Kitabı oku: «The Pobratim: A Slav Novel», sayfa 10
CHAPTER VIII
MURDER
A few days afterwards Milena heard a low whistle outside, just as if someone were calling her; the whistling was repeated again and again. She went to the open door, and she saw Vranic at a distance, apparently on the watch for her. As soon as he saw her, he beckoned to her to come out. She stepped on the threshold, and he came up to her.
"Good news, eh?" said he.
"What news?"
"Has Radonic not opened his mouth to you?"
"He has hardly said a single word all these days."
"Impossible!"
"May I be struck blind if he has!"
"Strange."
"Well, but what is it all about?"
"He told me it was a great secret; still, I did not believe him."
"But what is this great secret?"
"He is going off to Montenegro for a day or two, as he has to buy a cargo of castradina. Of course, he'll stay a week; and as soon as he comes back, he'll start at once on a long voyage."
"I don't believe it!"
"Yes, he is; and it's all my own doing. Now you can't say that I don't love you, Milena, can you?"
She did not give him any answer.
"You don't seem glad. Once you'd have been delighted to have a reprieve from his ill-treatment."
"Yes, but now he's only moody. He hasn't beaten me for some days."
"I told you he was as manageable as putty. Like all bullies, you can shave him without a razor, if you only know how to go about it."
"Yes; only beware. Such men never keep shape – at least, not for any length of time."
"He'll keep shape till he goes, for that's to-morrow; then – " and he winked at her as he said this.
"Come, Vranic, be kind for once in your life."
"Has anybody ever been kind to me?"
"'Do good, and don't repent having done it; do evil, and expect evil,' says the proverb."
"I never do anything for nothing; so to-morrow night I'll come for my reward."
"Leave me alone, Vranic; if not for my sake, do it for your own good. Fancy, if Radonic were to return. Surely you wouldn't shave him quite as easily as you think."
"I'll take the risk upon myself. I have lulled all his suspicions, so that he has now implicit trust in you. Besides, I'll first see him well out of the town with my own eyes; Vranic is not a seer for nothing," and he winked knowingly with his blinking eyes.
"You don't know Radonic: if you are a fox, he is no goose. He is capable of coming back just to see what I am doing."
"I think I know him a little better than you do, and a longer time.
We have been friends from childhood; in fact, all but pobratim."
"That's the reason why you are ready to deceive him, then?"
"What business had he to marry you? What would I not do for your love, Milena? Why, I'd give my soul to Satan, if he wanted it."
"I'm afraid it's no longer yours to give away. But come, Vranic, if you really are as fond of me as you pretend to be, have some pity on me, be kind; think how wretched my whole life has hitherto been, leave me alone, forget me."
"Ask me anything else but that. How can I forget you? How can I cease loving you, when I live only for you? I only see through your eyes."
"Then I'll ask Radonic to take me to Montenegro with him, and I'll remain with my family."
"And I'll follow you there. You don't understand all the strength of my love for you."
Thereupon, forgetting his usual prudence, he stepped up to her, and passing his arm round her waist, he strained her to his breast, and wanted to kiss her. She wriggled and struggled, and tried to push him away.
"Unhand me," she said, alarmed; "unhand me at once, or I'll scream."
"Lot of good it'll do you. Come," he replied, "remember your promise.
I've kept my part, try and keep yours with good grace or – "
"What?" she asked, alarmed.
"Or by the holy Virgin, it'll be so much the worse for you! I know – " he stopped, and then he added: "In fact, I know what I know. Remember, therefore, it is much better to have Vranic for your friend than for your foe."
"Mind, you think me a dove."
"I only know that women have long hair and little brains. Try and not be like most of them."
"Mind, I might for once have more brains than you; therefore, I entreat you, nay, I command you, not to try and see me to-morrow."
"As for that, I'll use my own discretion."
Saying these words, he went off, and left Milena alone. As soon as he had disappeared, she went in, and sank down on the hearth; there, leaning her elbows on her knees, she hid her face between her palms; then she began nursing her grief.
"They say I am happy," she muttered to herself, "because I am rich – though I have not a penny that I can call my own – because I can eat white bread every day. Yet would it not be better by far to be an animal and graze in the fields, than eat bread moistened with my own tears? Oh! why was I not born a man? Then, at least, I might have gone where I liked – done what I pleased.
"They think I am happy, because no one knows what my life has been; though, it is true, what is a woman's life amongst us?
"She toils in the field the whole of the live-long day, whilst her husband smokes his pipe. She is laden like a beast of burden; she is yoked to the plough with an ox or an ass, and when they go to pasture she trudges home with the harness, to nurse the children or attend to household work. Meanwhile, her master leisurely chats with his friends at the inns, or listens to the guzlar.
"What is her food? The husks that dogs cannot eat, the bones which have already been picked. If Turkish women have no souls, they, at least, are not treated like beasts during their lifetime.
"Oh! holy Virgin, why was I not born a man?"
That evening Radonic came home more sullen and peevish than usual; still, he was sober. He sat down to supper, and Milena waited upon him. As soon as he had pushed his plate away:
"Have you seen Vranic to-day?" he asked, gruffly.
"I have," answered the wife, meekly.
"Ah, you have!" and he uttered a fearful oath.
Milena crossed herself.
"And where have you seen him?"
"He came here at the door."
"May he have a fit to-night," he grunted. Then, after a puff at his pipe: "And what did he say?"
"That you intended starting to-morrow morning for Montenegro, to buycastradina, and – "
Radonic gave such a mighty thump on the table that the bukara was upset. It rolled and fell to the ground before it could be caught. Milena hastened to pick it up, but the wine was spilt. The husband thereupon, not knowing how to vent his spite, gave a kick to the poor woman just as she stooped to pick it up. She slipped and fell sprawling to the ground, uttering a stifled groan. Then she got up, deathly pale, and went to sit down in a corner of the room, and began to cry unperceived.
"And what did you answer when he told you that I was starting?"
"I begged him to leave me in peace, and above all not to come to-morrow evening, if his life was dear to him."
"Ah! you begged him, did you? Well, if ever man was blessed with a foolish wife, I am."
A moment's silence followed, after which he added:
"What a fool a man is who gets married – above all, a sailor who takes as his wife a feather-brained creature, as you are. May God hurl a thunderbolt at me if I'd marry again were I but free."
Poor Milena did not reply, for she was inured to such taunts, Radonic being one of those men who pride themselves on speaking out their own minds. She kept crying quietly – not for the pain she felt, but because she dreaded the fatal consequences of the kick she had just received.
"Will you stop whimpering, or I'll come and give you something to cry for. It's really beyond all powers of endurance to hear a woman whine and a pig squeak; if there is a thing that drives me mad, it's that."
Thereupon Radonic began to puff at his pipe savagely, snarling and snorting as he smoked.
"And may I ask why you begged that double-faced, white-livered friend of yours not to come to-morrow evening?" he asked, after some minutes.
"Vranic was never a friend of mine," said Milena, proudly.
"Admitting he wasn't, still you haven't answered my question; but I suppose it doesn't suit you to answer, does it?"
"Why not? I begged him not to come because I was afraid some mischief might ensue, withal you promised me not to be rash."
"I promised you, did I? Anyhow, I find that you take a great interest in this friend of mine, far more than it becomes an honest woman." Then, with a scowl and a sneer: "If you are honest."
Milena winced, and grew deathly pale. She did not give her husband any answer, so he, after grunting and grumbling and smoking for some time, got up and went to bed. She, however, remained where she was seated – or rather crouched – for she knew that she could not sleep.
How could she sleep?
First, she was not feeling well. The kick she had received in her side had produced a slight, dull, gnawing soreness; moreover, she felt – or at least she fancied she could feel – a gnawing pain; it was not much of a pain, only it seemed as if a watch were ticking there within her. She shuddered and felt sick, a cold sweat gathered on her brow, and she trembled from head to foot.
Some women in her state – she had heard – never got over the consequences of a blow; perhaps the kick might produce mortification, and then in a few days she would die. Yes, she felt as if she had received an inward incurable bruise. Well, after all, it was but right; she had deceived her husband; he had revenged himself. Now they were quits.
Still tears started to her eyes, and sobs rose to her throat.
Well, after all, she thought, what did it matter if she died? This wretched life would be over.
Only – Only what?
Yes, she avowed it to herself; she longed to see Uros' fond face once more before dying. With her hand locked in his, her eyes gazing upon him, death would have almost been bliss.
With a repressed and painful yearning, her lover's name at last escaped her lips.
Radonic, who had been snoring as if he was about to suffocate, uttered a kind of snorting sound, then he started and woke with a fearful curse on his lips.
Milena, shuddering, uttered a half-stifled cry.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing, I was only dreaming. I thought that a young sailor, whom I once crippled with a kick, had gripped me by my neck, and was choking me."
"It must have been the morina" (the nightmare) "sitting on you," and Milena crossed herself.
"How is it you are not in bed?" he asked, scowling.
She did not speak for an instant.
He started up to look at her.
"Perhaps that villain is sneaking about the house, and you wish to warn him?"
"Your jealousy really drives you mad."
"Well, then, will you speak? Why are you not yet in bed?"
"I – I don't feel exactly well."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"The kick you gave me," she retorted, falteringly.
"Why, I hardly touched you! well, you are getting mighty delicate; you ought to have had the kick I gave that sailor lad, then you would have known the strength of my foot!"
"Yes, but – " She checked herself, and then added: "Women are delicate."
"Oh! so you are going to be a grand lady, and be delicate, are you? Who ever heard of a Montenegrin being delicate?" Then he added: "If you don't feel well, go to bed and try to sleep."
Thereupon he turned on the other side, and began to snore very soon afterwards.
Milena began to think of what had been and might have been.
She had sinned, foolishly, thoughtlessly; but since that fatal night she had never known a single moment's happiness. As time passed, the heinousness of her sin rose up before her, more dreadful, more appalling.
Still, was it the sin itself, or its dire consequences, that rendered her so moody, so timorous?
She never asked herself such a question; she only knew that she now started, like a guilty thing, at the slightest noise, and she shivered if anybody spoke to her abruptly. At times she fancied everybody could read her guilt in her face.
She had been more than once tempted, of late, to tell her husband that, in some months, she would be a mother. Still, the words had ever stuck in her throat; she could never nerve herself enough to speak.
Though he might probably never have got to know the real truth, could she tell him that he was the father of her child, or, at least, allow him to think so? No, she could never do that, for it was impossible to act that lie the whole of her life. Could she see her husband, returning from a long voyage, take in his arms and fondle the child that was not his, the child that he would strangle if he knew whose it was?
Although an infant is the real, nay, the only bond of married life, still, the child of sin is a spectre ever rising 'twixt husband and wife, estranging them from one another for ever.
Then she had better confess her guilt at once. And bring about three deaths? Aye, surely; Radonic was not a man to forgive. He had crippled a sailor lad for some trifle.
She must keep her secret a little longer – and then?
Thereupon she fell on her knees before the silver-clad image of the Virgin.
"Oh, holy Virgin, help me! for to whom can I turn for help but to thee? Help me, and I promise thee never to sin again, either by word or action, all my life." And she kissed the icon devoutly. "Oh, holy Virgin, help me! for thou canst do any miracle thou likest. Show mercy upon me, and draw me from this sorrowful plight. I shall work hard, and get thee, with my earnings, as huge a taper as money can buy.
"And thou, great St. George, who didst kill a dragon to save a maid, save me from Vranic; and every year, upon thy holy day, I shall burn incense and light a candle before thy picture, if thou wilt listen to my prayer."
After that, feeling somewhat comforted, she went to bed, and at last managed to fall asleep, notwithstanding the pain she felt in her side.
On the morrow Radonic went away as usual, and Milena was left alone. The day passed away slowly, gloomily. The weather was dull, sultry, oppressive. The sirocco that blew every now and then in fitful, silent gusts, was damp, stifling, heavy. A storm was brewing in the air overhead, and all around there was a lull, as if anxious Nature were waiting in sullen expectation for its outburst. The earth was fretful; the sky as peevish as a human being crossed in his designs. The hollow, rumbling noise in the clouds seemed the low grumbling of contained anger.
Everybody was more or less unsettled by the weather – Milena more than anyone else. As the day passed her nervousness increased, and solitude grew to be oppressive.
Her husband, before leaving the house, had told her to go and spend the evening at her kinswoman's, as a bee was to be held there; the women spun, and the men prepared stakes for the vines. Bellacic was fond of company, and he liked to have people with merry faces around him, helping him to while away the long evening hours; nor did he grudge a helping hand to others, whenever his neighbours had any kind of work for him to do.
"I'll come there and fetch you as soon as I've settled my business with Vranic," said Radonic, going off.
Milena, understanding that her husband wanted her out of the way, decided upon remaining at home, and, possibly, preventing further mischief.
The day had been dark and gloomy from morning; the clouds heaped overhead grew always blacker, and kept coming down lower and ever lower. Early in the afternoon the light began to wane. Her uneasiness increased at approaching night. With the gloaming her thoughts grew dreary and dismal. She was afraid to remain at home; she was loth to go away. Unable to work any longer, she went outside to sit on the doorstep and spin. Now, at last, the rain began, and lurid flashes were seen through the several heaps and masses of clouds.
The lightning showed to her excited imagination not only numberless witches, morine and goblins, chasing and racing after each other like withered leaves in a storm, but in that horrid landscape she perceived murderous battles, hurtling onslaughts, fearful frays and bloodshed, followed by spaces that looked like fields of fire and gory hills of trodden snow. It was too dreadful to look at, so she turned round to go in. She would light the lamp and kindle the fire. At a few steps from the threshold she heard, or, at least, she fancied she heard, someone whistle outside. She stopped to listen. Perhaps it was only the shrill sound of the wind through the leafless bushes; for the wind has at times the knack of whistling like a human being.
She again advanced a step or two towards the hearth; and as she did so, she stumbled on something. She uttered a low, muffled cry as she almost fell. On what had her foot caught? She bent down, and felt with her hand. It seemed like the corpse of a man stretched out at full length – a human creature wallowing in his own blood. A sickening sense of fear, a feeling of faintness, came over her. She hardly dared to move. Her teeth were chattering; all her limbs were trembling. Still, she managed to recover her self-possession, so as to grope and put her hand on the steel and flint. Still, such was her terror, that everything she touched assumed an uncouth, ungainly, weird shape. Having found the steel, she managed to strike a light. That faint glimmer dispelled her terror, and she asked herself how she could have been so foolish as to take a coat lying on the floor for a murdered man.
The thing that puzzled her was how that coat came to be lying there on the floor. It was her husband's old kabanica, and it must have been left on some stool.
As all these thoughts flitted through her mind, a loud crack was heard – a jarring sound amidst the hushed stillness of the house. Milena shuddered; a hand seemed to grip her throat. Her heart stopped for a moment; then it began to throb and beat as if it were going to burst. She gasped for breath.
What was that ominous noise? The hoop of a tub had broken!
To the uninitiated this might seem a trifle, but to those versed in occult lore it was a fearful omen. Someone was to die in that house, and this death was to happen soon, very soon; perhaps before daybreak.
She was so scared that she could not remain a moment longer in that house; so, wrapping herself up in her husband's old coat, she hastened out of the house. Just then Uros' last words sounded in her ears:
"If you are alone and in trouble, go to my mother; she will not only be a friend to you, but love you as a daughter for my sake."
Her husband that morning had sent her to Mara's; she could not remain alone any longer; it was Kismet that she should go. Besides, Vranic might be coming now at any moment, and even if she swore to him that her husband had not started, he would not believe her; then she would only excite her husband to greater wrath if he came and found him alone with her. No, on the whole, it was better by far to obey her husband's behest; therefore, she started off. She ran quickly through the pouring rain, and never stopped till she was at Bellacic's door.
"Oh! Milena, is it you?" said Mara, her motherly eyes twinkling with a bright smile of welcome; "though, to tell you the real truth, I almost expected you."
"Why?"
"Because a big fly has been buzzing round me, telling me that some person who is fond of me would come and see me. Oracles are always true; besides," added she, with a smile and a sly look, "just guess of what I've been dreaming?"
"Of black grapes, that bring good luck, I suppose."
"No, of doves; so I'll surely get a letter from Uros to-morrow or the day after."
Milena looked down demurely; she blushed; then, to turn away the conversation, she added:
"To-day, for a wonder, Radonic has sent me to pass the evening with you; he'll come to fetch me later on – at least, he said he would."
"It is a wonder, indeed – why, what's come over him? He must have put on his coat inside out when he got up."
Milena thereupon told her friend why her husband did not want her at home.
"Anyhow, I'm very glad you've come, for I'm embroidering two waistcoats – one for Uros, the other for Milenko – and my poor eyes are getting rather weak, so you can help me a little with the fine stitching."
"Radonic told me that some of your neighbours are coming to make stakes."
"Are they? My husband did not say anything about it."
After some time, Markovic and his wife, and several other neighbours, made their appearance.
As every man came in, he greeted Milena, and, seeing her alone, asked her where Radonic was. She, like a true Montenegrin, warded off the question by answering with a shrug of her shoulders and in an off-hand way:
"May the devil take him, if I know where he is. I daresay he'll pop up by-and-bye."
Etiquette not only requires a wife to avoid speaking of her husband, but also to eschew him completely when present, just as more northern people ignore entirely the name of certain indispensable articles of clothing.
When all the guests were assembled, and such dainties as roasted Indian-corn, melon, pumpkin and sun-flower seeds were handed round, together with filberts and walnuts, then the bard (the honoured guest) was begged to sing them a song. The improvisatore, stroking his long moustache and twisting its ends upwards that they might not be too much in his way as he spoke, took down his guzla and began to scrape it by way of prelude. This was not, as amongst us, a sign to begin whispered conversation in out of the way corners, or to strike an attitude of bored sentimentality, for everybody listened now with rapt attention.
THE FAITHLESS WIFE
When Gjuro was about to start for war,
And leave his wife alone within his hall,
He fondly said: "Dear Jeljena, farewell,
My faithful wife; I now hie to the camp,
From whence I hope to come back soon; so for
Thine own sweet sake and mine be true to me."
In haste the wanton woman answered back:
"Go, my loved lord, and God watch over thee."
He had but gone beyond the gate, when she
Took up a jug and went across the field
To fetch fresh water from the fountain there;
And having got unto the grassy glen, she saw
A handsome youth, who had adorned his cap
With flowers freshly culled from terebinth.
And unto him the sprightly wife thus spoke:
"Good day to thee, brave Petar; tell me, pray,
Where hast thou bought those blossoms fresh and fair?"
And he: "God grant thee health, O Gjuro's wife;
They were not got for gold, they are a gift."
Then Jelka hastened back to her own house,
And to her room she called her trusted maid.
"Now list," said she. "Go quick beyond the field
And try to meet young Petar Latkovin;
With terebinth you'll see his cap adorned.
Say unto him: 'Fair youth, to thee I bear
The greetings of good Gjuro's wife, and she
Doth kindly beg that thou wilt sup with her,
And spend the night in dalliance and delight —
And give her one fair flower from thy cap.
The castle hath nine gates; the postern door
Will ope for thee, now Gjuro is far off."
The handmaid forthwith to the fountain sped,
And found the youth. "Good day, my lord," said she.
"Great Gjuro's winsome wife her greetings sends;
She begs that thou will sup with her this night,
And grant her those sweet sprays of terebinth.
Nine gates our manor has; the small side door
Will be left ope for thee, my handsome youth,
As Gjuro is away." Then Petar thanked
And longed that night might come. At dusk, with joy
He to the castle sped. He put his steed
In Gjuro's stall, and then his sword he hung
Just in the place where Gjuro hung his own,
And set his cap where Gjuro placed his casque.
In mirth they supped, and sleep soon closed their eyes;
But, lo! when midnight came, the wife did hear
Her husband's voice that called: "My Jelka dear,
Come, my loved wife, and open quick thy doors."
Distracted with great fear, she from her bed
Sprang down, scarce knowing what to do; but soon
She hid the youth, then let her husband in.
With feigning love she to his arms would fly,
But he arrested her with frowning mien.
"Why didst thou not call quick thy maiden up
To come and ope at once these doors of thine?"
"Sweet lord, believe a fond and faithful wife:
Last night this maid of mine went off in pain
To bed; she suffers from the ague, my lord;
So I was loth, indeed, to call her up."
"If this be true, you were quite right," quoth he;
"Yet I do fear that all thy words are lies."
"May God now strike me dumb, if all I spake
Be aught than truth," said Jeljena at once.
But frowning, Gjuro stood with folded arms:
"Whose is that horse within my stall? and whose
That cap adorned with flowers gay? And there
I see a stranger's sword upon the wall."
"Now listen to thy loving wife, my lord.
Last night a warrior came within thy walls,
And wanted wine, in pledge whereof he left
His prancing steed, his sword, and that smart cap,"
Said Yelka, smiling sweetly to her lord.
And he with lowering looks, then said: "'Tis well,
Provided thou canst swear thou speakest true."
"The Lord may strike me blind," she then replied.
"Why is thy hair dishevelled, and thy cheeks
Of such a pallid hue? now, tell me why?"
And she: "Believe thine honest wife. Last night
As I did walk beneath our orchard trees,
The apple boughs dishevelled thus my hair,
And then I breathed the orange blossom scent,
Until their fragrance almost made me faint."
Now Gjuro's face was fearful to behold,
Still as he frowned he only said: "'Tis well,
But on the holy Cross now take an oath."
"My lord, upon the holy Cross I swear."
"Now give me up the key of mine own room."
Then Jeljena grew ghastly pale with fear,
Still she replied in husky tones: "Last night
As I came from your room the key did break
Within the lock, so now the door is shut."
But he cried out in wrath: "Give me my key,
Or from thy shoulders I shall smite thy head!"
She stood aghast and speechless with affright,
So with his foot he burst at once the door.
There in the room he found young Latkovin.
"Now, answer quick: Didst thou come here by strength,
Or by her will?" The youth a while stood mute,
Not knowing what to say. But looking up:
"Were it by mine own strength," he then replied,
"Beyond the hills she now would be with me;
If I am here, 'tis by her own free will."
Then standing straight, with stern and stately mien,
Unto the youth he said, in scornful tones:
"Hence, get thee gone!" Now, when they were alone,
He glanced askance upon his guilty wife
With loathsomeness and hatred in his eyes:
"Now, tell me of what death thou'lt rather die —
By having all thy bones crushed in a mill?
Or being trodden down 'neath horses' hoofs?
Or flaring as a torch to light a feast?"
She, for a trice, nor spake, nor moved, nor breathed,
But stood as if amazed and lost in thought;
Then, waking up as from some frightful dream:
"I am no corn to be crushed in a mill,
Or stubble grass for steeds to tread upon;
If I must die, then, like unto a torch,
Let me burn brightly in thy banquet hall."
In freezing tones the husband spake and said:
"Be it, then, as you list," and thereupon
He made her wear a long white waxen gown.
Then, in his hall, he bound her to a pyre,
And underneath he piled up glowing coals,
So that the flame soon rose and reached her knees.
With tearful eyes and a heartrending cry:
"Oh! Gjuro mine, take pity on my youth;
Look at my feet, as white as winter snow;
Think of the times they tripped about this hall
In mazy dance; let not my feet be scorched."
To all her prayers he turned a ruthless ear,
And only heaped more wood on the pile.
The lambent flames now leapt up to her hands,
And she in anguish and in dreadful dole
Cried out: "Oh! show some mercy on my youth;
Just see my hands – so soft, so small, so smooth —
Let not these scathful flames now scorch my hands.
Have pity on these dainty hands of mine,
That often lifted up thy babe to thee."
Her words awoke no pity in his heart,
That seemed to have become as cold as clay;
He only heaped up coals upon the pile,
Like some fell demon who had fled from hell.
The forked lurid tongues rose up on high,
Like slender fiery snakes that sting the flesh,
And, leaping up, they reached her snowy breast.
"Oh! Gjuro," she cried out, "for pity's sake
Have mercy on my youth; torment me not.
Though I was false to thee, let me not die.
See how these fearful flames deflower these breasts —
The fountain that hath fed thine infant's life —
See, they are oozing o'er with drops of milk."
But Gjuro's eyes were blind, his ears were deaf;
A viper now was coiled around his heart,
That urged him to heap up the pile with wood.
The rising flames began to blind her eyes;
Still, ere the fearful smoke had choked her breath,
She cast on Gjuro one long loving glance,
And craved, in anguish, mercy on her youth:
"Have pity on my burning eyes, and let
Me look once more upon my little child."
To all her cries his cruel soul was shut;
He only fanned and fed the fatal flame,
Until the faithless wife was burnt to death.
A moment of deep silence followed; the men twisted their moustaches silently, the women stealthily wiped away their tears with the back of their hands.
"Gjuro was a brute!" at last broke out a youth, impetuously.
Nobody answered at once; then an elderly man said, slowly:
"Perhaps he was, but you are not a husband yet, Tripko; you are only in love. Adultery, amongst us, is no trifle, as it is in Venice, for instance; we Slavs never forgive."
"I don't say he ought to have forgiven; in his place I might have strangled her, but as for burning a woman alive, as a torch, I find it heinous!"
Milena, who had fancied herself in Jeljena's place, could not refrain her sobs any longer; moreover, it seemed to her as if her guilt had been found out, and she wished the earth would open and swallow her alive.
"Oh, my poor Milena!" said Mara, soothingly, "you are too tender-hearted; it is only a pisma, after all." Then, turning to her neighbour, she added: "She has not been well for some days, and then – " she lowered her voice to a whisper.
"I am sorry," said the bard, "that I upset you in this way but – "
