UNDER THE YOKE

NEW 6s NOVELS

KING-EREANT. By Flora Annie Steel, Author

of " On the Face of the Waters," &c. THE "MIND THE PAINT GIRL." By Louis

Tracy. Adapted from Sir Arthur Pinero's Play

of that name. MOLYNEUX OF MAYFAIR. By Duncan

Schwann, Author of " The Book of a Bachelor."

Illlustrated by Olive Snell. THE MARRIAGE OP KETTLE. By C. J.

CuTCLiFFE Htne. Illustrated. THE CAHUSAC MYSTERY. By K. and H.

Hesketh Prichard. BETWEEN TWO THIEVES. By Kichard

Dehan, Author of " The Dop Doctor." ADNAM'S ORCHARD. By Sarah Grand,

Author of " The Heavenly Twins," &c. MINNA. By Karl Gjellerup, Author of " Kama-

mita." THE STORY OF STEPHEN COMPTON. By

J. E. Patterson, Author of " Tillers of the Soil." THE DECLENSION OP HENRY D'ALBIAC.

By V. GoLDiE, Author of "Marjorie Stevens," &c. GUTTER-BABIES. By Dorothea Slade. Illus- trated by Lady Stanley. A RUNAWAY RING. By Mrs. Henry Dudeney,

Author of " The Orchard Thief," &c. A DESERT ROSE. By Mrs. Daskein. BACK HOME. By Irvin S. Cobb.

LESS THAN THE DUST. By Mary Agnes

Hamilton. YONDER. By E. H. Young, Author of " A Oom of

Wheat," &c.

LONDON : WILLIAM HEINEMANN 21 Bedford Street, W.C.

UNDER THE YOKE ^

A ROMANCE OF BUL-^ GARIAN LIBERTY BY lYAN YAZOFF WITH

anIntrodijction by edmund gosse, c.b.

A NEW AND REVISED EDITION

LONDON MCMXII

WILLIAM HEINEMANN

PRESERVATION COPY ADDED ORIGINAL TO BE RETAINED

APR 22 1994

Firatpublished {HeinemanrCs International Library) December 1893 . » • V .. 2N^ Edition November 191S

rG, I03-7

'Pci^

INTRODUCTION

If there is a certain gratification in presenting to titeErtgiiBh. public the first specimen of the literature of a new people, that gratification is lifted above triviality, and grounded upon a serious critical basis, when the book so presented is in itself a masterpiece. I do not think that it will be questioned that Under the Yoke is a romance of modern history of a very high class indeed. That it should be the earliest representation of Bulgarian belles-lettres translated into a Western tongue may be curious and interesting, but the book rests its claim upon English readers on no such accidental quality. Tji any language, however hackneyed, the extreme beauty of this heroic novel, so simple and yet so artfully constructed, so full of ideal charm, permeated with so pure and fiery a passion, so human and tender, so modem and yet so direct and primitive, must have been assured among all imaginative readers.

The story is one of false dawn before the sunrise. The action proceeds, as may gradually be discovered, in the years 1875 and 1876, and the scene is laid in that comer of Bulgaria which was not until 1886 completely freed from Turkish rule — the north-west part of Thrace — overshadowed by the Balkan on the north, and then forming part of the anomalous suzerainty of Eastern Roumelia. Pod I goto is the title of the book, and I am instructed that in Bulgarian the three words Pod Igo-to mean, literally translated, Under the Yoke. The whole story is the chronicle of one of those abortive attempts which were made throughout Bulgaria and Roumelia forty years ago, under the hope of help from Russia, to throw off the intolerable Turkish yoke of tyranny. The tale ends tragically, with the failure of the particular and partial insurrection described, and the martyrdom of the leading patriots who took a part in it ; but the reader is preserved from finding this failure

717088

vi INTRODUCTION

depressing by the consciousness that relief was at hand, and that an end was soon afterwards to be put to all the horrors of bondage, to the incessant zaptie at the door, to the hateful Turkish rapine, to the misery of Christian servitude under a horde of Oriental officials.

For particulars as to the career of the author of Under the Yoke I am indebted to the kindness of Professor J. E. Gueshoff of Sofia, whose enthusiasm for English institutions is well known in this country. Ivan Vazoff, by far the most distinguished writer of modern Bulgaria, was bom in August 1850, at Sopot, a large South Bulgarian village in what was later known as Eastern Roumelia, at the foot of the Balkan, and about forty miles to the north of Philip- popolis. The locality indicated is identical with the centre of the district obviously described in Under the Yoke, and I should not be surprised to learn that Bela Cherkva, the little toAvn so lovingly and so picturesquely pictured by M. Vazoff as the centre of his novel, was Sopot under a disguise.

The other scenes of action — Klissoura, Karlovo, Kop- rivshtitsa, and the rest — ^appear in the course of this romance under their real names, and are the towns of a lovely pastoral district. The story passes in the heart of the famous Valley of Roses, where the attar is made ; and over those billowy meadows, heavy with the redundant rose, over the hurrying water-courses, the groves of walnut and pear trees, the white cupolas ringed about with poplars, the little sparkling cities — over all this foreground of rich fertility there rises the huge bulwark of the inaccessible Balkan, snow-clad all though the tropic summer, and feeding the flowery plain with the wealth of its cascades and torrents.

M. Ivan Vazoff was educated at the school of his native village. Prom Sopot his father, a small trader, sent him to Kalofer and then to Philippopolis. At that time, so Pro- fessor Gueshoff assures me, Bulgarian literature consisted of nothing but a few school-books and pohtical pamphlets,

INTRODUCTION vii

possessed of no literary pretensions. Like all other Bul- garians who have made their mark in new Bulgaria, M. Vazoff was driven to seek his facts and his ideas from foreign sources. None but works written in alien languages were worthy to be read. He set himself to study Russian and then French, taking advantage of the school libraries exist- ing in the chief centres of population. When the budding spirit of Bulgaria put forth that first tender leaf. The Periodic Review, published at Braila, over the frontiers of friendly Roumania, he was one of the first to contribute poems to it.

From 1870 to 1872 M. Vazoff resided, like so many edu- cated Bulgarians of that time, in Roumania. But in the latter year he went back to Sopot, hesitating between the only two employments open to such men as he, teaching and trade. He chose the latter, and entered his father's business* He was not very successful, attending to it, we may believe, not much more closely than his hero, Ognianoff, does to school- work. No doubt, not a little of M. Vazoff 's personal history is here mingled with his fiction, for we find that he grew more and more an object of suspicion to the Turkish authorities, until in 1876, the year of smouldering and futile insurrection, he had to fly north across the Balkan for his life. He reached Roumania in safety, and at Bucharest joined the Bulgarian Revolutionary Committee. The three stormy years that followed saw the final develop- ment of his genius, and the publication of three volumes of his patriotic lyrical poetry. The Banner and the Ouzla, The Sorrows of Bulgaria, The Deliverance, in which the pro- gressive story of Bulgarian emancipation may be read in admirable verse.

He returned in 1878 to find Sopot destroyed, and his father murdered by the Bashi-bozouks. The impression made upon his imagination by the horrors of his bleeding country may be clearly marked in the later chapters of Under the Yoke. M. Vazoff accepted from the Russians, who^^were then in occupation of Bulgaria, a judicial

viii" INTRODUCTION

appointment. In 1879 he was elected a member of the Per- manent Committee of the Provincial Assembly in the new and anomalous country of Eastern Roumelia. He settled in the new capital, Philippopolis, and here he published his earliest prose works, his stories of Not Long Ago, Mitrofan, Hadji Akhil, and The Outcast, his comedy of Mikhalaki, and issued, besides, two new collections of poetry, entitled Fields and Woods and Italy respectively. The last-mentioned was published in 1884, after the author had been travelling in the country it celebrated.

During the Serbo- Bulgarian war of 1885, M. Vazoif visited the battle-fields of Slivnitza, Tsaribrod, and Pirot, sang the valour of his countrymen in dithyrambic strains, and inveighed — in a volume entitled Slivnitza — against the fratricidal madness of King Milan. Dissatisfied with the turn taken by aiiairs in the peninsula after the abdication of Prince Alexander of Battenberg, M. Vazoff in 1886 left for Russia. It was while residing in Odessa that he wrote the romance of Pod Igoto (" Under the Yoke "), which is generally admitted to be his masterpiece. In 1889 he returned to Bulgaria, and settled in Sofia, where he had inherited some property from an uncle. Pod Igoto first appeared, in serial form, in the excellent Sbornik (or Miscellany) published by the Bulgarian Ministry of Public Instruction. The same review issued in 1892 a book by M. Vazoff entitled The Great Desert of Rilo, and in 1893 another, called In the Heart of the Rhodope. In 1891-92 our author undertook the editorial management of the monthly periodical Dennitsa (" The Morning Star "). He is now, without a rival, the leading writer of Bulgaria, and actively engaged in the production of prose and verse.

The poems of Vazoff enjoy a great popularity in his own country, and selections from them have been translated into Russian, Czech, Slovenian, and Servian. The Bohe- mians may read him in a version by Voracek, published at

INTRODUCTION ' ix

Prague in 1891, which is recommended to me as particu- larly admirable. But alas ! Bohemia is itself remote, and a poet to whom a translation into Czech appears to be an introduction to the Western world seems to us inaccessible indeed. Professor Gueshoff considers that VazofE will hold in the history of Bulgarian literature a place analogous to that of Chaucer in our otvti. Having no Bulgarian models to follow, and no native traditions of poetical style, Vazoff has had to invent the very forms of versifica- tion that he uses. His success has already led to the crea- tion of a school of young Bulgarian poets, but, though many have imitated Vazoff with talent, not one approaches him in the melody of his metrical effects or in his magical command of the resources of the Bulgarian language.

Written during an epoch of intense national excitement, in a language quite unused before, Vazoff's poems are described to me as reflecting with extraordinary directness and simple passion the woes and burdens, the hopes and the pleasures, of a pastoral people, long held in servitude but at length released. Most of the figures celebrated in his ballads and his odes are the heroes of contemporary patriotism — ^men, unknown till yesterday, who rose into momentary fame by fighting and dying for their country. They live crystallised in this beautiful verse, already classical, already the food and inspiration of Bulgarian youth — verse written by a son of the new country, one who suffered and struggled with her through her worst years of hope deferred. How tantalising it is that we cannot read such poetry, with the dew of the morning of a nation upon it ! It is almost enough to tempt the busiest of us to turn aside to the study of Bulgarian.

We may regret our wider loss the less, since it is now practicable to read in English what all Bulgarians seem to admit is the leading prose product of their nation. In Pod I goto (" Under the Yoke ") Vazoff is understood to have concentrated in riper form than elsewhere the peculiar gifts

X INTRODUCTION

of his mind and style. The first quality which strikes the critic in reading this very remarkable book is its freshness. It is not difficult to realise that, in its original form, this must be the earliest work of genius written in an unexhausted language. Nor, if Vazoff should live eighty years, and should write with unabated zeal and volume, is it very likely that he will ever recapture this first fine careless rapture. Under the Yoke is a historical romance, not constructed by an antiquary or imagined by a poet out of vague and in- sufficient materials accidentally saved from a distant past, but recorded by one who lived and fought and suffered through the scenes that he sets himself to chronicle. It is like seeing Old Mortality written by Morton, or finding the autobiography of Ivanhoe. It is history seen through a powerful telescope, with mediaeval figures crossing and recrossing the seventies of our own discoloured nineteenth century.

When the passion which animates it is taken into con- sideration, the moderate and artistic tone of Under the Yoke is worthy of great praise. In an episode out of the epic of an intoxicated nation, great extravagance, great violence might have been expected and excused. But this tale of forlorn Bulgarian patriotism is constructed with delicate considera- tion, and passes nowhere into bombast. The author writes out of his heart things which he has seen and felt, but the moment of frenzy has gone by, and his pulse as an observer has recovered its precision. The passion is there still, the intense conviction of intolerable wrongs, scarcely to be wiped out with blood. He reverts to the immediate past —

Seeing how with covered face and plumeless wings.

With unreverted head

Veiled, as who mourns his dead, Lay Freedom, couched between the thrones of kings,

A wearied lion without lair, And bleeding from base wounds, and vexed with alien air —

INTRODUCTION xi

but already the image is settled, and has taken the monu- mental and marmoreal aspect of past history.

The strenuous political fervour of this romance is relieved by a multitude of delicate, touching, and humorous episodes. The scene in the theatre, where, in the presence of the in- dulgent and indolent Turkish Bey, songs of Bulgarian insur- rection are boldly introduced into a sentimental farce, a spurious running translation being supplied to the unsus- pecting governor ; the thrilling slaughter of the bandits at the Mill ; the construction of the hollow cherry-tree cannon^ which bursts so ignominiously at the moment of trial ; the beautiful and heroic love-scenes between Ognianoff and Rada, cunningly devised and prepared as the very food of patriotism for youthful native readers ; the copious and recurrent, but never needless or wire-drawn, descriptions of the scenery of the Balkan valleys ; the vignettes of life in Bulgarian farmsteads, and cafes, and monasteries, and water-mills — all these are but the embroidery of a noble piece of imaginative texture, unquestionably one of the finest romances that Eastern Europe has sent into the West.

Edmund Gosse

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

Apart from the difficulty of rendering into English a work written in Bulgarian, a language which may be said to be as yet uncultivated and in a state of transition, which possesses no dictionary worthy of the name, and which, at all events in peasant mouths and in certain districts, is a strange jumble, where Turkish words, and sometimes even Greek, predominate — it is no easy task to bring before the English reader a more or less accurate picture of village life in the Balkans, where so much must appear strange and inexplicable. It has been thought best to take the fewest liberties possible with the text, so far as this could be done without giving the translation too un-English an appearance.

Such Turkish words as it has been thought necessary to retain will be found explained in footnotes where they occur. But it may be not amiss to give a somewhat fuller explanation of the term " chorbaji " and the class designated by that name.

The Turkish word chorbaji literally means a soup-man, one who makes, distributes, or otherwise deals with soup. In the hierarchy of the Janissaries the chorbaji was an officer, probably charged with the superintendence of the commissariat, whose rank equalled that of a captain. The term was also applied to the principal resident in Christian villages, who extended his hospitality to such chance strangers as might arrive, there being no inn accommodation then available. So it came to mean any comparatively wealthy and respectable townsman, any one who belonged to " Society.'' And as, not unnaturally, these were usually men of thoroughly con- servative notions, opposed to any upheaval which might en- danger their possessions and security, the chorbajis became as a class most unpopular among the ardent and enthusiastic youth who were eager for their country's emancipation. But M. Vazoff defends them from the sweeping imputation, often made against them, that they did nothing but impede and even betray the national movement, and at least two of his insurgents belong to this much-abused class.

xiii

CONTENTS

PAKT I.

CHAP.

I. A VISITOR

II. THE STORM

ni. THE MONASTERY

IV. BACK AT MARKO'S

V. THE REST OE THE NIGHT

VI. THE LETTER

VII. HEROISM

VIII. AT CHORBAJI YORDAN'S

IX. EXPLANATIONS

X. THE NUNNERY

XI. rada's trials

XII. BOICHO OGNIANOFF

XIII. THE ROAD TO SILISTRIA

XIV. AN UNFORESEEN MEETING XV. A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE

XVI. THE THEATRICALS XVII. TWO STROKES OF LUCK XVIII. A DIFFICULT MISSION XIX. A DISAGREEABLE VISIT XX. THE FUGITIVE XXI. AT VERIGOVO

XXII. AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT XXIII. THE SEWING- PARTY AT ALTINOVO XXIV. GOD IS TOO HIGH AND THE TSAR TOO PAE XXV. RETRIBUTION XXVI. THE STORM XXVII. IN THE HUT

PART II.

I. TOGETHER AGAIN II. EXTREMES MEET

III. FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW

IV. A SPY IN 1876

V. THE CHERRY-TREE VI. MARKO'S PRAYER VII. A NATION INTOXICATED VIII. TROUBLE UPON TROUBLE IX. THE REBELLION

X. THE BATTERY OF ZLI DOL XI. DISCOURAGEMENT IN THE FORT XII. A BAPTISM

XIII. THE VALLEY OF THE STREMA IS FLAMES

XIV. A FRESH ATTEMPT XV. AVRAM

XVI. NIGHT XVII. MORNING XVIII. THE FIGHT XIX. RADA XX, THE TWO STREAMS

TV

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163 170 175 179 187 196 201 204 209 212 215 218 221 227 230 233 235 237 243 247

xvi CONTENTS

PART III.

CHAP. PAGE

I. ▲ EETROSPECT 251

II. A shepherd's hospitality 253

III. TO THE NORTH 256

rV. THE FLAG 262

V. THE SLAIN 263

VI. THE messenger 266

VII. marika's failure 269

VIII. THE MEADOW 273

IX. AN ally 277

X. love and HEROISM 281

XI. THE BASHI-BOZOUK 284

XII. THE HISTORY OF AN TTNREVOLTED CITY 286

XIII. THE HISTORY CONTINUED 290

XIV. A SERIOUS CONVERSATION 292 XV. THE MEETING ' 295

XVI. THE PARTING 297

XVII. DESTRUCTION 300

PART I

CHAPTER I : A VISITOR

On a delightful evening in May, Chorbaji Marko, bare- headed and in dressing gown and shppers, was sitting at supper with his family in the courtyard. A^ usual,, the table was laid at the foot of the vines ; on one side flowed the? clear, cold brooklet, which sang ni^ht and day like a swallow as it rippled past ; on the other, the; high, hedge* o J: clustering ivy made an evergreen cover for the wall all the year round. A lantern shone down from an overhanging branch of lilac, which spread its odorous blossoms over the heads of the assembled family. The family was a large one. Round Marko, his old mother and his buxom wife, were crowded a complete circle of children, great and small, all armed with knives and forks, and ready for a terrible on- slaught on their victuals ; they fully personified the Turkish , saying : *' Saman doushmanlari " (foes to their fodder), i From time to time their father cast an approving glance at the execution done by the teeth of these indefatigable workers, and encouraged them with a smile and a merry " Set to, young 'uns. Fill up the jug again, Pena." And the maid would go to the well, where the great wine jar was cooling, and fill the earthenware jug ; while Marko, handing it to the children, would say, " Drink, you young rascals ! " and so the jar would go round the table. Eyes brightened, cheeks sparkled, and lips parted in a smile of satisfaction, and Marko would turn to his wife, and seeing a look of disapproval on her face, would say, " Let them drink in my presence. I won't stint them of wine — for I don't want them to become drunkards when they grow up."

Marko was a thoroughly practical man. His education had been but slight — he was of the old regime — but thanks to his natural common sense, he understood human nature well, and knew that people always hanker most after what is forbidden. For the same reason he always entrusted his children with the key of his money-chest, so as to prevent any inchnation to theft. " Gocho," he would say, " go and open the cypress-wood chest and bring me the money-bag "; or else, as he went out, " My boy, just count out twenty liras in gold, and give them to me when I come in."

In spite of the then prevailing custom, which required

2 UNDER THE YOKE

that during meals children should remain standing till their elders had finished, as a mark of respect, Marko's children were always allowed to be seated ; nor was this rule changed when there were guests present. " I want them to get used to company," he would say, " not to run wild, and sink into their shoes when they see a stranger, like Anka Raspopche," who had beccme, proverbial for bashfuhaess of the most abject desciiptioii whenever she met a man with cloth trousers, on.

As "he w^a;s engaged with his business all day, Marko only saw his whole family once a day — at supper — and it was then that he carried out his system of education in his own peculiar manner.

Thus : " Dimitr, don't sit down before your grandmother takes her place — you're becoming a regular Freemason ! * Ilia, don't hold your knife like a butcher ; cut your meat, don't hack it. Gocho, what are you about ? Take off your fez when you sit down to supper. Why, your hair is as long as a Toutrakan peasant's ; go and have it cut presently, cossack-style. Vassili, turn in those elbows of yours — you're sprawling all over the table. You can do that in the fields, but not in here. Abraham, what do you mean by getting up from your supper without crossing yourself ? None of these Protestant * ways here, sir ! "

But this was only when Marko was in a good temper ; if he was put out, no one dared to open his mouth.

Being extremely pious and particular, Marko took the greatest pains to inculcate a proper rehgious spirit in his children. Every evening the older members of the family had to be present while prayers were read. Every Sunday or hohday, all were obliged to go to church — this was a rule which admitted of no exception ; any infringement led to a storm in the household. One Christmas Eve, Kiril had been told to go to confession, as he was to communicate the following morning. Kiril came back from church suspiciously early — in fact, he had not been near the Pope, " Did you confess ? " his father asked, incredulously. " Yes." " To whom ? " " To— to Father Enio," stam- mered Kiril. That settled it, for Father Enio was a young deacon who could not give absolution. Marko at once

* The teiigas " Freemason " and " Ptotestant " are almost synonymoua in Bulgaria, and are applied to persons who do not comply with the orthodox fasts, &c.

A VISITOR 8

detected the lie, seized his son angrily by the ear, and so dragged him to the church, where he handed him over to old Father Stavri, with the words, " Father, just confess this donkey " ; and, sitting down, he waited there himseK, till the operation was over. He was still more severe in cases of playing truant from school.

For though he had but little education himself, he loved learning and the learned. He was one of those numerous patriots whose eager zeal for the new educational movement has in so short a time filled Bulgaria with schools. He had but a dim notion of the practical benefit likely to accrue to a nation then consisting almost exclusively of farm labourers, artisans, and merchants. Marko saw with regret that there was neither work nor bread for the learned when they left school. But he felt, he understood in his heart that some secret force lay hidden in learning which would change the world. He believed in learning as he did in God — ^%vithout inquiry : hence he sought to advance it as far as lay in his power. His only ambition was to be elected a member of the School Committee, as indeed he invariably was, being universally respected and esteemed. For this modest social duty Marko spared neither time nor trouble ; but he sedulously avoided all other dealings with the authorities, and especially with the Konak.*

When the table was cleared Marko rose. He was about fifty years of age, very tall, with a slight stoop, but still hale. His ruddy face, tanned by sun and wind in his frequent joumeyings to and from shearings and fairs, had a serious and somewhat stem expression even when he smiled. The thick eyebrows, which almost met, added to the severity of his mien. But a certain air of geniality, straightforward- ness, and sincerity toned this down, and made the whole sympathetic and worthy of respect.

Marko sat down on the wooden bench among the ivy, and puffed at his chibouk. The children scattered round in free play, and the maid brought in the coffee.

That evening Marko was in a good temper. He watched with pleased interest the gambols of his well-fed, rosy children as they filled the air with their ringing laughter. Every moment the scene changed, while the pattering of their feet and the chorus of chattering, laughter, and

* The Konak is the official residence of the chief executive officer, and hence comes to be used for " the Turkish authorities."

4 UNDER THE YOKE

shouting grew louder and louder. It was like a swarm of sparrows playing in the boughs. But the innocent glad- some game soon assumed a more serious aspect ; the shouts became angrier, and little hands were raised in passionate expostulation : the merry concert turned into a quarrelsome brawl — screams were heard and tears began to flow. A rush was made for their parents, the assailants being eager to justify themselves ; the wronged pouring forth their complaints ; one ran to his father for protection, the other to her mother, to win her over as counsel for the defence. Then, from an impartial spectator, Marko suddenly assumed the role of judge. In true kadi fashion, and in defiance of all known legal procedure, he would listen to neither plaintiff nor defendant, but simply pronounced and exe- cuted his judgment — a slap here and there, as occasion called for it ; but, with the little ones — the pets — a kiss usually met the requirements of the case.

So peace was restored ; but the noise had woke up the youngest, who was asleep in his grandmother's arms. ** Hush, darling, hush, or the Turks will come and carry you off," crooned Grandma Ivanitsa, as she gently rocked him. This roused Marko. " Mother," he said, *' why do you always terrify them with the Turks ? You'll only make cowards of them." " Well, well, that's my way," said the grandmother. " Why shouldn't I ? Aren't the Turks terrible enough ? I've seen 'em now for over sixty years, and they'll be just the same when I die." " Ah ! grand- ma," said little Petr, " when I and brother Vassili and brother Ghiorghi grow up, we'll take our scythes and kill all the Turks." " Won't you leave a single one of them, dear ? "

" How is little Asen ? " asked Marko of his wife, as she came out of the house. " He's quieter now — he's fallen asleep," she answered. " There, again, what business had he to be looking at that kind of thing ? " grumbled the grandmother ; " there he is now, ill in bed." Marko frowned, but said nothing. It should be mentioned that Asen had been taken with convulsions through looking out of the school window while they were bringing in the head- less corpse of Gencho, the painter's child, from the fields. Marko hurriedly changed the conversation. " That will do, children ; I want your elder brother to tell us a story : tifter that you shall all sing a song. Come along, Vassili,

A VISITOR 5

tell us what the teacher taught you to-day . " " A lesson out of the History of the World." " Well, tell us all about it." " The war for the Spanish Succession." " What, them Spanishers ? No, no, my boy, that's no good ; tell us some- thing about Russia." " What ? " asked Vassili. " Why, something about Ivan the Cruel, or Bonaparte when

he burned Moscow, or \ " Marko did not finish

his sentence. Something rustled at the dark end of the yard ; tiles fell with a clatter from the wall. Hens and chickens woke up in terror, and rushed hither and .thither with despairing cluck. The servant who was taking in the washing hung out to dry shrieked '' Thieves ! thieves ! "

The courtyard became the scene of the wildest confusion. The women rushed to the house and hid themselves ; the children vanished ; but Marko, who was no coward, rose to his feet, and after peering into the darkness from whence the noise had proceeded, ran into the house, from which he immediately emerged with a pistol in each hand, and hurried towards the stable.

This act — ^perhaps not the most prudent one possible — was effected so rapidly that his wife had no time to seek to restrain him. All that she did was to raise her voice in entreaty, but even this was drowned by the angry barking of the house dog, who had halted, terrified and enraged, by the fountain.

For there really was a stranger there in the shadow between the stable and the fowl-house, but the darkness was so thick that nothing could be seen, being still more impervious to Marko's eyes owing to the haste with which he had rushed from out of the light of the lantern.

Marko hastened to the stable, caressed the horse so as to pacify him, and peered through the lattices of the window. Whether his eyes had become used to the dark- ness, or whether it was fancy, he saw in the corner, by the window itseK, something upright, like a man, but quite motionless.

Marko cocked his pistol, leant forward, and cried in loud, stern tones, " Don't stir, or else you're a dead man." He waited a moment with his finger on the trigger.

" Gospodin * Marko," whispered a voice.

" Who's there ? *' asked Marko in Bulgarian. * Gospodin is Mr.

6 UNDER THE YOKE

" Don't be afraid ; it's a friend." And the stranger approached nearer to the window. Marko could now see his figure clearly.

' ' Who are you ? " asked Marko suspiciously as he lowered his pistol.

' Ivan, son of old Manola Kralich, of Widdin."

" I don't know you. What are you doing there ? "

"I'll tell you directly, sir," answered the stranger, lowering his voice.

" I can't see you. Where have you come from ? "

" I'll tell you, sir ; from far away."

" Where from ? What do you mean by far away ? "

" From very far away, Marko," whispered the stranger almost inaudibly.

" From where ? "

*' From Diarbekir ! " * murmured the stranger.

The word had an electric effect on Marko' s memory. He remembered that one of old Manola's sons had been transported to Diarbekir. Manola had long had busi- ness dealings with him, and had rendered him many a service.

He went out of the stable, approached his nocturnal visitor in the darkness, took him by the hand, and led him through the stable into the shed.

" What, Ivancho, is that you ? I remember you now, my lad. You can stop here overnight, and we'll look after you in the morning," said Marko, in a low tone.

" Thank you, Marko. You're the only person I know here," whispered Kralich.

" Don't talk of it. Your father has no better friend than me. Make yourself at home here. Did anyone see you ? "

" I don't think so ; there was no one in the street when I came in."

" Came in — yours is a nice way of coming in — over the wall ! Never mind. Old Manola's son is always a welcome guest here, especially when he comes from that distance. Are you hungry, Ivancho ? "

*' No — thanks, sir ; I'm not hungry."

" Come, come, you must take a bit of supper. Let me go and quiet my people dovm first, and then I'll come back and we'll talk things over. God bless you, my boy, I might

* The fortress of Diarbekir, in the heart of Asia Minor, was much used as a place of transportation for political criminals.

THE STORM 7

have done you a mischief," said Marko, unloading his pistols.

" Forgive me, Marko ; I acted very foolishly."

" Stop there till I come." And Marko went out and closed the stable door.

He found his wife and mother fainting from fright, and when they saw him safe and sound they shrieked and threw their arms round him, as if to prevent him from going out again. Marko reassured them laughingly ; he had seen no one in the courtyard — ^probably some cat or dog had knocked one of the tiles down, and that had frightened silly Pena.

"As it is, we've roused the whole neighbourhood," he said, hanging his pistols up again on the wall.

The family calmed down once more.

Old mother Ivanitsa called out to the servant-maid : " Pena, my girl, botheration take you ! You've given us a proper fright. Go and put the children to bed at once."

Just then there came a loud knock at the door. Marko went into the court and asked, " Who's there ? "

" Open, guv 'nor," was the answer in Turkish.

" The on-bashi,"* muttered Marko uneasily. " We must hide him in some other place." And taking no notice of a fresh knock at the door, he hurried to the stable.

" Ivancho ! " he called in the shed.

There was no answer.

" He must have fallen asleep. Ivancho ! " he repeated, louder.

No one replied.

" Poor fellow ! he must have run away," thought Marko. noticing for the first time that the stable door was open. " What will become of the lad now ? " he said to himself, anxiously.

To make sure, he called again once or twice, and as no reply came he returned to the door, the knocking at which had become furious, and threatened to break it in.

CHAPTER II : THE STORM

In truth, at the first knock at the door, and without knowing why or how, Ivan Kralich had clambered hurriedly over the wall and leapt into the street. For a few moments he

* Lit. decurion, a corporal of Zapti^B (police).

8 UNDER THE YOKE

stood bewildered. Then he looked carefully round him, but there was nothing save impenetrable darkness. Black storm clouds were already covering the sky ; the cool even- ing breeze had become a chill blast, which whistled shrilly through the empty streets. Kralich turned down the first of these and followed it hurriedly, guiding himself by the walls. Every door and window was closed and dark. Not a single light gleamed through the shutters — ^not a sign of life anywhere. The hamlet was as still as death, like all country towns long before midnight. He kept on at random for some time, hoping to find his way out into the open country. Suddenly he started and stopped under a broad- spreading roof. His eye had discerned dark figures moving. Kralich stood still and turned with precaution to the door before which he found himself. A growl, followed by an angry bark, made him start back. He had woke up the house-dog, who was asleep inside the porch. His move- ments and the barking betrayed him. The night patrol stopped, weapons clashed, and " Halt ! " was cried in Turkish. At moments of unavoidable danger a man's presence of mind deserts him, like a coward, and only a blind instinct of seK-preservation takes the place of all his moral faculties. Oue then has, so to speak, no longer a head, but only one's hands for self-defence and one's legs for flight. Kralich had only to turn back and the darkness would at once have put its impenetrable barrier between him and the patrol. But he rushed straight at it — ran like the whirlwind right through the police — and fled. The patrol followed, and the streets rang with shouts and foot- steps. Amongst other exclamations was heard the loud voice of the Bulgarian constable {pandour), " Stop, con- found you ! we are going to fire ! " But Kralich fled with- out turning back. A few carbines were discharged after him, but without effect — ^the darkness saved him. His flight was not so successful, for he soon felt some one grasp him by the sleeve. He hurried on, managing to free himself of his coat, which he left in the hands of his pursuers. Two more shots were fired after him. Kralich continued to fly, without knowing whither he was going : he scarcely knew what he was doing : his legs tottered under him from weariness. At every step he was ready to fall and remain on the ground. Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the darkness, and Kralich saw that he was in

THE STORM 9

the fields and no longer pursued. Then he threw himself doA\Ti, panting, under a wahiut tree, to rest for a moment. The mountain blast was blowing hard, the rustling of the leaves mingled with its roar and the dull rumbling of the thunder. Soon the storm came perilously near ; the flashes became more frequent, and more than one bolt fell close by the fugitive. The short rest and cold breeze restored Kralich's strength. He saw it would soon rain, and pressed onward to find some refuge from the storm. The trees round him soughed mournfully, their lofty summits bent under the force of the wind, grass and weeds waved to and fro, and all nature seemed on the alert and quivering with terror. Big drops of rain fell here and there, and struck the ground like bullets. Another flash of lightning lit up the sky behind the Balkan, followed by a deep roll of thunder that seemed to rend the heavens in two. Heavy rain poured from the leaden firmament ; flash after flash cleft the clouds and gave fantastic outlines to the trees and rocks. Those momentary glimpses of scenery, at once swallowed up in deep darkness, resembled some wonderful and fearful panorama. There was a wild beauty in the strife of the elements — in the conflict of the horizons — the infernal illumination of the abysses ; a majestic spectacle, in which the wonderful combination of the boundless with the mysterious was blended in an unearthly demoniacal har- mony. In storms nature attains themes of sublimes t poetry.

Though dripping with water and blinded by the light- ning, while the crashing thunder still rang in his ears, Kralich wandered on at random among the fields, orchards, and gardens, where no refuge was to be had. At last the plashing of a waterfall overcame all other sounds and reached his ears. It was a mill-stream. On a sudden a new flash disclosed to him the roof of the mill, nestling among drooping willows. Kralich stopped under the eaves. He pushed at the door, which opened. He entered. The mill was dark and silent. Outside, the storm had calmed down : the rain was slowly ceasing, and the moon began to appear behind the clefts in the clouds. The night had cleared up. These rapid changes in weather are usual only in May.

Soon steps were heard approaching from outside, and Kralich hastened to hide in a narrow space between the granary and the wall.

10 UNDER THE YOKE

" There now — the wind has blown the door open," said a rough voice in the darkness, and a petroleum lamp was at once lighted.

Kralich, hidden in his corner, stooped and saw the miller, a tall gaunt peasant, and with him a barefooted girl in a short blue dress, probably his daughter, who was closing and trying to bolt the door. She was about thirteen or fourteen years old, but still quite a child, and her black eyes peeped out with childish innocence from under her long lashes. Despite her neglected dress, her figure gave promise of future gracefulness. She seemed to have come from some mill close at hand, for they were dry. The miller added :

" It's a good thing we turned off the channel, or this storm would have smashed it. Old Stancho's stories never come to an end. It's a blessing no robber came in." He looked round him. " Now, Marika, you go off to bed. I wonder why your mother sends you here ? Only for me to have the more anxiety," added the miller, hammering down the plank in the channel, and humming a tune to himself. Marika, without waiting any longer, went to the far end of the mill, said her prayers, shook out some blankets and lay down to sleep : in a moment she was slumbering peacefully.

Kralich watched the scene with lively curiosity. The miller's rough but kindly face inspired him with confidence. It was impossible that a traitor's soul could lurk behind that straightforward and honest countenance. He decided to come out and ask him for aid and counsel. But at that very minute the miller stopped humming, drew himself up, and listened to sounds of voices outside. A loud knock was heard at the door.

" Open the door, miller," cried some one in Turkish.

He went to the door, fastened the bolt securely, and re- turned pale with terror.

The hammering at the door continued, and a fresh summons was made, followed by the bark of a dog.

" Turks out hunting," muttered the miller, whose ear had recognised the bark of a greyhound. " What do the brutes want ? It must be Yemeksiz Pehlivan."

Yemeksiz Pehlivan, the wildest of midday and midnight marauders, was the terror of the neighbourhood. A fort- night before he had murdered the whole family of Gancho

THE STORM 11

Daghli in the village of Ivanovo. They said — and not without some ground — that it was he who had cut off the child's head which had been brought to the to\\Ti the day before.

The door shook under the knocking.

The miller remained for a moment plunged in thought, clasping his head with both hands, in doubt as to what course he should follow. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Suddenly he moved to a dusty shelf, from under which he took an axe, and then went to the door, which was nearly beaten in by the knocking. But his momentary decision vanished as soon as he glanced at his daughter. A terrible hopelessness, torture, suffering were depicted on his face. The paternal feeling overcame his perturbed con- science. He thought of the Bulgarian proverb : " The sword does not strike the bowed head," and decided, in- stead of resistance, to beg for mercy — from the merciless. He hurriedly replaced the axe behind the granary, where Kralich was hidden, covered up Marika carefully, and opened the door.

On the threshold stood two armed Turks in hunting costume. One held a greyhound in a leash. The first, who was in truth the bloodthirsty Yemeksiz Pehlivan, cast an inquisitive glance round the mill, and entered. He was tall, lame, cadaverously thin, and beardless. His face was not as terrible as his name and his deeds would imply ; but his small, grey, almost colourless eyes twinkled with evil cunning, like a monkey's. His companion was a short, thick-set, muscular man, with a face of bestial expression, in which the lowest animal instincts and ferocity were apparent ; this man followed with the greyhound, and stood by the door.

Yemeksiz Pehlivan looked angrily at the miller.

The two men took off their dripping overcoats.

" Why didn't you open, miller ? " he asked. The miller muttered some excuse, bowing to the ground, and casting an uneasy glance at the end of the mill where Marika lay sleeping.

" Are you alone here ? " and Yemeksiz looked round.

" Quite alone," was the hurried replj^ ; then, thinking a lie was useless, the miller added, " and the child is asleep over there."

Just then Marika moved, and turned her face towards

12 UNDER THE YOKE

them. The pale light of the lamp shone on her white throat. The Turks cast eager glances at the sleeping girl. A cold sweat moistened the miller's forehead.

Yemeksiz turned to him with an assumed kindliness. "Guv'nor," he said, "sorry to trouble you. Go and buy us a bottle of raki."

" But, Pehhvan Aga, all the shops are shut now — it's mid- night," answered the miller, trembling at the terrible idea of leaving Marika alone in such company.

The cripple answered : "Go along with you ; no shop would refuse to serve you if you say it's for me. I want you to treat us — that's the way to make friends."

He said this in jest, being certain of obtaining his end. He did not even seek to hide his intention from the unhappy father.

Yemeksiz glanced at the sleeping child in her careless and innocent attitude . Seeing that the miller did not move, he began to grow impatient, but still retained his assumed gentleness, and said quietly :

" Mashallah ! that's a pretty girl of yours, guv'nor. Off you go ; we're your guests, you know — you must treat us. You fetch the raki, and we'll look after the mill." Then he added in a threatening tone : " Don't you know Yemeksiz Pehhvan ? "

The miller had understood from the first the abominable design screened by that shallow trick. His simple, honest nature revolted at the thought. But he was caught in the trap — he was alone against two armed men. To resist was foolish and useless ; his death, which was now a matter of indifference to him, could not save his child. He tried again by prayers to soften his enemies :

" Gentlemen, I'm an old man — take pity on my poor old bones. I'm worn out by my day's work : let me sleep in peace. Don't blacken my face."*

He was addressing deaf ears. The lame Turk exclaimed : "" Come, come, man, we're thirsty — you talk too much. Don't you live in the mill ? Go for the raki ! " And he pushed him to the door.

" I won't leave my mill at this time of night ! Let me alone ! " said the miller, hoarsely.

The two Turks then threw aside their feigned gentle-

* I.e., " Don't bring disgrace upon me " — a common oriental ex- pression.

THE STORM 13

ness of manner, and their eyes flashed furiously on the miller.

" What ! he shows his tusks, the pig ! " cried Yemeksiz, drawing his gataghan, while his eyes became bloodshot.

" You may kill me, but I won't leave my child alone," said the miller, humbly but decidedly.

Yemeksiz stood up. '* Topal Hassan," he said, " throw the dog out — I don't want to dirty my knife."

The other rushed at the miller, seized him, and forced him to the door, whence he tried to spurn him with his foot. The miller rose to his feet and sprang in again, crying " Mercy ! mercy ! "

The noise woke Marika, who stood up in terror. When she saw the Turk's drawn sword she shrieked and fled to her father.

"Mercy, mercy, gentlemen!" cried the unfortunate father, clasping his child in his arms.

At a sign from Yemeksiz the powerful Topal Hassan threw himseK like a tiger on the miller, seized his hands, and bound them.

" That's it, Topal Hassan; let's tie up the old rat of a miller ; since he wants to stop here, let him stay and see the show — that's what a fool like that deserves. He shall remain tied up, and when we set fire to the mill it'll be our turn to look on and enjoy ourselves."

And the two brigands, paying no attention to his cries, forced the miller up to a beam and began to tie him with ropes.

The miller, frenzied with terror at the thought of what he was going to see, roared for help like a wild beast ; but no help was to be hoped for in that lonely place.

Marika opened the door and began to shriek and wail. But only the echoes replied.

" Here, miss, you come in. We want you," cried Yemeksiz, as he fetched her in. " Help, help ! " cried the miller in despair. " Is there no one ? Marika, come, dear," he shouted in his frenzy — calHng on his child for help.

Krahch had all the while been watching the scene motionless ; his legs trembled unnaturally, his hair stood on end, and the cold dew was on his face.

All that he had seen and undergone that evening, from leaving Marko's house till that moment, was so strange and

14 UNDER THE YOKE

fearful that it seemed to him like a dream. The whistling of the bullets, the roar of the thunder were still echoing in his ears. His thoughts were confused. At first he had made sure the Turks had come for him, and that his fate was sealed. The conviction of his utter helplessness had quenched all his energy, and left him only enough to give himseK up to the Turks, so as to save the miller. But now that he saw that he was to be a spectator of something far more terrible, and when he heard the miller call Marika to his assistance, a blind rage and despair fired his very soul. He had never looked on blood before, but the Turks seemed to him like flies. Fatigue, weakness, doubt — all disappeared. He stretched out his hand mechanically and seized the axe ; he passed along mechanically, stooping behind the wheat-sacks ; rose up, pale as death, rushed at Yemeksiz, who stood with his back to him, and plunged the axe into his body. All this he did as in a dream.

The Turk fell to the ground without a groan.

At sight of this sudden and dangerous foe, Topal Hassan left the rope with which he was fastening up the miller, drew his pistol, and fired it at Kralich. The mill was filled with smoke, the action of the shot put out the lamp, and all were plunged in darkness. Then in the dark began a terrible struggle, with the hands, nails, feet, teeth. The combatants, at first two, but soon three in number, rolled in the dark mth wild cries and groans, mingled with the loud bark of the dog. Topal Hassan, as strong as a bullock, resisted desperately his two antagonists, who on their part knew they must conquer or meet a fate which was only too certain.

When the lamp shone again, Hassan was writhing in his death-agony. Kralich had during the fight managed to get hold of his knife and plunge it in his breast. The two bodies were weltering in blood.

Then the miller rose and looked with wonder at the un- known assistant who had come to his rescue. Before him stood a tall young man, deadly pale, thin, with piercing black eyes, long shaggy hair, covered with dust ; his coat was torn, stained with mud, and wet ; his waistcoat had lost its buttons, and showed that he had no shirt ; his trousers were in rags, and his boots scarcely held together. In a word, it was a man either just out of gaol or on his way thither. The miller took him as such. But he cast a look of sympathy on him, and said earnestly ;

THE STORM 15

" Sir, I don't know who you are or how you come to be here. But as long as I live I can't pay you back for this. You've saved me from death and from worse than death ; you've spared my grey hairs from shame. May God ble&s and reward you. The whole nation will honour you for what you've done. Do you know who he is ? (pointing to Yemeksiz). He's made mother and daughter weep before now. Now the world's free of the monster. God bless you, my son ! "

Kralich listened with tears in his eyes to these simple and sincere words — then, much moved, he said :

" I haven't done much, father ; we have killed two, but there are thousands and thousands more such monsters. The Bulgarian nation can only free itself and live in peace if all seize their axes and cut down the enemy. But tell me, where are we to bury these bodies, so as to leave no trace ? "

"I've got a grave ready for the unbelievers : only help me to carry them out," said the old man.

Then the two men, between whom that night of blood had placed an eternal bond of union, carried the corpses out to an old pit behind the mill, and threw them in, cover- ing them over carefully with earth so as to leave nothing showing. On returning to the door with the pick-axe and shovel, something white bounded round them.

" Ah, the dog ! " cried Kralich ; "it will lurk round here and betray us. I must knock it over the head," and he struck it with the axe. The dog fell yelping by the water. Kralich pushed it into the mill-stream with his axe, and it sank there.

'• We ought to have buried it by the other two dogs," said the miller.

They removed the blood-stains from their clothes, and covered the ground over with leaves.

" Why, what's that running from you ? " asked the miller, seeing that Kralich's hand was bleeding.

" Nothing ; only where the brute bit me while I was stabbing him in the heart."

" Let me bind it up for you at once," said the miller, tying it up with a rag. Then, leaving his hand, he looked him straight in the face, and said :

" I beg your pardon, my son, but where do you come from ? " And he cast another look of surprise at the stranger.

16 UNDER THE YOKE

" I'll tell you later on, father ; and all I can say is that I'm a Bulgarian, and a good Bulgarian. Have no doubts on my score."

" My God ! I should think you were. You're a real Bul- garian and no mistake, and for such as you I'd give my life."

" Tell me now where can I get clothes and find a shelter for the night ? "

" Let's go to the monastery to Deacon Vikenti. He's a relation of mine. That man has done no end of good. And he's a real Bulgarian too. Come along ; we'll all sleep there. It's a good thing no one saw us." Father Stoyan was mistaken : behind the walnut-tree the moon now showed a tall human figure which had witnessed, motionless, the burial of the two Turks. But neither he nor Krahch had noticed it.

Soon after, the miUer, Kralich, and Marika (who during the struggle had hidden herself behind an elm -tree and was sobbing piteously) started towards the monastery, the high walls of which, standing out in the moonlight, shone forth against the dark branches of the walnuts and poplars. Be- hind them the unknown figure also proceeded towards the monastery.

CHAPTER III : THE MONASTERY They passed through a field, where great boulders of rock were scattered here and there, under the branches of the century-old walnuts, with their trunks worn and rotting away with age : soon the high walls of the monastery came clearly into view. In the mysterious softness of the moon- Hght it resembled an old Gothic castle, with fantastically carved gables.

Some years before, the old building had rejoiced in a gigantic pine-tree, which sheltered the church with its high- spreading branches — the home of a thousand feathered songsters. But a storm had uprooted the pine and the church tower, and a new tower, which had been erected in its place, with a lofty new-fashioned cupola, made a strange contrast to the dilapidated old remains of a past age : it gave one the same shock that is produced by a piece of fresh white paper stuck on a time-worn parchment. The old church and tower have fallen under the assaults of time and destiny, and henceforth the monastery has become

THE MONASTERY 17

sombre : the eye no longer follows the towering pine to the clouds : the soul no longer draws pious inspirations from the paintings on the walls representing saints, archangels, holy fathers, and martyrs, defiled and with their eyes put out by the Kirjalis and Dehbashis.*

Our trio passed behind the monastery and stopped by the back wall : this was easier of access, and nearer to- Deacon Vikenti's cell. Moreover, there were no monastery dogs there to bark at them, nor servants to ask unnecessary questions.

The mountain waterfalls plashed hard by and filled the neighbourhood with a wild echo.

Some one had to climb over the wall, so as to fetch the ladder from inside and pass it to the others. This duty naturally fell to Kralich's lot, he having begun that evening by scaling Marko's wall.

The three clambered quickly over the wall, at the risk of a shot from the warlike higoumen,f in case he should happen to see them from his window. They entered the small back- yard, which communicated with the great quadrangle by a door closed on the inside. The deacon's cell, which was on the ground floor, looked on to the back-yard. They stopped under the window, where a light was still burning.

" Vikenti's still reading," said the miller, raising himself on tip -toe and looking in. He knocked at the window. It was opened, and a voice asked :

" What, Stoyan, is that you ? Whatever do you want ? "

" Give me the door-key, deacon, and I'll tell you. Are you alone ? "

'• Yes ; everybody's asleep. Here you are."

The miller disappeared in the shadow, and in two or three minutes reappeared and led Kralich and his daughter into the inner quadrangle, locking the door behind him.

The great courtyard, when they entered, was quite still. The silence was broken only by the monotonous and drowsy gurgling of the spring, which resembled the last groan of a dying man. Dark rows of covered verandahs, silent and deserted, rose all round the quadrangle. Black cypress- trees soared high above, like gigantic phantoms. The deacon's cell opened, and his nocturnal visitors entered.

* Brigand bands that infested the Balkans early in the past century, t The Higoumen (from the Greek ijyovfi^vos) is the abbot of a monas- tery.

B

18 UNDER THE YOKE

The deacon, who was quite a lad, with a lively counte- nance, black intelligent eyes, and a sprouting beard, received Kralich in a friendly manner, his cousin's hurried explana- tions having been enough to assure him of the stranger's quality. Indeed, he gazed with surprise and respect at the hero who had accounted for the two ruffians as easily as one wrings the neck of a couple of chickens, and had saved the old man and his daughter. The deacon's honest soul recog- nised at once in the stranger a nature as noble as it was heroic. Old Stoyan had given him a hurried and confused account of the affair in the mill, and had been loud in his deUverer's praise. Vikenti observed his utter exhaustion and pallor, and proposed to take him to a cell where he might find shelter for the night. So they proceeded thither. The deacon, with a bundle of blankets and clothes under his arm, led the way through the slumbering courtyard ; they reached the staircase of the opposite building, con- sisting of three storeys of covered verandahs, and mounted it. They passed through corridors and fresh flights of stairs to the topmost storey. Though they stepped with precau- tion, every stair creaked under their feet, as happens in all empty wooden houses. Vikenti lighted a candle, and the cell into which they had entered was exposed to view. It was bare and cheerless enough to look at, containing only a bed with a straw pallet and a jug of water. It was more like a prison cell than a bedroom, but Kralich just then desired nothing better. After some conversation as to the events in the mill, Vikenti prepared to say good-night.

" You are worn out, and need rest as soon as possible ; so I will not weary you with any questions. There is no need. The deed of heroism which you have accomplished to-night tells me all. We shall meet to-morrow, and I will only say now : don't worry yourself about anything. Deacon Vikenti is at your entire disposal. Good-night." And so saying he stretched out his hand to take leave.

Kralich seized and held it.

" No," said he, " you have given me your hospitality blindly, and have exposed yourself to danger for my sake. You ought to know who I am. My name is Ivan Kralich ! "

" What, Ivan Kralich, the exile ? Why, when did they release you ? " asked the astonished deacon.

" Release me ? I escaped from the fortress of Diarbekir. I'm a runaway."

THE MONASTERY 19

Vikenti pressed his hand, and greeted him :

" Welcome here, KraUch : you are a still dearer guest to me now. Bulgaria requires her good sons. There is much work to be done — much work. The tyranny of the Turks is unbearable and the national dissatisfaction has reached its utmost limit. We must get ready. Stay with us, Gospedin Kralich, no one will know you here. Stay and work with us — will you ? " asked the deacon, much excited.

" With all my heart, Father Vikenti."

" To-morrow we will talk the matter over in detail. Here you are in complete safety. I have hidden Levski * in that cell before now. No one comes here — there is more danger from ghosts than from human beings. Good-night," said the deacon, in jest, as he left the room.

" Good-night, father," answered Kralich, shutting the door.

He undressed quickly, lay down, and blew out the candle ; but he lay tossing on his bed for many an hour before sleep came to his weary eyelids. Fearful memories troubled his spirit. Before his fancy there passed one by one the various scenes and forms of that night, with repulsive and savage accuracy. This torture lasted for a long time. At last nature conquered : his physical and moral strength, ex- hausted to the utmost, yielded to the imperious necessity of repose. He fell asleep. But on a sudden he started and opened his eyes in the darkness. He heard the slow and heavy tread of some one walking in the passage. Then a sound of singing was heard, which sounded almost like a wail of sorrow. The steps came nearer, and the unfamiliar singing became louder. It was at times like a loud wailing, at others like a mournful dirge. Kjralich thought that the sounds came from somewhere else, and that it was the surrounding silence which made them seem so near and ghastly. But no — the steps were hard by, in the corridor. Suddenly a dark figure appeared at the window and peeped in. Krahch, startled, fixed his eyes on the apparition, and with terror saw that it was making wild, weird gestures with its hands, as if beckoning to him. All this was clear in the semi-darkness. Kralich could not withdraw his eyes from the window. He began to think that the figure was that of Yemeksiz Pehlivan, whom he had killed. Then he

* A noted worker in the cause of Bulgarian liberty, who was eventually taken prisoner by the Turks, and hanged at Sofia in 1873.

20 UNDER THE YOKE

thought he must be dreaming, and rubbed his eyes. Again he looked — ^and found the shadow still at the window, peering in.

Kjalich was not superstitious, but this deserted building, with its deathlike silence and darkness, had inspired him involuntarily with terror. He thought of the deacon's jesting remark about ghosts, and the place seemed to him doubly uncanny. But suddenly he felt ashamed of himself. Groping for his revolver, he grasped it, rose, opened the door quietly, and went out barefoot into the corridor. The tall mysterious figure was still walking and singing in its strange fashion. Kralich approached it boldly. The singing phantom, instead of disappearing, as in stories, shrieked with terror, because Kralich himself, in his night-shirt, was far more like a ghost.

" Who are you ? " asked the new ghost of the old, seizing him by the garment.

Fear closed the unhappy being's lips. He could only make the sign of the cross, gibbering, and shaking his head like an idiot. Kralich at once understood that such he was, and let him go.

Vikenti had forgotten to warn his guest of the nightly wanderings of the harmless idiot Mouncho, who had for years lived in the monastery. It was he who, unobserved, had witnessed the burial of the Turks.

CHAPTER IV : BACK AT MARKO'S

When Marko opened his door on the previous night, after KraUch's escape, he encountered on the threshold the on-bashi and his zapties, who entered with precaution.

" What's up here, Marko Chorbaji ? " asked the on- bashi.

Marko quietly explained that nothing was the matter, but that the servant had somehow taken fright. The on- bashi at once expressed himself satisfied with this meagre explanation, and went out in glee at having got off an un- pleasant job.

Just as Marko was shutting his door, his neighbour appeared. " All over, neighbour ? "

" What, Ivancho ! Come in and we'll have a cup of coffee."

" Good evening, Marko. Is little Asen better ? " asked

BACK AT MARKO'S 21

a tall youth in the middle of the road, who was hurriedly approaching.

" Come in, come in, doctor." And Marko led them into the room, which was at once brightly lit up with two sper- maceti candles fixed in shining brass candlesticks.

The guest-chamber into which they entered was a small room, but bright and airy. It was furnished and orna- mented in the unassuming and original manner which even now holds sway in some of our provincial towns. The floor was covered with bright carpets, and the two divans \n ith scarlet rugs, all of home make. Against one of the walls stood an iron stove, which was lighted only in winter, but was not taken away in summer, as being one of the orna- ments of the room. Opposite it, on the eikonostasis,* where a light burned continually, were nailed eikons, over which hung sacred prints from Mount Athos, a pious gift from pilgrims. The eikons were very old paintings, which made them all the more precious to Grandmother Ivanitsa, as old arms are to collectors. One of them, of great antiquity, enjoyed the most reverential attention of the old lady, who asserted with pride that it had been painted by her great- grandfather. Father Hajji Arseni, who had accomplished the miraculous work of art with his feet — an assertion no one ever ventured to controvert, so confidently did she make it. Behind the eikonostasis was fastened a bunch of dried cornflowers, which had been sprinkled with holy water, and a willow branch from the decorations of last Palm Sunday. The presence of these in a house was an infallible preservative of health and prosperity. Round the walls ran shelves filled with porcelain dishes and cups — the inevitable decoration of every house worthy of respect — and the comers were furnished with triangular brackets on which stood flower- vases. Chibouks, as an article of use, had long since gone out of fashion, but these were ranged against the wall, with their yellow amber mouthpieces and inlaid bowls. Marko, for old tradition's sake, kept one chibouk for his private use. The wall opposite the windows played the important part of picture-gallery. In all, it contained six lithographs, in gilt frames, brought from Wallachia. Their strange selection bore witness to the easy-going taste of the time in matters artistic. Some represented scenes

* The place where the sacred pictures or eikons are placed against the wall.

22 UNDER THE YOKE

from the internal wars of Germany — one was a picture of Abd-ul-Mejid on horseback, with his suite. The next portrayed episodes of the Crimean War : the battle of the Alma, of Eupatoria, the raising of the siege of Silistria in 1852. The last picture of all represented the Russian generals in the war, all depicted down to the knees only. pPope Stavri asserted that their legs had been cut ofP by the lEnghsh cannon, and on the strength of this Grandmother /ivanitsa always called them " the martyrs." " Who has ^ been touching the martyrs ? " she would ask angrily of the children. By the side of the martyrs stood a large Dutch clock, the cham and weights of which reached down to the back of the divan. This aged timepiece had long since become past work : its springs were worn out, its works distorted, its face obliterated, and its hands broken and twisted. It was like a living ruin. But Marko prolonged its life at the cost of great efforts and much attention. No one but he was allowed to touch it ; he would mend it, take it to pieces, wind it up, and clean it with a feather dipped in oil, thus giving it a new lease of life for a few days, after which it would again come to a standstill. Marko jestingly called it his " consumptive patient," but he and all the family were so accustomed to it that the whole house seemed silent when its creaking pendulum stopped. When- ever Marko took hold of its chains to wind it up, the sufferer vented from its inmost recesses such weird and wrathful sounds that the cat fled in terror.

Two photographs of family groups on the same wall completed the treasures of the picture-gallery, which with the clock constituted a museum.

Doctor Sokoloff was a young man of twenty-eight, lively, with bright ruddy hair and blue eyes, an open, simple expression of countenance, and a somewhat boisterous, easy-going, and eccentric manner. He had served as veterinary surgeon in a Turkish regiment on the Montene- grin frontier, and had acquired a thorough knowledge of the language and customs of the Turks — he drank raki and fraternised with the on-bashi every afternoon, but at night terrified him by firing a revolver up his chimney : at present he was devoting much of his time to the education of a bear. The better-class Bulgarians looked somewhat ask- ance at him, and placed their trust rather in the Greek apothecary Yaneli ; but he was a popular favourite with all

BACK AT MARKO'S 23

the youth of the town on account of his gay, open nature, and his fervent patriotism. He was always the prime mover in social festivities and " Committee " * plots, and, indeed, spent most of his time in these two occupations. He had never gone through a regular course of medicine, but his younger friends had given him the title of Doctor to place him on a higher footing than the Greek chemist, and he had not thought it necessary to protest against the calumny. As for his treatment of his patients, he left them to the care of his two faithful assistants — the healthy Balkan air and nature. Hence he rarely had recourse to his pharmacopoeia, which, indeed, being in Latin, was a sealed book to him ; and all his dispensary was contained on a single small shelf. No wonder that he thus managed to take the wind out of the sails of his rival.

Sokoloff was Marko's family doctor, and had come to visit little Asen.

The other visitor was Ivancho Yotata. He, like a good neighbour, had come to see what was the matter, and pass the time of day. For a few minutes the conversation was taken up with the event of the evening, and Ivancho eloquently described his impressions and dismay.

" To tell you the truth," he rambled on, " just as our Lala was clearing the table, I heard a most prodigious to-do in your courtyard, Marko. Then the dog was making a tremendous row. I was frightened — at least, I wasn't exactly frightened, but I said to Lala : ' Lala,' says I, ' whatever is the matter next door ? Just look over the wall into their courtyard.' Then it struck me that this was more a man's business than a woman's. So I boldly climbed on to the wall and looked over. Your courtyard was pitch dark. What's all this to-do about ? thinks I, knowingly ; let me give notice to the police. But Lala was standing behind me and catching hold of my coat. ' Where are you going?' says she. 'Not to Marko's, I hope ? ' 'No, no,' says I. ' There's nothing the matter : lock the gate into Marko's yard.' "

" There was no need, Ivancho — ^there was nothing the matter," said Marko, smiling.

* The Revolutionary Committees, common in Bulgaria from about 1872 to 1876, had made a great impression on the Turks, and all Bul- garian insurgents were by them called " Koumitajis," or simply " Kou- mita."

24 UNDER THE YOKE

" Then," continued Yotata, " I said to myself : ' We must inform the authorities : M. Marko is my neighbour, and mustn't be left in danger.' So I rushed downstairs, with Lala screaming after me. ' Silence,' said I in a manly tone. I went out of the door, and lo and behold ! all was as still as the dead."

" Is little Asen asleep yet, Marko ? " asked the doctor, to stay the flow of Ivancho's oratorical display. But Ivancho hastened to continue :

" When I saw that the street was as still as the dead, I said to myself : ' Don't you trust it, Ivancho ' ; and I turned back and came out by the back door — that is, I got out into the blind alley, turned out of it past Petko's door, then past the Mahmoud's, past Uncle Gencho's dung-heap, and then straight to the Konak. I went in, looked round, and at once boldly informed the on-bashi that there were robbers in your house, and that the fowls were flying about the yard."

" I tell you there was no one there ; your trouble was quite unnecessary, Ivancho." Meanwhile the storm was raging outside in all its fury.

" By the way, Marko, I had quite forgotten to ask you," said the doctor suddenly ; " did a young man call this evening ? "

" What young man ? "

" A stranger, pretty badly dressed, but fairly intelligent- looking, as far as I could see. He was asking for your house."

" Where did you see him ? No one called," answered Marko, with evident confusion, which, however, his visitors had no reason to observe.

The doctor went on quietly :

" A young man addressed me just at nightfall, near Hajji Pavli's rose-field. He asked me politely, ' Can you tell me, sir, if Marko Ivanoff's house is far ? I want to see him,' says he, ' it's the first time I have been here.' I happened to be going the same way, so I offered to show him your house. On the road I looked at him carefully : the poor fellow was almost in rags — his coat was very thin and all torn, as far as I could see in the dark. He was tired and weak, and could scarcely stand on his feet, and in this awful weather, too ! I didn't dare to ask him where he was coming from or why he was in that state, but I was sorry

BACK AT MARKO'S 25

for the poor fellow. And when I saw his vest was in rags, and, so to speak, falling to pieces, I couldn't resist asking him, ' I hope you won't be angry with me, sir, if I offer you my overcoat — ^you will forgive me, won't you ? ' He said ' Thank you,' and took it. So we came as far as your house, and then I left him. I wanted to ask you who he was."

" I tell you, no one came to call."

" That's funny," said the doctor.

" Perhaps it was a robber, who chmbed on to your roof, Marko ? " asked Ivancho. " That may have caused all this to-do."

" It's impossible that that young man should have been a robber," said the doctor, curtly ; " anyone could see that from his face."

The conversation was assuming an unpleasant tone, and Marko, to change it, turned to Sokoloff.

" Have you read the paper, doctor ? How's the revolt in the Herzegovina getting on ? "

" It's all over, Marko. That heroic nation has achieved miracles, but what can they do against such odds ? "

" Goodness me ! A handful of men like that to hold out so long. Why can't we do something of the kind ? " said Marko.

" We've never tried," said the doctor ; " we're five times as many as the Herzegovinians, but we don't know our own strength yet."

"Don't think of such a thing, doctor," said Marko. " We're one thing and the Herzegovinians are another ; we're in the jaws of hell : we've only to move to be cut down like sheep. There's nowhere we can look to for aid."

" Well, well, I've got a gun, but I haven't cleaned it for twelve years," said Yotata.

" I ask you, have we ever tried ? " repeated the doctor impatiently.

" They kill us and cut us to pieces without our trying : the more submissive we are, the more they ill-use us. What had that poor child of Gancho's done,that was brought in yesterday beheaded ? They threaten us with the gallows if we venture to protest against their tyranny, and the Yemeksiz Pehlivans are allowed to torture us to their heart's content, unpunished. WTiat kind of justice do you call

26 UNDER THE YOKE

that ? The mildest would revolt against it. Even a worm will turn, as the saying is."

Grandmother Ivanitsa entered.

" What do you think ? " said she ; " Pena says before the rain began she heard guns fired. Dear, dear ! I wonder what is the matter. Holy Virgin, some poor Christian soul has perished again, I suppose."

Marko started : his countenance changed. He had a presentiment that something had happened to Kralich. His heart overflowed with grief, which he was unable to conceal.

" Why, Marko, what's the matter ? " said the doctor, feeling his pulse and scanning his countenance, which showed only too plainly the signs of intense moral suffering.

The rain had stopped. The visitors rose to take leave. The news had disturbed them.

" Nonsense ! the maid must have fancied it all — most likely some one shutting his shutters. Don't be afraid — courage ! " said Ivancho Yotata, boldly. " Grandmother, is your side door open ? " And while Marko was showing the doctor out, Ivancho hurriedly left by the side door, opened for him on the other side by his wife,

CHAPTER V : THE REST OF THE NIGHT Doctor Sokoloff knocked at his door.

It was opened by an old woman, whom he asked, as he passed by her hurriedly : " How's Cleopatra ? "

" She's been asking for you," replied the old woman with a smile.

The doctor passed through the long courtyard, and entered his room. This apartment, which was at the same time his receiving-room, study, dispensary, and bedroom, was a broad bare room with cupboards in the walls and a deep fireplace. On a small shelf were arranged all his drugs ; on the little table were scattered a small mortar and pestle, a few medical books, and a revolver ; a double- barrelled matchlock hung over the bed. The only picture with which the walls were adorned was a portrait of Prince Nicolas of Montenegro, beneath which was the photograph of some actress. Everything showed that the room was that of an easy-going bachelor : it was dull, bare, and untidy.

THE REST OF THE NIGHT 27

In the comer was the haK-opened door of the cellar, where three years ago Levski had spent the night.

The doctor flung off his fez and coat carelessly, ap- proached the cellar door, clapped his hands, and cried out ; " Cleopatra, Cleopatra ! "

There was no answer.

" Come out, Cleopatra darling ! "

A sound was heard from the cellar.

The doctor sat down on a chair in the middle of the room, and called, " Here, Cleopatra ! "

A bear, or rather a bear-cub, came out.

It approached, dragging its massive paws along the ground, and purring joyfully. Then it sprang up and placed its forepaws on the doctor's knees, opening its capacious jaws and displaying its teeth, sharp and glittering. It fawned on him like a dog, while the doctor gently stroked its head, and gave it his hand to lick.

The beast had been caught, while quite young, on the Sredna Gora, by a peasant, who had given it to Sokoloff for having cured his child of a serious illness. The doctor had become much attached to it, and took the greatest pains to procure proper food for it. Cleopatra flourished exceed- ingly under this sedulous care, took lessons in gymnastics with the best grace possible, and her devotion to her master increased daily.

Cleopatra now danced a bear's polka, carried the doctor's hat for him, waited on him, and guarded his room like a dog. But it was a real " bear's {i.e., doubtful) service," for her presence in the house kept away the doctor's patients : however, he did not trouble himseK about that.

When she got well into her polka, Cleopatra would roar furi- ously, so that when she danced the whole neighbourhood knew it. On such occasions Sokoloff danced gaily with her.

That evening he was altogether in the mood for dancing. He threw Cleopatra a piece of meat, saying, " Eat it, darling ; they say a hungry bear won't dance, and I want you to dance for me like a princess to-night."

The bear understood, and answered with a growl, which meant " I am ready." The doctor began to sing, beating time on a brass dish :

Dimitra, dear, my fair-haired lass,

Oo tell your mother, Dimitra, You're the only lass I love ....

28 UNDER THE YOKE

Cleopatra stood up on her hind legs and danced with frenzy, roaring all the time. Suddenly she sprang to the window with an angry growl. The doctor looked out and saw there was some one in the courtyard.

He seized his revolver. " Who's there ? " he asked, forcing the bear to be quiet.

" Doctor, you're wanted at the Konak ! "

" Is that you, Sherif Aga ? What the devil do you want me for now> Who's ill ? "

" Stop that bear's noise first."

The doctor made a sign to Cleopatra, who retreated un- willingly, and with an ominous growl, into her cellar, the door of which he closed after her.

" My orders are to take you to the Konak. You're a prisoner," said the on-bashi sternly.

" A prisoner ? I ? What for ? "

" You'll find that out soon enough. Come, let's get on." And they went off with the doctor confused and dismayed : he had a presentiment of trouble.

As they went out they heard a heartrending roar from Cleopatra, which sounded almost like human lamenta- tion.

At the Konak all was confusion. They took the doctor to the Bey.

The latter was sitting in his usual place in the corner of the room. By his side sat Kiriak Stefchoff, reading from' some paper, at which Necho Pironkoff — the Bulgarian member of the Local Council — was peeping over his shoulder. The Bey, who was about sixty years of age, received the doctor coldly, but offered him a chair. Sokoloff was the Bey's family doctor, and rather a favourite of his. And the Turks usually treated their prisoners with a show of kindness, to induce them to confess.

The doctor, in looking round the room, was astonished to see on the divan the overcoat he had given to Kralich.

This discovery redoubled his dismay.

" Doctor, is that coat yours ? " asked the Bey.

The doctor did not dream of denying the fact, which was, indeed, seK-apparent. He answered affirmatively.

" Why is it not in your possession ? "

" Because I gave it to a poor man."

" Where ? "

" In the Hajji Shadoff street,"

THE REST OF THE NIGHT 29

" At what time ? "

" At two o'clock (Turkish time)." *

" Do you ktiow who he was ? "

" No ; but I was sorry for him, because he was in rags."

" How the poor fellow lies ! " said Necho contemptuously.

" Well, that's only natural — a drowning man catches at a straw," repHed his neighbour.

The Bey smiled ominously as having detected a manifest lie. He was perfectly certain that the coat had been taken from the doctor's back by the police, as the patrol, indeed, assured him was the case.

" Kiriak Effendi, give me the papers. Do you know these papers ? "

The doctor looked. They were a copy of the newspaper N ezavisimost f and a printed revolutionary proclamation. He denied all knowledge of them.

" Then how do they come into the pockets of your coat ? "

" I have already told you that I gave the coat away to some one. Perhaps he put them there."

The Bey shrugged his shoulders. The doctor saw that things were getting serious — at best they made him out to be connected mth a revolutionary, as it seems the stranger was. If he had only kno^vn that, he would have been more careful, and might have saved them both from trouble.

" Call the wounded Osman," ordered the Bey.

A zaptie came in with his arm bound up above the elbow. It was he who had seized the coat from Kralich's shoulders and at that moment had been wounded by a shot fired by one of his comrades. He was, or pretended to be, fully convinced that it was the fugitive " Koumita " J who had fired at him.

Osman advanced towards the doctor : " That's the man, sir."

" Is that the man from whom you took the coat ? Do you recognise him ? "

" That's the man, and it's he who fired at me."

The doctor looked at him bewildered : he was struck

* I.e., two hours after sunset.

t Independence, the organ of the Bulgarian Revolutionary Committee at Bucharest.

X The insurgents were by the Turks called " Koumitaji " or simply " Koumita," the nearest approximation to the word " Committee," with which they were supposed to be connected.

30 UNDER THE YOKE

dumb by the grave and unfounded charge brought against him.

" The zap tie lies in the most barefaced manner," he said.

" You may go, Osman Aga. Well, sir," added the Bey, in a serious tone, " do you deny all this ? "

" The whole thing is a fabrication. I never carry a revolver, and I didn't go through the Petkanchoff Street this evening."

The on-bashi approached the lamp, examined the doctor's revolver which he had taken off his table, and said signifi- cantly : " There are four chambers loaded, but one cartridge is missing." The Bey nodded attentively.

" I tell you that's another mistake of yours — I never took my revolver this evening."

"■ Tell us, doctor, where were you at three o'clock when all this afifair happened."

This unexpected question fell like a thunderbolt on Sokoloff. He reddened with confusion, but managed to reply in a confident manner :

" At three o'clock I was at Marko Ivanoff's — his child is iU."

" It was nearly four o'clock when you went in to Marko's — ^we were just coming out," said the on-bashi, who had met the doctor on his way thither.

The doctor remained silent : appearances against him were too strong. He saw he was in a fix.

" Well, then, tell us where you were from the time you gave away your coat in the Hajji Shadoff Street, until you v/ent to Marko's house," said the Bey, thus skilfully putting a simple question which could only be met with a simple answer. But Dr. Sokoloff did not reply. His face gave signs of a sharp internal struggle, accompanied by moral suffering.

His confusion and silence were clearer than a confession. They completed the other proofs. The Bey was convinced he had the real culprit before him ; however, he asked yet once more :

" Tell us where you were at that time, doctor."

" I cannot tell you," said the doctor, in quiet but decisive tones. This answer struck everybody. Necho, the member of Council, winked ironically at Stefchdff, as if to say, " The poor fellow is done for."

/

THE LETTER 31

*' Come, doctor, tell us where were you ? "

" I can't possibly tell you that ; it's a secret which my honour, both as a man and a doctor, forbids me to reveal. But I was not in the Petkanchoff Street," said the doctor, firmly and resolutely.

The Bey pressed him to answer the question, pointing out the dangerous consequences if he should continue to refuse to speak. But the doctor seemed quite calm, like a man who has said all he has to say.

" Won't you say ? "

" I have no more to say."

" Then, sir, you will be my guest to-night. Take the doctor down to the cells," said the Bey, sternly. The doctor went out, bewildered by the crushing accusations which he was not in a position to refute ; for, as he said himself, he could by no possibility reveal the place where he was at three o'clock that evening.

CHAPTER VI : THE LETTER

Marko slept badly that night. The events of the evening had disturbed his peace of mind. He got up earlier than usual, and when he went to Ganko's for his morning cup of coffee the proprietor had only just taken down his shutters and was lighting his fire. Marko was his first customer.

Cafe-keepers are great chatterboxes, and Ganko, after the usual obligatory jokes, which he always produced with Marko's morning coffee, at once proceeded to give him an account of the doctor's adventure in the Petkanchoff Street and its consequences, interlarding his story with a number of coarse and silly jests. Ganko told his tale with much excitement. In general the misfortunes of others invariably produce a threefold impression on small minds : first, surprise ; next, an internal satisfaction that the misfortune has happened to some one else ; and thirdly, a secret and malicious joy. Such are the hidden instincts which human nature conceals. As for Ganko, he had even greater cause for wishing evil to the doctor, the latter having once deducted twelve cups of coffee from his score as payment for one professional visit. Ganko had never forgiven him this exorbitant and unheard-of charge.

Marko could not contain himself for surprise. He had conversed with the doctor on the previous evening, and

82 UNDER THE YOKE

neither his countenance nor his conversation had led him to suspect anything extraordinary. Besides, why should the doctor have concealed such a thing from him ?

The entry of the on-bashi into the cafe afforded Marko an opportunity for further enhghtenment. He saw that the doctor was the victim of some strange blunder on the part of the police, as also that Kralich had escaped from their grasp; this latter thought gave him much satisfaction. He turned on to the on-bashi : " 1 will stake my life on the doctor's innocence," said he.

'* God grant it," answered the on-bashi ; " but I don't see how he's to prove it."

" He'll prove it, only they may ruin him first. At what time does the Bey come to the Konack ? "

" In about an hour ; he comes early."

" You must release the doctor ; I'll go bail for him : I'll stake my house and my children on it, that he's innocent."

The on-bashi cast a glance of surprise at him.

' ' There's no need of bail — they've sent him away already."

" When ? Where to ? " cried Marko.

*' We sent him off to K. last night, with a police escort."

Marco was unable to conceal his disappointment.

The on-bashi, who had a regard for him, said in a con- fidential tone : " Marko Chorbaji, if I were you I wouldn't interfere in an ugly business like this. What is it to do with you ? These are times when every one keeps himself to himself."

The on-bashi drank his coffee, and said :

" I must go in half an hour, to take a letter from the Bey inclosing the doctor's revolutionary papers. If you want to know, they're the only proofs against him, and quite enough too. As for the other thing — Osman's wound — that's all a mistake, he didn't fire at him — it was one of us — it's a wound from a rifle-bullet. Well, the bigwigs will see to it. Ganko, give me an old bit of paper to wrap the letter in or it'll get dirty."

So saying, he took from his sash a large envelope with a red seal which he wrapped up in the paper the cafe-keeper gave him. Then, lighting another cigarette, the on-bashi saluted Marko and went out.

Marko remained for a moment deep in thought. The cafe-keeper (who was at the same time the town-barber) was

THE LETTER 33

already lathering Petko Buzzouniak's head. Marko rose and went out.

" Good-day to you, Marko. You're off very early," cried th^^^ barber, dashing the lather about in soapy waves on his vic- tim's head, ' ' so you want to go bail for the doctor ! As a man sows, so shall he reap. Why don't they come and haul off Petko Buzzouniak to prison ? Eh, Petko, what do you say ? "

An inarticulate murmur was heard from among the lather, but it was unintelligible. In a few minutes the barber had shampooed his customer, wiped his head and face dry with a towel of very doubtful cleanhness, handed him the looking- glass, and said, " There you are."

As he was ushering his customer out, Ganko met Marko on the threshold.

"I forgot my tobacco-pouch," said he, and went hurriedly to the seat where he had left it.

Buzzouniak laid his piastre on the looking-glass, and went out. Ganko turned back.

" By-the-by, Ganko, tell me what my account is. I settle up at the end of the month, you know," said Marko.

Ganko pointed to the ceiling which was covered with hieroglyphics in chalk. " There's the ledger," said he ; " you've only to reckon it up and pay."

" I don't see my name there."

" That's the way I put 'em down, a la franga." *

" You'll soon have the brokers in, if that's the way you keep your accounts, Ganko," said Marko, chafiingly, as he took out his purse. " Well, if that fellow hasn't left his letter behind ! " he added, pointing to the shelf.

" My eyes ! the on-bashi's letter," cried Ganko, surprised, and casting a glance of interrogation at Marko, as if to ask what was to be done.

' ' Send it him — send it him at once," said Marko, hastily — " there you are, twenty-eight piastres and thirty paras — you've taken my last farthing, you rogue." Ganko went out, dumbfounded, thinking " what a curious man Marko is. He's ready to go bail with his house for that bear -trainer and yet he won't throw the letter in the fire — it might have been done in a minute and no one the wiser."

Meanwhile new customers were arriving, and clouds of smoke soon filled the cafe, whilst conversation was busy with the doctor's mishap.

* I.e., in " Frank " or European fashion.

c

34 UNDER THE YOKE

CHAPTER VII : HEROISM

The sun was already high in the heavens, and its rays lighted up the green vines at the foot of the courtyard of the monastery. The courtyard was now as bright and gay as it had been dark and dreary at night, when every object assumed a ghostly appearance. The merry chirp of birds filled it with joyous sounds : the transparent ripples of the stream murmured pleasantly on their way down the hill ; the leafy cypresses and elms rustled softly to the morning mountain breeze. Everything was clear and peaceful. Even the surrounding verandahs with their dark cells had a more welcome aspect, and rang with the twittering of the swallows as they flew in and out of their nests.

In the courtyard by the vines was a majestic -looking old man, with long white beard reaching to his waist dressed in a long blue gown. This was Father Yerote, an old man of eighty-five, the relic of a former century, almost a wreck, yet a hale and honourable wreck. He was living out, quietly and simply, the last years of his protracted life. Every morning he would walk there, breathing in the fresh mountain air, and enjoying like a child the sun and the heavens, towards which he was already far on the road.

Close by, against one of the vine-props, as a contrast to this relic of the past, stood Deacon Vikenti, book in hand (he was preparing for his admission to a Russian seminary). His juvenile face beamed with youth and hope : strength and life shone in his eager gaze. He represented the future, towards which he looked with the same confidence as did the old man towards eternity.

It is only the untroubled life of the cloister that can give this restful quiet to the soul.

On the stone steps leading to the Church sat the rotund Father Gedeon, a deeply learned man : he was gazing atten- tively at the peacocks as they walked about the yard with tails outspread, fan-like. He compared them to the self- satisfied Pharisee in the Gospel, and their screams reminded him of wise King Solomon, who understood the language of birds. Plunged in these pious reflections Father Gedeon was quietly awaiting the grateful sound of the summons to breakfast, as he sniffed the savoury odours proceeding from the refectory kitchen which announced the preparation of the meal.

HEROISM 85

Mouncho's colleague, the cross-eyed idiot of the monas- tery, was standing on the threshold in the sun. He was examining with an attention no less profoundly philoso- phical the domestic habits of the peacocks — indeed, to say this scarcely gives the true state of the case, for the glance of the idiot embraced not only the peacocks, but also the entire horizon ; since while one eye pointed due west, the other took in at the same time the east.

Erect beside him, Mouncho was clasping his hands, while with head upturned he anxiously scanned the windows on the top -story, for reasons known only to himseK.

If we add the higoumen, who was out, and some few lay- assistants, we have before us the whole population of the monastery.

Just then the higoumen trotted up on his horse, dis- mounted, and handed the reins to the cross-eyed brother, saying as he did so to Vikenti : "I have come from town, and bring bad news."

Thereupon he told them the story of Sokoloff 's mishap : ' Poor Sokoloff, poor Sokoloff ! " he sighed.

The higoumen Natanael was a tall, powerful man, with a virile face and a bold, dashing manner. Remove his monk's garb, and little of the monk remained in him. The walls of his cell were hung with guns ; he was a first-rate shot, swore like a trooper, and was as skilled in healing wounds as he was in dealing them. Chance had made him the higoumen of a monastery instead of a voivode in the Balkans. Moreover, rumour had it that he had once been the latter, but was now repentant.

" Where is Father Gedeon," asked the higoumen, looking round.

''• Here am I," answered Father Gedeon, in a shrill voice, emerging from the monastery whither he had gone to see if breakfast would soon be ready.

" In the kitchen again. Father Gedeon : don't you know that gluttony is a deadly sin ? " So saying, the abbot enjoined him to fasten the saddle-bags on the donkey, and proceed to the village of Voinyagovo, to inspect the hay makers who were mowing the monastery's fields.

Father Gedeon was round, bloated, and puffy as a sheep's bladder when blown out. The slight movement he had made in coming to the door had brought the dew of suffering to his forehead.

36 UNDER THE YOKE

** Father Higoumen," he murmured in tones of agonised entreaty, clasping his hands before him, and appalled at the idea of a journey in this sinful world ; " Father Higoumen, were it not better to remove this bitter cup from the lips of your lowly brother ? "

" What bitter cup, man ? Do you mean my sending you to the mowers ? Why, you're going to ride the donkey, and as for the labour, all you've to do is to hold the reins with one hand and give your benediction with the other," said the higoumen, smiling.

" Father Natanael, it isn't for the labour ; we come into the world for a life of labour and suffering. But the times are evil."

' ' Evil ? In May ? Why, the trip will do you good."

*' The times, father, the times," murmured Father Gedeon. " You see they have taken the doctor, and may send the Christian to destruction. The race of Hagar is merciless. God forbid, if they accuse me of stirring up the people to revolt, the whole monastery may suffer. The peril is imminent."

The higoumen burst out laughing.

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! "he cried, in uncontrollable mirth, with arms akimbo, as he looked at the rotund form of Father Gedeon. " And do you think the Turks will suspect you ! Father Gedeon a political emissary ! Ha ! ha ! is it not written, ' thou shalt make the sluggard to work, that he may learn wisdom.' Your besetting sin of idleness has made me laugh when I was but little disposed to do so. Deacon Vikenti ! Deacon Vikenti ! Come and listen to Father Gedeon. Mouncho, go and call Vikenti ; I want to make him laugh."

In truth, the boisterous merriment of the higoumen made the walls ring again.

When he heard the order, Mouncho shook his head still more strangely, his eyes staring with terror.

" The Russian ! " he cried, trembling, and pointed to the staircase up which the deacon had gone. And to avoid the errand, he fled hurriedly to the opposite side of the quadrangle.

" Russian ! What does he mean by that ? "

" He means the ghost, your reverence," said Father Gedeon.

''• And how long is it since Mouncho has become such a

HEROISM 87

coward ? Why, he used to Hve all alone, like an owl in the wilderness."

'' Of a truth, father, a spirit walks nightly on the veran- dah. Last night Mouncho came to my cell in a paroxysm of terror. He had seen a ghost in white garments coming out of the cell with the windows. He also told me of other things, from which may the Lord deUver us. We must sprinKle the top story with holy water."

Mouncho had stopped some distance off, and was staring terrified, at the top story.

'* What can he have seen ? Come, father, let's inspect the premises," said the higoumen, who fancied that perhaps a thief might have concealed himseK there.

" The Lord forbid," said Gedeon, crossing himself. The higoumen went upstairs alone.

In truth, when the higoumen called the deacon, the latter htid gone to Kralich's cell.

" What's the news, father ? "asked the latter, seeing his disturbed countenance.

" There's no danger," said the deacon at once reassur- ingly, " but the higoumen has brought very bad news. Last night Sokoloff was arrested and carried off to K."

" Who is this Sokoloff ? "

" He's a doctor in the town — a very decent youth. It seems they found revolutionary books or papers on him. I know him to be a fervent patriot," said the deacon, sorrow- fully ; then, after a moment's pause, he added, " When the police were pursuing him last night he fired and wounded a zaptie, who had laid hold of his overcoat. Poor doctor ! I'm afraid he's done for. Thank God, you got off safe, and nothing seems to have been heard of you in town."

As the deacon stopped talking, he observed with surprise that Kralich had taken his head between his hands, and was pacing up and down the room like a madman, sighing deeply. These signs of a despair, as inexplicable as it was sudden, greatly astonished the deacon.

" Why, what's the matter, man ? Thank God, you're all right," cried Vikenti.

Kralich stopped in front of him, with a face distorted by moral suffering, and exclaimed almost angrily :

" All right ! all right, am I ? That's easily said ! " and he struck his forehead. " What are you thinking of,

38 UNDER THE YOKE

Vikenti ? Don't you understand 1 My God ! I forgot to tell you that the overcoat was mine. Last night, at the outskirts of the town, some kind young man, who showed me Marko's house — evidently this Dr. Sokoloff — gave it to me, seeing what a state I was in, and that's the coat I left in the zaptie's hands. I took some papers out of an inner pocket and put them in the pocket of the coat : they were a copy of the Nezavisimost and a proclamation which they gave me in a hut at Troyan, where I spent the night. That's not enough, but they must go and say he fired at a zap tie, when I never touched the revolver ! Ah ! the scoundrels ! Now do you see ? that man has sacrificed himself for me ! It is my accursed fate to bring misfortune on all those who do good to me ! "

" It's a great misfortune," said Vikenti, pityingly ; " especially since you can't help him, as matters stand."

Kralich turned on him with a burning countenance.

'* What do you mean, I can't help him ? Am I to leave a generous benefactor, and, as you say, a fervent patriot, to perish on my account ? That would be baseness indeed ! "

The deacon looked at him bewildered.

" No, I shall rescue him from this mishap, even if it costs me my life ? "

" How ! what's to be done ? tell me : I am ready to do anything," cried Vikenti.

' I alone will save him ! "

" You ! "

" Yes, I ; I'll rescue him. I am the only one who is able and bound to rescue him," cried Kralich, excitedly, as he paced up and down the cell, with an expression of utmost decision and courage.

" Are we to make an assault on the prison ? " asked Vikenti, who was lost in astonishment and half afraid lest Kralich had taken leave of his senses.

" Mr. KraHch," he continued, " how do you mean to save him ? "

" What ! don't you understand ? I shall give myself up!"

" You — ^give yourseK up ? — ^alone ? "

** Do you think I should entreat them to release him ? Listen, Father Vikenti ! I'm an honest man, and I won't owe my life to the sufferings of others. I haven't come

AT CHORBAJI YORDAN'S 39

1500 miles to commit an act of baseness. If I can't sacrifice my life nobly, at least I can do so honourably. Do you understand ? Unless I give myself up to the Turks this very day, and say ' this man is innocent — I have never had any dealings with him — the coat was taken from my back — the papers are mine — I'm the culprit — I'm guilty — if you like, I fired at the zaptie — do what you please to me ' — unless I do this, Dr. Sokolofi is lost — especially as he was unable or unwilHng to say where he was ? Tell me, can I do otherwise ? "

The deacon was silent. In his heart he recognised, as an honest man, that Kralich was right. This self-sacrifice was imposed on him by feelings of justice and humanity, and he could not wait for others to point out to him the course he should take. The man seemed to him to become greater and more dignified in his eyes. His figure assumed that calm, noble, heavenly brightness with which only a great and sudden flash of valour can inspire the human countenance. Kralich's earnest, simple, and ringing words echoed in his ears with a soft and majestic sound. He would have liked to be in his place, to say such words — ay, and carry them out. His eyes filled with tears.

" Show me the way to K.," said Kralich. Suddenly the great bearded head of the higoumen appeared at the window; they had not heard his footsteps in the heat of their discus- sion. Kralich started, and glanced inquiringly at the deacon.

Vikenti hurriedly pointed to the door, took the higoumen aside to the corridor, and whispered to him long and passionately, with excited gestures, and side -glances at the cell where Kralich was waiting impatiently. When the door opened and Vikenti and Natanael returned, Kralich ad- vanced towards the higoumen and sought to kiss his hand.

" No, no, I'm not worthy that you should kiss my hand," cried the higoumen, in tears ; and placing both arms round his neck, he kissed his lips affectionately, as a father kisses a beloved and long-absent son.

CHAPTER VIII : AT CHORBAJI YORDAN'S

There was a great family gathering that day at Chorbaji Yordan's, given in accordance with the old Bulgarian cus- tom, in honour of a recent wedding in the family. All his relations and the friends of the family had been invited.

40 UNDER THE YOKE

Yordan DiamandiefiE was now an old man, somewhat feeble, of a morose and nervous disposition : he belonged to that section of the Bulgarian bourgeoisie — the Chorbajis — who have done so much to make the whole class odious. His wealth went on increasing, his numerous family- flourished, and he was universally feared, but no one liked him. Certain old stories of iniquitous acts of oppression and wrong, in which the poor had suffered and the conniv- ance of the Turks been obtained by fawning, flattery, or still worse means, kept up his impopularity, even now that he was unable or unwilling to injure any one. He belonged entirely to the past generation.

The only acts of oppression he now permitted himself to carry on were exercised at the cost of the school- teachers— or of such as refused to bow before his will. The wolf may change his skin, but not his teeth, says the proverb.

In spite of Yordan's surly disposition, the meal was a merry one. Mother Ghinka, his married daughter still fairly good-looking, loquacious, quick at repartee, and very lively, who did not scruple to box the ears of her thoroughly subdued husband whenever necessary, kept the guests in fits of laughter by the jests and stories which her indefatig- able tongue scattered hither and thither. Those who enjoyed her wit most were the three nuns. One of these, Sister Hajji * Rovoama, Yordan's sister, who was lame, malicious, and a thorough mischief-maker, was no less talkative than Ghinka, and had many a bitter jest at the ex- pense of absent friends. Hajji Simeon, the host's son-in-law, laughed loudly with his mouth full ; Hajji Pavli, the lately married bridegroom, carried away by his mirth, was eating with the spoon of Alaf ranga Mikhalaki, who, annoyed at this inadvertence, cast reproving glances round him Mikhalaki bore the well-deserved nickname of " Alaf ranga," because thirty years ago he had been the first in the town to wear European trousers and stammer a few words of French. Unfortunately his efforts had stopped short there. The coat he wore to-day was of the fashion prevailing at the time of the Crimean War, and his slender French vocabu- lary had not received a single addition. But his renown

* The word " Hajji " implies that the person to whose name it is prefixed, whether Christian or Mussulman, has performed the pilgrimage to Jerusalem or Mecca respectively,

AT CHORBAJI YORDAN'S 41

as a man of learning, and with it his flattering nick- name, had come down to the present day. Mikhalaki fully realised his o^vvn importance, and was very proud of it ; he was stiff in manner, spoke with a pompous air, and would allow no one to call him simply Mikhal, so as to avoid being taken for the policeman, who also rejoiced in that name. Indeed, Mikalaki was very susceptible -with respect to names. He had had a feud of many years' stand- ing with his neighbour, Ivancho Yotata, because the latter had twice in one evening mispronounced his name, in his usual blundering fashion.

Opposite Alafranga sat Damiancho Grigoroff, a man of fifty years of age, of moderate height, thin, dark, with a look of intense cunning, and thin mobile lips of ironical expression, but with an extremely serious countenance ; he also had a reputation for wisdom, but of an entirely different kind from Alafranga 's. He was a loquacious and fluent story-teller, of inexhaustible resource, as deep as a well, and with a very powerful imagination, rich as the treasury of Halim Aga : with him a drop became an ocean, and a molehill a mountain — indeed, he would often begin by inventing the molehill. The most remarkable feature was that he beHeved his own stories — the surest means of making others believe them. In other respects, Damiancho was one of the principal tradesmen, a patriot, and a man of sage counsels.

Mother Ghinka's husband was eating his dinner in a subdued manner, for he knew that if he ventured to say anything his wife would at once transfix him with a look of piercing severity, so that he dared not open his mouth before her. He was a weak man of no character, and was of so little account that instead of his wife being called Ghinka Ghenkova, after him, he was known as Ghinka's Ghenko. By his side Necho Pironkoff, the member of Council, sat whispering with an air of importance to Kiriak Stefchoff, who was dfssed in the height of fashion, and nodded now and then absently in response without noticing what his neighbour was saying, his attention being taken up by Yordan's daughter, Lalka, on whom he kept casting admiring glances. But his inattention did not go un- punished, for Necho raised his glass to clink it against his, and meeting no response the wine was spilt over Stefchoff 's white trousers.

42 UNDER THE YOKE

This youth, whom we have already met at the Bey's, and who will reappear in the course of our story, belonged by birth and breeding to the Chorbaji class : he was the son of a man of the same stamp as Yordan Diamandieff . He was young, but his ideas were old-fashioned : the new and absorbing current of liberal thought had left him untouched. It was, perhaps, for this reason that the Turks viewed him with favour — this, however, made him unpopular with the younger men, who considered him as a Turkish spy. And his unpopularity was heightened by his haughty, spiteful character, and his deceitful and cowardly nature. In spite of this, however — or, perhaps, on that very account — Chor- baji Yordan had a weakness for Stefchoff which he did not seek to conceal. Hence rumour had, rightly or wrongly, fixed on him as Yordan's future son-in-law.

Dinner was over and coffee was served by a tall, slender, dark-eyed girl, dressed in black, to whom no one paid any attention. The conversation went on briskly, for Ghinka was anxious to amuse the guests with her inexhaustible verbosity and wit. Soon the topic of the day — Sokoloff's arrest — came on the tapis. This subject at once attracted the general notice, and gave a new and agreeable impulse to the after-dinner chat.

" I wonder what's become of the doctoress ? " sneered Mother Seraphina.

" What doctoress ? " asked the bride.

" Why, Cleopatra, of course."

*' We must go and call on her, and get her to write to him — ^he must be fretting after her," said Mother Ghinka.

*' Mikhalaki," asked the bride, turning to Alafranga, " what kind of a word is Cleopatra ? Mother Kouna can't pronounce it at all."

Mkhalaki frowned, remained for a moment deep in thought, and then delivered himself pompously : " Cleo- patra is a Hellenic — that is to say, Greek word. It comes from i:\aLU), I weep for, and ... I weep for ..."

" I weep for the doctor," laughed Hajji Simeon, fumbling in his pockets.

*' Well, well, what signifies a name ? " said Sister Hajji Kovoama ; " there's some one else, though, weeping for the doctor as well." So saying, she bent towards Mrs. Hajji Simeon and another lady, and whispered something. The three laughed sUly. The laughter spread to all the guests.

AT CHORBAJI YORDAN'S 43

" What do you mean, Ghinka ? The Bey's wife ? " asked Macho vitsa, astounded.

" Mind your own business — the woK eats the heifer in the stall sometimes," said Mother Ghinka.

And they all laughed at this sally.

" Kiriak, what were the papers they found on Sokoloff ? " asked Yordan, who did not understand what they were all laughing at.

" Rank treason from beginning to end. The Bey sent for me at midnight to translate them for him. Such wild, insensate rubbish, as only lunatics can invent. Another of these proclamations from the Bucharest Committee, calling on us to rise and put the country to fire and sword, so that it may be freed."

" Get yourselves massacred, all of you, so that we may be freed," sneered Necho Pironkoff.

" These scoundrels are ready enough to put the place to fire and sword — why not ? It's not their property they want to destroy. They haven't a foot of ground, or a stick, in the place. It's easy for them to talk — a set of ruffians ! " said Chorbaji Yordan, angrily.

" Thieves, the whole lot of them ! " muttered Hajji Simeon.

Damiancho Grigoroff, who had been impatiently awaiting his opportunity for introducing one of his stories, caught at Simeon's last words, and began :

" You say they're thieves, Hajji : that reminds me of a story — but there are thieves and thieves. I was once going to Ishtip in Macedonia — it was in 1863, in this very month of May, on the 22nd, at three o'clock, after sunset on a Saturday, and a cloudy night." With which Damiancho proceeded to relate an interminable story of an encounter with brigands, in which there figured the Ishtip innkeeper, two Pashas, a Greek captain, and the sister of Prince Couza of Wallachia.

Everybody listened with the utmost attention, if not with perfect faith, to the absorbing story told by Damiancho, while they sipped their coffee with much satisfaction.

" Dear, dear — ^they talk of fire and sword — they'll be burning our convent down next," said Sister Serafima.

" May the fire of heaven consume them," murmured Sister Hajji Rovoama.

" Just think of it," said Stefchoff, " the very dissemination

44 UNDER THE YOKE

of such stuff is high treason. It's that which perverts the minds of the youngsters, and either makes idle dreamers of them or else brings them to the gallows ! Look at Sokoloff — there's a sad case ! "

" Ay — a sad case ! " acquiesced Hajji Simeon.

Mikhalaki Alafranga added :

" Only yesterday I had a conversation with the doctor, and it was easy to see what his ideas are. He was regretting that we hadn't got a Lioubobratich ! " * - " What did you answer ? "

"I answered that there might be no Lioubobratiches, but that gallows were plentiful enough."

*' And a very good answer too," said Yordan.

" Whoever are them Lioubobratiches ? " asked the in- quisitive bride.

Ghenko Ghinkin, who was a regular reader of the Pmvo and well-posted in politics, was just going to answer, when he was quelled by a glance from his wife, who replied :

'' He's the leader of the rebels in Herzegovina, Dona dear. Ah ! if we had a man like him, I'd volunteer to be his standard-bearer myself — and then we'd go and cut cabbages ! " f

*' Ah ! if we had a man like him — that would be another matter altogether — I'd join under his command too," said Hajji Simeon.

Yordan cast a stem glance at them. " What's that you're saying ? such things are not even to be jested about. As for you, Hajji, you're talking nonsense." Then turning to Alafranga, " What will become of the doctor ? "

" The law," answered Stefchoff, with a look of triumph, " punishes an assault on a servant of the State by death, or Diarbekir for life."

" Serve him right," grunted Hajji Rovoama ; " what harm has the convent done to him that he should want to set fire to it ? "

*' Well, he's brought it on himself," said Necho, the member. " Last night's thunderstorm struck some one, anyhow."

" Talking of thunderstorms reminds me that about the

* Lioubobratich was the heroic leader of the Herzegovinian revolt of 1875.

t An allusion to the green turbans worn by Turks claiming descent from Mohammed.

AT CHORBAJI YORDAN'S 45

time of the Crimean War, Ivan Boshnakoff and I were on our way to Bosnia. I can call it to mind as if it was yester- day : it wanted only a day or two to the feast of St. Nikola. We were snowed up at Pirot, when there was the most tremendous thunderstorm I ever saw." And Grigoroff began to explain how the bolts had fallen round them, set fire to a walnut tree, killed fifty sheep, and cut off his horse's tail, which he had to sell afterwards at a very low figure in consequence.

Grigoroff told his story with such sincerity and eloquence that his audience listened with unflagging attention to the very end. Stefchoif and Necho, the member, smiled at one another. Mikhalaki sat stiff and pompous as ever, and Hajji Simeon was struck dumb by the extraordinary fierce- ness of Damiancho's thunderstorm in mid-winter.

While Damiancho was still busy with his story, Mother Ghinka began looking round for Lalka. " Rada, what has become of Lalka ? Go and call her at once," said Hajji Rovoama in an authoritative tone to the young girl in black.

Lalka, on hearing Stefchoff's words as to the probable fate of the doctor, spoken with such ferocious calmness, had quietly withdrawn to her own room : there she had flung herself on the divan, and lay sobbing piteously. A flood of tears, long pent up, poured from her eyes. As she lay, the poor girl shook with the violence of her sobs and was power- less to restrain herself. Her face reflected her passionate grief and the torture she was undergoing. Her whole soul revolted at the cruelty with which these people gloated over the doctor's misfortune. " My God — my God — have they no pity ? " she thought.

But tears can soften even the most desperate sorrow ; and the doctor's fate being yet unknown, there was at least still ground for hope.

Lalka rose, dried her pretty pale face, and sat by the open window for the fresh air to remove the traces of her tears. She looked out listlessly on the unheeding passers-by in the street, but all was a blank to her. For her this cruel world did not exist : she wished to see only one face, to hear only one voice — they were all the world to her.

Suddenly the rapid trot of a horse attracted her attention. She looked up and could not believe her eyes. There was

46 UNDER THE YOKE

Doctor Sokoloff galloping gaily back on a white horse. He bowed politely to her as he passed under her window. In her delight, she never thought of answering his bow, but rushed, as if impelled by an irresistible force, into the guest- chamber, and cried joyfully :

" Doctor Sokoloff is back again ! "

A feeling of astonishment and displeasure was depicted on the faces of most of those present. Hajji Rovoama clenched her teeth viciously, and Stefchoff grew pale, as he said with an air of indifference :

" They've probably remanded him for further inquiry. He won't escape Diarbekir, or else the gallows so easily." At that moment he encountered the contemptuous glance of Rada, which wounded him so deeply that his face flamed with mortification and anger.

" No, no, Kiriak. I hope the poor fellow will get off, when I think how young he is," said Ghinka, feelingly.

Her previous jests at the doctor had been from the lips merely ; but her heart was sound. The bright spark of humanity can always be struck from the heart by the blows of suffering, if only it be there to begin with.

To Hajji Simeon's honour, also, be it said, that he was equally delighted at the doctor's escape, but dared not say so before Yordan.

CHAPTER IX : EXPLANATIONS

The doctor was no sooner at home than he went out again, passed rapidly by Ganko's cafe, where many greeted him with a " Glad to see you back, doctor " — the heartiest welcome being Ganko's — and proceeded straight to Marko's house. On his way he espied Stefchoff on the other side of the road, coming out of Yordan's house.

" My best respects, Terjuman * Effendi," cried the doctor with a contemptuous smile.

Marko, who had finished dinner, was taking his coffee on the bench beneath the ivy.

He was overjoyed at seeing the doctor. After various greetings, Sokoloff said : " Listen, Marko, while I tell you something that will make you laugh."

" How did it all go, my lad ? "

" That's what I can't make out myself. It seems to me * Dragoman, or Interpreter.

EXPLANATIONS 47

like a fairy tale — I can't believe it all. Here am I arrested at night, the moment I had got home after leaving you, and taken off to the Konak. You've heard all about my examination and the charges they brought against me. Who would have thought my poor old coat would raise such a bother. Well, I was locked up. An hour afterwards, in come two zapties. ' Doctor, up you get ! ' ' What for ? '

' You're to be taken to K ; it's the Bey's orders.'

' Very well.' So we start, one zap tie in front of me, another

behind, with loaded rifles. We got to K at dawn.

There they locked me up again, as it was too early for the Court to sit. Four mortal hours I waited in prison — they seemed to me like four years. Finally I was taken before the Court. There were several Members of the Council and other notables, and they read out a protocol of some kind, of which I didn't understand one single word. More silly questions about my unfortunate coat, which was lying on a green table and seemed to be eyeing me piteously. The judge opened a letter — evidently from our Bey — took some papers out of it, and asked me, ' Are these your papers ? ' ' I know nothing about them . ' ' Then how did they get into your pocket ? ' ' They were not put there by me.' He went on reading the letter. The Bulgarian member, Tinko Balta Oghlou, takes up the newspaper and examines it. ' Beg pardon, your worship,' says he to the judge ; ' there's nothing wrong in this newspaper, it's printed at Constanti- nople.' And he cast a smile at me as he said it. I couldn't understand what he meant, and stood like a log of wood. The Kadi asks, ' Isn't that the newspaper issued by the Revolutionary Committee in Roumania ? ' ' No, your worship,' answers Balta Oghlou ; ' this paper doesn't treat of politics — it's a religious * paper, published by the Protes- tant missionaries.' I couldn't trust my own eyes ! It was the Zornitsa. Tinko Balta Oghlou takes the proclamation, glances at it, looks at me, and smiles again. ' There's nothing seditious in this either, your worship ; it's a pros- pectus ! ' — and he began to read aloud : ' Try Doctor Ivan Bogoroff's patent medicines.' The Kadi looked at him in astonishment ; every one began to laugh ; even the Kadi smiled ; as for me I roared — who could have helped laughing ? How in the world did this miraculous transfor-

* The Zornitsa, the Bulgarian organ of the American Missionaries, published at Constantinople since 1858.

48 UNDER THE YOKE

mation takes place ? That's more than I can tell. Any- how after a short discussion with the Court the Kadi turned to me and said, * Doctor, there's some mistake. I am sorry you've been put to inconvenience ' (he calls several hours spent in prison and being dragged at night from one Konak to another an inconvenience !) ; 'if you can find bail I'll let you go at once.' There I stood utterly bewildered."

" But how about the wounded zap tie ? "

" They didn't say a word about him. As far as I can make out our Bey, either by himself or at some one else's suggestion, has found out there was some mistake, and must have put in his letter that he didn't consider I was guilty of that. Perhaps the zaptie himself admitted he was lying."

Marko beamed with satisfaction. He thought that old Manola's son really had fired, and was anxious about the consequences.

" Well, thank God, you're free now."

" Yes, as you see. But wait a bit — there's something yet stranger to come," said the doctor, looking carefully round to assure himself that none of the family were within hearing. ' Chorbaji Nikolcho lent me his horse to come home with ; he also went bail for me. Well, as I was coming out of the town, just by the Jewish cemetery, I noticed two people coming towards me from the Balkan. One of them was Deacon Vikenti, and he called out to me to stop. * Where are you bound for, doctor ? ' he cried, surprised at seeing me at Hberty . ' I'm going home,' I said ; ' there was nothing the matter.' You should have seen him open his eyes ! I told him the whole story. Suddenly he throws his arms round my neck, and begins to kiss and hug me. ' Why, what's all this, deacon ? ' says I. ' I must introduce you to — to Mr. Boicho Ognianoff,' says he, taking me to his companion. I looked at him. What do you think ? It was the man to whom I had given my coat the night before ! "

" What — old Manola's son ? " cried Marko involuntarily.

*' Why — do you know him too ? " asked the doctor astounded.

Marko shrank back. " Go on — we'll see," said he.

" Well, we shook hands and made friends. He thanked me for my coat and begged my pardon most humbly.

EXPLANATIONS 49

* Don't mention it, Mr. Ognianoff,' I said, ' I never like to talk about any little thing I may do for anybody. But where are you going to, if I may ask ? ' ' Mr. Ognianoff was going to look for you,' answered Vikenti. ' For me ? '

* Yes, he wanted to rescue you ! ' 'To rescue me ? ' ' Yes,' by giving himself up to the authorities and confessing that he alone was guilty.' ' Do you mean to say that that's why you came here ? Ah, Mr. Ognianoff, what were you intending to do ? ' I asked, almost angrily. ' My duty,' he replied simply. Well, I couldn't help it. I burst out crying and put my arms round his neck, as if he had been my brother, there, in the middle of the road. There's a noble nature for you, Marko — there's real chivalry. That's the kind of man Bulgaria requires."

Marko made no reply. Two tears flowed slowly down his cheeks. He was proud for old Manola's sake.

The doctor remained silent a moment, then went on again. " We separated — they struck back across the fields, and I came straight on ; but I am still upset by the meeting, and especially by the changing of the papers. I tell you I saw with my own eyes the Nezavisimost, and the proclama- tion. How can they turn into the Zornitsa and Bogoroff's prospectus ? Who changed them ? Was it a mistake of the Bey's ? I've been puzzling over it for hours. What do you think of it, Marko ? "

And the doctor clasped his hands and awaited the reply.

Marko puffed at his chibouk thoughtfully, and then said, with an uncontrollable smile on his lips :

'' Don't you understand that some friend must have done it ? How can it be a mistake ? Do you suppose the Zornitsa and Bogoroff's advertisements are likely to be found at the Bey's ? "

" But who is the unknown benefactor who has saved me from peril, and Ognianoff from certain death ? Help me to find him — I must thank him — I must kiss his hands and his feet."

Marko turned to the doctor, and said to him, in a low tone :

" Doctor — listen. You must never breathe a word of what I am going to tell you as long as you live."

" I give you my word of honour."

" It was I who changed the papers."

" You, Marko," exclaimed the doctor, with a start.

D

50 UNDER THE YOKE

" Sit down, and listen quietly. This morning, very early, I went to Ganko's cafe, and it was from him that I heard you were arrested : this astonished and grieved me very much. As luck would have it, in came the on-bashi and

told me you had been sent during the night to K , and

that he was just going there too with the Bey's letter in which the fatal papers were enclosed. I didn't know what was to be done. The on-bashi stayed for some time, and then went out. Well, to my surprise, I noticed he'd left his letter behind . Ganko was busy shaving some one . It came into my head to take the letter and destroy it, but that wouldn't have helped you much — the suspicion would always have remained. What was to be done ? There was no time to think. Well, something occurred to me which I'd never even thought of all my life. See here, doctor ; I've grown grey in business, but I never yet opened a letter belonging to any one else before : I've always considered it the most dishonourable thing a man can do. God forgive me, but I did it this morning, for the first and last time. I rushed home, locked mysefi in the office, unfastened the red seal on the letter carefully, and put in the first two papers that came to hand — you know the Turks are not over sharp in these matters. Then I brought back the letter and left it in the place where I'd found it, without the cafe-keeper noticing me. Thank God, the thing came off all right — my conscience is easier now."

The doctor listened, gasping, and then said with emotion :

*' Marko, my gratitude to you is eternal. What you call dishonourable is noble — it's glorious. You have saved two lives from destruction at the risk of your own. There are few fathers who would do as much for their children."

The doctor's emotion would not let him continue.

Marko added : " Last night old Manola's son did come to see me, but he climbed over the wall, and that made aU the noise and brought the police."

'' What, Boicho Ognianoff ? "

*' Is that what you call him ? Yes, yes, that's the man. His father's a great friend of mine ; and he, poor fellow, not knowing any one else, came to me for shelter : it was you who directed him here. I didn't want to tell you this before Ivancho ; but he ran away the moment the police came."

? Where was he coming from ? " asked the doctor com- pletely overcome by these successive revelations.

THE NUNNERY 51

" Didn't he teU you ? From Diarbekir."

" From Diarbekir ! "

" Not so loud — and where is he now ? "

" He's at the monastery, where the deacon has under- taken to keep him hidden. I'm to go and see him there. Will you let me tell him — only him — what you've just told me ? He ought to know who it is to whom he owes his life, for he would certainly have given himself up if they hadn't released me."

" No, no ; you've given me your word ; you're never to reveal it — on the contrary, try to forget it. I only told you as a kind of confession, to reheve my own conscience. As for old Manola's son, you can give him my best wishes, and say I shall be glad to see him here — only let him come in by the front door next time."

CHAPTER X : THE NUNNERY

The women's convent at Bela Cherkva * (white church) was the complete antithesis of the monastery already described as being entombed in the rocks of the Balkan and eternally silent and deserted.

Here, on the contrary, were sixty or seventy sisters, young and old, gadding about all day in the quadrangle and galleries, and filling with mirthful sounds the broad enclo- sure which was the barrier between them and the vanities of this sinful world. They were perpetually on the move from morning till night.

The convent had the reputation of being the most fertile hotbed of scandal in the whole city. It was the cradle of every bit of tittle-tattle which made the round of and scan- dalised the hearths of the erring laity of the town : it was there that betrothals were whispered of and prepared ; and, sometimes, impending marriages broken off too. From thence innocent little tales would set out on their way round the to\\Ti, and return, well and hearty, but magnified a hundredfold, or else completely metamorphosed ; naturally such a centre of gossip attracted troops of lay-friends, especially on feast-days, when these were regaled by the holy Sisters with stories of the town and morella -cherry preserves.

* Better known under the name of Sopot, a little town about two miles from Karlovo, which is probably the town alluded to as " K " throughout the work.

52 UNDER THE YOKE

Sister Hajji Rovoama, whose acquaintance we have already made at her brother Yordan's, was renowned as the most skilful pryer into all the secrets of the town, and the most inveterate scandal-monger in it. She had at one time been the abbess — but a revolution in the little state had deposed her — none the less was she still, morally, the moving spirit of the community. Her advice was appealed to in every matter. She vouched for the accuracy of truthful rumours and exposed the incorrect : she had the prerogative of starting fresh tales, which afforded mental pabulum for the little republic for some days, after which they spread beyond the confines of the cloister.

Sister Hajji Rovoama had been for some days enraged at the liberation of Dr. Sokoloff, the sworn foe of the convent. She cherished her malice in secret, asking herseK who could possibly have come to his assistance ? Who could it have been who had robbed her of the satisfaction of listening to and inventing every day new stories as to his fate ? The thing was disgraceful. Indeed, so much did she fret about it that for the last four or five nights she had not had a wink of sleep. She was continually cudgelling her brains to dis- cover firstly, why the Doctor had refused to tell the Bey where he had been at three o'clock on the eventful night of his arrest ; and, secondly, who had changed the papers. At last a brilliant idea flashed across her mind at the very moment when she was saying her prayers before going to bed. She clapped her hands for joy, like Archimedes when he discovered his great law of physics. She went straight to Sister Serafima, whom she found already undressed, and said in a voice that shook with excitement :

" Sister, do you know where the doctor was that night, when he refused to tell the Bey ? "

Sister Serafima pricked up her ears.

" He was with the Bey's wife, my dear."

" Do you think so, Hajji ? "

" Of course, Serafima — else why shouldn't he say so ? Is he mad ? Holy Virgin ! and to think that I've only just found it out ! " said Hajji Rovoama, crossing herself before the eikonostasis. "And do you know who released the doctor ? "

" Who, Sister ? " asked Serafima.

" Why, she did, of course — the Bey's wife."

" Really — you don't mean it ! "

THE NUNNERY 53

" My God ! Holy Virgin ! what can I have been thinking about all this time ? " And, having relieved her excited feelings, Sister Haj ji E-ovoama went o5, finished her prayers, and slept with the clear conscience of one who has done her duty.

Next morning the whole convent was acquainted with the secret. The history of the doctor and the Bey's wife grew and assumed alarming proportions.

Each Sister, as she heard it, asked :

*' Who told you so ? "

" Why, Sister Hajji Rovoama."

The name disarmed the most sceptical : every one rushed to Hajji Rovoama for a detailed account.

In two hours the story had spread all over the town.

But every scandal, however interesting, grows stale in three days. Society was beginning to yawn and to clamour for more gossip. The appearance in the town of Kralich, whom hardly any one knew, was a godsend to the convent, which was at once busy with him. Who is he ? Where does he come from ? What is his business ? No one could answer these questions, though the most curious tales were current respecting him : but the only point in which these agreed was his name ; in all other particulars they were of the most contradictory nature.

Sister Sofia alleged that he had come there for his health.

Sister Ripsimia averred that he was a dealer in attar of roses.*

Sister Nimfidora was sure he had come after an engage- ment as schoolmaster.

Sister Solomona and Sister Parashkeva asserted that neither of these reports was correct ; that he had come there to look out for a wife ; and that, as a matter of fact, they knew on whom his choice had fallen.

Sister Apraxia was ready to swear that he was a Russian prince in disguise, who had come to inspect the old fortress and distribute funds for their church. But less faith was attached to what Sister Apraxia said, because she was not on visiting terms with the best houses, but drew her infor- mation from the wife of Petko Buzzouniak or Fachko Dobiche's family.

Sister Hajji Rovoama listened to all these confident

* The scene where the story is laid is in the heart of the " Valley of Roses," where the famous attar is produced.

54 UNDER THE YOKE

assertions, and smiled behind her moustachios (of which Nature had been very prodigal to her). She knew all about it, but wanted to enjoy the efforts of the Sisters to find out the truth. The oracle declared itself only late at night.

The next morning the whole convent knew that the stranger OgnianofE was a Turkish spy.

One of the chief reasons — perhaps the only one — why Hajji Rovoama launched this unflattering rumour touching OgnianofE was the fact that he had not yet paid his respects to her : this was a mortal affront to her vanity, which gained for Ognianoff a relentless enemy.

It was Sunday. Service was nearly over in the convent chapel, which was thronged with worshippers. Crowds stood outside under the chapel windows, beneath the spread- ing branches of the great pear tree. Most of these were young girls or married women from the town, all decked with flowers and arrayed in their brightest Sunday frocks, like dolls. They prattled merrily together, turning from time to time to the door to inspect the Sunday dresses of the other representatives of the fair sex who were continually flocking into the convent. The rest were nuns, mostly young, who were engaged, with no less merriment, in looking about them, giggling and laughing perpetually. From time to time they would rush forward in swarms to pick up the ripe golden pears as they fell from the tree, and occasionally a battle royal would ensue for the possession of the fruit, after which they would return heated and flushed to the rest of the worshippers, crossing themselves.

Service was over. A stream of people emerged from the chapel and flowed into the cells.

Hajji Rovoama's cell, though somewhat richly furnished, was small and could scarcely contain her guests. The nun received them with a gratified smile, whilst Rada, in a clean black frock and hood, went round serving preserves and coffee on a red tray. After an hour the stream began to decrease. Hajji Rovoama rose frequently to look from the window, as if she expected some special visitor. Soon a fresh batch came in, among whom was Alafranga, Stefchoff, Pope Stavri, Necho Pironkoff, and a young schoolmaster. Evidently it was these whom she was expecting. She gave a friendly greeting to her new visitors, who all shook hands also xvith Rada ; Stefchoff, indeed, gave her hand a pro-

THE NUNNERY 55

longed pressure, accompanied with a wink ; this threw the girl into a state of confusion, and she blushed rosy-red.

" Kiriak, I want to ask you again about that business of the doctor's," the nun inquired after the usual greetings ; " there are all sorts of stories about it." " What stories ? " asked Stefchoff.

" They say that you purposely tried to make the Bey be- lieve the papers were treasonable, so as to injure Sokoloff ."

Stefchoff flamed up. " Whoever says that is a fool and a liar. The papers taken from his pocket were a copy of the Nezavisimost — No. 30 — ^and a proclamation. Necho was there ; he can tell you if I am speaking the truth." Necho promptly assented.

" We don't require to ask Necho. What can Necho tell us ? " declared Pope Stavri. *' We know the whole busi- ness. Wherever the doctor goes he carries the gallows with him. I said so only last night to Selamsiz. I went to his house to taste his new raki — he knows just how much ani- seed to put in. But how are you. Sister ; are you all right? " " As you see, Father. I feel as young as they oungest of them," said the nun, who at once turned again to Stefchoff. " But don't you really know who changed the papers ? "

Hajji Rovoama could scarcely keep her tongue from revealing her discovery. " The police will find out."

" I wouldn't give a farthing for your police. Shall I tell you who it is — shall I ? " she grinned ; then bending over to hio ear, she whispered a name. But the secret was in so loud a whisper that the whole party heard it. Necho, the member, tossed his rosary up to the ceiling in glee ; the little schoolmaster looked meaningly, first at one, then at another ; and Pope Stavri interposed a pious ' Good Lord, lead us not into temptation ! " Rada fled in shame to the cellar.

" There he is — there he is ! " cried Stefchoff, noticing Sokoloff as he passed through the courtyard with two friends. One was Vikenti and the other Kralich. All crowded to the window.

This gave the nun an opportunity of disclosing her second discovery. " Do you know who he is ? "

" What the stranger ? He's a certain Boicho Ognianoff," answered Stefchoff ; " but he looks to me as if he had some- thing to do with the Committee too,"

56 UNDER THE YOKE

Haj ji Rovoama shook her head in sign of dissent.

*' Don't you think so ? " asked Stefchoff.

" No, no ; he's another sort altogether."

" He's a revolutionary, I'll be bound."

" Not he — a spy," answered the nun authoritatively.

Stefchoff glanced at her in amazement.

" Everybody knows it but you."

" Anathema upon him," cried Pope Stavri.

Hajji Rovoama watched jealously to see where they would go in.

" They've gone in to Sister Christina's cell," she cried.

Sister Christina had an evil reputation. She passed for a patriot, and was connected with the Committees. Levski had once spent the night in her cell.

" It's curious how fond the deacons are of Sister Christina , ' ' added Haj j i Rovoama with a bitter smile . "Do you know that Vikenti's going to throw up the frock ? And quite right too, poor boy — he became a monk too young."

" He did right — you must either marry early or else become a monk early," affirmed Pope Stavri.

" Well, I agree with you as to the first."

" Hush ! hush ! for shame ! '*

*' He's going to send an offer of marriage to Orlianko's daughter. If she accepts him, he'll throw up the frock and they'll be married in Roumania. But I think she'll have nothing to say to him," and the nun cast an attentive and protecting glance at the little schoolmaster, for whom she was preparing the girl just alluded to. The school- master blushed with confusion.

Just then fresh visitors arrived.

" Ah ! there's brother ! " cried Rovoama, running to meet Yordan Diamandieff.

The visitors rose and followed her out. Stefchoff remained a little behind the rest, seized Rada's hand to say goodbye and pinched her blushing cheek. She slapped him on the face and recoiled from him.

" Aren't you ashamed of yourself ? " she murmured, choking, and fled with tears in her eyes to her own cell.

Stefchoff, who was as unmannerly with women as he was conceited and pompous with men, adjusted the tassel of his fez which had been disarranged by the blow, gazed menacingly after Rada, and left the house looking vexed.

RADA'S TRIALS 57

CHAPTER XI : RADA'S TRIALS Rada Gospojina, as she was called to show that she be- longed to the " Gospoja " (Sister) Hajji Rovoama, was a tall, slender, and pretty girl, mth regular features, and a frank and simple countenance ; her face looked still whiter and prettier from under the black hood she wore.

Rada had been an orphan from her earliest years, and had lived nearly all her life under the roof of Hajji Rovo- ama, who had taken charge of her while yet a baby. Her protectress had made a " probationer " of her — that is to say, a girl who is preparing to become a nun, and obliged her to wear the regulation black. At present Rada acted as teacher in the lowest class at the girl's school, for which she received a salary of ten pounds a year.

The lot of all orphan girls is a hard one. Too soon bereft of a father's love and protection, as well as the tender care of a mother, exposed to the kindness or cruelty of the world, they grow up without ever an affectionate encouraging smile being bestowed on them, surrounded by the indifferent faces of strangers. They are like plants which have sprouted and bloomed in some dark cellar, joyless and unscented. Let but a gladdening ray of kindly light fall upon them, and their hidden perfume scents the air.

Rada had grown up in the pernicious and suffocating atmosphere of convent life, under the severe unsympathetic supervision of the old mischief-maker, and in the power of that stony-hearted woman, who had never experienced the holy feelings of maternal love : her young soul had pined in the foul and marshy soil of conventual malice and tale- bearing. It never for a moment occurred to Hajji Rovoama that she might have behaved more humanely to the orphan ; she was too busy with her intrigues to see that her despotism was daily becoming more felt and more insupportable to Rada, in proportion as the girl's nature developed and her seK-respect increased. That is how Rada, though a school- mistress, was to be seen waiting at table at the house of Hajji Rovoama's brother Yordan.

For some days Rada had been very busy, because the annual examination-day was approaching. The eventful morning arrived. The girls began to flock into school quite early, all decked out and arrayed in their best by their mothers. They flitted about like a swarm of bees.

58 UNDER THE YOKE

conning their lessons over yet once more before the examination.

Church was over and people began to crowd into the schoolhouse, according to the custom, to be present at the examination. The doors, windows, and platform, were tastefully decorated with flowers, and the picture of Saints Kiril and Metod * was half hidden by a gorgeous frame of roses festooned with garlands of ivy. The front benches were soon filled up by the pupils, and the rest of the floor was occupied by the spectators, the most important being in front, and some of these were even provided with chairs, amongst the latter being several of our acquaintances. But a few empty seats still remained for such distinguished visitors as might yet come. Meanwhile, Rada was busily marshalling her pupils along the benches, and whispering to them a few last instructions. Her sweet face was flushed with excitement on this momentous day, and her great moist eyes made her look prettier than ever. Transparent rosy clouds flitted across her cheeks and showed the agita- tion of her simple soul. Rada felt that a hundred curious looks were directed towards her, and the thought made her shy and uncomfortable. But when the head schoolmistress began her speech, and everybody's attention was fixed on her, Rada felt a great relief, and began to pluck up her courage. She even ventured to look round her ; with de- light she noticed the absence of Kiriak Stefchoff. The speech ended in solemn silence, the custom of applauding not having yet been introduced. The examination began as appointed in the programme, with the little ones in the lowest class. The kind pleasant face of the head teacher and her encouraging speech had inspired the children with confi- dence. Rada followed the children's replies with the closest attention, and every little blunder they made was reflected by a painful contraction of her features. But their clear, ringing little voices, their tiny red lips which seem to attract kisses, decided their fate. She caressed them with her glance, encouraged them with a heavenly smile, and tried to instil her whole soul into their faltering little lips.

At that moment the crowd standing at the door divided and made way for two belated guests, who passed along

* The pioneers of Slavonic civilisation, who introduced Christianity into Bulgaria, in the tenth century, and were the authors of the Cyrillic alphabet. -—

RADA'S TRIALS 6^

quietly and sat down, in the empty seats. Rada looked up and saw them. The elder of the two was the chairman of the School Committee — Chorbaji Micho — the other was Kiriak Stefchoff . Involuntarily she grew pale with dismay. But she tried hard not to see his face, which filled her with aversion and terror.

Eariak Stefchoff exchanged a few nods of recognition, without, however, greeting his neighbour, Sokoloff , who did not look at him : he crossed his legs and assumed a haughty and defiant air. He listened carelessly, glancing every now and then towards a comer where Lalka, Yordan's daughter, was standing with her friends. Once or twice only he scanned Rada from head to foot, sternly and contemptu- ously. His face expressed only self-conceit and ferocity. From time to time he sniffed at a carnation which he held in his hand. The teacher, Clement, handed the book to Alafranga Mikhalaki, who, however, waved it away, saying he would examine the children in French. The teacher turned to the right and offered the book this time to Stefchoff, who took it and moved his chair forward.

A dull murmur arose from the crowd. Everybody stared at Kiriak. The subject for examination was the abridged history of Bulgaria. Stefchoff laid the book on the table, passed his hands through his hair as if to refresh his memory, and propounded a question aloud. The child remained silent. The cold, repellent look of the examiner froze her very soul to ice ; she became confused, and did not even remember the question, but glanced piteously at Rada, as if to implore her aid. Stefchoff repeated his ques- tion, but only a fresh silence followed.

" Let the child go and call another," he said coldly to the teacher.

Another child appeared, and the question was put to her. She heard it without understanding a word, and remained speechless. Silence reigned also among the spectators, who began to experience a painful sensation. The little girl stood as if transfixed, but her eyes filled with tears of mortification, which she was even too frightened to shed. She tried to speak, but the effort was too much for her.

" The subject appears to have been very carelessly taught indeed. Please call another pupil."

Rada sadly uttered the name of a pupil.

60 UNDER THE YOKE

The third child auswered quite at random ; she had not understood the question. Seeing a look of disapproval on Stefchoff's face she lost her self-control, and began to look round her in despair. Stefchoff put another question. This time the child did not answer at all. Her confusion was apparent ; her lips quivered, bloodless ; suddenly she burst into tears, and ran to hide herself where her mother was sitting. Everybody seemed to feel oppressed. The mothers whose daughters had not yet been called up looked on in doubt and fear, each one trembling lest she should hear her daughter's name.

Rada stood like one thunderstruck. Not a drop of blood remained in her face ; her cheeks quivered and her bosom heaved with agitation. She did not dare to raise her eyes. She seemed to herself to be sinking into the ground ; a feeling of intense oppression seized her, and it was all she could do to restrain her tears.

The audience was unable to endure this extreme tension any longer, and murmurs of disapproval were heard. People looked at each other astounded, as if to ask, What does all this mean ? Everybody was anxious to put an end to this impossible state of things. Only Stefchoff's triumphant countenance expressed satisfaction. The mur- muring grew louder. Suddenly an ominous silence reigned ; everybody turned to Boicho Ognianoff, who had risen and walked up to Stefchoff.

" Excuse me, sir," he said firmly. " I have not the pleasure of jour acquaintance, but your questions are so abstract and so obscure that they would puzzle fifth-form pupils. It is not fair to these poor children." Then turning to Rada, he asked :

" Will you allow me, miss ? " Then, as he stood, he begged her to call up one of the children who had failed.

A general feeling of relief followed. A murmur of sym- pathy and approval greeted Ognianoff's proceeding. In a moment he had drawn all eyes to himself and gained the good wishes of all. The calumny launched by Hajji Rovoama fell to the ground. His open countenance, pale with suffering and illuminated by a manly and energetic look, won over all hearts irresistibly. The faces of the spectators brightened ; they breathed again. Every one saw with satisfaction that Ognianoff was master of the situation.

RADA'S TRIALS 61

Ognianoff asked the child, in simple words, the very same question which Stefchoff had put to her. This time she answered correctly. The mothers revived, and cast grateful glances at the stranger. His name, which was new and strange, passed from mouth to mouth, and remained engraved on their hearts.

Another child was called up. She, too, answered as satisfactorily as could be expected from a child of her age.

Then all these children, who a moment ago had been in a state of wild terror, began to cast friendly glances at Ognianoft. Their spirits rose ; each was anxious to be called first so as to go and talk with that kind man, whom they all Hked now.

Rada passed from one emotion to another. Dum- foundered, despairing, moved to tears but a moment ago, she now looked gratefully at the kind and courageous stranger who had come to her assistance at so critical a moment. It was the first time she had ever met with such warm and brotherly sympathy — and from a stranger too. He a spy ! As he stoo^ there he seemed to her a guardian angel. He had crushed Stefchoff like a worm. She was triumphant ; she breathed freely, and looked proudly and happily on every side : on every side she met sympathetic glances. Her heart melted with a grateful emotion, and her eyes filled with tears.

Ognianoff addressed the third child in these words :

" Raina, my dear, can you tell me what Bulgarian Tsar introduced Christianity among us — made us Christians ? "

And he looked kindly and gently into the innocent little eyes turned up to him, which still bore traces of tears.

The little girl hesitated for a minute, faltered with her lips, and then in a clear ringing treble, like the moming-note of the lark, she answered :

" King Boris introduced Christianity among the Bul- garians."

" Bravo, Raina ; quite right. Now can you tell me who invented the Bulgarian alphabet ? "

The question puzzled the child a little. She tried to bring herself to speak, but her timidity overcame her and she nearly broke down.

Ognianoff came to her assistance. " I mean our ABC, dear — who found it out ? "

The child's countenance lighted up. Raina stretched out

62 UNDER THE YOKE

her little arm, bare to the elbow, without uttering a word, and pointed to SS. Earil and Metod, who were looking down on her approvingly.

" That's right, darling ; SS. Kiril and Metod," exclaimed several of the spectators in the front row.

" Well done, Eaina. May SS. Kiril and Metod protect you and grant you to become a queen," cried Pope Stavri, much moved.

" Bravo, Raina ; you may go," said Ognianoff kindly.

Rama, proud and triumphant, ran to her mother, who took her in her arms, pressed her to her heart, and covered her with fond and foolish caresses and tears.

Ognianoff turned to the teacher Kliment and handed back the book to him.

" Won't you examine my Subka, sir ? " asked Chorbaji Micho of Ognianoff.

A bright-looking, fair-haired little girl was already in front of him, watching him with an air of pleased expecta- tion. Ognianoff thought for a moment, and asked :

" Subka, can you tell me what Tsar it was that freed the Bulgarians from the Greek yoke ? "

" The Bulgarians were freed from the Turkish yoke by ..." the child began erroneously.

" No, no, Subka," cried her father. " You're to tell us by what Tsar they were freed from the Greek yoke. We all know what Tsar is to free us from the Turkish yoke."

" What God has decreed no man can prevent," said Pope Stavri.

Chorbaji Micho 's simple remark caused much laughter in the audience.

Subka cried eagerly : " The Bulgarians were freed from the Greek yoke by Tsar Asen, but they will be freed from the Turkish yoke by Tsar Alexander of Russia."

She had misunderstood her father's words.

The schoolroom rang with the child's words.

But annoyance and disapproval were depicted on many faces. All glanced mechanically at Rada, who bltished and hung her head. Some of the glances cast on her were of reproof, others of approbation. But every one felt uncom- fortable. Stefchoff had recovered from his temporary down- fall ; he raised his head and looked round triumphantly. Every one knew of his intimate relations with the Bey, and his habit of fawning to the Turks ; and they tried to read

RADA'S TRIALS 68

from his face what he thought. Public feeling, which but a moment before had been warmly in favour of Rada and OgnianofP, cooled do^\T^ and was replaced by a dull sense of dismay. Stefchoff's connections began to murmur their disapproval in audible tones, and those who were well- disposed to the poor teacher remained silent. Poor old Pope Stavri was overwhelmed with confusion. He was afraid for what he had said, and in his heart uttered a fervent " Good Lord, have mercy upon us." But the two camps were more sharply defined on the women's side. Hajji Rovoama, especially, enraged at Stefchoff's previous discomfiture, looked daggers at Rada and Ognianoff and blamed them aloud. She even called the latter a rebel, forgetting that only a few days before she had proclaimed him to be a spy. But there were others who were just as loud in their defence. Mother Ghinka cried so that all could hear her :

" Wliat's everybody making such a fuss about ? The child hasn't blasphemed, has she ? She's only said the plain truth. There, I don't mind saying so myself, that Tsar Alexandri will liberate us, and no one else." " Be quiet, you stupid," whispered her mother. As for Subka, she was quite bewildered. She had only said what she had heard her father or his visitors say every day, and she could not conceive why her words should have caused such a commotion.

Stefchoff got up and turned to the spectators in the front rows :

" Gentlemen," he said, " revolutionary ideas are being expressed against the Government of H.I.M. the Sultan. I cannot stop here and listen to such language."

He went out, followed by Necho Pironkoff and three or four others. But his example found no other imitators.

After a minute's excitement people began to see that the incident did not deserve special attention. A child had in her innocence spoken a few misplaced words — but what of that ? Calm was restored, and with it the previous feeling of sympathy towards Ognianoff, who from every side of the room received friendly glances. He was the hero of the day ; he had on his side all the honest-minded and all the mothers.

The examination proceeded and came to an end in perfect quiet.

64 UNDER THE YOKE

The pupils sang a song and the people dispersed satisfied. When Ognianoff approached Rada to take leave of her, she said to him earnestly, " Mr. Ognianoff, I thank you heartily both for myself and my little girls. I shall never forget your kindness " ; so saying she gave him a look in which deep gratitude was expressed.

" My dear young lady, I have been a teacher myself, and felt for you — that's all. I congratulate you on the success of your pupils," said Ognianoff, with a warm and friendly grasp of the hand. After he had gone, Rada noticed no one of all the visitors who came to congratulate and shake hands with her.

CHAPTER XII : BOlCHO OGNIANOFE The appearance in the town of Boicho Ognianoff (for Kralich had definitely assumed the name by which Vikenti had introduced him to Sokoloff at their first meeting in the

cemetery at K ) naturally enough drew upon him general

attention. There had been a long discussion as to what he should do, in which his three friends Vikenti, Dr. Sokoloff and the Higoumen had taken part. At first they were of opinion that he ought not to show himself in public ; but Ognianoff was able to disarm their apprehensions with ease. He assured them that he was from distant Widdin, where nobody from Bela Cherkva, except Marko Ivanoff , had ever been — that he had been so long absent that no one, even from there, would recognise him, the sufferings of eight years' exile in Asia, coupled with the climate, having aged him so much and changed him so completely.

But so far from his enthusiasm for the ideas for which he had suffered having been calmed down by exile and suffering, they had made him a still more fervent idealist — bold to madness, frienzied in his love for his country, and chivalrous to the degree of self-sacrifice. Fateful occasions have already sl^own him to us at work. Aye, he had come to Bulgaria to work for its liberation. Such a man, who had escaped from exile and Avas living under an assumed name, who was bound by no family or social ties, exposed at every minute to be betrayed or discovered, without any future or purpose in life, could have been brought to Bulgaria, or have been kept there after the double deed of blood he had committed, only by some such great purpose as this.

BOiCHO OGNIANOFF 65

How could he work so as to bring about some result ? What was the field afforded for his labours ? What could he do ? Was his aim possible of attainment ? He could not tell. All that he knew was that he would encounter great difficulties and dangers, which indeed began to beset him at the very beginning of his labours.

But, for such chivalrous natures as his, difficulty and danger are but the anvil against which their strength is hardened and welded. They are strengthened by opposi- tion, attracted by persecution, nourished by danger ; for these constitute a struggle, and every struggle fortifies and ennobles. It is beautiful in the worm which raises its head to bite the foot about to crush it ; it is heroical when under- taken by a man for self-preservation ; it is divine when it is on behalf of humanity.

In the first few days Hajji Rovoama's calumny had averted from him many with whom his friends wished him to become acquainted. But his triumph at the examina- tions, occasioned by Stefchoff's baseness, had in a moment closed the mouths of his traducers, and opened to him all doors and all hearts. Ognianoff became the favourite guest of the whole hamlet. He gladly accepted the offer by Marko Ivanoff and Micho Beyzade of a situation as teacher, so as to have some ostensible grounds for remaining there. His colleagues were : Climent Belcheff, the head teacher ; Frangoff ; the pupil-teacher Popoff ; and the chorister Stefan Merdivenjieff, who was the teacher of the Turkish language. The first named was a Russian seminarist, and as such an agreeable, unpractical visionary ; when the superintendents called on him he recited to them lines from Khomiakoff and Derjavin's " God." Chorbaji Marko would have preferred stories on the greatness of Russia, or about Bonaparte. The third was a hot and excitable youth, a former friend of Levski's, who dreamt only of committees, revolutions, and insurgents. He hailed with delight his new colleague, to whom he at once became passionately devoted. The only uncongenial person was Merdivenjieff, with his devotion to the psalter and his love for the Turkish language. The first showed a mind gone to rust ; the second, one who bows beneath the lash. For a Bulgarian who likes the Turkish language must either love the Turks themselves or expect some reward from them. Naturally this coincidence of tastes united him with Stefchoff.

66 UNDER THE YOKE

In accordance with the duties he had undertaken, Ognianoff taught both in the boys' and in the girls' school ; consequently he met Rada every day. Every time he saw her he discovered fresh charms in the young girl, and one fine morning he awoke to find himself deeply in love with her. Need it be said that she already loved him in secret ? From the day when he had so chivalrously come to her assistance she had been filled with that potent feeling of warm gratitude which in a moment gives way to love. Her poor little heart, thirsting after sympathy and affection, was at once seized with an ardent, pure, and boundless love for Ognianoff. In him she saw realised the dim ideal of her dreams and her hopes, and under the beneficent influence of this new emotion Rada bloomed and flourished like a rose in May.

Two such pure and honest natures were fated to under- stand each other without need of a lengthy acquaintance, or much preliminary intercourse. Every day Ognianoff found a greater joy and relief in her conversation. His love for her grew and flourished in his heart by the side of that other great love he had for his country. The one was a giant pine, ready to withstand the furious storm-blast, the other, a lowly flower, thirsting for sun and dew ; both grew on the same soil, but the rays which the sun shed on the one did not reach the other.

Yet his heart was often oppressed by sad thoughts which fell on it like lead. What would become of this innocent creature, whose fate was becoming entwined with his own uncertain destiny ? Whither was he leading her ? What would be their end ? He, the combatant, the man of perils and adversity, was he to draw towards his terrible path this pure, loving child, whose life was only now beginning to expand under the kindly fostering of love ? She sought for and awaited from him a secure and happy future, joyful and untroubled bliss beneath the new heavens his love had created for her. Why was this poor girl to share the cruel blows fate was preparing for him alone ?

No, it was his duty to disclose all to her, to pluck from her eyes the veil of blindness, and to show her with what manner of man she was uniting her lot. These thoughts weighed heavily on his mind, and he determined to seek relief in a full and open confession of the truth.

He sought out Rada.

BOiCHO OGNIANOFF 67

She had now left the convent and was living in one of the rooms of the school, modestly and even poorly furnished. The only ornament the room boasted was its occupant.

Ognianoff knocked at the door and went in.

Rada received him with a smile on her tearful face.

" Rada, you've been crying ? What is it, darling ? " and he tenderly clasped her head and caressed her blushing cheeks.

She drew back, wiping her eyes.

" What's the matter, dear ? " asked Ognianoff surprised.

" Sister Hajji Rovoama has just been here," answered Rada in a broken voice.

" Has she been vexing and ill-treating you again ? Tell me all about it. Why, some one has been trampling on my songs ! "

" You see, Boicho, the Sister threw them down, and tram- pled on them — she found them on the table — ' Revolution- ary songs,' she called them, and then she abused you in such terrible words. How can I help crying ? "

Ognianoff became serious.

" What terrible things did she say of me ? "

" What didn't she say ? She called you a rebel, a bandit, a murderer ! My God, how can she be so merciless ! "

Ognianoff looked thoughtfully at Rada, and said :

" Listen to me, Rada, you and I are friends, but we don't know each other yet ; or rather you don't know me. The fault is mine. Do you think you could love me if I really was the kind of man they say I am ? "

" No, dear ; I know very well you're the most honourable man in the world — that's why 1 love you " ; so saying she clung to his neck like a child, and looked lovingly into his eyes.

He smiled bitterly, moved by her simple faith.

" And don't you know me well enough ? Else how could we have fallen in love with each other ? " whispered Rada, still clinging to him.

Ognianoff kissed her affectionately, and said :

" Rada, my darling, if I am to be an honourable man, as you call me, I must tell you things you know nothing about. My love for you has kept me back till now, for fear of pain- ing you, but my conscience impels me to speak. You must know to whom you are binding yourself. I have no right to remain silent any longer."

68 UNDER THE YOKE

" Tell me all — ^you'll always be the same to me," she said, with emotion.

Ognianoff made her sit down, aud seated himself beside her.

" Rada, Hajji Rovoama says that I am a rebel. She doesn't know what she means — she calls every decent youth a rebel."

" Yes, dear, she's a very wicked woman."

" But I really am a rebel, Rada."

Rada looked at him astounded.

" Yes, Rada, and a real rebel, too, busy preparing an insurrection."

She sat motionless without uttering a word.

" We intend to begin the insurrection next spring. That's why I came here." Rada remained silent.

" That is my future — a future full of uncertainty and danger."

Rada looked at him in dumb surprise, but said nothing.

Ognianoff saw his fate in her cold silence. At every word he said the girl's devotion to him was dissolving into air. He made an effort to keep calm, and proceeded with his confession.

" That is my future ; now I must tell you my past life."

Rada fixed her troubled glance on him.

"It is still darker, if not more terrible, Rada. Do you know that for eight years I was imprisoned in Asia for a political offence, and that I am a fugitive from Diarbekir, Rada ! "

Rada made no reply.

" Tell me, Rada, did the Sister say anything of all this ? "

" No ; she knows nothing of it," answered Rada faintly.

Ognianoff remained deep in thought for a moment, and added :

" She called me a murderer and an assassin. She knows nothing of that either, Rada ! She called me a spy only a few days ago — but listen."

This time Rada felt something terrible was coming. She grew deadly pale.

" Listen ! I killed two men — and not very long ago."

Rada recoiled from him involuntarily.

Ognianoff did not dare to look at her ; he was addressing the wall ; his heart seemed as if being crushed in an iron vice.

THE ROAD TO SILISTRIA 69

" Yes, I killed two Turks — I, who had never harmed a fly before in my life. I was bound to kill them, or they would have violated a girl before my eyes — before me and her father, whom they had bound. Yes, I'm a murderer, and Diarbekir again awaits me, if not indeed the gallows ! "

Rada turned and looked strangely at him.

" Go on — go on," she murmured wildly.

"I've told you all ; you know who I am now," answered Ognianoff in a quivering voice. He waited to hear the terrible sentence he could already read in her face.

Rada flung herself into his arms.

" You're mine ! " she cried. " You're the noblest man living — you're my hero, my beloved, beautiful hero ! "

And the two young lovers clasped each other in a fond and passionate embrace, frenzied with love and happiness.

CHAPTER XIII : THE ROAD TO SILISTRIA '^^^

Such was the name given to a delightful grassy meadow in the valley of the monastery, surrounded by branching willows and tall walnuts and elms. Though it was already late autumn, this sweet and shady spot still preserved intact all its greenness and freshness, like Calypso's isle where eternal spring reigned. Through the spreading branches could be seen, north of this happy valley, two peaks of the Stara Planina — the Crooks and the Point. Between these stretched the main ridge of the Balkans, with its sharp precipices and jagged rocks, below which murmured and sparkled the rill. The cool mountain breeze softly fanned the leaves, and brought the scent of the Balkans as well as the murmur of the mills nearer. On the other side gleamed the dry, bleached beds of the torrents which the winter floods had scooped and hollowed out. The sun was at its highest, and its rays, darting through the trees, rained on the grass a shower of quivering flakes, round and golden. A marvellous coolness and quiet reigned in that poetic spot, which bore nevertheless so prosaic and inaccurate a name. For no road, either to Silistria or anywhere else, had ever passed through the lonely meadow, which nestled so grace- fully beneath the hereabouts inaccessible Stara Planina. It owed its designation not to its geographical situation, but to a totally different and, so to speak, historical circumstance. The pleasant coolness of this retired spot had made it for

70 UNDER THE YOKE

many years past the favourite rendezvous for all picnics, merrymakings, and orgies. It was in this Capua that many a merry tradesman of Bela Cherkva, many a spendthrift heir had made their money fly in a too prodigal conviviality : when all was spent the decave, as a matter of course, took the road to Silistria, where, thanks to the fertility of the country and the backwardness of its inhabitants, an easily earned livelihood — sometimes even a fortune — was to be found : and the success of the first emigrants from Bela Cherkva had attracted others to the promised land — the Plains of Silistria.

In this manner Silistria and its surrounding villages had received quite a number of the roysterers of Bela Cherkva, who acted as the pioneers of civilisation in that benighted country ; for, amongst others, they had supplied it with a round dozen of popes and upwards of twenty school-teachers. So that for the inhabitants of our hamlet it was the most direct road to Silistria.

In spite of its fatal significance, the glory of the " Road to SiHstria " continued to flourish and to attract all who had a taste for jaunts and merrymaking ; nor were these few in number, for with all its hardships bondage has yet this one advantage : it makes a nation merry. Where the arena of political and scientific activity is closely barred, where the desire of rapid enrichment finds no stimulant, and far- reaching ambition has no scope for its development, the community squanders its energy on the trivial and personal cares of its daily life, and seeks relief and recreation in simple and easily obtainable material enjoyment. A flask of wane sipped beneath the cool shade of the willows by some clear murmuring rivulet will make one forget one's slavery ; the native guvech (stew) with its purple egg-plants, fragrant parsley, and sharp pepper-pods, enjoyed on the grass under the spreading branches overhead, through which peeps the blue distant sky, constitutes a kingdom, and if only there be a gipsy piper present, is the height of earthly bliss. An enslaved nation has a philosophy of its o\^Ti which reconciles it to its lot. When a man is irretriev- ably ruined, he often puts a bullet through his head or ends his life in some equally rapid and decisive manner. But a nation, however hopeless its bondage, never ends its own existence ; it eats, drinks, begets children. It enjoys itself. If one but look at the poetry of a nation, one finds clearly

THE ROAD TO SILISTRIA 71

expressed the national spirit, the nation's life, and its views of existence. There, amid cruel torments, heavy chains, dark dungeons, and festering wounds, is yet interwoven the mention of fat, roasted lambs, jars of red wine, potent raki, interminable marriage feasts, and mazy dances on the green sward beneath the shade ; these form the subject of a whole anthology of national songs.

By the time that Sokoloff and Ognianoff arrived, the " Road to Silistria " was already echoing with the shouts of the gay company. There were present, amongst others, Nikolai Netkovitch, an educated and enlightened youth ; Kandoff, a student at a Russian university, who had come to the Balkan for the benefit of his health, a man of wide reading but a thorough idealist, imbued with all the Utopias of Socialism ; Fratio-Frangoff, the teacher, a hot-headed youth ; Popoff, an exalted patriot ; Pope Dimcho, also a patriot, and at the same time a drunkard ; and Blind Kolcho. The latter, who was completely blind, was a shrivelled-up little fellow with a thin and wizened but intelligent face ; he played the flute with much skill, and was accustomed to wander over the length and breadth of Bulgaria, his powers as a wit and story-teller rendering him an indispensable guest at all festivities.

The meal was already laid out on a bright rug on the grass. Two great demi -Johns — one of red wine, the other of white — were cooUng in the mill-stream which flowed below the meadow. A party of gipsies were merrily fiddling away and singing Turkish love songs lustily. A clarionet and two cymbals completed the noisy orchestra. The meal was a merry one. Toasts followed fast, being drunk sitting, as was then the custom.

The first toast was proposed by Ilicho the Inquisitive.

" Here's a health to all of us, boys ! To all of us God grant whatever most we want. May He His fear instil in those who wish us ill, and send His wrath on those who fain would be our foes."

Glasses clashed gaily.

" Long live all of us ! " cried FrangofiE.

" I drink to the ' road to Sihstria ' and its pilgrims ! '* declared Pope Dimcho.

Popoff raised his glass, and cried :

" Brothers, to the Lion of the Balkans ! "

The music, which had ceased, now struck up again and

72 UNDER THE YOKE

interrupted the toasts : but Fratio, who had not yet pro- posed his, beckoned to the gipsies to stop, rose to his feet, and said enthusiastically, glass in hand :

" Gentlemen, I propose the health of Bulgarian liberie. Vivat ! " And he emptied his glass. But the company, who did not quite understand what he meant, kept their glasses full, thinking from his excited air that he meant to make a speech. Fratio was astonished at meeting with no response, became confused, and sat down again.

" What is it you mean, sir ? " asked KandofE coldly, turning to Fratio. Fratio frowned.

" I thought I had made myself quite intelligible, sir," he said : " I drank to Bulgarian Liberty ! " The last word he spoke low, with a look of suspicion at the gipsies.

" But what do you understand by liberty ? " insisted the student.

Sokoloff turned to them.

" I think we ought rather to drink to Bulgarian bondage. Bulgarian Liberty does not exist."

" Not yet, but we will get it."

*' How will you get it ? "

" By drinking its health," said some one ironically.

" No, by fighting for it," cried Fratio, in excitement.

*' All right, Fratio, you try, then — an ox is bound by the horns, but a man by his word."

" The sword, gentlemen, the sword ! " and Fratio shook his fist frenziedly.

" Then I drink to the sword, the God of slaves," said Ognianoff, raising his glass.

This electrified the assemblage.

" Agoush," cried some one, *' play * Proud Nikifor* deter- mined,' " which was then the Bulgarian Marseillaise.

The music struck up and the whole party began to sing ; when they came to the line " Strike, slay, until the land be freed ! " the excitement became intense, and knives and forks were brandished in frenzy.

Fratio had seized a huge knife, with which he was slashing the atmosphere. With one wild gesticulation he struck a large glass of red wine that the boy was taking to some one. The wine was spilt, and Fratio's Hght summer coat and trousers were drenched.

* An allusion to the defeat of the Byzantine Emperor Nikifor (Nice- phorus) by the Bulgarians in a.d. 811.

THE ROAD TO SILISTRIA 78

" Fool ! " cried Fratio.

*' Don't be angry, Gospodin Fratio," said Pope Dimcho ; *' don't you know that where there is striking and slaying blood will be spilt ? "

At this stage every one was shouting his loudest, and each was inaudible to the other, for the musicians were playing a Turkish march, with a deafening accompaniment of cymbals.

Ognianoff and Kandoff had separated from the others and were carrying on a discussion under a tree. Nikolai Netkovitch had also joined them.

" You tell me that we must prepare for the struggle," said Kandoff, continuing the discussion, " because its object is freedom. But what is this freedom ? We are to have a prince — that is to say, a petty Sultan — of our own ; we're to be oppressed by officials ; monks and priests are to fatten on our toil ; and the army will sap the very life- springs of the nation. Is this your freedom ? I would not sacrifice a drop of blood from my little finger for it."

"But listen to me, Mr. Kandoff," answered Netkovitch.

*' No one respects your principles more than I do, but they

have no place here. What we want is pohtical freedom —

that is, to be masters of our own land and our own destinies .' '

Kandoff shook his head in dissent.

*' Well, then, explain this to me. You will appoint new masters in place of the old ; you don't want the Sheikh-ul- Islam, but you will set up another, whom you call the Exarch — that is to say, you replace one tyrant by another. You impose rulers on the nation, and annihilate every idea of equahty ; you consecrate the right of the strong to despoil the poor, of capital to oppress labour. Give to your contest a more humanitarian, a more modem object ; make it a struggle not only against the Turkish yoke, but also for the triumph of modem principles — that is, the destruction of those foolish distinctions, consecrated by the prejudices of centuries, such as the throne, rehgion, the right of property and of the stronger, of which human brutality has consti- tuted unassailable principles. Read Herzen, Bakounin, Lassalle. Leave this narrow, animal patriotism, and raise the standard of rational modem humanity and sober science. Then I am mth you."

" The ideas you express," answered Ognianoff sharply, " show your erudition, it is true, but prove only too clearly

T4 UNDER THE YOKE

how ignorant you are of the Bulgarian question. Under the standard you speak of you would find yourself alone — the nation would not understand it. You must bear in mind, Mr. Kandoff, that through the nation we can attain only one rational and possible object — that is, the destruc- tion of the Turkish rule. We see before us only one enemy — the Turk ; and it is against that enemy that we will rise. As for the principles of Socialism to which you have treated us, we cannot stomach them. Bulgarian common sense rejects them, and they will never find a field in Bulgaria, either now or at any other time. Your high-sounding principles and standards of ' modem thinking humanity and the sober science of reason ' only serve to confuse the subject. What we have to do is to protect our homes, our honour, our lives from the lowest zaptie who may choose to assail them. Before solving general problems of social science — or, more correctly, obscure theories — we must free ourselves from our chains. Those writers whose teach- ings you have mastered neither know nor care about us and our sufferings. We can rely only upon the nation, in which we cannot but include the Chorbaji class and the clergy : they represent forces which we must make use of. Abolish the zaptie, and the nation attains its ideal. You may have another ideal, but it is not that of the nation."

Just then the music stopped and the noise ceased. The blind boy was playing on his flute, from which issued sounds of astonishing sweetness.

" Come here, you fellows. What are you philosophising about there ? " cried some to the three disputants.

These, however, did not even turn round ; the discussion continued to rage hotly.

Blind Kolcho continued to play for some time amid solemn silence, the whole party, though some were more or less excited by their potations, enjoying the soothing melody of his flute. Suddenly he stopped and said ;

" What do you think I can see ? "

There was a general laugh.

" Will you guess ? " asked Kolcho.

" What will you give us if we guess right ? " asked some.

" My astronomical telescope."

" Where is it ? "

" In the moon."

THE ROAD TO SILISTRIA 75

" You can see the rosy cheeks of Todorich's daughter Milka," said Pope Dimcho.

" Not I ! I'd rather kiss them than see them — it's more in my line."

" Well, you can see Mr. Fratio," said Popoff, for Fratio was standing in front of the blind man and waving his arms about.

" How can one see the wind ? "

" The sun, then ! "

" No, you're wrong again — the sun and I fell out long ago, and I've sworn I'll never look at him as long as I live."

" Well, you see the night," said the doctor.

" No, no ; what I see is the glass of wine you're going to give me — confound it, you've forgotten me."

At once a number of glasses were poured out and brought to him.

" Your health, everybody," he said, and emptied his glass.

" But what am I to have, as you couldn't guess ? "

" The other glasses we poured out for you."

" How many of them are there ? "

" Seven — the same number as the deadly sins."

" Well, I'd rather have the forty holy martyrs, if I were in his place," remarked Pope Dimcho.

" Well said— here's luck ! "

" Vive la Bulgarie, vive la Republique des Balkans," cried Fratio in French.

Dusk, however, broke up the revels, and a move was made towards the town.

" Boys, don't forget the rehearsal at the school to- morrow," cried Ognianoflf.

" What are you going to act ? " asked the student.

" ' Genevieve.' "

" Why did you choose that old piece ? "

" For two reasons — first because it's not of a seditious character — the Chorbajis insisted on that ; and, secondly, because every one has read it and wants it. We had to con- sult their tastes ; what we want is large takings ; we have to buy newspapers and books for our reading room, as well as ' other things.' "

The band, merry and boisterous, made for the to^n, and was soon lost among the gardens which the evening twilight was already enveloping. In a quarter of an hour they

76 UNDER THE YOKE

made their victorious entry in the already dark streets of the town, lustily singing revolutionary songs. This seditious demonstration brought the women and children in crowds to their thresholds.

Ognianoff, however, was not among them. While yet in the fields a little boy had brought him hurriedly some message, and he had left his companions without being noticed.

CHAPTER XIV : AN UNFORESEEN MEETING Ognianoff struck towards the north, and made his way in the direction of the ridge of the Balkans. It was already dark. The sun h^^d set peacefully and majestically. Its last rays that gilded the lofty summits of the Stara Planina were vanishing. Only a few clouds, with golden fringes to the westward, still smiled at the sun from their height in the pure, ethereal atmosphere. The valley was now quite wrapped in gloom. The white torrent-beds in the west were plunged in the dim shade which was stealing, darker and darker, over the monastery meadows, the rocks, and the walnuts, willows, and pear trees, whose outlines were gradually becoming faint and blurred. Not a single flutter or chirp from that world of birds that all day long had made the valley gay — they were silent in their nests, securely perched on the branches or hidden under the eaves of the monastery. Jointly with the darkness reigned the weird and melancholy quiet of the night ; the only sound that broke the utter solitude was the roar of the mountain torrents. Now and again the wind would carry the distant tinklings of some belated herd scampering home to the town. Soon the moonlight shone forth and enhanced the charm of that idyllic hour. A golden flood poured over plain and trees, which cast marvellous shadows on the ground. The dry water-courses showed out more clearly against the dark background of the old ruins ; the new cupola towered white and tall above the gables and poplars of the monastery, and behind it, high in the heavens, soared the summits of the Stara Planina till they were lost in the dark blue depths above.

Ognianoff passed behind the monastery and followed up the mill-stream, which issued from beneath a dark copse of thick-branching walnuts ; he passed under this rustling

AN UNFORESEEN MEETING 77

roof, crossed the stream on the huge blocks of stone that sprawled across its course, and soon appeared on the ridge of the Balkan whence the stream flowed.

There the scene changed ; it became wilder and more majestic. On either side of the stream the rocks rose steep and bare, broken here and again by the torrents, and above the jagged crags peered down in fantastic shapes. The moonlight reached only the topmost peaks of the rocks : all the rest was plunged in gloom. Here the noise of the water- falls became deaiening, and reverberated with the echoes of the wall of rock on either side. The wind sighed and sobbed out its autumnal plaint through the bushes : the valley became gradually wilder and more desolate.

Ognianoff pushed his way perilously along the storm- worn path, which was indeed only used by day, being too treacherous to venture along by night. He remembered that some six months before he had passed there when he had come do^vn from the mountain and made his entry over the wall into Marko's j^ard. Soon the path was quite hidden from view in the increasing darkness. He could scarcely pick his footing through the sharp-pointed rocks that strewed the way before him. Had any one seen him at that moment and in that wild place, now crawling, now leaping from crag to crag, he would have taken him for a wild beast rather than a human being. Suddenly a new sound struck his ear : it was the rumbling of the mill. He advanced bolder and more confidently towards it. Soon in the dark depths of the valley he discerned the roof of Father Stoyan's mill, and in a moment he had reached it.

Father Stoyan met him outside the door.

" What is it ? " asked Ognianoff hurriedly and anxiously.

" Nothing, thank Gk)d ! "

This answer relieved Ognianoff at once. He had begun to fear that something had been found out concerning the adventure with the two Turks, and that this was the reason why old Stoyan had sent for him.

" What did you want me f or ? " asked Boicho again.

" Nothing. Forgive me, Master, for having given you the trouble of coming here, but as it was "

And old Stoyan, lowering his voice, added :

" I'd have sent for our Vikenti, only he's down with fever just now ; and as our Christo told me he'd seen you near the monastery, thinks I, ' Let's send for the Master,

78 UNDER THE YOKE

that'll be better still.' But you'll forgive me, won't you, Master ? "

Boicho began to grow impatient.

" Well, but what is it ? "

" What, didn't you ask the boy ? "

"No."

" Well, that's odd. Bother the boy ! I told him that if you asked him he was to whisper it in your ear. This is what's happened, master " — and he lowered his voice still more — " a friend's come."

" What friend ? "

" Why, one of us."

" One of us ? "

" Why, ves, a Nationalist."

" Who is he ? "

" I don't know. He came down from the mountain last night, and made straight for me. He frightened me at first; I thought he Avas a brigand. You'll see what a state he's in ; his legs are like broomsticks. But he turned oat all right."

" Did he say who he was or where he was coming from ? " asked Ognianoff, deeply interested.

" I asked him, but all he answered was that he was flying from the Turks and had come down the mountain."

" Didn't he ask for anything ? "

" Yes ; he asked for a piece of bread — hadn't eaten for four days, he said. And he asked me to send for some good friend — some Nationalist — to come and have a talk with him. First, I thought of the deacon, but this confounded fever of his hasn't left him ; so then I sent for you."

" Quite right, Father S toy an."

" Forgive me. Master, for the trouble I've given you."

*' Not I ; I'm glad of it. Where's your guest ? "

" I've got him carefully stowed away. Come with me." And Father S toy an led him into the mill.

It was in complete darkness.

He lighted a petroleum lamp, guided Boicho between the wall and the mill-stones, past two corn-bins, and stopped before a little door, over which were still hanging great cobwebs half torn away, showing it had long been kept closed.

" W^hat, is he in there ? "

" Rather ! The cat doesn't st^al the milk that's put away— isn't that so, Master ? "

AN UNFORESEEN MEETING 79

And Father Stoyan knocked at the door, and called out :

" Now, sir, come out, if you please."

The door opened, and a young man appeared, glancing cautiously around him. He was short and weakly in appearance, with a very diminutive face, long unshaven : his countenance wore a bright, eager look, and his move- ments were lithe and active ; but what struck OgnianofI was his utter weakness and emaciation. He was dressed in the coarse white clothes usually worn by Macedonian peasants, and trimmed with the traditional braiding, knobs, and tassels on the back, breast, and knees, but completely worn out, so that the naked sMn showed through many a rent.

At the first glance both he and OgnianofE exclaimed with surprise :

" Mourathski ! "

" KraUch ! "

And they rushed into each other's arms and embraced warmly.

" What ? You ? Where have you come from ? " asked Ognianoff, who recognised in Mouratliski a comrade from the band of insurgents to which he had belonged.

" Never mind me. Where have you been all this time ? Is it really you, Kralich ? "

Kralich turned back with a start, pointed to the mill, and addressed Stoyan, \^'ho stood motionless in front of them holding the lamp :

" Father Stoyan, put out the light and shut the door — or rather never mind — we'll go out. There's too much noise here to talk."

Father Stoyan led the way with the lamp, and shut the door behind them, saying :

" There, you have a good talk together. I'm going to bed. When you feel sleepy come in and lie down."

The valley was completely obscure, but the opposite side of the rocks was brightly lit up by the moon. Ognianoff and his companion went into the darkest part of the valley, and seated themselves on a broad ledge of rock, by the side of which the torrent foamed past.

" Let's shake hands again, brother," said Ognianoff, feelingly.

" Why, KraUch, whatever brought you here ? I last heard of you in the paradise of Diarbekir."

80 UNDER THE YOKE

" And you, Dobri ? Haven't you gone to the gallows yet ? " asked Boicho in jest.

They were very old and intimate acquaintances. A com- mon fate and common sufferings will unite the most diver- gent of characters : how much more then two such as Boicho and Mouratliski, who were brothers in arms and in ideas.

"Well, tell us all about it," added Mouratliski, " your story dates further back, so you take precedence. When did you come back from Diarbekir ? "

" You mean, when did I escape ? "

*' What ? did you escape ? "

*' Yes, last May."

" And you managed to get here unmolested ? What road did you take ? "

" I went on foot from Diarbekir to Russian Armenia : from there through the Caucasus to Odessa, thanks to the assistance of the Russians. At Odessa, I got a steamer to Varna, and from there over the mountains to the shepherd's huts near Troyan, then over the Stara Planina to Bela Cherkva."

" But what made you pick out Bela Cherkva ? "

" I was afraid to go anywhere where I didn't know any one ; on the other hand, I fought shy of former friends, not knowing what might be their views now. I remembered that my father's best friend, a very worthy man, lived at Bela Cherkva : no one else could possible know me there ; indeed, he wouldn't have known me if I hadn't told him who I was."

" Well, I recognised you at once. So you stayed on ? "

" Yes, that friend of my father's got me a situation as a schoolmaster, and till now, thank God, everything has gone well."

" So now you've become a schoolmaster, Kralich ? "

" Ostensibly — a schoolmaster ; but, in reality, the same old trade."

" What— preaching ? "

" Yes, revolution."

" Well, how are you getting on ? We made a mess of our business."

" For