by P. Jones
CHAPTER XII
MARGARET OF LOPUD
Though the _pobratim_ would have sailed with any ship rather thanwith the ill-fated green caique, still Uros had pledged his word tothe Greek captain to go with him as far as Zara or Trieste, and,moreover, there was no other vessel sailing just then for either ofthese ports, and they were both anxious to catch up with the _Sperain Dio_ without further delay. The Greek captain, likewise--out of akind of superstitious dread--would have preferred any other sailorsto these two young men; still, as Dalmatians only sail with their ownfellow-countrymen and never on Greek crafts, it was no easy matter tofind two able-bodied men to go only for a short trip, for those weretimes when sailors were not as plentiful, nor ships so scarce, asthey are now.
On the day after the one on which Milenko was set free, the_pobratim_ set sail with the little caique, and they, as well as thecaptain, were thoroughly glad to shake the dust off their shoes onleaving Gravosa; Milenko especially hoped never to set his foot inRagusa again.
The fresh breeze swelled out the broad white sails of the gracefullittle ship, which flew as fleetly as a halcyon, steered, as it was,with utmost care, in and out the narrow channels and through thatarchipelago of volcanic rocks which surround the Elaphite Islands, sodangerous to seamen. It soon left far behind the graceful mimosas,the dark cypress-trees and the feathery palms of the Ragusean coast.
After all the anxiety of the last days it was pleasant to be again onthose blue waters, so limpid that the red fretted weeds could be seengrowing on the grey rocks several fathoms below. It was a delight tobreathe the balmy air, wafted across that little scented garden of LaCroma. The world looked once more so beautiful, and life was again apleasure. The sufferings the _pobratim_ had undergone only served torender them fonder of each other, so that if they had been twins--notonly brothers--they could not have loved each other more than theydid.
The sun went down, and soon afterwards the golden bow of the new moonwas seen floating in the hyacinthine sky. At the sight of thatslender aureate crescent--which always awakens in the mind of man avision of a chaste and graceful maiden--all the crew crossedthemselves and were happy to think that the past was dead and gone,for the new moon brings new fortune to mortals.
A frugal supper of salted cheese, fruit and olives gathered all themen together, and then those who were not keeping watch were about toretire, when a small fishing-boat with a lighted torch at its prowwas seen not very far off. As it came nearer to them the light wentout, and the dark boat, with two gaunt figures at the oars, was seenfor an instant wrapped in a funereal darkness, and then all vanished.The _pobratim_ crossed themselves, shuddering, and Milenko whisperedsomething to Uros in Slav, who nodded without speaking.
"What is it?" asked the captain, astonished.
"It is the phantom fishing-boat," replied Uros, almost below hisbreath, apparently unwilling to utter these words, and Milenko added:
"It is seen on the first days of the new moon, as soon as darknesscomes over the waters."
For a few moments everybody was silent. All looked towards the spotwhere the boat had disappeared, and then the captain asked Milenkowho those two men were, and why they were condemned to ply theiroars, and thereupon Milenko began to relate the story of
MARGARET OF LOPUD.
Some centuries ago, during the great days of the Republic, therelived a young patrician whose name was Theodor. He belonged to one ofthe wealthiest and oldest families of Ragusa, his father having beenrector of the Commonwealth. Theodor was of a most seriousdisposition, possessing uncommon talents, and, therefore, taking nodelight in the frivolities of his age. His learning was such that hewas expected to become one of the glories of his native town.
Theodor, to flee from the bustle and mirth of the capital and to givehimself entirely up to his studies, had taken up his abode in theBenedictine convent on the little island of St. Andrea.
Once he went to visit the island of Lopud--the middle one of theElaphite group--and there passed the day; but in the evening, wishingto return to the brotherhood, he could not find his boat on theshore. Wandering on the beach, he happened to meet a young girlcarrying home some baskets of fish. Theodor, stopping her, asked her,shyly, if she knew of anyone who would take him in his boat across tothe island of St. Andrea. No, the young girl knew nobody, for thefishermen who had come back home were all very tired with their hardday's work; they were now smoking their pipes. Seeing Theodor'sdisappointed look, the young girl proffered her services, which thebashful patrician reluctantly accepted.
The sail was unfurled and managed with a strong and skilful hand; theboat went scudding over the waves like an albatross; the breeze wassteady, and the sea quiet. The girl steered through the reefs like apilot.
Those two human beings in the fishing-smack formed a strong contrastto one another. He, the aristocratic scion of a highly cultured race,pale with long study and nightly vigils, looked like a tenderlyreared hot-house plant. She, belonging to a sturdy race of fishermen,tanned by the rays of the scorching sun and the exhilarating surf,was the very picture of a wild flower in full bloom.
Theodor, having got over the diffidence with which women usuallyinspired him, began to talk to the young girl; he questioned herabout her house, her family, her way of living. She told him simply,artlessly, that she was an orphan; the hungry waves--that yearlydevour so many fishermen's lives--had swallowed up her father; notlong after this misfortune her mother died. Since that time she hadlived with her three brothers, who, she said, took great care of her.She kept house for them, she cooked, she baked bread, she also helpedthem to repair their nets, which were always tearing. Sometimes shecleaned the boat, and she always carried the fish to market. Besides,she tilled the little field, and in the evening she spun the threadto make her brothers' shirts. But they were very kind to her, nobrothers could be more so.
He could not help comparing this poor girl--the drudge of thefamily--with the grand ladies of his own caste, whose task in lifewas to dress up, to be rapidly witty in a saloon, to slander alltheir acquaintances, simply to kill the time, for whom life had noother aim than pleasure, and against whose love for sumptuary displaythe Republic had to devise laws and enforce old edicts.
For the young philosopher this unsophisticated girl soon became anobject, first, of speculative, then of tender interest; whilstMargaret--this was the fishermaiden's name--felt for Theodor, sodelicate and lovable, that motherly sympathy which a real womanlynature feels for every human being sickly and suffering.
They met again--haunted as he was by the flashing eyes of the younggirl, it was impossible for him not to try and see her a second time,and from her own fair lips he heard that the passion which had beenkindled in his heart had also roused her love. Then, instead ofendeavouring to suppress their feelings, they yielded to the charmsof this saintly affection, to the rapture of loving and being loved.In a few days his feelings had made so much progress that he promisedto marry her, forgetting, however, that the strict laws of thearistocratic Republic forbade all marriages between patricians andplebeians. His noble character and his bold spirit prompted him tobrave that proud society in which he lived, for those refined ladiesand gentlemen, who would have shrugged their shoulders had he seducedthe young girl and made her his mistress, would have been terriblyscandalised had he taken her for his lawful wife.
His studies went on in a desultory way, his books were almostforsaken; love engrossed all his mind.
In the midst of his thoughtless happiness, the young lover wassuddenly summoned back home, for whilst Theodor was supposed to beporing over his old volumes, the father, without consulting him, notanticipating any opposition, promised his son in marriage to thedaughter of one of his friends, a young lady of great wealth andbeauty. This union had, it is true, been concerted when the childrenwere mere babes, and it had from that time been a bond between thetwo families. The whole town, nay, the Commonwealth itself, rejoicedat this auspicious event. The young lady, being now of a marriageableage, and havin
g duly concentrated all her affections upon the man shehad always been taught to regard as her future husband, lookedforward with joy to the day that would remove her from the thraldomin which young girls were kept. Henceforth she would take her dueshare in all festivities, and not only be cooped up in a balcony or agallery to witness those enjoyments of which she could not take part.
Theodor was, therefore, summoned back home to assist at a greatfestivity given in honour of his betrothal. This order came upon himas a thunderbolt; still, as soon as he recovered from the shock, hehastened back to break off the engagement contracted for him. Hetried to remonstrate, first with his father, and then with hismother; but his eloquence was put to scorn. He pleaded in vain thathe had no inclination for matrimony, that, moreover, he only felt forthis young lady a mere brotherly affection, that could never ripeninto love; still, both his parents were deaf to all his arguments.Now that the wedding day was settled, that the father had pledged hisword to his friend, it was too late to retreat. A refusal would beinsulting; it would provoke a rupture between the two families--afeud in the town. No option was left but to obey.
Theodor thereupon retired to his own room, where he remained instrict confinement, refusing to see anyone. The evening of thateventful day the guests were assembled, the bride and her family hadarrived; the bridegroom, nevertheless, was missing. This was,indeed, a strange breach of good manners, and numerous comments werewhispered from ear to ear. The father sent, at last, a peremptoryorder to his undutiful son to come down at once.
The young man at last made his appearance dressed in a suit of deepmourning, whilst his hair--which a little while before had fallen inlong ringlets over his shoulders--was clipped short. In this strangedress he came to inform his father--before the whole assembly--thathe had decided to forego the pleasures, the pomp and vanity of thisworld, and to take up his abode in a convent, where he intended topass his days in study and meditation.
The scene of confusion which followed this unexpected declaration caneasily be imagined. The guests thought it advisable to retire; still,the first person to leave the house was Theodor himself, bearing withhim his father's curse. The discarded bride was borne away by herparents, and her delicate health never recovered from that unexpecteddisappointment.
That very night the young man went back to the Benedictine convent,and, although the prior received him kindly, he still advised him toyield to his father's wishes; but Theodor was firm in his resolutionof passing his life in holy seclusion.
After a few days, the fire which love had kindled within his veinswas so strong that he could not resist the temptation of going to seeMargaret to inform her of all that had happened. Driven as he wasfrom house and home, unable to go against the unjust laws of hiscountry, he had made up his mind to spend his life in holy celibacy,in the convent where he had taken shelter. The sight of the younggirl, however, made him forget all his wise resolutions; he only sworeto her that he would brave the laws of his country, the wrath of hisparents, and that he would marry her in spite of his family and ofthe whole world.
He thus continued to see the young girl, stealthily at first, thenoftener and without so many precautions, till at last Margaret'sbrothers were informed of his visits. They--jealous of the honour oftheir family, as all Slavs are--threatened their sister to kill herlover if ever they found him with her. Then--almost at the sametime--the prior of the Benedictines, happening to hear of Theodor'slove for the fair fisher-girl of Lopud, expressed his intention ofexpelling him, should he not discontinue his visits to theneighbouring island.
Every new difficulty only seemed to give greater courage to thelovers. They would have fled from their native country had it notbeen for the fear of being soon overtaken, brought back and punished;they, therefore, decided to wait for some time, until the wrath oftheir persecutors had abated, and the storm that always threatenedthem had blown over.
As Theodor could not go to see the young girl, Margaret now came tovisit her lover. Not to excite any suspicion, they only met in themiddle of the night; and, as they always changed theirtrysting-place, a lighted torch was the signal where the young girlwas to steer her boat. Sometimes--as not a skiff was to be got--theyoung girl swam across the channel, for nothing could daunt herheroic heart.
These ill-fated lovers were happy in spite of their adverse fortune;the love they bore one another made amends for all their woes. Theyonly lived in expectation of that hour they were to pass togetherevery night. Then, clasped in each other's arms, the world and itsinhabitants did not exist for them. Those were moments of suchineffable rapture, that it seemed impossible for them ever to drainthe whole chalice of happiness. In those moments Time and Eternitywere confounded, and nothing was worth living for except the bliss ofloving and being loved. The dangers which surrounded them, theirloneliness upon those rocky shores, the stillness of the night, andthe swiftness of time, only rendered the pleasure they felt moreintense, for joy dearly bought is always more deeply felt.
Their happiness, however, was not to last long. Margaret's brothers,having watched her, soon found out that when the young nobleman hadceased coming to Lopud, it was she who visited her lover by night,and, like honourable men, they resolved to be avenged upon her. Theybided their time, and upon a dark and stormy night the fishermen,knowing that their sister would not be intimidated by the heavy sea,went off with the boat and left her to the mercy of the waves.Theodor, not to entice her to expose herself rashly to the fury ofthe sea, had not lighted his torch; still, unable to remain shut upwithin his cell, he roamed about the desolate shore, listening to theroaring billows. All at once he saw a light--not far from the rocks.No fisherman could be out in the storm at that hour. His heart sankwithin him for fear Margaret should see the light and take it for hissignal. In a fever of anxiety he walked about the shore and watchedthe fluttering light--now almost extinguished, and then burningbrightly.
The young girl seeing the light, and unable to resist the promptingsof her heart, made the sign of the Cross, recommended herself to themercy of the Almighty, and bravely plunged into the waters. Shestruggled against the fury of the wind, and buffeted against thewaves, swimming towards that beacon-light of love. That night,however, all her efforts seemed useless; she never could reach theshore; that _ignis-fatuus_ light always receded from her. Still, shetook courage, hoping soon to reach that blessed goal; in fact, shewas now getting quite near it.
A flash of lightning, which illumined the dark expanse of the waters,showed her that the torch, towards which she had been swimming, wastied to the prow of her brothers' boat. She also perceived that theIsland of St. Andrea, towards which she thought she had beenswimming, was far behind her. A moment afterwards the torch wasthrown into the sea, and the boat rowed off. She at once turnedtowards the island, and there, in the midst of the darkness, shestruggled with the huge breakers that dashed themselves in foamagainst the reefs; but soon, overpowered with weariness, she gave upevery hope of rejoining her lover, and sank down in the briny deep.
The sea that separated the lovers was, however, less cruel than man,for upon the morrow the waves themselves laid the lifeless body ofthe young girl upon the soft sand of the beach.
The young patrician, who had passed a night of most terrible anxiety,wandering on the strand, found the corpse of the girl he so dearlyloved. He caused it to be committed to the earth, after which here-entered the walls of the convent, took the Benedictine dress, andspent the rest of his life praying for her soul and pining in grief.
Milenko did not exactly relate this story in these words, for to beintelligible he had to make use of a mixture of Italian, Slav andeven Greek, and even then Captain Panajotti was often puzzled tounderstand what he meant; therefore, he had to express himself in akind of dumb show, or in those onomatopoetic sounds rather difficultto be transcribed.
As soon as he had finished, the captain said:
"We, too, have a story like that, and, on the whole, ours is a muchprettier one; for it was the man who swam across the Straits
of theDardanelles to meet the girl he loved, and, on a stormy night, he wasdrowned."
"Only ours is a true story; you yourself have seen, just now, thehard-hearted brothers rowing in the dark."
"Ours is also true."
"And when did it happen?"
"More than a thousand years ago, when we Greeks were the masters ofall the world."
The _Spera in Dio_, having met with contrary winds and a storm in therough sea of the Quarnero, had been obliged to cruise about and shifther sails every now and then, thus losing a great deal of time, andshe only reached Trieste after a week's delay. The caique instead hada steady, strong wind, and less than twenty-four hours after theyleft Ragusa they cast their anchor in front of the white walls ofZara.
To the _pobratim_'s regret the boat was only to remain there two orthree days at most, just time enough to take some bales of hides, andthen set sail for Trieste; so, although they were so near Nona, itwas impossible for them to go and pay a visit to Ivanka. The twoyoung sailors had, however, no need of going to Nona to see theirfriends, for no sooner had the ship dropped her anchor than Giulianichimself came on board, for he was the Sciot merchant about whomCaptain Panajotti had often spoken to them, and who was to give themthe extra cargo.
"What! you here?" said Giulianic, opening his eyes with astonishment."Well, this is an unexpected pleasure; but I thought you were inTrieste." Then, turning to Milenko, he added: "I had a letter fromyour father only a few days ago informing me that your ship would bethere now. You have not been shipwrecked, I hope?"
"No, no," replied Uros, at once; "we were detained at Ragusa; but weare on our way to Trieste, aren't we, captain?"
"If God grants us a fair wind, we are."
Milenko thereupon opened his mouth to speak, but his friendforestalled him.
"So you had a letter from his father? Well, what news from home? Arethey all in good health? And how are the crops getting on?" Thereuponhe stepped on his friend's foot to make him keep quiet.
"Yes, all are well. Amongst other things, he says that your fatherhas gone to Montenegro."
"My father?" asked Uros, with a sly wink at Milenko.
"Yes; on account of a murder that had been committed at Budua." Then,turning to the captain: "By-the-bye, you knew Radonic, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, it appears he's gone and murdered the only friend he had."
"That's not astonishing. The only thing that surprises me is that heever had a friend to murder. He was one of the most unsociable men Iever met."
Afterwards they spoke of the accident that had kept the two young menat Ragusa, at which Giulianic seemed greatly concerned.
"Anyhow," said he, "it's lucky that my wife and Ivanka have come withme from Nona. They'll be so glad to see you again; for you must know,Captain Panajotti, that my bones, and those of my wife and daughter,would now be lying at the bottom of the sea, had it not been for thecourage of these two young men."
"Oh! you must thank him," said Uros, pointing to Milenko. "I onlyhelped so as not to leave him to risk his life alone."
"They never told me anything about it; but, of course, they did notknow that I was acquainted with you." Then, laughing, the captainadded: "Fancy, I have been warning them not to lose their hearts onseeing your beautiful daughter."
"And didn't I tell you that my friend had already left his heart atNona?"
Saying this, Uros pinched his friend's arm. Milenko blushed, and wasabout to say something, but Giulianic began to speak about business;then added:
"And now I must leave you; but suppose you all three come and meet usat the Cappello in about an hour's time, and have some dinner withus? I'll not say a word either to my wife or Ivanka, and you mayfancy how surprised they'll be to see you."
Captain Panajotti seemed undecided.
"No, I'll not have any excuse; you captains are little tyrants themoment the anchor is weighed, but the moment it's dropped you are allsmiles and affability. Come, I'll have a dish of _scordalia_ to whetyour appetite; now, you can't resist that; so ta-ta for the present."
The moment Giulianic disappeared Milenko looked at his friend, whoseeyes were twinkling with merriment.
"It's done," said Uros, smiling.
"But what made you take the poor fellow in as you did?"
"_I_ take him in? Well, I like that."
"Well, but----"
"If he deceived himself, am I to be held responsible for hismistakes?"
"Still----"
"Besides, if there was any deception, I must say you did your best tolet it go on."
"Of course, I did; but who made me do it?"
"I did."
"And now is it to continue?"
"Of course."
"But why?"
"Milenko, you're a good fellow, but in some things you are a greatninny. You ask me why? Well, because, for two days, you can make loveto the daughter under the father's very nose; in the meantime I'lldevote myself to the father and mother, and make myself pleasant tothem."
"Yes, but what'll be the upshot of all this?"
"'Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof,' the proverb says; whywill you make yourself wretched, thinking of the future, when you canbe so happy? If I only had the opportunity of spending two long dayswith----"
Uros did not finish his phrase; his merry face grew dark, and hesighed deeply; then he added: "There is usually some way out of alldifficulties; see how you got out of prison."
"Still, look in what a predicament you've placed me."
"Well, if you feel qualmish, we can tell the old man that he's agoose, for he really doesn't know who his son-in-law is; then I'llmake love to fair Ivanka, and you'll look on. Now are you satisfied?"
"What are you wrangling about?" said Captain Panajotti, appearing outof the hatchway in his best clothes, his baggy trowsers morevoluminous than those that Mrs. Bloomer tried to set in fashion a fewyears afterwards.
"Oh! nothing," said Uros, laughing; "only you must know that everyfirst quarter of the moon I suffer from lunacy. I'm not at alldangerous, quite the contrary; especially if I'm not contradicted. Soyou might try and bear with me for a day or two; by the time we sailagain I'll be all right; it's only a flow of exuberant animal spirits,that must vent themselves. But, how fine you are, captain; I'm afraidyou are trying to out-do my friend, and if it wasn't that you aremarried, I'd have thought that all your warnings for us not to fallin love with the Sciot's daughter----"
"I see that the lunacy is beginning, so I'll not contradict; buthadn't you better go and dress?"
"All right," quoth Uros, and in a twinkling the two young mendisappeared down the hatchway.
Half-an-hour afterwards they were at the Albergo Cappello, the onlyinn of the town, where they found Giulianic awaiting them. The twowomen were very much astonished to see them. Ivanitza's eyes flashedwith unrestrained delight on perceiving her lover, but then shelooked down demurely--as every well-bred damsel should--and blushedlike a pomegranate flower. Only, when she heard her father addresshim by his friend's name, she looked up astonished; but seeing Urosslily wink at her, she again cast down her eyes, wondering what itall meant.
After a while the mother whispered to her husband that she had alwaysmistaken one of the young men for the other.
"Did you?" said he, laughing. "Well, I am astonished, for you womenare so much keener in knowing people than we men are; for, to tellyou the truth, I've often been puzzled myself; they are both the sameage, they are like brothers, they are dressed alike, so it's easy tomistake them."
"Anyhow," added she, "I'm glad to have been mistaken, because,although I like both of them, still I prefer our future son-in-law toyoung Bellacic; he's more earnest and sedate than his friend."
"Yes, I think you are right; the other one is such a chatterbox."
"And, then, he displayed so much courage at the time of ourshipwreck; indeed, had it not been for his bravery, we should allhave been drowned."
"Yes, I remember; he was the first on
e to come to our rescue. Still,we must be just towards the other one, for he is a brave and a pluckyfellow to boot."
"And so lively!"
"That's it; rather too much so; anyhow, I'm glad that Ivanka hasfallen in love with the right man; because it would have been exactlylike the perverseness of the gentle sex for her to have liked theother one better."
"Oh, my daughter has been too well brought up to make any objection!Just fancy a girl choosing for herself; it would be preposterous!"
"Yes, of course it would; still, she might have moped and threatenedto have gone into a decline. Oh, I know the ways of your modelgirls!"
In the meanwhile, Milenko explained to the young girl how the mistakehad originated, and how her father had, from the first, believed himto be Uros.
Dinner was soon served in a private room of the hotel; and Uros, who,to keep up the buoyancy of his spirits, and act the part he hadundertaken to play brilliantly, had swallowed several glasses of_slivovitz_, and had induced Captain Panajotti to follow his example,was now indulging freely with the strong Dalmatian wine. Still, heonly took enough to be talkative and merry; but, as he exaggeratedthe effects of the wine, everybody at table believed him to be quitetipsy.
No sooner had the dish of macaroni been taken away than he began toinsist upon Captain Panajotti telling them a story.
"Oh, to-morrow you'll be master on board again; but now, you know,you must do what I like, just as if you were my wife!"
"What! Your wife----"
But Uros did not let Mrs. Giulianic finish her question, for heinsisted upon doing all the talking himself.
"My wife," said he, sententiously, "my wife'll have to dance to thetune I play; for I intend to wear the breeches and the skirts, too,in my house; so I hope you've brought up your daughter to jumpthrough paper hoops, like a well-trained horse--no, I mean a girl!"
"My daughter----"
"Oh, I daresay that your daughter's like you, turning up her nose;but I say, D----n it! I'll not have a wife whose nose turns up."
Giulianic looked put out; his wife's face lengthened by severalinches, whilst Ivanka did her best to look scared.
"Come, captain," continued Uros, "spout us one of your stories. Nowlisten, for he'll make you split with laughter. Come, give us one ofyour spicy ones; tell us your tale about the lack of wit, but withoutomitting the----"
"I'm afraid that the ladies----"
"Oh, rot the ladies! Now, all this comes from this new-fangled notionof having women at table; if they are to be squeamish and spoil allthe fun, let them stop up their ears. Come, I told you I'd not brookcontradiction to-day."
"Well, by-and-by; let me have my dinner now."
"What's the matter with him?" asked Mrs. Giulianic of the captain;"is he drunk?"
"Oh, worse! he's moon-struck; he's like that for a few days at everynew moon."
Mrs. Giulianic made the sign of the Cross, and whispered something toher husband.
"Then, if you'll not tell us a story, our guest must sing us a song.Come, father-in-law, sing us a song, a merry, rollicking one, forwhen I'm on shore I like to laugh."
"No, not here; we are not in our own house, you know."
"Do you pay for the dinner, or don't you?"
"I do, but there are gentlemen dining in the next room."
"If they don't like your song, don't let them listen."
Thereupon the waiter came in.
"I say, you, fellow, isn't it true that we can sing in this stinkinghole of an old tub?"
"Oh! if you like; only this isn't a tavern, and there are two judgesdining in the next room."
"And you think I'm not going to sing for two paltry judges! I'llhowl, then."
"No; let's have some riddles," said Giulianic, soothingly; "I'm veryfond of riddles, aren't you? Now, tell me, captain, who was it thatkilled the fourth part of mankind?"
"Why, that's as old as your wife," quoth Uros, at once; "why, Cain,of course. But as you like riddles, I'll tell you one that suits you,though, as the proverb says, a bald pate needs no comb."
Giulianic winced, for his bald head was his sore point, but then headded, with a forced smile:
"Come, let's have your riddle."
"Well, you ought to know what makes a man bald, if anyone does."
"Sorrow," answered the bald man.
"Rot, I say!"
"What is it, then?"
"The loss of hair, of course," and he poked Giulianic in the ribs."That was good, wasn't it, father-in-law?"
"Well, I don't see much of a joke in it," answered the host,snappishly.
"No; I didn't expect you would; that's the joke, you see." Then,turning to Ivanka, with a slight wink: "Now, here's one for you."
"Let's hear it."
"Why are there in this world more women than men?"
"Because they are more necessary."
"That's your conceit; but you're wrong."
"What is it, then?" asked the young girl.
"Because the evil in this world is always greater than the good."
"So," said she, with a pretty smile, "then, women ought to be calledmen's worse halves."
"Of course, they ought--though there are exceptions to all rules."Then, after drinking very slowly half a glass of wine: "Now, one foryou, _babica_. This is the very best of the lot; I didn't invent itmyself, though I, too, can say a smart thing now and then, _babica_.Tell me, when is a wife seen at her best?"
Ivanka's mother, who prided herself upon her youthful looks, wincedvisibly on hearing herself twice called a granny; still, she added,simpering:
"I suppose, when she's a bride."
"Oh! you suppose that, do you? Well, your supposition is all wrong."
"Well, when is it?"
"Ask your husband; surely, he's not bald for nothing."
"I'm sure, I don't know; I think----"
"You think it's when she turns up her nose, but that's not it, forit's when she turns up her toes and is carried out of the house."
Captain Panajotti laughed, and so did Ivanka; but her mother, seeingher laugh, could hardly control her vexation, so she said somethingwhich she intended to be very sarcastic.
"Oh! you are vexed, _babica_, because I explained you the riddle."
"Vexed! there's nothing to be vexed about. I'm only sorry that, atyour age, you have such a bad opinion of women."
"_I_, a bad opinion, _takomi Boga!_ I haven't made the riddle; I'veonly heard it from my father, and he says that riddles are the wisdomof a nation. So, to show you that I have the best regard for you,here's a bumper"--and thereupon he filled his glass to the brim andstood up--"to your precious health, mother-in-law."
Then, pretending to stumble, he poured the glass of wine over herhead and face.
Giulianic uttered an oath, and struck the table with his fist; Ivankaand Milenko thought he had gone too far. Still, the poor woman lookedsuch a pitiful object, with her turban all soaked and her face alldripping with wine, that they all burst out laughing.
Mrs. Giulianic, unable to control her vexation, and angry at findingherself the laughing-stock of the whole company, forgot herself sofar as to call Uros a fool and a drunkard. He, however, went on,good-humouredly:
"I'm so sorry; but, you see, it was quite unintentional, _Bogami_,quite unintentional. But never mind, don't be angry with me; I'll buyyou another dress."
"Do you think my wife is vexed on account of her dress?" saidGiulianic, proudly. "Thank Heaven! she doesn't need your dressesyet."
"Oh, yes!" said Uros, mopping up the wine with his napkin, "I knowthat you can afford to buy your wife dresses; but as I spoilt thisone, it is but right that I should pay for it. I can't offer to buyyou a yard of stuff, can I? And, besides, a dress is always welcome,isn't it, mother-in-law?"
"Well, never mind about the dress," quoth Giulianic.
"Oh! if you don't mind it, your wife does; but there, don't be angry,don't be wriggling with your nose. When I marry your daughter, mypretty Ivanka----"
"You marry my
daughter!" gasped the father.
"You, indeed!" quoth the mother.
"Yes, _babica_; then I'll buy you the dearest dress I can get formoney in Trieste. What is it to be, velvet or satin? plain or withbunches of flowers? What colour would you like? as red as your faceis now?"
"When you marry Ivanka, you can buy me a bright green satin."
"Well, here's my hand upon it; only you'll look like a big parrot inthat dress. Isn't it true, father-in-law?"
"A joke is a joke," answered Giulianic; "but I wish you wouldn't be'father-in-lawing' me, for----"
"Well, I hope you are not going to break off the engagement because Ihappened to christen mother-in-law with a glass of good wine, areyou?"
"Your engagement?"
"Of course."
"I told you I don't mind a joke, still this is carrying----"
"Don't mind him, poor fellow," said Captain Panajotti. "The poorfellow is daft."
"If anybody is engaged to my daughter," continued Giulianic, "it'syour friend there, Uros Bellacic!"
"Oh! I like that," said Uros, laughing. "I'm afraid the wine's allgone up to your bald pate, old man." Then turning to CaptainPanajotti, he added: "He doesn't know his own son-in-law any more,"and he laughed idiotically.
Giulianic and his wife looked aghast.
Thereupon, thumping the table, Uros exclaimed:
"I tell you I'm going to marry your daughter, though, if the truthmust be known, I don't care a fig for her, pretty as she is. I'vegot----"
"And I swear by God that you'll never marry her!" cried Giulianic,exasperated.
"That's rich," quoth Uros. "On what do you swear, old bald-pate?"
"I swear on my faith."
"And on your soul, eh?"
"On my soul, too."
"With your hand on the Cross?" asked Uros, handing him a littleCross.
"I swear," answered Giulianic, beyond himself with rage.
"Well, well, that'll do; don't get angry, take it coolly as I do. Yousee, I'm not put out. As long as you settle the matter with myfather, Milos Bellacic, I'm quite satisfied."
"Milos Bellacic your father?"
"Of course."
"Then you mean to say that you are----?"
"Uros Bellacic. Although the wine may have gone a little to my head,still, I suppose I know who I am."
"Is it true?" said Giulianic, turning towards Milenko.
"Yes!" replied the young man, nervously, "Didn't you know it?"
"No."
"Didn't I tell you?" whispered his wife.
"Oh! you always tell me when it's too late," he retorted, huffishly."And now, what's to be done? Will you release me from my oath?"
Ivanka looked up, alarmed.
"Decidedly not; I'll never marry a girl who doesn't want me, whosefather has sworn on his soul not to have me, for whose mother I'm adrunkard and a fool."
The dinner ended in a gloomy silence; a dampness had come over allthe guests, and, except Ivanka and Milenko, all were too glad to getrid of one another.
On the morrow Uros called on Mrs. Giulianic, when her husband was notat home. He apologised for his boorish behaviour, and explainedmatters to her.
"Your daughter is in love with Milenko, to whom you all owe yourlives; he, too, has lost his heart on her, whilst I--well, it'suseless speaking about myself."
"I see it all now," quoth she, "and you are too good-hearted to wishus all to be miserable on account of a stupid promise. Well, on thewhole, I think you were right."
"Then you forgive me for what I did and what I said?"
"Of course I do, now that I understand it all."
Before the caique sailed off, Uros was fully forgiven, and Giulianiceven promised to write to his friend and explain matters to him.
