Читать книгу The Pobratim - Jones P. - Страница 12

The merry evening came to an end; in the meanwhile the weather had undergone another transformation. The cold having set in, the thin sleet had all at once changed into snow. The tiny patches of ice and the little droplets of rain had swelled out into large fleecy flakes, which kept fluttering about hither and thither, helter-skelter, before they came down to the ground; they seemed, indeed, to be chasing one another all the time, with the grace of spring butterflies. Even when the flakes did fall it was not always for long, for the wind, creeping slily along the earth, often lifted them up and drove them far away, whirling them into eddies, till at last they were allowed to settle down in heaps, blocking up doors and windows; or else, flying away, they ensconced themselves in every nook and corner, in every chink and cranny.

That evening, when the good Christians went to church to hear the oft-repeated tidings of great joy, uttered by the vladika, or priest, in the sacramental words: Mir Bogig, Christos se rodè, or "The peace of God be with you, Christ is born"; and when, after midnight, they returned home, while huge logs were blazing on every hearth, they hardly knew again either the town or its neighbourhood, all wrapped up in a mantle of dazzling whiteness; the sight was a rather unusual one, for the inhabitants of Budua had seen snow but very seldom.

The whole Christmas Day was spent very pleasantly in going about from house to house, wishing everyone joy and happiness, or receiving friends at home and drinking bumpers to their health. It was, indeed, a merry, forgiving time, when the hearts of men were full of kindness and good-will, and peace reigned upon earth.

There were, indeed, some exceptions to the general rule of benevolence, for, now and then, some man, even upon that hallowed day, bore within his breast but a clay-cold heart, in which grudge, envy and malice still rankled, and the Christmas greetings, wheezed through thin lips, had but a chilling and hollow sound.

The very first person who came to Bellacic's house early on Christmas morning was Vranic, the spy. It was not out of love that he came. He had been sneaking about the house, casting long, prying glances from beneath the hood of his kabanica, or great-coat, trying to find out whether Milena were there, for he knew that she had not passed the night in her own house.

All at once, whilst he was sneaking about, he was met by several young men, bent on their Christmas rounds of visits; they took him along with them, and, though quite against himself, he was the first to put his foot in Bellacic's house upon that day.

According to the Slav custom, he was asked, after the usual greetings, to tap the yule log with his stick. He at once complied, with as much good grace as he could muster, uttering the well-known phrase:

"May you have as many horses, cows, and sheep as the badnjak has given you sparks."

Knowing that while he was saying these words every member of the family, and every guest gathered together around him, would hang upon his looks, trying to read in his face whether the forthcoming year would be a prosperous one, for the expression of the features, as well as the way in which these words are uttered, are reckoned to be sure omens, Vranic, therefore, tried to put on a pleasant look and a good-natured appearance, but this was so alien to his nature that he was by no means sure of success.

Uros and Milena had, however, stood aloof; they had understood that the prediction must be unfavourable, and, though they did not look up, they heard that the voice, which was meant to be soft and oily, was bitter, hard and grating.

A gloom had come over the house just then; it seemed as if that man of ill-omen had stepped in to damp everyone's joy.

Uros remained stock-still, and though his fingers instinctively grasped the handle of his knife, still he was too much of a Slav to harm a guest in his own house. As for Milenko, not having any reasons for being so forbearing, he was about to thrust the fiend out of his adopted parents' house, when Vranic, drawing back from the hearth, caught his foot on the fag end of a log, and, not to fall, stepped over it. This was the remainder of that log which Uros had himself put upon the fire, and, according to the traditional custom, it had been taken away from the hearth before it had been quite consumed, for it was to be kept, as the fire on New Year's Eve was to be kindled with it. Vranic hardly noticed what he had done, but everyone present looked stealthily at one another, and quietly crossed themselves. Vranic, they knew, had come with evil thoughts in his head, but now he had only brought harm upon himself, for it is well known that whoever steps over a badnjak is doomed to die within the year.

The seer went off soon after this, and then, when the other well-wishers came, the gloom that he had left behind him was dispelled, and the remainder of the Christmas Day was spent in mirth and jollity.