that the people should 
 guard their 'own stock so that their beasts should not 
 go out and do damage?" 
 
 "Yes, truly," said Veljko.
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 161 
 
 "Did you say that I would punish anyone who 
 should let his stock go to someone else's feed?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Well— Kum Srechko?" said Stanojlo— hardly 
 concealing his joy at having Srechko so completely 
 under his feet. 
 
 ' ' I, godson, I also told my people and, you see, they 
 have let them out." 
 
 "And what kind of a head of a family are you if 
 your young people do not obey you?" 
 
 * ' They obey me, godson, but you see, children, they 
 played. See. I will pay what damage there is. I 
 will not repudiate it. ' ' 
 
 "I know you will pay ! Y-ou will have to pay. But 
 why should it have happened?" 
 
 "But it will not any more." 
 
 "You will not dare to let it happen any more! 
 Now — did you hear what Veljko gave out — that 
 everyone who let his beasts do damage would be pun- 
 ished?" 
 
 "I heard it." 
 
 "And you did not pay attention, eh?" 
 
 "But the children—" 
 
 "Veljko. Prepare!" 
 
 "What, godson. What?" cried Chicha-Srechko, 
 springing up as though he had been scalded. 
 
 "What? Five and twenty, that is what!" 
 
 Stanojlo was dreadful. His great eyebrows came
 
 162 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 down over his eyes, and his eyes shone like two stars. 
 Chicha-Srechko looked at him — looked — and his shirt 
 hardly trembled. 
 
 ''Five and twenty for whom?" 
 
 ' ' For you. ' ' Stanojlo hardly answered. 
 
 "For me!" 
 
 "For you!" 
 
 ' ' For -this g-rey hair ? ' ' said Chicha-Srechko taking 
 off his cap and holding up a mass of grey hair. 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 ' ' For the kum who held you in his arms ? ' ' 
 
 "For my kum and for my father and for God, and 
 for everyone who does not obey me. Down ! ' ' 
 
 "I \\dll -pay," said Chicha-Srechko. 
 
 "Down!" said Stanojlo. 
 
 "Down?" 
 
 "Down!" 
 
 "I wiUnot." 
 
 His small eyes blazed and he drew his sword. He 
 looked around him and cried; 
 
 "Whoever comes to me is a dead man. Godson 
 Stanojlo, see, I will pay you a ducat for every blow. 
 You see this grey hair. Look ! I have become white 
 and have never yet received one blow, and you — you 
 wish to strike me five and twenty times!" 
 
 "Yes, I do wish it. Veljko hold him!" 
 
 Veljko ran up, struck Chicha-Srechko 's hand with
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 163 
 
 his staff — and the knife fell down. Veljko bound him 
 by the arms. Men sprang forward. 
 
 "What do you want, Stanojlo?" cried Chicha- 
 Jova. 
 
 Stanojlo seized his staff, sprang upon Jova and 
 cried out: — 
 
 ' ' Back ! All of you ! Veljko, take him to the whip- 
 ping bench." 
 
 The throng drew back. No one dared so much as 
 to look at Stanojlo, or make it his duty to prevent 
 him from doing what he intended ! Everything was 
 silenced. It seemed as though you could hear hearts 
 beating. Stanojlo simply shook with joy. 
 
 "Not upon your kum and Saint John!" cried 
 Chicha-Srechko when they had brought him to that 
 ill-omened plank known as the whipping bench. 
 
 "No, not upon my kum," said Stanojlo in a quasi- 
 peaceful voice, and he took off his cap and put it 
 upon the ground far from himself. 
 
 "See. There is our kumship in the cap." 
 
 "Godson, let me pay." 
 
 "You are going to pay now." 
 
 The people turned their heads and looked into the 
 copse. Veljko took Chicha-Srechko who besought 
 him up to the last moment, and threw him down onto 
 the bench. Then, with special chains, he bound his 
 body to the plank by the arms, legs, and shoulders. 
 He drew back to choose a rod. Chicha-Srechko again
 
 164 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 pleaded; but Stanojlo lifted his eyebrows, and only 
 said every now and then ; 
 
 * * See — The kumship is in the cap. ' ' 
 
 III 
 
 One-eyed Veljko threw the broken rod away and 
 unbound the old man from the whipping: bench. 
 Chicha-Srechko was silent — lying as though there 
 were no life in him. Veljko pushed him from the 
 plank to the ground. The old man sprang up — ^with 
 blood-shot, weeping eyes; he looked at the assembled 
 people, cast a glance at Stanojlo who avoided his 
 eyes, and at Veljko who stood beside Stanojlo quietly 
 scratching his head, then he cast his eyes down. He 
 was silent for some moments, with his head bent down 
 in that way; his breast heaved with his breathing, 
 and he let his hands fall by his side. All of a sudden 
 tears came to him, and he began to weep. He put 
 both hands before his eyes, came up to the cross and 
 bowed before it. Then he r.aised his head, looked 
 over the assembled people and spat out; 
 
 "Shame upon you. Why did you allow such a 
 thing to happen before your eyes? Truly — you are 
 not men!" 
 
 He tore the cap from his head, crossed himself, 
 kissed the cross and cried: —
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 165 
 
 ''Almighty God! Hear the voice of thy serf and 
 listen to his prayer. ' ' 
 
 Then he looked at Stanojlo. Stanojlo trembled. 
 
 "God grant, godson, that sorrow await you for 
 your life. May your happiness be turned to mourn- 
 ing. May your seed be blotted out. And you, hero, 
 may you not die until you are given up to me to faU 
 before me on your knees to seek pardon. You say 
 our kumship is in the cap — ^and see, you have denied 
 it, and I deny it too. Now we are no longer kums." 
 
 Having said this he cast the cap which he held in 
 his hands under his feet and trampled upon it. Then 
 he passed through the people and went on his way to 
 his house. A breeze played among his hair — white 
 as snow — and the people followed him with their eyes 
 shaking with horror. 
 
 IV 
 
 A dead silence prevailed for some moments. No 
 one uttered a single word. The people just eyed each 
 other as though they were talking with their eyes. 
 Suddenly there began a noise which grew steadily 
 greater and greater. The voice of Chicha-Jova could 
 already be distinguished: — 
 
 "Men, Brothers, can this be?" 
 
 "Misfortune!" cried some.
 
 166 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Scandal!" cried others. 
 
 ' ' Shame ! ' ' cried a third group. 
 
 "How could he — in that way." 
 
 "And God did not see fit to kill him!" 
 
 "Nor thunder to consume him!" 
 
 "To beat an old man like that!" 
 
 ' * And the kum who had held him in his arms ! ' ' 
 
 "If he does not pay respect to his kum God will 
 not pay it to him!" 
 
 "And is he our mayor?" said Chicha-Jova. 
 
 * ' He must be deposed, ' ' groaned the people. ' ' Give 
 his staff here!" 
 
 * ' Give it to Chicha-Jova ! ' ' cried the old men. 
 
 Stanojlo was standing as though petrified. He did 
 not hear the shouts of the people; but was looking 
 M'ith a long glance after Chicha-Srechko. He did not 
 move his eyelids at all and his eyes were dull and 
 glazed like those of a corpse. 
 
 "Stanojlo!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "The people do not wish for you any longer as 
 mayor. Will you give your staff here?" 
 
 He looked at Chicha-Jova in such a way that Jova 
 drew back several paces. 
 
 "The people do not wish you as mayor!" said 
 Chicha-Jova almost choking. 
 
 "They do not wish me?" 
 
 "They do not wish you. We do not want you ! Give
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 167 
 
 your staff here. You are no longer mayor ! ' * shouted 
 the people. 
 
 Stanojlo was silent. Then Ivko Chulobrk went 
 out from the people — a stout and powerful giant. 
 He seized the staff from Stanojlo 's hand and cried : — 
 
 "People — Brothers! Here is the staff. To whom 
 do you say we shall give it?" 
 
 "To Jova. Chicha- Jova, " cried the people, 
 
 Ivko held out the staff to Jovan. Jovan took it. 
 Stanojlo was silent with hands drooping beside him. 
 
 "You make me mayor, Brothers?" asked Chicha- 
 Jova. 
 
 "Yes Jova. Yes Chicha- Jova. " 
 
 ' ' But, Brothers, I am a fierce man. ' ' 
 
 "But you are not heartless." 
 
 "No. That I am not." 
 
 "You pay attention both to God and to your soul." 
 
 "WeU, you know me." 
 
 "Yes, we know you." 
 
 "But, Brothers, I seek to be obeyed." 
 
 "We will obey." 
 
 "And I shall work again with a conference." 
 
 "So. So." 
 
 And so they changed the mayor in a moment. 
 
 One-eyed Veljko immediately went up to Chicha- 
 Jova. 
 
 "What do you want?" Jova asked him. 
 
 "But you are mayor!"
 
 168 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 ''And Stanojlo?" 
 
 "He is not any more." 
 
 "But how can you be erier under me? Would 
 you give Stanojlo five and twenty?" 
 
 ' ' If you were to order me ! " said Veljko. 
 
 Stanojlo simply was silent. It was as though he 
 had not heard what was said there, as though this 
 whole discussion did not concern him at all. Bowed 
 at the cross, with limp hands and wrinkled forehead, 
 he meditated upon all that this short moment had 
 brought forth. It seemed as if his crime had bitten 
 into him. Thick sweat flowed from his face and not 
 once did he move his hand or his sleeve to wipe it off. 
 Surely things had not come to such a pass for him. 
 Finally he cast a glance around him. All standing 
 round looked at him with black glances. He under- 
 stood the position in which he found himself. Sur- 
 rounded by such a throng he was alone, quite alone. 
 There was not one heart for him there, and that this 
 was hard for him could be seen from his laboured 
 breathing. Powerless to command because they would 
 not obey him. Powerless to reconcile them because he 
 himself had not been merciful. Having no power to 
 bear these glances full of hate as well as the grief in 
 his heart, he was compelled to move away. 
 
 He moved away from the cross. The earth seemed 
 to give way under his feet, he began to stumble. Those 
 same people who a short moment before had trembled
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 169 
 
 before his shadow now looked confidently at him. Al- 
 ready the one-eyed had denounced him, and twos and 
 threes had coughed ironically. 
 
 Stumbling he came to the crossroads and stopped. 
 He would have stayed there; but something within 
 himself impelled him to go further. He did not look 
 where he was going — only to go — to flee from this 
 throng, from these people. 
 
 He passed along the whole street. Two or three 
 dogs barked at him several times. He went out into 
 the fields and rushed like the wind among the piled- 
 up sheaves and stooks — not going by the path but 
 through the straw. 
 
 ' ' What have I done, great sinner that I am ! Cursed 
 be my brain. Cursed be my nature, and my morn- 
 ing's morning, and my day's day. What can happen 
 to me — to have beaten my kum who christened me? 
 The kum is greater than the father. He cursed me. 
 What was that he said? 'May your rejoicing be 
 turned to mourning. May your seed be blotted out ! ' 
 
 "And a kum can curse. God accepts his curse 
 sooner than that of a father or of a mother. What 
 a kum has cursed can never prosper. And I have an 
 only son. I have my Radoje who is as the pupil of 
 my eye! He is my happiness and my joy and my 
 fortune — everything. 'May your seed be blotted 
 out!' " 
 
 He trembled. Something cold passed over his
 
 170 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 Avhole body from head to foot. His knees gave way 
 and he fell like a stone. 
 
 "Oh God my Saviour, I beseech Thee, Preserve, 
 Lord, my only son, my only joy, my house, my for- 
 tune, my Eadoje! Kill me, me. I am guilty. Oh 
 earth, why do you not open. Strike me with thunder, 
 Lord, strike the ill-omened one who has raised his 
 hand against his kum. But my Radoje, my child — . 
 He is still young, green. I beseech you — ^he — he is — 
 he must still. I implore Thee, Father of Heaven, 
 preserve — ! ' ' 
 
 There weeping suffocated him. He fell on his knees 
 on the ground and buried his head in his hands. A 
 river of tears rushed to his eyes. These were his first 
 tears since his childhood. 
 
 Blessed is the man whose eyes can w^eep tears. 
 What plaster is to a wound tears are to a sick heart. 
 They carry pain away as wind carries chaff. 
 
 He rose. He was rather more quiet; but horror 
 seized him again. He rolled in his walk, thinking: — 
 
 "What shall I do? I must make my peace with my 
 kum, but how '? Who will broach the subject to him ? 
 I — I cannot. How shall I come before his eyes ? How 
 dare I look at him? Shall I ask the people to make 
 peace between us? No one will! The whole world 
 hates me and God hates me. And I myself hate my- 
 self. But I must carry it through before the curse 
 falls upon me. But see, there is no one who could
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 171 
 
 help me! And I myself, if I were to set about it 
 could not finish anything. I am not afraid for my- 
 self, if death v^-ere to come upon me it would be very 
 welcome. But Radoje — if it were to come upon him!" 
 
 Once more despair seized him. He longed to turn 
 his back by force upon these thoughts. He began to 
 think of something else ; but came back to his former 
 thoughts. The thought: — ''May your rejoicing be 
 turned to sorrow. May your seed be blotted out." 
 could not be driven out of his head. 
 
 The Sim had set when he returned to the village. 
 An evening breeze was cooling the fever of the day, 
 the women were standing talking at their doors, 
 children were playing in the road — collecting the dust 
 into little piles. 
 
 The affair had already been heard of throughout 
 the whole village and whoever had a mouth was talk- 
 ing of Stanojlo and Chicha-Srechko — in particular 
 the women — for until they had sifted out the whole 
 matter, they could do nothing. 
 
 ' ' Have you heard what happened by the cross today 
 to our poor friend Srechko?" one was saying. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. I heard it at the very moment!" 
 
 *'May thunder bum him! How could he dare to 
 do it, and actually to his kum ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' And why did you expect better of him ? He is a 
 fiend. I said so to my husband before — when they 
 made him mayor."
 
 172 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "They say that he cursed him." 
 
 "He cursed him, yes, what do you expect! It 
 would not help him, thazik Heaven, even if he were 
 to go into a monastery and if a hundred monks were 
 to read to him!" 
 
 ' ' They say, also, that he violated the kumship — that 
 he denied it!" 
 
 "And what do you expect! Why should he not 
 deny his enemy ? ' ' 
 
 "Quiet, siUy one. Here he is!" 
 
 Stanojlo walked with bent head, stooping. He went 
 straight by the path. 
 
 ' ' Run away, there is the mayor ! ' ' said a child. 
 
 The children turned round. One — the eldest of 
 them, said: — 
 
 "The mayor? He is not the mayor now. My 
 father says he is nothing." 
 
 Saying nothing to them, he passed through them 
 and went to his house. 
 
 If thunder had struck the household of Stanojlo 
 Puretich it would not have aroused such consterna- 
 tion as that aroused by the news that Stanojlo had 
 beaten Chicha-Srechko. The men wandered hither 
 and thither and uttered only a hollow sound. The 
 women collected their children round them as brood-
 
 THE KIBI'S CURSE 173 
 
 ing hens do their chickens and then caressed and 
 kissed them. Each one looked at her own children 
 with tearful eyes for they knew that it was upon the 
 children that the curse would fall first of all. The 
 brothers of Stanojlo were discussing how the one way 
 of salvation from the curse was to split up the house- 
 hold. 
 
 "And we will not, truly, eat any more from the 
 same dish with him, even if he were to die," said 
 Milisav. 
 
 "Better to die, brothers, than to see the young ones 
 dying," said Petar. 
 
 "1 told him not to accept that cursed mayoralty; 
 but he railed at me then and told me to mind my own 
 business," said Kuzman. 
 
 * * "What he has done, let him suffer for himself also, ' ' 
 said Djuradj. 
 
 "Well — have we decided to split up?" asked Mili- 
 sav. 
 
 "We have decided." 
 
 "Who is willing to tell him so?" asked Petar. 
 
 "I," said MUisav. 
 
 "Why did he bring this upon himself and upon 
 us!" said Kuzman. 
 
 "I said from the very first that he was not the man 
 for mayor," said IMilisav. 
 
 "You said so, and what happened to you? The 
 same as to me," said Kuzman.
 
 174 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Why isn't he here?" asked Petar. 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 **Did he stay by the cross?" 
 
 "No. They say that he went out to the woods." 
 
 "And he is no longer mayor?" 
 
 "No. It is Chicha-Jova now." 
 
 "It is dark already. Why is he not here?" 
 
 At that moment the gate clicked. They looked up. 
 Stanojlo came in stooping. He passed through them 
 with no greeting and went into the house. All were 
 silent as though cast in a mould. They waited for 
 him to come out; but he did not come. 
 
 No one slept that night. The women only sighed 
 and the men were silent, smoking their pipes. The 
 night passed, day had almost dawned. Milisav ex- 
 pected that Stanojlo would call him as usual, and 
 give him orders about the work. He waited, waited, 
 but the summons did not come. Finally he went him- 
 self into Stanojlo 's room. Stanojlo was sitting on a 
 bench, he had buried his head in his hands, and was 
 silent. His wife Stepanija was standing beside the 
 stove. He did not raise his head when Milisav opened 
 the door. Milisav coughed. Still he did not raise 
 his head. 
 
 * ' Stanojlo ! ' ' Milisav called to him. 
 
 "Well?" he said, raising his head. 
 
 Milisav looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot, 
 his face somewhat more lined, and his hair whiter.
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 175 
 
 "Come here." 
 
 "What shall I do for you?" 
 
 '*We have something to discuss with you." 
 
 "But what?" said Stanojlo transfixing him with 
 his glance. 
 
 It was as though someone had caught Milisav by 
 the throat — his voice was so constrained. 
 
 "Let me call the others too." 
 
 * ' Call them, then, ' ' said Stanojlo. 
 
 Milisav went out. Very soon all four came in. 
 Stanojlo rose and told Stepanija to go outside. When 
 they were left alone he asked them in a harsh voice : — 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 ' * We want to split up ! " said Milisav. 
 
 "To split off from me?" 
 
 "Yes. That we should split off," cried all three. 
 
 * ' I want to say something to you myself. ' ' 
 
 "What?" they asked. 
 
 * * That you should go to my kum. ' ' 
 
 "He is no longer your kum. People say that he 
 renounced the kumship. Is that true?" 
 
 ' ' Yes — but — he — beseech him — ' ' 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I dare not." 
 
 * ' Then why should we ? " 
 
 "Go — beg him. He will forgive you." 
 
 "What do you say, Milisav?" 
 
 "I dare not."
 
 176 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Nor dare we!" said the three. "It would be 
 better to cut ourselves off from you." 
 
 * ' But, I implore you. ' ' 
 
 "We dare not!" 
 
 "We want a division of property," said Djuradj. 
 
 "You may have everything!" 
 
 * ' No. Only our shares. ' ' 
 
 "I need nothing." 
 
 "You may not need it; but what about Radoje?" 
 said Kuzman. 
 
 Stanojlo bowed his head. Then he said : — 
 
 "Leave him whatever you will!" 
 
 "We must think it out well." 
 
 "Yes, that is right. Go and discuss it. Here is 
 Radoje." 
 
 Stepanija flew into the room as though maddened, 
 shrieking. 
 
 "What is it?" they asked her. 
 
 "Kum Srechko is dead!" 
 
 If a bomb had fallen amongst them they would have 
 been equally overwhelmed. Stanojlo was the first to 
 come to himself. 
 
 * ' Dead ? But when ? " he asked. 
 
 "At dawn," was the answer. 
 
 Nothing more was even mentioned of the further 
 preservation of the household. This house was under a 
 curse and they must leave it. The property was 
 quickly divided — no one wished to have the house.
 
 THE KURI'S CURSE 177 
 
 Stanojlo was left alone with Stepanija and Radoje. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Stepanija had been ill before, and the news of 
 Chicha-Srechko's death struck her down to her bed. 
 She became fearfully ill. Everyone who saw her said 
 she would never leave her bed. Stanojlo was quite 
 struck dumb. The world paid no attention to him, 
 every living person fled from him, and he himself never 
 went among people. From the time when Stepanija 
 fell ill, one of the daughters-in-law in turn came from 
 Milisav's house to keep things in order. 
 
 Stepanija grew worse and worse. One evening she 
 closed her eyes forever. 
 
 That event to a certain extent reconciled the neigh- 
 bours to Stanojlo. Amongst us, as you know, there is 
 a custom of inviting guests both on occasions of re- 
 joicing and of mourning, so the neighbours came to 
 accompanying St-epanija to her last home. 
 
 The very appearance of Stanojlo astonished them. 
 It was as though he felt that the fulfilment of the 
 kum's curse was beginning. He was convinced that 
 in the course of the year yet another would leave the 
 house for the grave, because the eyes of the dead 
 body were open, and that was a sign that someone else 
 would die. His heart was, as it were, a boiler at the 
 boil. An internal fire consumed him, and what
 
 178 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 boils inside a man is always visible on his face. 
 
 Seeing what condition Stanojlo was in, the neigh- 
 bours began to pity him, and, the world is the world. 
 It easily forgets today what happened yesterday. 
 "What it praised yesterday it will condenm today, and 
 what it blamed yesterday it will praise today. As it 
 is said: — ** Another day, another custom." 
 
 "Why, man, I could never have imagined that a 
 man could change so ! " said one. 
 
 "And I, brother. But you never know," said a 
 second. 
 
 "I know now. Why here is Stanojlo." 
 
 "And he has got thin," said a third. 
 
 "And pale," added tho first. 
 
 "Then, you see, men, that he was not exactly a bad 
 man," said the second. 
 
 "Only fierce." 
 
 ' * That is what he is paying for now. ' ' 
 
 "But, it seems to me that the dead Stepanija's eyes 
 were open." 
 
 "Not really?" 
 
 "Yes, truly." 
 
 "Then another from the house." 
 
 * ' That will be Stanojlo. See how he is already smell- 
 ing of the funeral cake. ' ' 
 
 Old Chicha-Chira shook his head in sign of disagree- 
 ment. 
 
 "What is it, Chicha?"
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 179 
 
 "I am afraid for the child." 
 
 "But the child is as healthy as a dogbeny tree." 
 
 "There is the curse, my sons. The dead Srechko 
 said — it seems to me — 'May your seed be blotted 
 out!'" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well!" said Chicha-Chira, once more shaking his 
 head. 
 
 "Here is Stanojlo." 
 
 He came among them and asked them whether they 
 had brandy in their flasks. 
 
 They buried Stepanija. Stanojlo gave her every- 
 thing in order, the funeral feast, the feast on the third 
 day, the feast on the fortieth, the feast at the 
 half year, and the feast at the year. When it was all 
 finished he gave his mind to marrying Radoje. And 
 it was indeed time. The house had been without wo- 
 men for a year, and a house without women — ^we 
 know what that is ! 
 
 And that Radoje of his was a fine young man, in 
 the perfection of health and strength. The down on 
 his upper lip was getting black and when a little be- 
 gan to appear on his chin, the falcon shaved it. A 
 good dancer, a good flute player, a good singer, a 
 happy temperament, you could get what you wished 
 from him. The girls forgot the curse that was on him 
 when they saw him. 
 
 When he looked at Radoje, Stanojlo began to forget
 
 180 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 his troubles. He began to go among people again ; he 
 even was reconciled with the sons of Srechko. 
 
 Stanojlo began to give his attention to girls, and he 
 found one in Selici. The girl was exactly suitable to 
 the man, and in form they were as alike as box trees. 
 
 Stanojlo had already invited his wedding guests. 
 There was a flask decorated with a chain of old Aus- 
 trian coins. He invited also Jovan, the son of Chicha- 
 Srechko, to be kum ; but he said that his father on his 
 deathbed had made him swear that he would not be 
 kum. He promised, however, to come as a wedding 
 guest. 
 
 Stanojlo made Chicha-Jova the mayor, kum. The 
 heart of Stanojlo rejoiced. The feet of the old man 
 became younger. He made preparations, bought furni- 
 ture and ran — which did not seem like him. 
 
 * * God, thanks be to Thee ! Give me still enough 
 life to see and to know that the smoke is twisting from 
 his chimney, that there will be someone to celebrate my 
 burial. And then, then let me die, for I shall have 
 no more joy to wait for ! ' ' 
 
 So Stanojlo prayed to God; but, in the midst of 
 that prayer, there darted through his head like a red 
 hot rod, the kum's curse, and the old man trembled, his 
 nerves died, and he onl}^ repeated without any kind of 
 conviction, almost unconsciously, the words : — 
 
 * * God is good. He will hear my prayer ! ' * 
 
 His first idea again prevailed and as though in op-
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 181 
 
 position to it, he repeated the bitter words. He wished 
 by so doing to beat out from his head the idea that was 
 assailing him. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The actual day came. Stanojlo rose early, and 
 happy and yet sorrowful, wandered through the court. 
 It was one of those beautiful autumn days. The wed- 
 ding guests were beginning to assemble. The kum 
 came, the chief wedding guest came, the dever (Ra- 
 doje's best friend — son of a certain Krsman Petrovich, 
 who's name was Siraa) and the other gaily-dressed 
 wedding guests. The chief wedding guest led in the 
 musicians. There was a violin, cymbals, a tambourine 
 and a great drum ; but there was no sound. The chief 
 wedding guest came to Stanojlo after the wedding 
 guests had dined and said : — 
 
 "Let us start." 
 
 "Go ahead. Where are you going, Radoje?" 
 
 "I am going to fetch pistols for my pobratim." 
 
 "Very well, go." 
 
 They turned away. There was singing, rejoicing. 
 You should have seen those forty horsemen — all pick- 
 ed men! 
 
 Pistols fired, the wedding guests sang, everything 
 resounded, Stanojlo wept for joy. Then, brushing 
 away his tears with his broad sleeve, he said : —
 
 182 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 ' ' What is the matter with me, that I begin to weep ? ' ' 
 
 "Why," said the kum. "It is for joy." 
 
 "Yes, it is for joy." 
 
 "May you not know tears of a different kind!" 
 
 "God grant that!" 
 
 At that moment there flashed through his head again 
 the kum's curse, and as though to strangle that idea, 
 he sang: — 
 
 * ' The mother sent Mara under the mountains, 
 The mother sent her ; but IMara did not wish it ! 
 While I am alive, mother, I will not go under 
 
 the mountains, 
 Under the mountains the Turks often go." 
 
 "What can that be, kum?" said Chicha-Jova. 
 
 The riders had sprung down from their horses. 
 They rushed to the spot — and there was something to 
 see ! Radoje lay dead. In his hand was a pistol. 
 
 ' ' How did it happen ? What is this ? ' ' 
 
 The affair became clear immediately. 
 
 Radoje had told his pobratim Sima to fire the pistol 
 because they were near the girl's house. He obeyed, 
 but the pistol missed fire. Radoje told him that 
 the pistol had already been loaded ; but that he must 
 pack up the powder beside the flint. He did so; 
 packed it, pulled the trigger, it ignited, and only the 
 gunpowder flared up to the flint. Radoje took the
 
 THE KUM'S CURSE 183 
 
 pistol to see whether it was loaded and just as he put 
 the barrel to his mouth, the pistol fired, and he fell 
 dead. The pistol had been filled already, but it was 
 not clean, and the fire kept first of all in the touch 
 hole, and afterwards the gunpowder caught — as was 
 the custom with flintlocks. 
 
 Great and small wept. Stanojlo alone had no tears. 
 He stood like a rock — dumb. He put his hands under 
 his belt and looked at his only son as he lay with 
 shattered head, all bathed in blood. Who knows what 
 thoughts turned in his brain ! That only he can know 
 who has suffered as Stanojlo had, and, be it said, I 
 would not wish that for anyone. 
 
 Stanojlo suddenly turned, drew a second pistol 
 from the belt of the dever, cocked it, put it against his 
 forehead and before they could seize him, fired it. It 
 scattered his brain over those who stood round, and 
 instead of one — there now lie two corpses — father and 
 son. 
 
 The wedding guests, with open eyes, watched the 
 whole of this scene and when it was over, Chicha-Jova 
 spoke. 
 
 "In vain, my children. What must be, must be — 
 and a kum can curse like a mother when she withdraws 
 her breast." 
 
 There. That is ' ' The Kimi 's Curse. ' '
 
 POVARETA 
 
 a tale fkom a dalmatian island 
 
 By Simo Matavulya 
 
 185
 
 SiMO Matavulya was born in 1852 at Sebenico, 
 Dalmatia. He was a school teacher in the Dalmatian 
 villages and in Montenegro he became an instructor 
 in (the Lycee. When he came to Belgrade in 1857 
 he was an instructor there also and later on a journal- 
 ist. He was a member of the Serbian Royal Academy. 
 
 Matavulya wrote thirty or forty stories, two novels, 
 two plays, some books of travel and his memoirs. He 
 also translated the comedies of Moliere and some of 
 the tales of De Maupassant. He died in 1908. 
 
 186
 
 POVARETA 
 By Simo Matavulya 
 
 Between the town and the island, the calm sea was 
 as smooth as glass in the reflection of the hot sun, 
 which was already sinking in the west. A boat was 
 approaching the island, with two men in it, one row- 
 ing, the other sitting at the rudder. And although it 
 was early in April, the sun was burning right in their 
 eyes, and they turned their heads towards the hills, 
 of which the more distant were still capped with snow. 
 The boat was heavy ; the rower, a man of middle age, 
 looked more like a porter than a boatman, while the 
 man at the rudder was young, tanned and stalwart, 
 dressed in naval uniform. As they were drawing 
 away from the town, the old man plied him with ques- 
 tions, asking who he was, where he came from, whom 
 did he know, how long had he been in the service, but 
 receiving no answer, at length relapsed into silence. 
 For the young islander, Yuray Lukeshich from Kra- 
 pan, was, like his fellow-islanders, taciturn, and dis- 
 inclined to be conversational. He simply sat quietly 
 and smoked, looking at the great world around him, 
 the sea and the sky. 
 
 Little by little the outlines of the island became dis- 
 cernible. First they distinguished a wood, and a high 
 bell-tower; that is at one end of the island, while the 
 
 187
 
 188 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 \allage is at the other. An age-old pine-forest with a 
 monastery distinguish the island of Krapan from all 
 the others. 
 
 The ruddy glow behind Krapan suddenly became 
 more brilliant ; the gulls began to dip into the surface 
 of the water more frequently, and shoals of dolphins 
 to shoot past the boat. That roused the young man 
 from his reverie. 
 
 '*In God's name!" he muttered, and took the star- 
 board oar from the old man. 
 
 Soon the boat 's keel grated on the sands of the land- 
 ing-place and at the same moment the bells of the mon- 
 astery began to boom out their evening call to sei*vice. 
 Yuray sprang ashore and stood for a moment bare- 
 headed, in prayer. And the old man, before pushing 
 off again, raised his cap in respect to the "Lord of 
 Angels. ' ' 
 
 With quick steps the sailor walked to the street 
 which might be called the main one, as there are two 
 others, but they are side streets and much shorter. 
 The houses are of stone, dark with age, in one or more 
 colours, with medium-sized windows and green shut- 
 ters. Scarcely one was without a little courtyard for 
 the donkeys and the store of dried old vine-stumps, 
 dug up for firewood. If the young man had been a 
 stranger who had chanced to come to the little island, 
 he would certainly have been startled to find the vil- 
 lage deserted, with not a living soul in sight, nor the
 
 POVARETA 189 
 
 sound of a human voice, as though a plague had carried 
 off all the inhabitants, and the smoke was rising from 
 deserted hearths. But Yuray never noticed this, for 
 he knew that almost all his folk were in their gardens, 
 which are across the water in the villages of Bazhina 
 and Yadrtovats. 
 
 His home was at the end of the main street. He 
 came to the back and walked quietly round, when he 
 found a little girl of seven or eight standing on a high 
 pile of vine-boughs over by the wall of the yard. When 
 he came towards her, just as though he had fallen from 
 heaven, the child wanted to scream, but the sailor 
 whispered, * ' Yoyi ! ' ' and put his finger to his lips, and 
 opened his arms, saying: 
 
 "Come, jump now, one! two! three!" 
 
 The little girl jumped into his arms. Interrupting 
 her kisses, Yuray asked her: 
 
 "What were you doing on the wood-pile? And 
 where is Mummy?" 
 
 "Mummy is in the kitchen," answered Yoyi, hold- 
 ing his hand and dancing for joy. * * And so you have 
 come home ! I jumped down for Mish said I would 
 not dare." 
 
 Yuray took her into the yard, saying: 
 
 "You should not jump from so high, that is not 
 good for little girls. And Mish is a young rascal to 
 dare you. Come along now, quietly, and let's give 
 Mummy a surprise."
 
 190 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Let us jump at her," whispered Yoyi. 
 
 Yuray stood at the door behind the grond floor 
 room, which occupied the whole length of the house. 
 The two windows opposite were wide open and that 
 gave light enough. His eyes took in everything; all 
 was in its own. place, just as he had left it, almost the 
 same as his ancestors had left it ; the shelves with the 
 pots and pans, two big walnut chests, and a long oak 
 table, with a large crucifix above it, a bench and some 
 three-legged chairs. His glance rested on the outline 
 of a woman who, near the hearth, had turned her face 
 towards the fire. Yuray gave a little cough, the wo- 
 man turned round, stood still a moment, and they met 
 between the windows. 
 
 They exclaimed at once : 
 
 '' In God 's Name, Yuray ! " 
 
 ''Mother! Darling mother!" 
 
 After a first embrace, they gazed into each other's 
 eyes, those small, clear, blue eyes which each genera- 
 tion in our islands hands down faithfully to the next, 
 just as they transmit the short head and rounded face, 
 joy of life, sturdy faith, lack of imagination and re- 
 stricted vocabulary. Yuray 's mother, Lutsa, looked 
 more like his elder sister, hardly ten years older, cer- 
 tainly not more. They both had the slightly blunt 
 nose, short rounded chin, rosy and white cheeks; in 
 fact, almost the only difference between them lay in
 
 POVARETA 191 
 
 the earrings, which the mother wore in both ears, but 
 the lad only in the right one. 
 
 Then they began a whole series of questions and 
 answers, all beginning with "Why," as the islanders 
 do when they are moved. 
 
 "Why, how are you, mother?" 
 
 "Why, I am well enough, Yuray, and how are >ou ? ' ' 
 
 "Why, I am fit and well; and how is dad?" 
 
 "Why, dad is quite well too." 
 
 "Wliy, how is Mish?" 
 
 ' ' Why, ]\Iish is well too, and quite grown up. ' ' 
 
 The mother was silent a moment, and took the big- 
 gest three-legged chair, which for centuries had been 
 the special one of the head of the family, and dragged 
 it near the fire. The lad sat down, and began to roll a 
 cigarette. His mother began to scrape some fish in a 
 bowl. 
 
 Lutsa stooped low over her work and when she spoke 
 again, her voice was shaky, as though very tired. 
 
 "But you wrote that you would not come for an- 
 other ten days." 
 
 "Yes. I took you in ... to give you a little 
 surprise. ' ' 
 
 "And have you been right round the world?" 
 
 "Not quite round, but a very long way, right away 
 to Omerika." 
 
 "And have you seen all sorts of countries?" 
 
 "All sorts."
 
 192 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "And black men?" 
 
 "Yes, and yellow too . . . And has the har- 
 vest been a good one?" 
 
 "No, hail spoilt the grapes and we had only thirty 
 barrels of wine and six of oil." 
 
 After another pause, Yuray said : 
 
 "Why, what news is there?" 
 
 As his mother did not reply at once, he added : 
 
 "And what news of Maritsa? Well, mother?" 
 
 "Not good news, my son," muttered his mother in 
 reply. 
 
 Yuray sprang up and cried : 
 
 "Lord of Angels! What is it?" 
 
 "It is not good news, no — ^no — ," repeated the wo- 
 man, shaking her head, with a deep sigh. 
 
 "By Christ's Passion! mother, what is the matter? 
 Why do not you speak. Is she ill?" 
 
 "She has been ..." 
 
 "What— dead— ?" 
 
 "Yes ..." 
 
 Yuray sank upon his chair. Livid, he stared aghast 
 at his mother for a moment, and could scarcely utter : 
 
 "Is it really true?" 
 
 ' * Yes, ' ' affirmed his mother, wiping a tear from her 
 eyes. For a long time the lad sat and sobbed, exclaim- 
 ing: 
 
 "Oh, mother! Oh, mother!" 
 
 At length he asked :
 
 POVARETA 193 
 
 "By Jesus' Wounds! What was the matter?" 
 
 "A tumour formed under the right arm. Old Ma- 
 tiya took her to the town to the doctor, but he at once 
 said, 'It is not well' : then Matiya took her to the wise 
 women, old Grmina, and she said, 'It is not well' : then 
 Matiya performed a vow and walked barefoot to the 
 Lord of Angels. But nothing availed. It is now eight 
 days since her sweet young body lies rotting in the 
 blessed earth." 
 
 "Her — Oh, mother! Have you been to the poor 
 girl's grave?" 
 
 "God help thee my poor boy! Except myself, no 
 one knows that you had chosen her ; nor did she her- 
 self, poor child, know." 
 
 "Povareta! Povareta!" cried Yuray, burying his 
 face in his hands. "My poor little girl! And she 
 never knew that I had vowed my soul to her, that I 
 was ever thinking of her, on the sea, in Omerika, and 
 even when on duty. Look, yesterday in the town I 
 bought a ring for her. ' ' 
 
 He stood up and out of his breeches he took a box 
 with a golden ring, which he handed to his mother. 
 And again he sat down and wept. 
 
 "Mother, mother, I will die too." 
 
 "God help thee, crazy child!" cried Lutsa, putting 
 the ring into the deep pocket of her skirt. "Are you 
 a Christian or have you turned Jew ? Are you going 
 to work against God's will ? Come, here come our men.
 
 194 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 It would be a shame if you did not go to meet them. 
 And it would be a greater shame if men loiew why you 
 are mourning, for you never claimed her hand, nor is 
 it known that you intended to when you came home. 
 Say your prayers for her soul, and go to meet the 
 boats." 
 
 She brought a basin of water, and he washed his 
 hands and bathed his eyes, and rather abashed, and 
 taking his little sister, went out by the same way he 
 had come. 
 
 The little landing-place was already full of craft 
 and resounded with men's cries and donkey's braying, 
 for every ^^ gay eta" of Krapan (that is a boat of over 
 a ton, with the bows decked over), carried a donkey 
 laden with firewood. It was Saturday, so the men 
 were returning rather later. 
 
 His heart froze when among the first he saw IMatiya 
 wearing a black cap, and his two daughters with black 
 veils. He felt it keenly when one of them recognised 
 him and called out : 
 
 "See, that sailor, why, it is Aunt Lutsa's Yuray!" 
 
 That was Pava Tanfara, Maritsa's sister, and very 
 like her. 
 
 As all were busy collecting their tools and getting 
 their donkeys ashore, hardly anybody noticed him, but 
 he quickly scanned them all, the Grms, Lukeschiches, 
 Yarans, Tanfaras, Prebundas, Yugars, with all their 
 families and young men, and then he felt he must cry
 
 POVARETA 195 
 
 out: ''And where are you, Loveliest Flower of Kra- 
 pan, Maritsa Tanf ara ? Where are you, coining from 
 your garden, that I may hear your little silver voice, 
 and gaze upon your slender figure, that white face 
 and those dear black eyes ? ' ' 
 
 Marko Lukeshich had made his boat fast when his 
 son came up to him from behind. The "old man," 
 lean and tough, about forty -five years old, was drag- 
 ging his donkey Eizhan by the halter, while ]\Iish was 
 pushing his hind quarters. It was vain for Yoyi to 
 keep calling out: "Yuray has come home! Here he 
 is ! " ; neither of them turned their head until Rizhan 
 had jumped ashore with his load. Then Mish, a lively 
 lad of sixteen, embraced his brother and refused to be 
 separated from him. But Marko simply shook hands 
 with Yuray^ holding out a grimy fist, saying: 
 
 * ' Hullo ! A little surprise, eh ? And how are you '« ' ' 
 
 "I am well enough, dad," answered Yuray, shaking 
 his father's hand, "how Mish has grown!" 
 
 "Like a weed," said the man, and he held a burning 
 match to Yuray 's face before lighting his pipe. After 
 a puff or two, he put his hand on Yuray 's shoulder and 
 said : 
 
 "Well, what is all the trouble about?" 
 
 "Why, dad?" 
 
 "Because your face is white and pale, and your eyes 
 all red. Why, young Yurega, who came home from
 
 196 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 the navy six weeks ago, told us that you were as red 
 as a rose. ' ' 
 
 "I liave not been quite myself since yesterday," 
 
 The villagers began to pass them, and even in the 
 dark his uniform attracted attention. Voices could 
 be heard saying: ''Is that young Yuray?" ""Why, 
 yes, it is Yuray," and "IIullo, Yuray, how are you?" 
 
 As a matter of fact, Marko never hurried, even old 
 Rizhan the donkey knew this, and when the crowd had 
 passed by, he went on alone. Yoyi and IMish took their 
 brother by the arm, while the father, crunching the 
 gravel as he walked, began to tell his son all about the 
 past summer, about their work, what they had spent, 
 and all the little details of their daily life, which had 
 occurred during the five and twenty months of the 
 lad's absence. 
 
 Lutsa was waiting for them in front of the house. 
 On the bench there was a big earthen basin of water 
 and towels. The children took Rizhan to unload him 
 and bed him down, but INIarko quickly stripped off his 
 jacket, waistcoat and shirt, bent his swarthy frame 
 over the basin, shewing all his ribs and spine. He 
 washed his hands first, and then his face with clean 
 water, and then with fresh water again his neck. When 
 his wife had scrubbed and dried his back, he ran in- 
 doors and put on clean clothes. Mish did the same, 
 only Yoyi rubbed his shoulders. 
 
 On the supper table there were a bowl of greens, a
 
 POVARETA 197 
 
 dish of fried fish, crumbs of barley bread, and a jug 
 of ''bevanda" or wine mixed with water. 
 
 Lutsa took from the foot of the crucifix two ehaplets, 
 giving one to her husband. All five of them turned 
 to the sacred emblem, while the father said aloud: 
 *'In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of 
 the Holy Ghost, Amen"; then they all repeated to- 
 gether the Lord's Prayer, the Hail ]\Iary, and the 
 other prayers that make the rosary. This lasted about 
 a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Supper lasted about twice as long. Nobody spoke. 
 Lutsa nudged Yuray, who tried hard to swallow a few 
 mouthfuls; ]\Iarko solemnly chewed each mouthful, 
 resting his tired head on his palm. Only when they 
 first poured out the wine, he looked quickly at Yuray, 
 then at his wife, then took a drink, and finally said : 
 
 "Why, in God's Name, what a fine fellow this boy 
 of ours is ! What a grand young gentleman ! Just wait 
 a bit until we put a hoe in his hand." 
 
 All drank from the same jug, and then at a sign 
 from the mother, the young folk went upstairs to bed. 
 Lutsa brought a smaller jug and a glass, and when she 
 poured it out it was obviously pure wine, black and 
 thick. Marko drank to his son, ''Welcome home!" 
 and emptied his glass ; Lutsa herself then drank half 
 a gla.ss to his welcome home, and stood the jug and 
 glass before her son. At the same time his father put 
 a pipe in front of him, filled it, and said :
 
 198 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "You spent the night in Zadar on ihe spree, I can 
 see that; and to-day you had a good drink in town; 
 anybody can see that, eh ? " 
 
 "Why?" asked the lad, forcing a smile. 
 
 "And what the devil did you see in Omerika?" 
 
 ' * How do I know, dad ? An order comes, and then 
 it is forward ! In front of us was a cruiser, the Maria 
 Theresa, bound for Australia, a full six months' trip." 
 
 "And he has seen black and yellow men," added his 
 mother, drumming on the table with her fingers. 
 
 "And do you really believe all the sailors tell you?" 
 asked Marko, turning his head towards the ceiling 
 with a yaw^n : ' ' they are full of lies. But tell me, how 
 much have you saved ? ' ' 
 
 "Fifteen thalers, father," answered Yuray. 
 
 "That's not much; Roko Tanfara brought back 
 twenty. Give me another, and then to bed, and to- 
 morrow after prayers, go and pay a visit to your uncle 
 Yosa and aunt Maria. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Naturally, ' ' put in the mother. 
 
 As soon as his father had drunk his glass of wine, 
 he stood up and lazily went out. Lutsa lit a little oil 
 lamp and followed her husband. Yuray rested his 
 head on his elbows, and remained in that position. 
 From the room above there began to penetrate the 
 deep and rhythmic snoring of his parents, which com- 
 pleted the picture of daily domestic life. Yuray, liis 
 head entirely occupied with one dreadful sentiment,
 
 POVARETA 199 
 
 began to listen attentively to the snoring. That every- 
 day occurrence seemed to him something mysterious 
 that marked the passage of the night, of everything 
 that passes away for ever, and he began to count the 
 snores. He counted a hundred, two hundred, when a 
 loud noise and a hoarse voice startled him from his 
 reverie. Their cock was the first to decide to break 
 the stillness of the village, and then the rest joined 
 in rivalry. 
 
 As soon as all was quiet again, a terror gripped Tu- 
 ray, and he remembered all the tales of his childhood, 
 how the white graves round the Lord of Angels opened 
 and the dead came out, especially the newly buried who 
 had not yet grown accustomed to the solitude. There 
 was the poor girl, Maritsa, who never knew of his love, 
 who had only learnt that very evening, and was now 
 hurrying to him to receive the ring. A flame played 
 upon the table, something crackled among the sparks, 
 and Yuray, in terror, sprang to his feet. But that 
 lasted only a second, for his real character, his farm- 
 ing and seafaring strength, overcame his momentary 
 weakness, and with bowed head he began to recite 
 prayers for her soul. Then he sat down again, put 
 his weary head on his folded arms, and fell asleep. 
 
 Lutsa, as usual, was the first astir, and found her 
 son thus; she lit the fire, brewed coffee, put it before 
 him, and gently pushed him. The lad stood up, and 
 looked sleepily, half unconsciously at his mother. At
 
 200 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 last he took out his handsome new metal tobacco box, 
 put some tobacco in a paper, rolled a cigarette, and 
 began to puff. His mother sat opposite, with lowered 
 eyes, tapping with her fingers on the table. 
 
 "Mother, I will not go out to-day." 
 
 "Not even to church?" she asked, without raising 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Nowhere. I will lie down in the little room, and 
 you can tell people that I am ill." 
 
 "That were a sin. I had a dream last night, just 
 before waking, at the dawn, when God sends dreams. ' ' 
 
 Lutsa really wanted Yuray to ask what her dream 
 was, but as she did not hear his voice, she continued 
 in a low monotonous tone, her ej'cs downcast : 
 
 "I dreamt of the poor maid, of the Povareta; she 
 came to me to the house when I was alone, at dusk. 
 She came, poor child, pale and weeping, with her poor 
 arm in bandages. She led me to the window, and with 
 her whole arm pointed out to the sea, and to a great 
 ship upon it, and you were on the ship. And she, poor 
 girl, said sobbing, * There he is ! He is coming ! But 
 I cannot . . . this poor arm drags me down, 
 down to the very depths. Let him take Pava ! ' ' 
 
 Lutsa ceased, wiping her eyes upon her sleeve. 
 
 Long they were silent; then the mother raised her 
 eyes, and looked at his face, on which there was grad- 
 ually returning the joy of living. 
 
 At length he asked in a broken voice:
 
 POVARETA 201 
 
 "Is that true, mother?" 
 
 "Yes, my son, and my witness is the blessed Lord 
 of Angels." 
 
 "Well, mother, let God's will be done 
 Povareta . . Poor child . . . Poor little 
 
 girl . . . "
 
 HODJA SALEEK 
 By Svetozar Corovich 
 
 203
 
 SvETOZAR CoROViCH was bom in 1875 at Mostar in 
 Herzegovina, a town and province that was oc- 
 cupied by the Austro-Hnngarians in 1878 and annexed 
 in 1908 and now belongs to the Kingdom of the Serbs, 
 Croats and Slovenes. He had little education for he 
 had «nly been through the primary school and a 
 commercial school. He lived all his life at Mostar, 
 where he had a chance to study in the shop of his 
 father, the types, characters and manners of his 
 native country. He took an active part in public 
 affairs and with some friends, foimded the first 
 literary review at Mostar and contributed largely 
 to the progress in his country of literary education. 
 During the war he was interned in a Hungarian 
 prison, being suspected by the Austrian authorities, 
 and there caught tuberculosis. He died in Novem- 
 ber, 1918, happy in having seen the liberating Ser- 
 bian Army of his native country reach Mostar, when 
 a detachment honored him by passing in review be- 
 fore his house. Although he was very careful about 
 his work he nevertheless had great facility and wrote 
 many volumes of stories, a number of plays, and 
 made some successful attempts at novels. 
 
 204
 
 HODJA SALEEK 
 
 SVETOZAR COROVICH 
 
 The very first rays of the morning sun, stealing 
 through the thick mulberry leaves to dance with fairy 
 tread upon the little babbling brook, always found 
 Hodja Saleek alert and bright, as he took his stroll 
 through his garden, stopping ever and anon under 
 some tree to examine with critical eye the coming fruit. 
 He was proud of his garden ; for it did not extend to a 
 depth of over fifteen meters and yet was planted with 
 every kind and size of fruit tree, whose branches inter- 
 laced to provide him with an ever-pleasant leafy can- 
 opy, and under whose verdant shelter, even in the 
 hottest weather, he could enjoy refreshing shade. 
 Underneath the fruit trees waved luxuriant grass, and 
 his eye reposed contentedly on all his succulent green- 
 stuffs — spinach, cabbages, vegetable-marrows and the 
 red-blue flesh of many a ripening tomato. The Hodja 's 
 garden, indeed, was often as gay and variegated as any 
 grocer 's shop. At the end of it, the little brook slipped 
 along its subtle course, scarcely visible for the long 
 grass, the flowers and the shrubs overhanging it upon 
 either side. But Hodja understood well how to make 
 use of the little stream ; had he not himself dug the long 
 irrigating-channel that brought fertilising draughts to 
 his thirsty garden ? The brook brought the water, and 
 
 205
 
 206 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 the Hodja did the watering ; he did not believe in pay- 
 ing wages for that! With his long white beard, his 
 white breeches and thin shirt, and his little white cap 
 on his shaven head, there was Hodja — barefooted, pad- 
 dling in the little watercourse, scattering the water 
 over the garden with his biggish wooden spade. At 
 other times you might see him with his little bent hoe, 
 gently working the soil around the root of every fruit 
 tree, and giving special care to the young maize. After 
 which, he would lie down to rest upon the grass, not 
 minding if he was occasionally overtaken by a little 
 nap, nor even if, after his snooze, some little bits of 
 grass or thistle adhers to his beard and his clothes. 
 
 It was after such siestas in the garden that Hodja 
 Saleek might be seen with his hoe and his shovel, 
 throwing them over his shoulder before making his 
 way through the rickety, old doorway into the house. 
 His house was smallish, time-worn, dilapidated; the 
 doorway, with its crumbling posts and lintel, threat- 
 ened to come down upon the visitor's head. Windows 
 there were none ; but there were little holes in the wall 
 that would very well have accommodated the nose of a 
 rifle; these the Hodja used to speak of facetiously as 
 "my little gun-holes." The unpaved courtyard was 
 quite large, and near the doorway — rotten, of course ! 
 — flourished two blue-grey brook-willows, whose pow- 
 erful fragrance scented the whole place. Under the 
 crooked walls flowering rose bushes yellowed and
 
 HODJA SALEEK 207 
 
 reddened with, the progress of the seasons, planted be- 
 tween a couple of luxuriant oleanders which prodigally 
 adorned with their topmost fronds the crumbling 
 caves, where birds had nested for goodness knows how 
 many a generation. The carnations, sweet basil and 
 the various medicinal herbs in the centre of the court- 
 yard were surrounded by a thick, tough grass, and 
 through the yard the little stream threaded its tortu- 
 ous way. 
 
 Hodja Saleek always drank his coffee in the court- 
 yard. He loved to splash his dirty, bare feet about in 
 the streamlet, and then to lie full-length upon the 
 grass under the oleanders. Here he would take his 
 great, long pipe, and listening to the quiet murmur of 
 the brook lazily sip his coffee in the scent-laden air. 
 
 In the courtyard, too, he took his lunch, and that, 
 usually, two hours before noon, when, as he used to say, 
 the clock struck in his inside. His loaf of bread and 
 pennj-worth of cheese he ate with so sweet a relish that 
 he never thought of meat. 
 
 Sometimes after lunch he would go into his room to 
 dress himself up. Nobody ever cleaned that little 
 room. It was full of dust and cobwebs. Just as he 
 became adorned in the garden, lying on the grass, with 
 adhesive bits of thistle and grass, so here in his little 
 room he became decorated with spiders' webs — sticky 
 spiders' webs upon his face, his beard and liis clothes. 
 The apartment made no claim to furniture of any
 
 208 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 kind, save a dirty old mattress, hard and thin, and an 
 ancient time-piece hanging upon the wall. This clock 
 Hodja Saleek looked upon as a necessary evil. He 
 always attended to it himself. He wound it up, and 
 set it right, taking off the large minute-hand ; for two 
 hands confused him — besides, what did he care for 
 minutes ? He only reckoned by hours ! . . . From 
 a certain spot above the mattress, the Hodja drew out 
 his clothes ; big, wide baggy breeches of blue, a sleeved 
 waistcoat, and a long, blue robe without sleeves — moth- 
 eaten round the bottom, — looking as if it had been 
 pierced with bullets. He always belted himself with 
 an enormously broad girdle, and his ample blue robe 
 floated around him as a proper priestly mantle should. 
 His broad red fez (with blue tassel) he stiffened in- 
 side with layers of paper, before winding around it 
 his big, white turban. Such was his headgear — perched 
 a little on one side, almost as if he had been tipsy. 
 He never forgot his great spectacles. For these 
 he had no special case, so he popped them in his tur- 
 ban, so that from its folds you might always see one 
 glass peeping out. Never wearing socks, he used to 
 slip on a pair of wooden clogs, in which he shuffled 
 along, always making a tremendous dust, to the great 
 annoyance of the Austrians, who are rather touchy in 
 regard to dust. 
 
 "When he had quite finished dressing, Hodja Saleek 
 never omitted to put over his shoulder a fairly large
 
 HODJA SALEEK 209 
 
 talism'an bag, made of fine red stuff, tastily worked, 
 from which always peeped out three old smutty Turk- 
 ish books and some sheets of clean paper; and then, 
 as if it had been a little pistol, stuck in his girdle was 
 a yellowish old bronze inkhorn overfull of quill pens 
 and ink of his own making. 
 
 Thus equipped, Hodja would set out for the town, 
 giving the Turkish greeting to all the townsfolk, re- 
 gardless of their creed, and patting the head of every 
 child that came under his hand. Everybody returned 
 the Hodja 's salutations. The women, both young and 
 old, stood up and prepared to greet him before he 
 reached them, and rarely did anyone neglect to Eisk 
 after his health. It was, indeed, evident on all hands 
 that Hodja Saleek was a favourite with the women- 
 folk. 
 
 ' * Effendia ! Effendia ! ' ' some old woman would cry- 
 to him, right in the middle of the town, and catching 
 hold of his robe. "Oh, my grandchild has fallen sick 
 of something or other, and I fear he must have been 
 bewitched. I beg thee, give me a talisman," she 
 would say, bowing and scraping around the Hodja, 
 and still keeping hold of his mantle. 
 
 Hodja Saleek immediately puts his hand upon his 
 bag, draws out a book, puts his spectacles on the end 
 of his nose, and consults his book. 
 
 "Has he been ill long?" he asks as seriously and 
 calmly as any doctor.
 
 210 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 *'Not three days." 
 
 ''And doesn't he know where the pain is?" 
 
 ' ' Pains all over his inside ! ' ' 
 
 Hodja sighs, and not lifting his eyes from his book 
 begins to shake his head : ' ' Seest than, he must have 
 struck upon the devils' night-dance. How came it 
 that ye let him go? He might have paid for it with 
 his life." 
 
 Putting his hand out to the old woman that she may 
 hold his book for him, he at once opens his inkhorn, 
 takes out his pen and paper, goes to the nearest wall, 
 and, leaning his leg against it, writes out, in that 
 fashion, two or three Turkish "prescriptions." 
 
 "One 'prescription,' " he says, "to be put under 
 the child's head when he sleeps; one to be sewn in 
 his shirt, and one to be put into water! Then let him 
 drink of the water!" 
 
 The old woman gives him a twopenny-piece, and 
 the Hodja moves on down the town — probably with 
 many such encounters and stoppages. There were, 
 indeed, mornings when he was pulled up every four 
 or five steps; mornings when his very fingers grew 
 stiff and tired from overmuch writing. The con- 
 sultations were various: one had a sick cow, another 
 a sick horse or some other living creature in a bad 
 way, or it might be that some young maid was in 
 love, or that some matron had bother with her hus- 
 band, because he had gone off into bad paths of late.
 
 HODJA SALEEK 211 
 
 For each and all these, Hodja was called upon to 
 write his "prescription," and was acclaimed by the 
 townsfolk as an unfailing worker of wonders. 
 
 The shopkeepers too, would call in Hodja, give him 
 little cups of black coffee, offer him tobacco and even 
 bread, only that he might stay and linger in their 
 shops. They liked him to make their premises a 
 kind of office. They knew that he was sought after 
 by the peasants, that all sorts of people gathered 
 round him, so they hoped to do a stroke of business 
 on their own account, by the way. 
 
 But the Hodja transacted most of his business at 
 home, towards evening, when he returned from the 
 town. There at his house he was awaited by all those 
 who did not want the general public to know anything 
 about their private 'affairs, and who did not dare to 
 catch the Hodja by the sleeve upon the street in broad 
 daylight. In a word, these evening-time customers 
 were the prettiest and the most animated; for they 
 were almost all from the younger women and the 
 girls. 
 
 For them the Hodja wrote his ** prescriptions" in 
 the courtyard. He used to order them all to take a 
 seat on the grass, near the little stream, and then he 
 would sit down beside them, taking off his clogs and 
 putting his feet in the water. "With inkpot at side, 
 paper on knee, looking round on them all, he gets 
 ready to do his writing.
 
 212 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 *'What aileth thee, then?" he asks the first girl 
 sitting near him, alternately nibbling his pen and 
 cleaning it upon his trousers. 
 
 The girl is shy. She blushes. She picks at the 
 grass around her, and throws little handfuls of it 
 into the brook. 
 
 "Sure thou art under some spell!" says Hodja. 
 Slightly shrugging her shoulders, the girls plucks at 
 the grass still more, and glances sideways for relief, 
 up there above the door, where the Hodja 's pet spar- 
 row — afraid of nobody — sports with his mate. 
 
 * ' Hmm ! Thou has lost thy tongue ! ' ' exclaims the 
 Hodga with a rogueish laugh, glancing up too, towards 
 the sparrow. 
 
 "But I know a spell is over thee," — he continues; 
 "some young fellow has cast his eye upon thee, and 
 now thine heart is as big as a loaf, and ready to break 
 thy sides!" 
 
 "Agh!" sighs the girl almost inaudibly, and turns 
 and stares at the mole on Hodja 's left cheek, and 
 . . . only listens. . . . 
 
 "And that youngster" probes the Hodja," thou 
 hast begun to run after him, and now thy heart within 
 thee is more like unto a loaf , . ." 
 
 "With this, Hodja spreads out his sheet of paper, 
 and waves his pen in the air, 
 
 "Now, what wilt thou?" he asks. "Wouldst thou 
 that this desire should wither in thine heart, or
 
 HODJA SALEEK 213 
 
 wouldst thou that this youth be closer drawn to thee?" 
 The poor girl hesitates, covers her face with her 
 hands, and not wishing that anyone else should hear 
 her, putting her pretty head right against the Hodja's 
 ear, she whispers : * ' Yes, I would that he follow me ! " 
 Whereon, Hodja Saleek smiles, winks a little at the 
 other women, and writes his ''prescription!" 
 
 In half an hour Hodja manages to write quite a 
 number of prescriptions, and every customer goes 
 away perfectly satisfied, leaving upon the grass by 
 Hodja's inkstand her twopenny-piece. Contentedly 
 Hodja counts over the coins when he is alone ; weighs 
 them in his palm, counts them a second time, carries 
 them to his tiny room, and deposits them safely in 
 his mouldy old money-belt. 
 
 In this fashion came and went the days, and we 
 could hardly have told you anything more about 
 Hodja, nor should we have begun this story at all, 
 if something had not happened which nobody could 
 have foreseen; that is to say, if a most unusual "cus- 
 tomer" had not appeared one evening — a customer 
 the like of which he had never before seen, and the like 
 of which, in all probability, he will never see again. 
 
 It was about the lovely close of a warm summer 
 day, Thursday evening, after sunset prayer. Ilodja 
 had made his ablutions, had prayed in the early moon- 
 light, and was preparing to go to bed in the court-
 
 214 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 yard, where he hoped to gain more respite from the 
 fleas than in his own room, when somebody touched 
 his door-knocker, gently, timidly. Hodja was just 
 thinking of a plan of campaign against the chirping 
 crickets — he could not stand any kind of singing, and 
 least of all from crickets — and at first he did not 
 move. The knock was repeated. 
 
 "Whoever upon earth can it be?" muttered he, 
 going unwillingly and somewhat discomfited towards 
 the door. 
 
 "Who art thou?" he questioned from behind the 
 door, peeping through a hole, if perchance he might 
 descry. 
 
 "I," came back the answer in a whisper. 
 
 "Is it man, or is it woman?" 
 
 "Woman." 
 
 Hodja stood for a moment quite still, bethought 
 himself, lifted the latch, and opened the door. En- 
 veloped in a big shawl — though it did not conceal her 
 graceful curve of limb — glancing timidly around on 
 every side, a tall female figure entered his courtyard, 
 where the richness of her attire could be better seen — 
 her long, golden, handworked girdle, and the ample, 
 silk divided-skirt, — so ample that it touched the 
 ground. The figure moved across the yard, and the 
 astonished Hodja after her. 
 
 "Are we alone?" the lady asked of him. 
 
 "Allah be praised, alone we are!" — answered
 
 HODJA SALEEK 215 
 
 Hodja, turning around to assure himself that they 
 actually were alone. 
 
 "Effendia, I am come for a talisman." 
 
 Saying which, she drew nearer, sat upon the grass 
 by the brook, and removed her shawl. Involuntarily, 
 Hodja started back when he saw her. The long, 
 feminine face shone in the moonlight whiter than 
 snow. Then a slight flush suffused the countenance. 
 Above the straight and well-formed nose sparkled two 
 large blue eyes — it seemed to Hodja like two ripen- 
 ing plums from his own beloved garden — and the 
 eyes were overarched by well-defined, black brows. 
 The compressed lips had a certain fulness and rich- 
 ness, while the right cheek seemed to be enhanced by 
 a little black mole — like black coral! Her apparel 
 was that of a Pasha's lady. Her luxuriant and wavy 
 hair was crowTied with a fez adorned with pearls, 
 while from the full, white throat there hung neck- 
 laces of golden ducats and of pearls, falling nearly 
 to the breast. The sleeves of her gold-embroidered 
 blouse were not so thick as to hide the shapely arms ; 
 from the coloured girdle hung a long tassel, so long 
 that it often touched her glittering slippers. 
 
 "In Allah's name, say! what art thou? — Appari- 
 tion, fairy — what?" cried the Hodja with eyes riveted 
 upon his visitor, and outspread hands extended with 
 a strange rigidity.
 
 216 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 SHe smoothed her hair; toyed restlessly with the 
 girdle tassel. 
 
 "Neither monster, sprite nor fairy," — came the 
 voice, — "but a married woman, who has no time for 
 waiting, or for argument. The talisman give to mo 
 and let me go ! " 
 
 "And wherefore need'st thou ta,lisman?" ques- 
 tioned Hodja, stiff, immobile, with arms still out- 
 spread. 
 
 "I will tell thee all; only give me the paper." 
 
 The Hodja made an impatient gesture with an evi- 
 dent display of emotion, and moved in the direction 
 of the courtyard door. Then he turned again, and 
 went to his little room, whence he brought out not ink- 
 horn and paper but his old money-belt! Again he 
 went back, and brought out this time his inkhorn and 
 his talisman bag. But there was something weird 
 and strange in the air; the inkhorn upset itself, and 
 nearly all the ink was spilt upon his white breeches. 
 He gallantly disregarded the misfortune. 
 
 "What ails thee?" he asked of his fair visitor in 
 a low voice, sitting down near her, with his shoulder, 
 close against hers. 
 
 In silence she glanced over the willows, the olean- 
 ders and the roof of Hodja's dwelling, till her gaze 
 seemed to rest upon the more distant statues of the 
 courtyard of Atlagitch, which almost concealed the 
 slender, pencil-like minaret of the Begovitch mosque,
 
 HODJA SALEEK 217 
 
 though its glittering Crescent was visible above the 
 trees. 
 
 "I come to thee for a cure for my master," — she 
 now began with trembling voice, keeping her eyes 
 straight in front of her. ' * Once I used to be as dear 
 to him as the very apple of his eye, and he cared for 
 me as no one in the v/orld was ever cared for, but 
 now I am sometimes not even allowed to breathe. 
 I seem no longer to give him pleasure. He has be- 
 come tired of me. And yet his eyes follow me about 
 with a suspicious look at every step I take! Nor 
 does he now allow me even to dress myself nicely — • 
 nor anything else. I think I shall run away from 
 him. I am come here for counsel." 
 
 Ilodja clutches his beard ; he wipes the perspiration 
 from his face: 
 
 "And who is thy lord?" he asks. 
 
 "Matan Pilinoratz." 
 
 "And thine own name?" 
 
 "Lucia!" 
 
 "And are you not a Latin?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 Ilodja is breathing hard. He grasps his book and 
 opens it. 
 
 " It is written " . . . — thus he began to read ac- 
 cording to ancient habit, but he is not his old self. 
 "It is written," he begins again. 
 
 And then, as if he had thought out something all of
 
 218 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 a sudden, he throws down his venerable book upon 
 the grass, and seizes the lady Lucia by the hand. 
 
 "And what wilt thou with a talisman?" he asks 
 in a whisper. — "Only look at him with those eyes of 
 thine, and he will be quiet as a lamb. Here is the 
 talisman ! ' ' 
 
 Whereon Hodja pressed her hand with such emotion 
 and passion that she had almost screamed, and his gaze 
 was so sharp that she felt he could read the depths 
 of her very soul. 
 
 * ' Eh, if only I were in his shoes ! " he muttered. 
 
 Quicker than thought, Lueia drew herself up to 
 her full stature, and snatched her hand from his. 
 
 "Play me no jokes, Effendia, but write!" she said 
 sharply and with marked abruptness. "If you think 
 I shall not pay, why here ' s your money in advance ! ' ' 
 
 And from her necklace she plucked a golden ducat, 
 and wdthoul a look at him threw it on the grass at 
 his feet. 
 
 "For whom is this money?" asks Hodja thickly, 
 throwing the coin from him. "I will give you what 
 talisman you will — but for money — ^Never!" 
 
 A certain dizziness seized him, a strange quivering 
 bringing back days of long ago, when he was still a 
 youth, when he used to play nightly pranks upon the 
 town, and serenade the pretty girls, to get a glimpse 
 of them as they spied him from their windows through 
 the shrubs and flowers. Then with trembling hand
 
 HODJA SALEEK 219 
 
 he took his pen, and with eyes still fixed upon Lucia 
 he began to scribble some Turkish words. Were they 
 really words? — for the life of him he couldn't have 
 told you their meaning! 
 
 ''Here it is!" — he murmured. ''And let him 
 drink the water from it." And as he held the paper 
 out to her, he again seized her hand. 
 
 * ' Eh, if only I were in his place ! ' ' 
 
 Again Lucia drew her hand sharply away from his. 
 Then catching hold of the paper, she rose and drawing 
 her shawl around her, pushed away with her slipper 
 the gold ducat, so that it nearly rolled into the brook. 
 
 "By my soul, Effendia, you're a lusty fellow!" 
 she exclaimed. "I've always heard it said you were 
 as quiet and meek as any saint, but you are a scoun- 
 drel — a devil." 
 
 "A scoundrel! A de\Til!" repeated Ilodja. "A' 
 scoundrel, a devil!" 
 
 Again seizing her arm, he drew her towards himself. 
 
 "Eemain a little longer!" he whispered. 
 
 "It is enough!" — she laughed, pushing hira away. 
 "The paper is ready! What more do I want!" 
 
 With a rapid movement she had drawn back, opened 
 the door, and vanished. 
 
 "She is fair enough for Paradise!" the Ilodja 
 murmured, as he peered after her in the darkness, 
 lie paid no more heed to the chirping of the crickets, 
 though they were m-aking more noise than ever.
 
 220 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 Neither did he bolt the door. After standing still 
 a long while, he sat down upon the spot where she had 
 sat. He noticed the dncat, took it in his palm, and 
 turned it over many times, regarding it contempla- 
 tively as it glistened in the moonlight. 
 
 "Ah, me! Ah, me!" he sighed again, putting his 
 feet in the stream. "Never in all my life did I fall 
 on such misfortune. But what a picture of a woman ! ' ' 
 
 A gentle wind was blowing, and the aroma of the 
 neighbouring foliage made him drowsy. As he in- 
 haled the fragrance of the zephyr, he brought himself 
 to think that it was the aroma from her hair! 
 
 He groaned like one in pain. 
 
 **A lovely figure! I would teach that housemaster 
 of hers how to treat a wife. — To think that sh e should 
 be downtrodden! I'd give him no talisman! A 
 thrashing rather!" 
 
 "Eh, if only I were younger" He closed his eyes, 
 and sought for sleep. 
 
 "What a pity she's a Latin !" he continued, unable 
 to forget the recent meeting, ' ' And to think that he, 
 a Latin, should kiss such lips and eyes ! A talisman 
 indeed ! Rather, such a trouncing that no whole bone 
 is left in all his body! Matan Pilinoratz! He to 
 have such a woman in his house ! And they say that 
 Allah loves all equally!" 
 
 With such surface indications of the storm within,
 
 HODJA SALEEK 221 
 
 Hodja turned and tossed till dawn should come. The 
 more he strove to divert his thoughts, the more was 
 Lucia before his eyes. She filled his thoughts. When 
 he rose, his eyes looked as if he had been peeling 
 onions, the lids were swollen, and his face pallid and 
 haggard. 
 
 ' ' Wretch that I am ! ' ' — ^he cried, getting up. * * Three 
 such nights, and I am done for ! ' ' 
 
 Ten whole days, like a half-demented person, the 
 Hodja paced his courtyard and his garden. He for- 
 got about the watering and the digging ; he forgot that 
 the sun was scorching up his fruit. It seemed no 
 affair of his that much of it was falling parched and 
 browned to the ground. He drank a great deal of 
 coffee. He smoked inordinately; his long chibouk 
 was hardly ever out of his mouth. He did not go 
 into the town — really, he had not the courage for that, 
 for he knew all too well how sick and miserable he 
 looked, and he knew that everybody would be asking 
 him the reason. He wrote no talismans; he gave it 
 out that he was ill, and simply could not hold a pen. 
 He even turned away some friends who had come a 
 long distance specially to see what ailed him. 
 
 "What do you want?" he growled from within. 
 
 **We have come to see you!" 
 
 "I'm not a bear, that I should be put on view for 
 
 you 
 
 J"
 
 222 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "But we heard you were ill!" 
 
 "Well, now you've heard I'm not, and get away with 
 you home!" 
 
 So his friends departed, rather worried about him, 
 and asking themselves on the way home whether much 
 learning had not made the Hodja mad. 
 
 But the eleventh day found him venturing out into 
 the town, properly dressed, and as spruce as he ever 
 was — for Bairam. He had washed his breeches in 
 the brook, so that they looked like new ; mended care- 
 fully his coat ; put on a new girdle, and wound a new 
 turban round his fez. His shuffling, wooden-soled 
 slippers, indeed, made dust enough as he walked, but 
 he had fastened them today with string, and his feet 
 were also cleaner than usual. 
 
 ' ' Where is the house of Matan Pilinoratz ? " he asked 
 some children who were rushing pell-mell out of 
 school. It was hard to get an answer out of the 
 youngsters : "That way ! long by the hill — first house 
 on the right ! The house with the new fence, and th'e 
 old knocker. ' ' Thus did they breathlessly direct him 
 to the house of Matan Pilinoratz. 
 
 The Hodja patted them on the head, gave them a 
 penny to buy some nuts, and proceeded as they had 
 told him, slowly and with bowed head ; stopping after 
 every step, either to set his turban right, or to arrange 
 his girdle, or to fasten his shoe-latchet. At length he 
 reached the very house.
 
 HODJA SALEEK 223 
 
 "Now, only to speak nicely, and not to get con- 
 fused!" he breathed. Slowly, rather furtively, with 
 many a turn to see if he were noticed, he stole up to 
 the door, and raised the knocker, 
 
 "Who's that?" called a ringing female voice from 
 the yard. 
 
 Hodja started; his beard almost seemed to rustle. 
 
 "I," — he answered in a whisper. "We know each 
 other!" 
 
 The pitter-patter of slippers was heard across a 
 paved yard, the rustle of garments, the grating of a 
 bolt, and the door was open. 
 
 "Ah, Effendia!" exclaimed Lucia with a start of 
 astonishment — "it is you!" 
 
 "Me thou seest!" replied Hodja with a wave of 
 the hand. "Yes, I am come," — repeats Hodja, — 
 * ' and it may be that the devil has brought me ! " 
 
 "By why?" she asked, laughing at him. 
 
 The Hodja 's beard seemed literally to wave, his 
 eyes glistened, and his voice trembled, as he replied: 
 
 "In truth I have come to ask of you a talisman. I 
 have been giving them all my life to all the world, 
 and now upon my soul, it is I who should ask one! 
 And it is from you I ask it ! 
 
 Lucia clapped her hands upon her knees ; then she 
 looked him straight in the face. So close was she, 
 that he felt the whisp of her hair upon his forehead. 
 
 "I?" bhe asked.
 
 224 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 **Yes, thee, I swear it! For since thou earnest on 
 that night the devil has driven nie out of my wits, and 
 I think of nothing else but thee. A scandal this, at 
 my age. Thou hast bewitched me, I do swear it!" 
 
 Lucia very naughtily put her nose right up against 
 the Hodja's, and pulled his beard. 
 
 ''But who could bewitch thee?" she asked. 
 
 The Hodja began to forget himself. 
 
 "Look here! don't make a joke of it," said he 
 grimly, "but give me either some talisman or else a 
 medicine of some sort, for I can't go on like this! 
 I swear I 'm going mad ! ' ' 
 
 Then, suddenly, the Hodja caught the hand which 
 had pulled his beard, and carried it to his lips, and, 
 before Lucia could "withdraw it, he had bitten deeply 
 into it the imprint of his teeth.
 
 ETERNITY 
 By Janko Veselinovich 
 
 225
 
 Janko Veselinovich was born in Sabach, Serbia, 
 and graduated from the Normal School for primary 
 teachers. While a schoolmaster in a village school 
 he devoted himself to reading Serbian books to com- 
 plete his inadequate education. The example of Laz- 
 arovich inspired him most of all and he began to 
 write stories which were very sympathetically re- 
 ceived. Very young, full of talent, and popular from 
 the very beginning, he wasted his youth and his 
 health without a thought of the morrow. Then pov- 
 erty came upon him — he had only a small government 
 post at Belgrade, or a job as editor of some unim- 
 portant review — and illness. The struggle to live, 
 and the miseries of political life under the regime of 
 the two last Obrenovichi (the kings Milan and Alex- 
 ander) finally brought about his death which occurred 
 in 1904. Gifted with a fertile imagination and nat- 
 urally prolific he wrote half a hundred stories, six 
 novels, two plays and various literary essays. 
 
 226
 
 ETERNITY 
 By Janko Veselinovich 
 
 There were once two neighbours. They lived to- 
 gether happily like brothers. Neither, without the 
 other, liked to drink a glass of brandy ; neither would 
 have hurt the other for all the treasures of this world. 
 Both had only sons, of the same year, and the children 
 loved each other as their fathers did. 
 
 If there was work to do, they did it together; if 
 a spinning feast, they were both at the spinning feast ; 
 if a wedding they were both at the wedding. 
 
 They were always together and always with their 
 arms round each other's necks. And as they went 
 they would sing, like two fair maidens. Dear chil- 
 dren ! The name of one was Branko and of the other 
 Iliya. 
 
 Parents held these two up as examples to their 
 children. ' * Why do you quarrel, why are you rude to 
 each other ! Look at Branko and Iliya and be ashamed 
 of yourselves. Even brothers do not love each other 
 as they do. ' ' 
 
 On a Sunday morning Branko called out to Iliya. 
 
 "Yes" answered Iliya. 
 
 "I have something to tell you." 
 227
 
 228 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Well, what is it!" 
 
 "I asked Father if you and I could be made 
 brothers. ' ' 
 
 ' ' And what did he say ! ' ' asked Iliya with interest. 
 
 "He said, 'Good luck to you, my lad, I have been 
 expecting that for sometime. ' ' ' 
 
 Iliya put his hands round Branko's neck and cried 
 joyfully "Thank God, and when shall we go to 
 church ! ' ' 
 
 "To-day, get ready." 
 
 They went joyfully to prepare for the ceremony. 
 They put on the finest things they had, kissed their 
 parents' hands, and betook themselves to the holy 
 church. 
 
 The dew was shining on the grass and leaves, as if 
 God had scattered precious stones over this sinful 
 earth. 
 
 The people turned to look after them and marvelled 
 "God, give them happiness ! God, give them health ! ' ' 
 
 The old priest had just finished matins, and sat 
 down under a sweet smelling lime tree, which spread 
 its branches in front of the church, the two boys stand- 
 ing before him. 
 
 "Good morning." 
 
 "God keep you, children." 
 
 They held out their hands to him saying, ' ' Bless us, 
 Father." 
 
 "God bless you. What can I do for you?"
 
 ETERNITY 229 
 
 *' Father, we have come to be made brothers, for 
 you to read us the service" said Branko. 
 
 "I will, children," said the old man: "But whose 
 children are you ! ' ' They told him. 
 
 ' ' But do you know what you become from the hour 
 when you are made brothers?" 
 
 "We have heard something about it from our elders, 
 and you will teach us," said Branko. 
 
 * ' I will, my son. But do you truly love each other ! ' ' 
 the old priest asked, and looked at both. 
 
 "Father," said Iliya, "if we were brothers, if we 
 had laid on one bosom, we could love each other no 
 better. In the mountains, in the water, in the grave 
 itself, one will follow the other." 
 
 The priest looked at the shining face of Iliya, he 
 looked at the abundant zeal in the eyes of Branko, 
 and he said : 
 
 "Very good, my children. To-day, after the Holy 
 liturgy, I will read you the service, and make you 
 brothers. ' ' 
 
 And when divine service was finished, the priest 
 led them to the altar, and completed the ceremony. 
 
 "When they came out of the church, they felt up- 
 lifted in spirit, they felt a sweet communion which 
 was like a holy hand joining their hearts. With eyes 
 full of tears, they looked at each other, and stretched 
 out their hands one to the other. 
 
 "Brother, I am yours to the grave," said Brankc*
 
 230 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "Brother, both to the grave and in the grave I am 
 yours," said Iliya. 
 
 The priest raised his old hands above their heads, 
 and the people wept for joy. 
 
 II 
 
 They had never been apart before, but from that day 
 they were united in everything. They shared one 
 dish, slept on one bed, the arm of one was a pillow 
 for the other. But that was not enough for them! 
 If they could, they would have worn one cap and one 
 shirt ! 
 
 One day Iliya said "Brother! My Father says that 
 he is arranging for me to be married." 
 
 "And so is mine," said Branko. 
 
 "You will be my best man." 
 
 * ' Of course, I shall be very happy when I lead your 
 bride by the hand. Do you know brother, I should 
 not forgive you if you gave my place to another. ' ' 
 
 * ' I should never do that, ' ' said Iliya. 
 
 "If I were to die and you did not invite me to be 
 best man, I should not forgive you, ' ' said Branko. 
 
 * ' God be with you, what are you saying ? ' ' 
 
 Branko smiled; "I say it would be hard for me 
 to bear, even if I were dead! But come, what girl 
 shall we have for you?" 
 
 And then they canvassed far and wide the subject
 
 ETERNITY 231 
 
 of girls. It was late in the night when sleep shut 
 their eyelids. 
 
 Next day, Branko went up with the cart into the 
 forest to bring wood. Iliya stayed at home to re-dig 
 some hedges which were falling over. He finished his 
 work; the sun was almost at noon, and he called to 
 Branko 's mother: — 
 
 "Has my brother come?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Why is he so long?" 
 
 "I don't know, dear." 
 
 "Will you tell me when he comes?" 
 
 "Yes, my lad." 
 
 He pottered about the bee-hives, and then went into 
 the orchard. The day passed. The sun was at the 
 horizon, and still no Branko. 
 
 A certain uneasiness came over both houses. A 
 dark presentiment darted like a snake under the thres- 
 hold of the house, but still nobody dared to say a 
 word. 
 
 "He must have overslept himself" said Iliya 's 
 father. 
 
 They seized on this idea. Indeed, all wished to 
 think that he had overslept himself, but a different 
 thought gripped their hearts. Iliya kept walking 
 about, and every few minutes he would look out of the 
 window. At last he could stand it no longer.
 
 232 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "I am going to look for him," he said and set off 
 for the gate. 
 
 At that instant the cart rattled up and came to a 
 standstill at the gate. 
 
 All ran up. The cart was empty ; no Branko. In 
 wonder and consternation they stood and gazed. No 
 one could speak a word. Iliya had hardly come to 
 himself, when he rushed down the street as though 
 he were mad, and then on to the forest to look for 
 his brother. 
 
 He staggered on for a long distance. Night had 
 fallen. The moon was looking through the already 
 faded leaves, which mournfully rustled on the trees, 
 when he found his brother. 
 
 Horrible ! Branko lay with his head bent back, al- 
 most cut through. A stream of coagulated blood lay 
 around him like a marsh. Near him lay an axe, 
 all bloody. 
 
 Iliya fell upon him. He kissed him, embraced him, 
 called : — in vain. His voice groaned through the for- 
 est with a dull stifled tone, as though it came from 
 below the ground. 
 
 The household arrived. The funeral dirges rose, 
 far into the sky. The dead body was lifted on to a 
 cart, which a peasant had brought, and carried home. 
 
 They mourned him, and buried him. They began 
 to investigate the crime. Every living being strove 
 to find the murderer, but in vain. Some were sus-
 
 ETERNITY 233 
 
 pected and arrested, but nothing was proved. No liv- 
 ing person could say who killed Branko. 
 
 Ill 
 
 A year passed. The accused lay in prison, but the 
 matter could not be cleared up. 
 
 Branko 's parents mourned him, and then were com- 
 forted. The wound is there still in the heart, it bums 
 and aches, but an unhappy man must reconcile him- 
 self to life. They thought they would not be able to 
 outlive Branko, but yet they lived. It is truly said 
 "it is not sorrow which drives out the soul, but the 
 hour of fate." 
 
 Meanwhile, Iliya's parents were already planning 
 for their son in other ways. The mother needed a 
 substitute and the father a servant; both of them 
 needed happiness. Human desire is an insatiable 
 griffin. It devours all that there is in the world, and 
 is stiU unsatisfied. It was not enough for them that 
 their son was alive, they desired a daughter-in-law 
 also, in order to have a grandchild. 
 
 They began, indirectly, to intimate their wishes to 
 Iliya. When they mentioned it to him, he shed tears : 
 **How can I forget my brother!" On that day he 
 neither ate nor drank. He fled from every living 
 creature. 
 
 But continual dropping wears away the stone. Day
 
 234 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 by day, always the same demand. The day came 
 when he was able to obey about his marriage. And 
 when one day both the father and the mother of his 
 brother told him that it was better that he should 
 marry, he bowed his head like an ox under the yoke. 
 
 They found him a maiden fair and gentle like the 
 flower of a rose. They began to make preparations, 
 they invited the guests. His senior guest was Brau- 
 ko's father. 
 
 His father called Iliya to him and said "Laddie, 
 whom will you have for best man ? ' ' 
 
 "I have a best man, Father," he said. 
 
 The father shrugged his shoulders. Iliya went up 
 to the churchyard. In the east rose the full moon ; 
 in the west was still a little sunset. Peace reigned 
 as in the grave. Fireflies were flitting hither and 
 thither, and fell on the withered grass, which was 
 already covered with dew. From afar came the cry 
 of the owl. Iliya 's heart beat fast. He strode up to 
 the graves and plunged on from one to another. At 
 last he stood still. He had come to the grave of his 
 brother. 
 
 He stood over the grave. He crossed himself and 
 kissed the cross, then he bent down over the hummock 
 and called out ''Brother!" 
 
 A strongish breeze was blowing, and ruffled the 
 hair on his head. A light shudder passed over hira 
 when he heard a voice which sounded from the grave.
 
 ETERNITY 235 
 
 "I am listening, Brother." 
 
 **I am going to marry." 
 
 "Good luck to you," answered the voice from the 
 grave. "I am keeping my word." 
 
 "I hoped you would." 
 
 "I am the best man." 
 
 "The wedding is on Sunday." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "Shall we wait for you?" 
 
 * ' No, when the time comes, I shall be there. Thank 
 you for having remembered me." 
 
 The voice was silent. 
 
 "Brother!" No answer. 
 
 "Brother! Brother!" 
 
 Silence . . . only the breeze stirred the with- 
 ered grass. He rose; sweat dropped from his fore- 
 head. 
 
 The moon rose higher and higher. The stars 
 sparsely scattered, twinkled. Some went quite out 
 and then shone with new light; some dashed across 
 the sky like lightning, leaving behind them a shining 
 track. He returned home. 
 
 A slight shudder passed over his body, his teeth 
 chattered and his head was confused as if he were 
 drunk. When he entered the house, he said to his 
 father who was sitting by the fire: "My brother will 
 come." 
 
 Sunday dawned, the day of the wedding. The in-
 
 236 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 vited guests collected. Such beauty, glitter and 
 wealth! You could not take your eyes off it! All 
 were on their feet ready for the ride, but awaited the 
 command of the chief-guest. Then the chief-guest 
 called out: "Go!" The horsemen mounted their 
 fiery steeds, the others took their seats in the carriages 
 and made a bow to the bride in the name of God. 
 
 A splendid show! In front the standard bearer, 
 the standard entirely covering him. The day was 
 fine, the sun shone brightly, and little birds were twit- 
 tering. In the air were floating white cobwebs, soft 
 as down, falling on the clothes of the guests. Songs 
 resounded, salvo after salvo thundered. Suddenly, 
 all were silent. Just at the crossway which cuts 
 the road leading out of the village, stood a horseman 
 in wedding attire looking at the guests. All looked 
 in that direction and recognized Branko. Just as he 
 used to be except that his face was somewhat paler 
 and less open, and his eyes more dim. A strange 
 smile was playing around his lips, a smile which at- 
 tracted and at the same time repelled. As Iliya 
 looked at him his eyes shone with joy; he struck his 
 horse with his stirrup and hastened to his friend. 
 
 "Brother!" 
 
 "Yes, Brother." 
 
 "Oh, you have actually come!" 
 
 "Could you doubt it?" 
 
 "Thank you, Brother!"
 
 ETERNITY 237 
 
 "Thank you, that you remembered me." 
 
 His happy parents hastened to him. ' ' Son ! ' ' called 
 his father : * * Darling ! ' ' cried his mother. 
 
 ''It is I, it is I," he said, and smiled. 
 
 **Let your mother kiss you, my son." 
 
 "No, Mother. I am not of this world. Peace is 
 my country. Only love of my brother could bring 
 me back out of my kingdom. That alone has power 
 to bring back the dead. Do not come near me. Mother, 
 and if you do come near, you must not kiss me. ' ' 
 
 Sorrow fell on the mother 's heart, she wept forlorn. 
 
 "But say something to your mother." 
 
 "I have nothing to say to you," he answered. 
 
 "Who killed you, my dear?" 
 
 He only made a gesture with his hand. 
 
 "I have come to my brother's wedding. To-day is 
 the time for rejoicing. When you come to me, I will 
 talk to you." He mingled with the horsemen. 
 
 The guests moved on, but no more joyous songs 
 were raised, no more shots re-echoed. All eyes looked 
 at Branko, and he smiled, smiled on all of them. He 
 made his horse prance, and then rode up to his fath- 
 er's carriage. His mother asked: 
 
 * ' When shall I be with you, my son ? ' ' 
 
 "Soon: you will both be soon there. If you only 
 knew. Mother, how beautiful it is there ! ' ' Again he 
 smiled as the guests whispered among themselves: — 
 
 "It was a sin for Iliya to raise him."
 
 238 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "But they were pledged, friend." 
 
 They went on across the village and up to the house 
 of the bride. They were warmly welcomed. The 
 guests seated themselves at the laden table. 
 
 Branko went into the bride's outbuilding, and 
 presented her with the best man's gifts; then he re- 
 turned to the table and sat down between his father 
 and mother. 
 
 ''Eat, dear, eat," said his mother, and helped him 
 to food. He only shook his head. " I am not hungry, 
 Mother." 
 
 When they had put the joint on the table, they led 
 forth the bride. He rose and received her from her 
 brother, and began to sei-ve the guests. 
 
 The guests rose from the table. According to cus- 
 tom, they danced a kolo, and then began to take leave. 
 The bride also took leave of her relations and friends. 
 Branko took her hand and led her to his parents. 
 
 * ' Father, let your daughter sit with you in the car- 
 riage." He helped the danghter-in-law to step in. 
 He mounted his horse and rode up to the carriage. 
 
 "Farewell!" 
 
 "Farewell!" 
 
 They moved off, when they reached that crossroad, 
 he made a gesture with his hand, and the guests 
 stopped. 
 
 ' ' Farewell, ' ' he said to his parents. ' ' Soon we shall 
 see each other again. I have prepared everything for
 
 ETERNITY 239 
 
 you there. Then we shall never part again. Do not 
 weep, for that makes it harder for me there. If you 
 wish to lighten my spirit, pray to God. Shed no 
 tears. Each of your tears is a red hot stone falling 
 upon my heart. Farewell." 
 
 Then he turned to Iliya. "Farewell, Brother." 
 
 ''Must you go. Brother?" 
 
 "I go, but remember me, dear Brother, and come 
 to me." 
 
 "I will come. Brother," said Iliya. 
 
 Branko separated himself from the guest, and stood 
 at the side of the road; there he stood until all had 
 gone past him. At the turning his mother looked back 
 to see him once more, but he had vanished. 
 
 IV 
 
 A week went by. Iliya had almost forgotten his 
 promise. One evening, just as he was closing his eyes, 
 his brother appeared to him in a dream, and began 
 to reproach him. He started up, rubbed his eyes, and 
 said to his wife. "Give me my boots." 
 
 "Where are you going?" she asked him. 
 
 "Just give me ray boots, and don't ask questions," 
 he said sharply. 
 
 The wife rose and brought him the boots. He put 
 them on quickly, took his coat and went out.
 
 240 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 The night was clear. It was as quiet as in the 
 grave ; only the leaves rustled lightly, rustled as softly 
 •as if a dying man was whispering. A heavy dew wet 
 his feet ; he almost shivered from the f reslmess of the 
 night. He advanced with rapid strides. Something 
 hea\y lay upon his heart. He felt that never again 
 would he see his home, his wife, his father, or his 
 mother. Unwillingly he bade farewell to each dear 
 place. 
 
 ' ' Farewell, old oak ! Never more shall I rest under 
 your thick shade. Farewell ! " he whispered. A feel- 
 ing of sadness softened him to tears, but he never 
 thought of going back. He reached the graveyard. 
 He made his way straight to the grave of his brother. 
 As before, he took off his cap, kissed the cross, and 
 called out: — 
 
 "Brother!" 
 
 "Yes, Brother!" answered his brother from the 
 grave. 
 
 ' ' I have come to see how you are. ' ' 
 
 "Then come, Brother." 
 
 "How shall I come?" 
 
 "This way." 
 
 He looked. On the right side of the hummock 
 yawned an opening. Something froze within him. 
 All at once he wished to fly, but his feet gave way 
 under him, so that he could not move from the spot. 
 He felt his body grow as cold as if he had not a drop
 
 ETERNITY 241 
 
 of blood. One thought after another, like glowing 
 needles, passed across his brain and vanished as if 
 carried by a whirlwind. Father, mother, wife, the 
 old oak, all in an instant appeared before his eyes 
 and vanished. 
 
 "Brother!" 
 
 He opened his mouth to answer, but the words died 
 on his lips. 
 
 ''Come!" 
 
 As though some force beyond his own will was mov- 
 ing him, he went forward, he put down first his right, 
 then his left foot into the opening, and b}' a staircase 
 began to descend into the grave. He shut his eyes 
 so that he should not see ; but when he felt hard ground 
 under his feet, he involuntarily opened his eyes. 
 how wonderful was the sweetness and beauty, dear 
 God I How bright was the daylight ! He found him- 
 self in a corridor which shone with so much light that 
 it dazzled him. Such beauty he had never imagined 
 even in dreams. At times, when he was still a child, 
 after listening to old fairj'-tales, the teeming imagin- 
 ation of childhood had pictured for him a beauty like 
 this. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again. He 
 could not see from whence that beautiful light came, 
 but it seemed to him that precious stones were shining 
 there such as are sung of in songs. "Wondering and 
 amazed, he did not know what to do, but his feet bore 
 him along, upright. He did not walk but fly: it
 
 242 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 seemed to him that he had wings and was flying along 
 the corridor. 
 
 All at once he found himself in a meadow. Such 
 a sweet, such a beautiful.meadow ! He could not have 
 imagined a meadow so lovely! The tenderest green, 
 the most beautiful softness! On the velvet grass 
 young lambs were playing ; gaily coloured birds were 
 singing on the green branches; it seemed to him that 
 he understood their songs as if his own soul were sing- 
 ing them. A little river was winding among green 
 trees. Light ripples were passing over the bright col- 
 oured stones, and running races with golden scaled 
 fishes. He was bathed in something sweet and warm 
 and enrapturing. He felt neither cold nor heat. His 
 heart swelled and sweetness pervaded his blood. He 
 felt that he no longer belonged to this earth; it was 
 the same heavenly blessedness which God grants that 
 the child shall feel in the arms of its mother, and the 
 youth in the embrace of his beloved. 
 
 A little lamb came up to him and began to lick his 
 hand. He snatched back his hand, and the lamb said 
 to him, ' ' Just let me lick away my blood, which is on 
 your hand." 
 
 He started when the lamb spoke to him, and a shud- 
 der passed over him. 
 
 "How can it be your blood?" he asked in horror, 
 and looked at his hand. The hand was indeed cov- 
 ered with blood.
 
 ETERNITY 243 
 
 **Poor man, it was because you slaughtered me," 
 said the lamb meekly. It began to lick again. He was 
 frightened. Another lamb came up to him, and it 
 also began to lick him. One by one came the whole 
 flock. He looked at his hands steeped in blood. Little 
 birds began to fly down from the trees and perch on 
 his shoulders. 
 
 ' ' You killed us too. You took us little ones out of 
 the nest," they said. "Our mothers twittered sadly 
 after you, but you ate us up all the same, ' ' 
 
 "And 3^ou pushed me on to the ground, where a 
 snake seized me and devoured me, ' ' said a little callow 
 starling. 
 
 His hair stood up on end ; sweat dropped from everj'- 
 hair of his head ; his knees shook under him, he reeled 
 and swooned, struck to the ground by fear. 
 
 He began to come to himself; he looked up and saw 
 his brother. 
 
 "Brother, for God's sake, why did you call me?" 
 "Do not be frightened, Brother, See, your hands 
 are clean. These honest little creatures have washed 
 off their blood from them. You sinful people there on 
 the earth think that God has not given life to anyone 
 but you, and so you take life carelessely. But now 
 look ! You see they also have souls. They have their
 
 244 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 mothers, their fathers, their brothers and sisters. Their 
 hearts ache in the same way for their own, just as 
 yours do for yours. But enough of that, the blood is 
 washed out, you are forgiven. Come with me." 
 
 *'But where, Brother?" 
 
 "To where I live. Into my palace. Look! You 
 never have seen such palaces before ! 
 
 He looked. A magnificent palace glittered in front 
 of him. The walls were of precious stones, and 
 around the palace was a splendid garden. Broad 
 leaves made a heavenly shade, and rich fruits scat- 
 tered their perfumes on all sides. The perfume re- 
 freshed him as though he had washed his face. He 
 followed his brother light-hearted and serene of soul 
 like a child. The paths on either side were planted 
 with flowers, he breathed in their perfume and felt 
 his chest expand. 
 
 "Brother, it is beautiful here" he said, enraptured 
 with bliss. 
 
 **It is, indeed, Brother." 
 
 **We have no existence like this over there." 
 
 "You cannot even dream of it." 
 
 "You are blessed. Brother." 
 
 His brother smiled and taking his hand, led him 
 into the palace. As they went along those shining 
 corridors, a thought began to trouble Iliya. There 
 was something he wished to ask his brother, but he 
 had forgotten what it was. His brother led him into
 
 ETERNITY 215 
 
 a large hall beautifully decorated. The vaulting was 
 painted in wonderful tints. Gay butterflies of many 
 colours flitted hither and thither. In one corner was 
 lighted a hanging lamp and the flame of the little wick 
 was reflected from the shining walls and made a rain- 
 bow in the room. 
 
 * ' Sit down, Brother. ' ' He sat down. 
 
 ''How are you, Brother, and how is my sister-in- 
 law? Is she dutiful to our old parents?" 
 
 "All is well. Brother, all is peaceful and orderly." 
 \nd again he was troubled by what he had forgotten. 
 
 ''And my father and mother?" 
 
 "They also are well." 
 
 "And the old priest?" 
 
 ' ' He also is well, though he is almost trembling with 
 «ge." 
 
 "He is a saintly soul! Do you remember, Brother, 
 how earnestly he prayed when he made us brothers! 
 That is the way he prays. Brother." 
 
 ' Branko asked about everything, he wished to know 
 about every trifle from beginning to end. Iliya 
 talked and talked ; and the longer he talked the more 
 he wished to talk. 
 
 "Listen, Brother! It is time that we should part. 
 You have seen here what no living person has ever 
 seen. At all times wherever you go, sitting or stand- 
 ing, keep telling our sinful brotliers what you have 
 seen. Tell them how beautiful it is here. Tell them
 
 246 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 to keep their souls from sin, not to take the life of 
 others, to be loving and affectionate to one another. 
 Love alone is needful for all. Love is on a level with 
 the Lord and with his Son. It is broader than the 
 heavenly vault, deeper than the abyss, stronger than 
 the most powerful force. It is the greatest power in 
 the world. It binds the child to the mother, it binds 
 leaf to leaf, blade to blade, man to man. Its power 
 is a divine power, it is the child of God. Remember, 
 Brother!" 
 
 At this moment Iliya remembered what he had for- 
 gotten and he cried out: — "Brother, tell me who 
 killed you?" 
 
 As he spoke, Branko's face darkened. In the mid- 
 dle of the vault appeared a drop of red blood shining 
 like a ruby. It slowly glided down the vault and 
 dropped on the wick of the lamp. The wick hissed 
 mournfully, as if lamenting, and went out. A thick 
 darkness fell, and across it, as though out of some 
 abyss, the voice of Branko sounded like distant thun- 
 der: — 
 
 "Why do you shed innocent blood? Why do you 
 shed it, you who know God? Alas for me! Fly 
 Brother!" 
 
 A terrible storm began to blow. Iliya heard the 
 palace of his brother crumbling; he stood waiting in 
 terror for his hour of doom when something took hold 
 of him and bore him away. He closed his eyea,
 
 ETERNITY 247 
 
 VI 
 
 He lay in a forest iirider an old elm. A wind was 
 playing over his ruffled hair ; bees were buzzing round 
 him, the sun was shining brightly, and withered leaves 
 were whispering sadly, as though they mourned the 
 days of their freshness and greenness. Everything 
 seen and felt made it clear that it was towards the end 
 of early autumn. 
 
 He raised his head and looked about. The first 
 thing he saw was a crab-apple near him, already over- 
 ripe and fallen. He looked further. Forest, and 
 again forest. * * Where am I ? " he thought. 
 
 He strained his mind to remember, and he remem- 
 bered everj^thing. 
 
 "Where have I been cast away?'* He began to 
 wander about the forest. There was no living being 
 anywhere, except little birds twittering or bees hum- 
 ming, none else anywhere. He found a path and fol- 
 lowed it. He walked and walked and then stood still ; 
 the path had come to an end. He looked in another 
 direction, there was a path again. He went along it 
 but it also vanished. So the day passed. Tired to 
 death he threw himself on the ground. His veins 
 were swollen with weariness, his mouth was parched 
 with thirst. Oh, to go and get water ! But he could 
 walk no more. Both his legs were numb. He ex- 
 tended himself along the ground. He felt how
 
 248 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 quickly his pulse was beating. His mind was con- 
 fused. He thought vaguely about the forest, about 
 water, about his village and home, about his brother, 
 about recent events, about everything, and about 
 everything at the same time. From the confusion 
 of these thoughts his head drooped. Sleep imposed 
 itself on the weary body, but he felt thirst torturing 
 him. 
 
 ' ' Hello, why are you lying there ! ' ' cried a middle- 
 aged man to him. He heard a voice and looked at the 
 man, but could not understand a word. The man 
 raised him, and he stood up. He showed by a gesture 
 that he wanted a drink. The man left him for a 
 little and then brought Mm some water. He drank 
 it up. 
 
 "Where do you come from?" asked the man. 
 
 Iliya looked at him. 
 
 "Where do you come from I say, from what vil- 
 lage?" 
 
 "From Ognyanovitch. " 
 
 "And where is that?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "There is no such village," said the man. 
 
 "Yes, there is," said he. 
 
 "Well there may be, but not hereabouts. One can 
 see that you have a queer way of speaking, you must 
 be from a long way off. But how did you get here ? ' ' 
 
 "I don't know."
 
 ETERNITY 249 
 
 "Are you himgry?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Come along then." 
 
 The man went on in front and Iliya after him. The 
 man led him to a cabin, put out a chair for him, and 
 said, "Sit down. I am alone here. You know it 
 is the fall of the acorns, and I have driven my pigs 
 into the forest, but you will be content with what God 
 sends you. ' ' 
 
 He took out a little maize-cake, cheese and bacon. 
 Iliya being so hungry, fell upon the food. The man 
 looked at him with some satisfaction. 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 "Iliya." 
 
 "It is mine also. What is your surname?" 
 
 "Pakalyevitch." 
 
 "A strange surname. But tell me, do, how you 
 came here. ' ' 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "He is dying of hunger" said the host to himself. 
 
 After supper he asked for water again. The man 
 brought him some cold watex from the spring. 
 
 "Listen, Friend! Lie down a little and rest your- 
 self. I .shall, in any case, be looking after the pigs 
 to-night." 
 
 Iliya lay down. At first he slept, then he suddenly 
 started out of a dream. It seemed to him that some- 
 one had hold of his throat by both hands. He opened
 
 250 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 his eyes and looked round the cabin. There was no- 
 one anywhere. 
 
 His sleep was spoilt. He poked the embers and 
 sat down by the fire. His thoughts wandered in all 
 directions, ' ' Who is this man ? What sort of strange 
 speech has he ? I can hardly understand him. How 
 did I come here ? Where is my own village, and what 
 are my own people doing now at home ? ' ' 
 
 Just as he was sunk in all these thoughts, the host 
 came in. 
 
 "What, you are not sleeping?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why could you not sleep?" 
 
 "I cannot." 
 
 The man put a few twigs on the fire, took a stool and 
 sat down. He twisted himself about a little and drew 
 out of his belt a pouch of tobacco and a knife, cut 
 into the tobacco, rubbed it, filled his pipe and lit it. 
 
 Ilij^a looked at him with wide-open eyes. Seeing 
 the smoke curling out of his host's mouth he could 
 not refrain from asking: — 
 
 "What are you doing?" 
 
 ' ' Smoking. ' ' 
 
 "Smoking?" 
 
 "Yes, smoking." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Tobacco." 
 
 "What do you say?"
 
 ETERNITY 251 
 
 ''Tobacco. Surely you know what tobacco is!" 
 
 " I do not know, ' ' said Iliya. 
 
 The host began to explain as well as he could what 
 tobacco is. "I could do without bread but I cannot 
 do without tobacco. It is a friend, a true friend." 
 Iliya wondered. 
 
 "Here, look at it." He held out a pipe to him. 
 Iliya drew one whiff, spluttered and coughed. His 
 tears flowed. "That is nothing, I spluttered too the 
 first time, ' ' said the host, ' ' have a smoke. ' ' 
 
 Iliya made a gesture of refusal. 
 
 VII 
 
 As the days passed everything became more puzzling 
 to Iliya. His namesake brought him into the village. 
 He saw the houses there, large and well-planned and 
 white-washed. He did not remember having seen 
 anything like them. He saw the way the people 
 ploughed and harrowed and dug; he was amazed when 
 he saw a windmill ; for all these things were to him 
 divine miracles. He kept stopping in front of each 
 little thing petrified, and the people marvelled at him. 
 
 "Good Lord, what a man you are, you don't know 
 anything!" 
 
 He only shrugged his shoulders. They gathered 
 round him as though he were a wonder. They laughed 
 at his speech.
 
 252 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 "It is like what the priest reads in church," said 
 the peasants. And in truth his speech was similar to 
 that in which divine service was read to them. So 
 the people of this unfamiliar world began to jeer 
 at him, and he almost hated them. This world was 
 strange to him. There was nothing in it to make him 
 want to stay. So one day he rose and went out of the 
 village. He went from village to village seeking his 
 own village. Whenever he told anyone the name of 
 his village he received one and the same reply : ' ' There 
 is no such place." 
 
 He steeled himself to endure, he resolved to find 
 his village or die. This world, these strange people, 
 who ploughed with such wonderful ploughs, and then 
 crumbled the rest of the earth with wooden claws, 
 these people had nothing in common with him ! 
 
 ''I have strayed into a different race," he thought. 
 "Here the speech is different and the jokes and games 
 are different from those in my Ognyanovitch ! dear, 
 what a full and happy life we lived there ! There, in 
 the thick shade of the walnut trees, we used to lie and 
 rest with jests and happy laughter. What are my 
 own people doing now at home ? Father and mother 
 must have nearly driven themselves distracted looking 
 for me. If I could only find them, if I could only 
 see them! If I could only find my own village. Oh 
 what a relief it would be!"
 
 ETERNITY 253 
 
 Thinking thus, one day he fell asleep in the shade 
 of a beech tree. And he dreamed a dream : — 
 
 He came to his own village, and everywhere he saw 
 the same wonderful cottages as here; and the people 
 there spoke the same way. He said a sentence, and 
 they laughed and jeered at him. And he was weary 
 at heart. He sought his father and mother, but they 
 were not there. He sought his wife, but she was not 
 there. He sought his friends, but they were not there. 
 ''Those are people of old," they said to him. "They 
 are here no more. How is it that you know them?" 
 
 A great oppression came over him, and he wished 
 to kill himself. Just as he was going to jump into a 
 pond, there came up out of the pond first a head and 
 then the figure of a man. He recognised his brother. 
 
 "Brother, for God's sake, where are you? Since 
 we parted, a hundred wonders have fallen upon me! 
 I cannot be myself again after all I have seen and 
 heard. Tell me, Brother, for God 's sake, where are my 
 people ? Where are my mother and my father and my 
 wife ? I am dying to see them. ' ' 
 
 His brother only made a gesture with his hand. * ' It 
 is in vain, Brother ; in vain you ask me, for I cannot 
 tell you. But I can say who will tell you. Go from 
 village to village, from town to town, 'and where you 
 find Mirko Selakovitch, he will tell you. But Brother, 
 what you were going to do is not brave, I thought you 
 had a better heart. And besides, it is a sin, a deadly
 
 254 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 sin, a deadly sin ! If you do that, you will never see 
 us again, neither me nor your family ! You are a man, 
 and must endure what fate ordains for you ! ' ' 
 
 Then his brother came up to him and touched his 
 hand, and the hand was cold as a snake. He shivered. 
 
 The sun had set. The moon was two spears' 
 length up. He crossed himself and began to seek for 
 Mirko Selakovitch. 
 
 VIII 
 
 It was a summer day ; the leaves were drooping with 
 the heat. The day-star was burning hot ; no bird made 
 a sound, so oppressed were they. The village herd had 
 collected round a well on the common. 
 
 Not a drop of water in the troughs! A traveler, 
 thirsty and tired, came up to the well, and when he saw 
 the cattle gathered together, he was sorry for them, 
 and began to pour water into the trough. When the 
 cattle were watered, he washed his face, and drank 
 his fill. Then he stretched himself on the green grass 
 near the well and slept like the dead. And we would 
 have slept until Grod knows when, if a young girl had 
 not come to the well and waked him with the creaking 
 of the pole. He opened his eyes. 
 
 * ' Forgive me, ' ' said the girl. ' * I have wakened you. 
 It is bad luck sleeping when the sun goes down." 
 
 'Where are you from, my girl?"
 
 ETERNITY 255 
 
 "I am from this village." 
 
 "And wbat is the name of the village?" 
 
 ''You must be from a long way off, not to know 
 what our village is called ! ' ' 
 
 ''It is true I come from far away." 
 
 "It is called Selishty," 
 
 "Selishty?" 
 
 "Yes. The village has been re-settled here." 
 
 "Where from?" 
 
 "I don't know. Grandfather knows that, he can 
 tell all about it. ' ' 
 
 "Who is grandfather?" 
 
 "Why, don't you know our grandfather? He is 
 the oldest man about here." 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 "Mirko." 
 
 "Mirko?" cried Iliya, and sprang up as if he had 
 burnt himself. 
 
 "Yes, Mirko Selakovitch. He is the oldest man 
 here. He is more than a hundred years old." 
 
 Iliya seized the girl by the hand, his eyes lit up 
 with longing. 
 
 "Sister, for God's sake, take me to your grand- 
 father. Now, now, this very instant! I have been 
 over all the world looking for him. Show me the 
 way!" 
 
 The girl lifted her pails of water on to the yoke, 
 and he went with her. The sun had just set and spread
 
 256 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 out its last rays like gold. His heart beat as though 
 it would jump out. 
 
 IX 
 
 At dusk he entered the house. A fire was merrily 
 crackling on the hearth and its flames lit the whole 
 room. The household was already coUeoted. 
 
 ''Good evening." 
 
 "God bless you." 
 
 "Health and peace to you." 
 
 "Thanks be to God. Sit down." A middle-aged 
 man invited him in. 
 
 "This man has come to see grandfather," said the 
 girl. 
 
 ' ' Wait a little, friend, if you are not in a hurry, ' ' 
 said the man. 
 
 "Yes, I will wait." 
 
 The women brought in the tray of food. The man 
 turned to them and asked, "Is it ready ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said they. 
 
 "Wait a little, friend, I am going now." He rose 
 and went into an inner room. Soon he returned 
 leading an old man, whose hair was white as a fleece 
 and whose old legs trembled with the weight of years. 
 All had risen to their feet, and Iliya rose too. They 
 led the grandfather to the table and sat him down. 
 Then all the people in the house, one by one, went
 
 ETERNITY 257 
 
 up to him and took his hand. When they had all 
 kissed they sat down at the table. 
 
 ''Grandfather, a traveller is asking for you," said 
 the middle-aged man. 
 
 "Why did you not ask him to supper?" asked the 
 grandfather reprovingly, 
 
 "He is here, at the table." 
 
 The grandfather raised his grey eyebrows and 
 looked with his dim eyes at Iliya, who rose. 
 
 "After supper, my son; after supper," said the 
 grandfather. 
 
 When they had finished supper the old man turned 
 to him: "Where are you from, my son?" 
 
 "From Ognyanovitch ! " 
 
 "What do you say? What?" 
 
 "From Ognyanovitch." 
 
 The old man looked at him incredulously. * * There 
 is no such village. There is not now, though there 
 was once. You cannot be from that village. ' ' 
 
 "But I am; I really am from Ognyanovitch." 
 
 Again the old man looked at him incredulously. 
 "That village has long since disappeared. Even I 
 do not remember it, but the old people told me about 
 it who had settled here from there." 
 
 "But I am from that village !" cried Iliya almost in 
 despair. 
 
 "IIow can you bo? A hundred years have pa.ssed 
 over my head. My great-grandmother used to tell
 
 258 JUGO-SLAV STORIES 
 
 me how her husband's great-grandfather was a hand- 
 some youth, who one night suddenly disappeared. He 
 loved, she said, one of his comrades, and was made his 
 brother in the church. One day, this brother went 
 into the forest for wood, and was murdered. And 
 when the other one married, he actually invited his 
 dead brother to be his best man. No one reproached 
 him for wanting to raise a dead man from the grave, 
 but when the day of the wedding came the dead man 
 actually came and was best man. A week later the 
 other went to look for his brother, and never came 
 back again." 
 
 "And what became of his family?" asked Iliya, 
 trembling all over. 
 
 "What should happen? They died. I am the 
 seventh generation from him who disappeared. How 
 can you know about that village! Do not talk non- 
 sense. ' ' 
 
 The house whirled round Iliya 's head. He seized 
 his head with both his hands and fled. 
 
 Soft is the touch of the old fairy-tale ! Tender are 
 the memories of childhood when we were rocked to 
 sleep with those sweet old stories ! 
 
 The End
 
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