The Best Short Stories of 1918 Part 48

"The present kingdom of Serbia proper was inhabited by Serbs," returned the other, "but the Serbia we know is only a small part of what was, long ago, the Serbian Empire. Since the fall of the empire, in the fourteenth century, it has been the great ambition of the Serbs to become again a unified nation. Bosnia was a part of the old empire, but was conquered by the Turks, and later taken over by the Austrians. The story I am about to tell shows, however, what an enduring race consciousness the Bosnian Serbs have maintained.

"Our district manager for Bosnia lived in the town of which I have been speaking, and when I first went there he took me to a small but particularly clean and attractive hotel, run by an Austrian Serb. As is usual in small hotels in Europe, the proprietor's family took part in the work of running the place; and as I used to stay there frequently, sometimes for two or three weeks at a stretch, I soon came to know them all well. As the years pa.s.sed I became really attached to them, and there were many signs to show that they were fond of me. Michael, the father, exercised general supervision-though he was not above carrying a trunk upstairs; Stana, the mother, kept the accounts and superintended the cooking, which was excellent; the two daughters worked in the kitchen and sometimes helped wait on table. Even the boy, Gavrilo, the youngest member of the family, helped after school with light work, though he studied hard and was not very strong. I often sat with them at their own family table at one end of the dining-room; I called them all by their given names, and addressed them with the 'thee' and 'thou' of familiarity.

"When I first knew Gavrilo he was twelve or thirteen years old. His father, though of pure Serb blood, had acquired, with years and experience in business, a certain resignation to the existing order of things. He had seen several wars and revolutions, and as he grew older had begun to think that peace under Austrian domination was better than continual conflict, whatever the cause.

"The boy Gavrilo was, however, more like Stana, his mother. Stana could grow old, but the flame in her, the poetry, the mysticism, and above all the Serbian racial feeling, never diminished. Gavrilo learned the Serbian folk stories and songs at her knee; also he learned from her Serbian history, which, under Austria, was not taught in the schools; for the Austrians have long desired to crush out Serbian racial feeling.

"Gavrilo and I became great friends. He was hungry for knowledge and never tired of asking me about the United States and our freedom, free speech, and free opportunity-all of which, of course, seemed very wonderful to one growing up in a decadent, bureaucratic empire, made up of various races held together against their will. In return I gathered from Gavrilo a considerable knowledge of Serb history and legend-and you may be sure that in what he told me, neither the Turks nor the Austrians came off very well. Even as a lad he always referred to the Austrians as _shvaba_-a Serbian word meaning something like our term boches-and by the time he was sixteen he had promoted them to be _proclete shvaba_, which may be freely translated as 'd.a.m.ned boches.'

"For a long time I took his strong anti-Austrian utterances lightly, considering them the result of boyish ebullience of spirit, but as he grew nearer manhood, and the fierceness of his feeling seemed to increase rather than diminish, I became concerned about him; for it is no wiser for an Austrian Serb to call the Austrians _shvaba_ than it would be for an Alsatian to call the Prussians boches.

"As Gavrilo grew up, his pa.s.sionate racial feeling disturbed me more and more, though, of course, I sympathized with it. I determined to make an opportunity for a serious talk with him on the subject, and to that end suggested that he go with me to the neighboring hills for a couple of days' gunning; for Bosnia abounds in game.

"Gavrilo proved to be a very good shot. He would shoot wild pigeons, grouse, and woodc.o.c.k from the hip, and he even brought along a pistol with which he could hit a hare at a considerable distance. These exhibitions of skill were, however, accompanied by remarks which did not make it easier for me to broach the topic upon which I wished to speak to him. When he would hit a pigeon he would exclaim: 'There goes another member of the Hapsburg family!' or: 'That one was a _shvab_ tax collector!' or, mock-heroically, 'So much for you, you n.o.bleman of brilliant plumage with a _von_ before your name. No more will the peasants step out of the road and bow down before you!'

"'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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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, flus.h.i.+ng.

"'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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.s. In order more fully to rea.s.sure 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 pa.s.s, 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.dfather 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 nave 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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s in place of wine? Sometimes I think your eyes s.h.i.+ne 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!'

"'G.o.d forbid that I should believe otherwise!' answered Gavrilo, kissing her in return.