Part 25

“‘Look here, Gavrilo,’ I said, when we sat to rest upon a fallen tree, ‘you are a Serb, and that is something to be proud of, but after all, you are an Austrian subject, and your forefathers have been Austrian subjects for a long time. You have your home here, so why not make the best of a bad bargain, and be like the rest of the young fellows?’

“‘You think I am not like them?’ he replied. ‘That is only because you do not know them as you know me. Every _momche_ who is a worthy descendant of the race that fought to the death at Kossovo—the Field of the Black Bird—is of the _comitajia_. We younger fellows are to be _comitajia_ also. We have our meetings in the same _kafana_ where the others meet to make their plans. When we are a little older they will take us in and we shall all work together.’

“‘But what is this work you speak of?’

“‘Whatever it is,’ he returned, ‘you may be sure it is in the interest of our race.’

“‘But you speak of _comitajia_,’ I said. ‘Has not that word more than one significance? I know the military scouts with bombs are _comitajia_, but are not revolutionists called by the same term?’

“Gavrilo showed his strong white teeth in one of those extraordinary mischievous smiles which now and then illuminated his face. Instead of giving me a direct answer he said:

“‘Dear friend, I am glad to perceive that your knowledge of our beloved Serbian tongue becomes daily more accurate.’

“‘But, Gavrilo,’ I protested, refusing to be put off with a jest, ‘to be concerned in a revolution would be the worst thing that could happen to you.’

“‘No, not the worst thing. Worse than being a Serb and joining in a revolution would be to be a Serb and fail to lift a hand in the struggle for freedom.’

“‘Revolutions,’ I said, sententiously, ‘do not pay, Gavrilo.’

“‘But since when has that been so?’ he countered quickly. ‘There was, for instance, the French Revolution. Did not that pay? And there was the American Revolution. Surely that paid! And there was the revolution of Serbia against the Turks. That is paying too.’ His luminous black eyes, so like those of a wild deer, snapped as he spoke. Then his expression changed quickly to one of amusement over my discomfiture, and he added with a little laugh: ‘I have an American friend—a gentleman who manages the business of a large oil company over here. He can tell you, as he has me, of the benefits of the American Revolution and of American freedom. I promise you that some day you shall meet him face to face—let us say to-morrow morning when he is shaving.’

“It seemed to me that I had taken an unfortunate line with him there, so I tried another.

“‘Well, then, let us put it on selfish grounds. There is no great reason why you, personally, should be dissatisfied. You have good prospects in your father’s business. The thing for you to do, in the natural course, is to marry and settle down. And certainly a man who has a sweetheart such as yours hasn’t any business in a _comitajia_; for such things lead to prisons and executions, not to domesticity.’

“‘What makes you think I have a sweetheart?’ he demanded, flushing.

“‘Haven’t I seen Mara?’

“‘Well, what of it?’

“‘If you can resist Mara,’ I told him, ‘you have more strength than I would give you credit for.’ And it was quite true; for Mara, who lived next door to the hotel, was a beautiful young thing, and they were much together.

“‘Mara is a flirt,’ said he.

“‘What matter,’ I returned, ‘so long as she flirts most with you?’

“‘But does she like me best?’ he mused. ‘There is this fellow in the Government railways who comes as often as he can to see her. He has the advantage of being a connection by marriage, and is very handsome. Really too handsome for a man. I am glad he does not live here all the time.’

“‘You have the advantage of living next door,’ I encouraged. ‘The one thing that might interfere is this idea of yours about being one of the _comitajia_.’

“‘Still,’ he protested, shaking his head doubtfully, ‘a man’s first duty is not to the woman he loves, but to the race he loves, because both she and he belong to it. You know our old song?’ And he sang there in the woods:

“‘Doucho, _my soul, I love thee second best;_ _Thou art the dearest part of Serbia to me;_ _But after all thou art but a part, even as I am a part;_ _And it is Serbia, always Serbia, that together we love most!_’

“Though not altogether satisfied with our conversation, I felt that in appealing to the boy’s love for Mara I had struck the right note, and I hoped that as time went on he would think more about her than about the _comitajia_. For, though one may be heartily in sympathy with revolutionary ideas, especially in the case of an oppressed race, one does not like to see a youth of whom one is really fond, heading toward disaster, even in such a cause. Moreover, as I have said, Gavrilo was not as solidly built as the average Serb, and I had the feeling that the burning spirit in him—and I assure you it was more like a living flame than anything I have seen in the nature of man or woman—must either be kept under control or else destroy his body.

“Consequently I was much relieved to see, as I returned from time to time, that the boy-and-girl romance between Gavrilo and Mara was naturally and charmingly developing into something more mature. This led me to hope the more that, as he turned from a youth into a man, Gavrilo would shed some of the violence of his revolutionary aspirations, and from the indications I judged that such a thing was indeed coming to pass. In order more fully to reassure myself, I more than once took occasion to lead conversations with him into such channels that, should he desire to do so, he could speak to me of the _comitajia_; but he always let the openings pass, seeming eager, now, to speak only of the lovely Mara.

“When, in the summer of 1913, I arrived for one of my periodical visits, Gavrilo came rushing to my room, and seizing both my hands told me that he and Mara were now betrothed. He was then eighteen and she seventeen—for you understand, of course, that these dark South Europeans develop younger than our people do. Both families were pleased, and I felt that the dangers I had feared for Gavrilo were past, and was duly thankful. I went out and bought a necklace for Mara, and when I gave it to her, she and Gavrilo made me clasp it around her neck, and he said to her, very seriously: ‘Yes, and our dear friend shall be the godfather of our first child. Is it not so, Maro _doucho_?’ And Mara, taking me by the hand, told me it was quite true, and that she was going to love me as much as Gavrilo loved me, and that, moreover, they were going to have hundreds of children, and that every one of the children should love me too. It was all indescribably naïve and pretty until Gavrilo unfortunately added: ‘Yes, our children will love you, and they will love us, but most of all they will love the idea of a free Serb race.’

“At that a cloud passed over Mara’s face.

“‘Oh, Gavrilo!’ she cried impatiently, ‘shall we never hear of anything but the Serb race? Is there nothing else in the world? Must that come before your thought of your friend, here’—indicating me—‘before your thought of me, of the children we hope to have, of everything? Must you have Serbian freedom on your bread in place of cheese, and in your glass in place of wine? Sometimes I think your eyes shine more brightly when you speak of our race than when you call me _doucho_—my soul. I ask myself, is it indeed the soul of Mara that he loves, or is it the soul of the race?’

“‘Mara, my dear child,’ I put in, ‘I believe you are jealous.’

“‘Of whom, pray?’ she demanded, turning upon me and flinging her head back proudly.

“‘Not of an individual,’ I answered, ‘but of a people.’

“‘Perhaps it is true,’ she returned with a shrug. ‘Well, what of it?’

“‘Only this: that a woman with nothing more concrete than a whole race to be jealous of is in no very sad plight.’

“‘But I tell you I demand to be loved for myself!’ Mara flashed back.

“Gavrilo sighed deeply, as though at the hopelessness of making her understand his point of view. Then, mournfully, he hummed:

“‘_Thou art the dearest part of Serbia to me;_ _But after all thou art but a part, even as I am a part;_ _And it is Serbia, always Serbia—_’

“But Mara would not let him finish.

“‘Enough!’ she cried. ‘I detest that song! You know how I detest it!’

“Gavrilo looked at me and shook his head. ‘Oh, these women!’ he exclaimed. ‘What they do to one!’

“Then, gazing reflectively at Mara, he added in the tone of one attempting to be philosophical: ‘Well, when a little female looks as angelic as my Mara, naturally we expect her to think like an angel too.’

“At this Mara’s anger departed as quickly as it had come. ‘There!’ she exclaimed, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him upon both cheeks, ‘there spoke my own dear Gavrilo! Poor Gavrilo! What have I been saying? You know I love the Serbs no less than you do! You do know it, don’t you? Well, then, say so!’

“‘God forbid that I should believe otherwise!’ answered Gavrilo, kissing her in return.

“As I left them I thought to myself that with Mara’s temperament, to say nothing of the ‘hundreds of children’ she promised him, Gavrilo’s married life would not prove monotonous, whatever else it might be. When, in the course of the subsequent fall and winter, I saw them again, they seemed as happy as a pair of wild birds.

“Once, in the spring, when I was with them, the _comitajia_ chanced in some way to be mentioned, whereupon Mara at once darkened, saying to me:

“‘That is my one sorrow.’

“‘But why should it be?’ Gavrilo asked her. ‘Have I not plighted you my word that I shall not take part in any—well, in any indiscretions that may be proposed?’

“‘Yes, I have not forgotten. You said that as long as I loved you you would be my good Gavrilo.’

“‘So,’ he returned gaily, ‘all you need do is to continue to adore me as I deserve.’

“‘But you meet with them at the _kafana_,’ she said, uneasily.

“‘They are my friends,’ he answered. ‘Naturally, then, I meet with them. All men meet at the _kafana_. It is the way of men. A little wine or coffee or prune brandy and a little talk—that is all. I go also to church, but that does not make me a priest. And besides, dearest Maro, if I were not sometimes with the _momchidia_, how would I know the joy of returning to you?’

“‘If the devil had your tongue,’ laughed Mara, ‘he could talk all the saints out of heaven!’

“So it always was with Mara. Her ideas came and went—as Gavrilo once put it to me—like humming birds flitting in and out amongst the flowers. Never have I seen a human being turn from gay to grave, and back again, as rapidly as she.

“Arriving at the little hotel in the early part of June, 1914, I found them all full of plans for a great fête to be celebrated on Vidov-dan—Kossovo Day—June 28. This day might be called the Serbian Fourth of July, but it partakes also of the character of our Memorial Day, for it is the anniversary of that tragic event in Serbian history, the Battle of Kossovo, in which the Turks defeated the Serbs in 1389, leaving the entire Serbian nobility dead upon the field. That is one reason why Serbia has no nobles to-day. ‘Kossovo’ means ‘the field of the black bird,’ the _kos_ being a black songbird resembling the starling. But this was to be no ordinary celebration of the holiday, for in the Balkan War of the two preceding years Serbia had consummated her independence and humbled the Turks, and a part of the Serbian racial dream was thereby realized. Mara, Gavrilo, and their parents united in urging me to return for the festival, and before departing I agreed to do so.

“True to my word, I arrived several days ahead of time. Gavrilo had not returned from the academy when I reached the hotel, but Michael and Stana gave me a warm welcome and produced the costumes they were intending to wear, and I remember that Stana said I ought to have a costume too—that even though I had not been so fortunate as to be born a Serb, they proposed to adopt me.

“‘But you should see Mara’s costume!’ she exclaimed, when I admired hers. ‘It is a true Serbian dress, very old, which came to her from her great-grandmother. Such beautiful embroidery you never saw.’

“That made a good excuse for me to go and see Mara, whom I found sewing in the little garden behind the house. The costume, which she showed me, was indeed beautiful, and I admired it in terms which were, I hope, sufficiently extravagant to please even a girl as exacting as she.

“While talking with her I observed a bird cage hanging on a hook by the window and, never having noticed it before, asked if she had a new bird.

“In reply she merely nodded, without looking up from her work.

“I strolled over and looked at the bird.

“‘Why,’ I said, ‘this bird appears to be a _kos_, Maro.’ Probably there was a note of surprise in my voice, for the _kos_ is not supposed to live in captivity.

“Mara looked up sharply.

“‘Are you visiting blame upon me, then?’ she asked.

“‘Not at all,’ I answered, mystified at her tone. ‘I did not know that the _kos_ could be tamed; that is all.’

“‘Did Gavrilo tell you to speak to me about this?’ she demanded.

“‘Certainly not,’ I answered. ‘I have not seen Gavrilo yet.’ Then, crossing to where she sat, and looking down at her, I asked: ‘What is the matter, Maro? How have I offended you?’

“Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at me.

“‘You have not offended me, dear friend,’ she said. ‘It is only that I am made miserable by this subject. My relative who is employed in the railway caught this bird a few days since, placed it in a cage, and presented it to me. And if he is a handsome young fellow, am I to be censured for that? I am not his mother nor yet his father; I did not make him handsome! And even so, what is a little bird, to make words and black looks over?’

“‘You mean that Gavrilo is annoyed?’

“‘Since this bird came,’ she returned, ‘I have heard of nothing else. He begs me to let it go. He insists that it will die. He says the man who gave it me is cruel and that I am cruel too.’

“‘Then why not release it?’ I suggested. ‘It is dying in the cage, Maro.’

“‘Let it die, then!’ she cried, and burst into a flood of tears.

“‘Now, Maro,’ I urged when the paroxysm had abated, ‘what is all this about?’

“‘Well,’ she gulped, wiping her eyes, ‘a girl must have a little character, must she not? She must make up her own mind occasionally about some little thing! Is not that true? Is the man she loves to tell her when to draw in her breath and when to let it go again? Is he to tell her when to wink her eyes? Is she to cease to think and do only as he thinks? Here came this young man—with the miserable bird. I desired it not. Then came Gavrilo, black and angry like a storm out of the mountains, ordering me to let the bird go. I wished to do as Gavrilo said, but as my relative had caught it and given it to me I felt I should first speak to him. Besides, he is older and knows a great deal, being in the Government railroads. And what did he say? “Maro,” he said, “you do as you wish. If you wish to be a little fool, humor this boy. He is spoiled. He has everything as he desires it. They say you are to marry him. Very well. But if you think always with his mind, and hold no ideas of your own, I tell you you will make a wife no better than one of those stupid Turkish women....” That is why I determined to retain the bird. There is a _kos_ in every second tree. Well, then, is it not better that this one die than that my soul shall wither? Why should I be called Mara if I shall no longer be a separate being, but only Gavrilo in another body?’

“As she finished, we heard Gavrilo calling her name from the street, and a moment later he came in through the garden gate.

“I saw at once that he was agitated.

“‘So you have come!’ he cried, seizing my hands. ‘But, alas, my friend, it is in vain. You have heard the evil tidings?’

“‘You mean about—?’ I had almost said ‘about the bird,’ but fortunately he interrupted, exclaiming:

“‘Yes, about the festival.’

“‘What tidings?’ demanded Mara.

“Gavrilo threw his arms above his head in a gesture of helpless fury.

“‘Those _proclete shvaba_!’ he burst out. ‘They issued an edict only an hour ago, forbidding entirely our festival of Vidov-dan!’

“‘No!’ cried Mara, dismayed, half rising from her seat.

“‘Yes. There shall be no celebration—not for the Serbs. Nothing! Attempts to commemorate the anniversary will result in arrest. It is announced that in place of our festival there will upon that day be extensive maneuvers of the Austrian army and that Grand Headquarters will be here in our city. We are given to understand that the Archduke himself will come and hold the review. Could anything be devised more to insult us upon our national holiday? Oh, of what vile tricks are not these accursed _shvaba_ capable?’

“‘I am surprised,’ I said, ‘that the Archduke would be party to a thing of this kind, for it is understood that he is pro-Serb. Certainly his wife is a Slav.’

“‘The more shame to her, then, for marrying him,’ said Gavrilo, with a shrug. ‘He is the spawn, of an autocrat who is in turn the spawn of generations of autocrats. Scratch them and they are all the same. They play the game of empire—the dirty game of holding together, against their will, the people of seven races in Austria-Hungary; grinding them down, humiliating them, keeping them afraid. No man, no group of men, should have such power! It is medieval, grotesque, wicked!’

“‘More than that,’ put in Mara, ‘it is unwise. They take a poor way to gain favor with us Serbs. For my part, I do not think it safe for the Archduke to come here.’

“‘And there, my _mila_,’ he declared, with a shrewd, sinister smile, ‘your judgment is perhaps better than even you yourself suppose. Myself, I doubt he will be fool enough to come. At the last we shall be informed, with a grand flourish, that he is ‘indisposed.’ Not sick, you understand. Royalties are never sick. It is not etiquette. Peasants are sick. The middle-classes are ill. The great are only indisposed. Anything else is vulgar. Well, I hope he will know enough to stay away. Otherwise he may indeed become indisposed after his arrival.’

“‘What do you mean, Gavrilo?’ I asked.

“‘That the air of this place is not good for Austrian royalties just now,’ he said. ‘It is Serbian air. There are the germs of freedom in it, and such germs are more dangerous to autocrats than those of _kuga_,—cholera.’

“‘Be frank,’ I urged. ‘Do you mean that the Archduke’s life is threatened?’

“‘It is known,’ he replied, ‘that the governor has received warning letters. The Archduke is advised not to appear here on our holiday. One understands, moreover, that the Austrian secret police concur in this advice. Which shows that the filthy beasts are not so stupid as they might be.’

“‘Assure me, Gavrilo,’ Mara broke in, ‘that your _comitajia_ has nought to do with this threat!’

“‘Long ago,’ he answered ‘I promised you that while you love me I will not actively participate in anything violent. You may be sure, Maro, _mila_, that I shall keep my word.’

“‘You keep your word always,’ she replied, ‘but these threats disturb me and I gain comfort from your reassurances.’

“Gavrilo walked slowly over and looked into the bird cage.

“‘You are certain, then, that you do requite my affection?’ he asked her over his shoulder.

“‘You are well aware,’ she said, ‘that I worship you.’

“‘Would that I were as well aware of it,’ he returned, ‘as that I am nothing to be worshiped.’ Then after a pause he added: ‘If you do love me, why not release this poor bird? See how wretchedly it huddles. Its eyes are becoming dull. It will surely die. How can we Serbs talk of freedom for ourselves, yet hold this wild creature prisoner? And of all birds, a _kos_—the bird of Kossovo! Permit me to open the door of the cage, Maro. Let us celebrate the Serbian holiday by liberating the poor _kos_. _Shvabe_ cannot prevent that, with all their edicts.’

“Mara looked black.

“‘The holiday is not yet here!’ said she.

“‘When the day comes,’ he answered, ‘the _kos_ will be dead.’

“‘I wish it were already dead!’ she exclaimed petulantly. ‘I wish I had never seen the accursed thing. It has brought me only sorrow!’

“‘Then,’ I interjected, ‘why not let it fly away?’

“‘I have told you both,’ she answered angrily. ‘This means more to me than the life or death of a bird. It is a symbol. I have the feeling that if it were to fly away all my will power would fly with it.’

“‘And to me also,’ returned the boy solemnly, ‘this means more than the life or death of a bird. And likewise to me the _kos_ is a symbol. It should be so to every Serb. Think of Kossovo! This is a bird linked with our racial aspirations. If we free this one, we may, perhaps, ourselves deserve freedom. Otherwise, what do we deserve? Do we merit more than we ourselves give?’

“Having witnessed Mara’s agitation when she first told me of their differences over the bird, I would now have stopped Gavrilo could I have signaled him, but he was engaged in putting some green leaves through the door of the cage. As he finished speaking, Mara rose, dropped her sewing upon the ground, and bursting into tears ran into the house.

“‘Maro, _mila_!’ Gavrilo cried, attempting to catch her; but the door slammed in his face.

“He was white as he turned to me. ‘Tell me,’ he cried in a tone childlike and baffled, ‘can anyone understand the ways of woman? As men grow older do they understand better, or is it always like this?’