Under the yoke, p.15
Under the Yoke, page 15
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 Stoyan."
"
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 Stoyan 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 movements
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,
fee"lingly.
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 common
fate and common sufferings will unite the most divergent
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 the present things are going well. The people's
minds are much excited, the soil is volcanic : Bela Cherkva
was one of Levski's nests."
AN UNFORESEEN MEETING 81
" And what's your plan ?
"
" As yet we haven't any. We're preparing the rebelHon
theoretically, so to speak, and waiting for something to
turn up. But the movement grows stronger every day, not
only here but round about, and we shall have a rebellion
sooner or later."
"
Bravo, Kralich ! Well done ! You're a marvellous
fellow."
"
Come, let me hear about your trials, now."
*'
Oh, you know all about that business. We made
such a mess of it at Stara Zagora that we daren't look any
one in the face."
"
No, no ; begin from the beginning, from where our
band was routed and we all separated. Remember, I've
had eight years of Diarbekir, and I've heard nothing of you
or any of my friends all the time."
Mouratliski stretched himself out at full length on the
rock, placed his hands under his head, and in that position
of repose told his story in detail. He had taken part in the
Sofia conspiracy under Dimitr Obshti,* and in the attack on
the Orkhanie mail. He had been betrayed, arrested, and
flung into prison, and had only by some miracle escaped
the gallows or Diarbekir. Later he had gone to Roumania,
where he had wandered for a year and a half, struggling
against famine and misery ; from thence he had returned to
Bulgaria on a mission, to fight against the terrors and perils
which encompass an agitator. That spring he had appeared
at Stara Zagora, and had laboured with enthusiasm to
prepare the insurrection.! After the lamentable failure of
the movement, during which he had been slightly wounded
by the Turks at the short engagement at Elkhovo, he had
made for the Stara Planina, pursued by the Turkish patrols
and even by the Bulgarian shepherds to whom he had
applied for a piece of bread or a change of clothes.
For ten days he had wandered over the Balkan, exposed
to a thousand dangers and sufferings. His terrible hunger
had forced him to come down from the mountains and beg,
revolver in hand, for a piece of bread from the first living
man he should meet. Fortunately, he had come upon
* In 1873.
t This abortive movement (the chief leader of which was M. Stamboloff,
later the Bulgarian Prime Minister) broke out on the 16th (28th)
September 1875, and was at once suppressed by the Turks.
82 UNDER THE YOKE
Father Stoyan. He related with gratitude how kindly the
miller had received him ; he was, he said, the first man who
had treated him with humanity since he had been wandering
on the Stara Planina.
Mouratliski stopped. The river rippled past their feet.
Around all was still. The moonlit rocks opposite them
were soundless. Only on the peaks of the hills the night
breeze rustled among the wild lilac and other low shrubs.
Ognianoff had followed eagerly Mouratliski's recital of his
adventures and dangers. He seemed himself to be passing
through all those emotions and sufferings, to feel the same
bitter disenchantment and shame at the baseness and
cowardice of the people, by which the repression of a
revolution is usually followed. Now, with a brother's
interest, he was pondering how to assist Mouratliski.
"
Well, what do you think of doing now ?
" asked Boicho.
"
I shall go back to Roumania, if you can only get me
clothes and a passport."
Ognianoff became " thoughtful. What are you going to do there ?
"
"
I shall bide my time, and when the revolution breaks
out I shall be there — I can't help it — what's born in the
flesh, you know."
"
That's no good ; you're not fit to travel till you've
recovered a little. Stay here !
"
"
What, and hide ? No, I can't do that. I don't want a
vol"untary imprisonment."
Yes, but you won't want to hide," cried Ognianoff, after
half a minute's reflection.
*' Why not ?
"
*' You'll go about the town as freely as I do, and we shall
work together."
*' With all my heart. But are you mad, Ej?alich ? I
should be caught the very first day. They're looking for
me behind every tree."
"
They're looking for insurgents and Bulgarians."
*'
Well, and what do you think I am ?
" he said laughing"
ly.You will be a respectable and peaceful photographer,
and, what's more, an Austrian."
"
I don't understand you."
Ognianoff smiled and continued, trying to see Mouratliski's
face in the dark ;
AN UNFORESEEN MEETING 88
" Your hair and beard are as long as a dervish's. Tomorrow
night I shall take you to my rooms, and we'll get
rid of this thatch. We'll leave you only your whiskers.
You won't mind ?
"
"
All right ; what next ?
"
"
Next, we shall shave off your moustache."
'*
Well, I suppose that must go too," said Mouratliski,
smi"ling.
After that, we'll Europeanise you a little. A friend of
mine, who arrived yesterday from Roumania, will give us
an old velvet suit. I've got a railway guard's cap with a
gold band ; and then ' Goot morgen, main Kherr.'
"
"
Very well. I shall become an Austrian ; but how am
I going to make out that I'm a photographer ?
"
"
You'll have a photographic apparatus. Three years
ago the photographer Christoff lived at Bela Cherkva as an
agitator. When he went away he left behind his apparatus,
which was out of order, with a very good friend of mine,
called Netkovitch. We'll have the camera mended as best
we may, and buy you all the plates, acids, and cards you
want, and then you can start ofE photographing our worthy
tow"nspeople." But I've never even dreamt about photography." "
Oh, you'll learn it fast enough. You'll twist their eyes,
knock off their noses, distort their mouths, and mutilate
their faces a little at first, but you'll soon be a master in the
art."
"
Well, you shall be my first victim."
"
All right." " And I'm not to talk Bulgarian ?
"
"Not a word, you're to avoid it carefully. All that
you'll talk is German or Bohemian. Czech is very similar
to our language, and people will understand one word in
ten ; then as time goes by you may begin with a little
broken Bulgarian. I suppose you haven't forgotten your
Czech ?
"
"
I was only in Pisek for a year, after your time,
4)ut I remember enough to ask for bread, water, and so
forth."
" So much the better, because the passport I have is
made out in Czech for a certain Yaroslav Brzobegounek." " What ? Yaroslav Brzobegounek ?
"
"
Yes, a glorious Czech name, and not unfitting for you ;
84 UNDER THE YOKE
you're a real Brzobegounek ;* haven't you gone over half
the Balkan Peninsula on foot ? So, then, I)obri Mouratliski,
from to-morrow you will be Pan Yaroslav Brzobegounek,
an Austrian Czech, bom with a photographic
apparatus on his back !
"
And Ognianoff took off his hat with meek " solemnity. Good morning, Pan Yaroslav, will you take my photograph
?
" he asked, in Czech.
" With pleasure, Pan Yane," answered Mouratliski, in the
same language. "
Stop, I'm no longer Ivan Kralich ; here I'm knowTi as
Boicho Ognianoff, don't forget." "
Well, you have the advantage of me, you haven't to get
into a completely foreign skin — ah, Pan Yane, Pan Yane."
" Pan Boicho, didn't I tell you," cried Ognianoff,
"
you're
quite likely to betray me through your carelessness. You
