No More Learning

Well-a-day! all in the darkness; well-a-day! just down the street.
Well-a-day! the silver moonlight; well-a-day! shone down on them.
Well-a-day! the stars were twinkling; well-a-day! within the sky.
Yet, well-a-day! the youthful couple; well-a-day! they're sitting still.
Well-a-day! yes, still they're sitting; well-a-day! in loving talk.
Well-a-day! her jug of water; well-a-day! it's frozen hard.
Well-a-day! his oaken cudgel; well-a-day! how long it's grown.
But, well-a-day! the youthful couple; well-a-day! they're sitting yet!
When the song came to an end, the youths were loud in
applause: it appealed to every one of them; its pleasing refrain
brought up memories of past experience. As for Ivan Kill-the-
Bear, he was devouring Staïka Chonina with his eyes: he was
deeply in love with her.
« That's the kind of song to sing over again - ay, and to act
all day long! ” he cried in his deep bass voice.
All the girls laughed, and many an arch look was cast at
Kill-the-Bear.
He was a perfect mountain of a man, of gigantic stature and
herculean strength, with a big, bony face, but not over bright.
However, he was great at singing ; that is to say, his voice cor-
responded with his size. He now became cross, and withdrew
silently behind the girls, where he suddenly barked like an old
sheep-dog. The girls started in terror at first, and then laughed
at him, and the bolder ones among them began to tease him:
one of them sang, mockingly:-
"Ivan, you bright-hued turtle-dove,
Ivan, you slender poplar. ”


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IVAN VAZOFF
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Staïka added :
Ivan, you shaggy old she-bear,
Ivan, you lanky clothes-prop!
More giggling and laughter followed. Ivan became furious.
He stared in dumb bewilderment at the rosy-cheeked Staïka
Chonina, who mocked so unkindly her fervent adorer; he opened
a mouth like a boa-constrictor's, and roared out:
«Said Peïka's aunt one day to her, -
Why, Peïka girl, why, Peika girl,
The people freely talk of you!
The people, all the neighbors, say
That you've become so fat and full,
That you're so plump and fleshy now,
All through your uncle's shepherd lad. ' –
O aunty dear, o darling aunt,
Let people freely talk of me!
Let people, all the neighbors, say
That if I'm fat and fleshy now,
If I've become so plump and full,
It's from my father's wheaten bread,
My father's white and wheaten bread;
For while I knead it in the trough,
A basket-full of grapes I pluck,
And drink a jar of red, red wine. '
> >>
Staïka blushed at this bitter innuendo: her red cheeks became
as fiery as if she had dyed them in cochineal. The spiteful
giggles of the other girls pierced her to the heart. Some with
assumed simplicity asked:-
«Why, how ever can one pick grapes and drink wine at the
same time? The song must be all wrong. ”
“Why, of course, either the song's wrong or else the girl's
wrong," answered another.
This cutting criticism still further enraged Staïka. She threw
a crushing look at the triumphant Ivan, and sang in a voice that
quivered with rage:-
»
«ÇO Peïka, brighter than the poppy,
Is all your needlework so fine,
And all my many, many visits,
Are all of these to be in vain ?
Come, Peïka, won't you have me, dear? -


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IVAN VAZOFF
Why, Yonko, why, you filthy drudge,
Could Peïka ever fall in love
With such a swineherd as yourself?
A swineherd and a cattle drover-
Some wealthy farmer's filthy drudge?
She'd put you down before the door,
The little door behind the house;
That when she passes in and out
To fetch the calves and heifers in,
If she should chance to soil her shoes,
She'd wipe them clean upon your back. )
It was a crushing repartee to a savage attack.
Staïka now looked proudly round her. Her shaft had struck
home. Ivan Kill-the-Bear stood motionless, as if transfixed, with
staring eyes. A loud peal of laughter greeted his discomfiture.
The whole party was gazing curiously at him. Tears started to
his eyes from very shame and wounded vanity. The spectators
laughed still louder. The mistress of the house became angry.
“What's the meaning of all this, girls? Is this the way to
behave with the lads, instead of being kind and pleasant to one
another, as you ought to? Stačka - Ivan — you ought to be coo-
ing together like a pair of turtle-doves. ”
“It's only lovers who quarrel,” said Tsanko in a conciliatory
tone.
Ivan Kill-the-Bear rose and went out angrily, as if to protest
against these words.
"Like loves like,” averred Neda Liagovitcha.
"Well, Neda, God loves a good laugher,” said Kono Goran,
Kill-the-Bear's cousin.
"Now, boys, sing us some old haïdoud song, to put a little
life into us,” said Tsanko. The lads sang in chorus:—
"Alas for poor Stoyan, alas !
Two ambushes they laid for him,
But in the third they captured him.
The cruel ropes they've fastened round him –
They've bound his strong and manly arms.
Alas! they've carried poor Stoyan
To Erin's house, the village pope,
And Rouja, a stepdaughter, too;
But Rouja sat and milked the cow
Beside the little garden gate,


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(
While they were sweeping in the yard,
And gayly cried the sisters twain
Ha! ha! Stoyan,' they cried to him:
(To-morrow morn they'll hang you up
Before the palace of the king, -
You'll dangle for the queen to see,
And all the princes and princesses. '
But Stoyan softly said to Rouja: -
Dear Rouja, you the pope's stepdaughter,
It's not my life I care about,
It's not for the bright world I mourn,-
A brave man never weeps or mourns:
But yet, I beg you, Rouja dear,
Oh! let them put a clean shirt on me,
And let them brush and deck my hair;
That's all I ask for, Rouja dear.
For when a man's led out to die,
His shirt should spotless be, and white,
His hair should be arrayed and trim. )”
Ognianoff listened with secret excitement to the close of the
song.
“This Stoyan,” he thought, is the very type of the legend-
ary Bulgarian haïdoud, with his calm courage in facing death.
Not a word of sorrow, of despair, or even of hope. He only
wants to die looking his best. Ah! if this heroical fatalism has
only passed into the Bulgarian of to-day, I shall be quite easy in
mind as to the end of our struggle. That's the struggle I seek
for that's the strength I want: to know how to die — that's half
the battle. ”
Just then the kavala, or shepherd's reed-pipes, struck up.
Their sound, at first low and melancholy, swelled gradually and
rose higher and higher; the eyes of the pipers flashed, their faces
flushed with excitement, the clear notes rang out and filled the
night with their weird mountain melody. They summoned up
the spirit of the Balkan peaks and gorges, they recalled the dark-
ness of the mountain glades, the rustling of the leaves at noon
while the sheep are resting, the scent of the corn-flower, the
echoes of the rocks, and the cool, sweet air of the valleys. The
reed-pipe is the harp of the Bulgarian mountains and plains.
All were now listening enchanted as they drank in the famil-
iar and friendly sounds of the poetic music. Tsanko and his
wife, standing with clasped hands by the fire, listened as if
-
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IVAN VAZOFF
entranced. But the most affected of all was Ognianoff, who could
scarcely keep from applauding.
The brisk conversation and merry laughter soon broke out
again. But Ognianoff began to listen to what was being said, for
he heard his name mentioned. Petr Ovcharoff, Raïchin, Spir-
donoff, Ivan Ostenoff, and a few others were talking of the com-
ing insurrection.
“I'm ready for the fun now; I'm only waiting for my revolver
from Philippopolis. I've sent the money, 170 piastres. That's
the price of three rams,” said Petr Ovcharoff, the president of the
local committee.
“Yes, but we don't know when the flag's to be raised. Some
say we shall blood our knives at the Annunciation, others at St.
Gregory's Day, and Uncle Bojil says not till the end of May,”
said Spirdonoff, a handsome, well-built lad.
“It'll be somewhere about the coming of the cuckoo, when
the woods are getting green; but I'm ready now,—they've only
to give the word. ”
“Well, well: our Stara Planina has sheltered many a brave
fellow before now; it'll shelter us too,” said Ivan Ostenoff.
"Petr, didn't you say the teacher [Ognianoff] had killed two
of them? There's a plucky one for you. "
« When's he going to pay us a visit ? I want to kiss the hand
that polished them off,” asked Raïchin.
“He's got a start of us, has the teacher, but we must try and
catch him up. I know something of the game myself,” answered
Ivan Ostenoff.
Ivan Ostenoff was a bold youth, and a good shot as well.
Popular rumor ascribed the death of Deli Ahmed last year to
him; and the Turks had long tried to get hold of him, but so far
ineffectually.
At supper Ognianoff's health was drunk.
“God grant that we may soon see him here safe and sound.
Take an example from him, boys,” said Tsanko, as he swallowed
his wine.
"I'll bet any one whatever he likes,” said Tsanko's wife im-
patiently, “that teacher'll be here the first thing to-morrow, like
a hawk. ”
“What are you talking of, Boulka Tsankovitsa ? Why, I'm off
to K— to-morrow,” said Raïchin regretfully. "If he comes you
must keep him for Christmas, and we'll enjoy ourselves together. ”
>
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IVAN VAZOFF
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(
>
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»
What's all that noise outside ? ” cried Tsanko, leaving his
wine.
In truth, men's and women's voices were heard making an
uproar outside. Tsanko and his wife ran out. The guests rose
to follow. Just then the mistress of the house rushed in, in great
excitement, and cried:-
“Well, that business is finished. God prosper it. ”
What? What ? »
“Kill-the-Bear's carried off Staïka! »
Every one started with surprise at the news.
“Carried her off, he has, the lad, on his shoulder, as you would
a lamb on St. Gregory's Day; now they're at his house. ”
Her hearers began to laugh.
“Well, what of it? That's why he went away so early with
his cousin Goran. ”
“He laid in wait for her by the door,"continued Boulka
Tsankovitsa, "and carried her off. I'm
sorry
for them both.
Who'd have thought it of Kill-the-Bear ? »
“Well, well, they're a pretty pair,” said some one.
“She's just like a fat little Servian pig, and he's a Hungarian
bull," laughed another.
«God bless 'em both; we'll drink cherry brandy with them
to-morrow," said Tsanko.
« Yes, and I shall claim my perquisite,” said his wife. “I
must have my embroidered sleeves, because the match was ar-
ranged at my house. "
Soon after, all the guests left in high glee.
Tsanko hastened to Ognianoff in the dark closet.
« Well, Boïcho, how did you like our party ? ”
“Oh, it was wonderful, delightful, Tsanko. ”
« Did you take down the words of the songs ? ”
« How could I? There's no light to write by. ”
In came Tsanko's wife with a candle in her hand.
“There's some one knocking at the door,” said she.
«That'll be some one from Staïka, most likely. Perhaps she
wants our Donka to go to her: you must send her. ”
But Donka came in and said that there were two zaptiés out-
side, brought by old Dečko, the village mayor.
“ The Devil take them - zaptiés, old Deïko, and all! Where
am I to put the swine? They've not come after you," he said to
(
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IVAN VAZOFF
>
(
Ognianoff reassuringly, but you'd better hide. Wife, just show
the teacher where to go. ”
And Tsanko went out. Soon he brought in the two zaptiés,
muffled up in their cloaks and drenched with snow. They were
furious.
«What do you mean by keeping us an hour at the door, you
cuckold ? ” cried the first, a one-eyed zaptié, as he shook the snow
from his cloak.
« You left us freezing outside while you were making up your
mind to open,” grumbled the other, a short, stout man.
Tsanko muttered some excuse.
“What are you muttering about ? Go and kill a chicken for
us, and get some eggs fried in butter at once! »
Tsanko tried to say something. The one-eyed zaptié burst
out:
“None of your talk, ghiaour: go and tell your wife to get
supper ready at once. Do you suppose we're going to finish
up your d-d tart-crumbs and nutshells for you ? ” he said with
a contemptuous look at the remains of the little feast, not yet
cleared up
Tsanko moved helplessly toward the door to carry out his
orders. The short one called after him:-
Stop a minute: what have you done with the girls ? "
« They went home long ago: it's late,” answered Tsanko,
trembling all over.
“Just you go and fetch them back to have supper with us and
pour out our raki. What do you mean by sending them home ? »
Tsanko gazed at him in terror.
"Where's your daughter ? ”
She's gone to bed, Aga. ”
"Make her get up to wait on us,” said the one-eyed zaptié,
taking off his boots to dry them at the fire, while the water
dripped from them, and a cloud of steam rose.
The mayor just then came in and stood humbly by the door.
"You infernal pig! you've led us round twenty houses, knock-
ing at door after door, like beggars; — where have you hidden
(
(
)
your »
And he called the girls by a foul epithet.
The Bulgarians remained silent. They were used to this.
Centuries of slavery had taught them the proverb, so degrading


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IVAN VAZOFF
15281
(
for humanity: « The sword does not strike the bowed head. ”
Tsanko only prayed Heaven that they might not molest his
daughter.
“Look here,” asked the one-eyed zaptié: "are you preparing
for a rebellion ? ”
Tsanko boldly denied the charge.
“Well, what's this doing here, then ? ” asked the short one,
taking up Petr Ovcharoff's long knife, which had been forgotten
on the floor.
"Oh! you're not preparing for a rebellion, aren't you ? " asked
the first, with a diabolical smile.
“No, Aga, we're peaceful subjects of his Majesty,” answered
Tsanko, trying to keep calm: “the knife must have been left
behind by one of the guests. ”
~ Whose is it ? »
“I don't know. ”
The zaptiés began examining the blade, which was engraved
with letters inlaid with gold, surrounded by a fancy pattern.
“What do these letters mean? ” they asked Tsanko.
He looked at the knife: on one side there was a wreath of
flowers engraved, towards the blunt edge, containing the words
"Liberty or Death"; the other side bore the owner's name.
"It's only an ornament,” said Tsanko.
The one-eyed zaptié struck him in the face with his muddy
boot.
“Ghiaour! Do you suppose I'm blind because I've got only
one eye ? »
Tsanko's reply had aroused their suspicions.
"Mayor, just come here. "
The mayor came in with a cake of bread on a brass platter,
which he was bringing to be baked in Tsanko's oven. He trem-
bled when he saw the naked dagger in the zaptié's hand.
“Read this! »
The mayor looked at it, and drew himself up in dismay.
I can't make it out properly, Aga! ”
The short one took his Circassian whip. The lash hissed in
the air and curled twice round the mayor's neck. A stream of
blood flowed from his cheek.
“You're all a set of traitors.
The mayor wiped away the blood silently.
XXVI–956
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IVAN VAZOFF
»
“Read it out, or I'll stick the knife into your throat! ” cried
the zaptié. The bewildered mayor saw there was no help for it:
he must bow before them.
Petr Ovcharoff," he read with assumed hesitation.
"Do you know him ? »
«He belongs to our village. ”
“Is that the fellow they call Petr the shepherd ? ” asked the
one-eyed one, who evidently knew a little Bulgarian.
“Yes, Aga,” said the mayor, handing him the knife, with a
silent prayer of thanksgiving to the Holy Trinity that the terri-
ble words on the other side had been passed over. But he went
too fast.
Now see what it says on the other side,” said the zaptié.
The mayor bent in abject terror over the other side. He hes-
itated for some time. But when he saw that the short zaptié was
getting his whip ready again, he cried: -
"It says "Liberty or Death,' Aga. ”
The one-eyed zaptié started. «What! liberty, eh? ” he said,
smiling ominously.
“Who is it who makes these knives ? Where's Petr the shep-
herd ? »
“Where should he be, Aga? At home, of course. ”
Go and fetch him. ”
The mayor moved off.
« Wait: I'll come with you, you fool! ”
And the short zaptié took up his cloak and went out with him.
« That's right, Youssouf Aga: this shepherd seems a thorough
brigand,” said the other.
Meanwhile Tsanko passed into the kitchen, where his wife was
preparing the supper, cursing the Turks as she did so: “May
God destroy them may he cut them off root and branch
- may
the pestilence fall on them and rot their bones— may they die of
poison. To think that I should be cooking meat and butter for
them just before Christmas! What brought the accursed heathen
here, to terrify and destroy us ? »
“Donka, dear,” said Tsanko to his daughter, who stood, pale
and terrified, at the door, you'd better slip out by the back
way, and go and sleep at your uncle's. ”
"And what does Deïko mean by bringing them here again?
It was only last week he brought us two," murmured his wife.
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IVAN VAZOFF
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>
»
What's he to do, poor fellow ? ” said Tsanko. “He took
them everywhere. They wanted to come here — they'd heard the
songs. As it is he's had five or six cuts of the whip. ”
Tsanko went back to the one-eyed zaptié.
"Chorbaji, where have you been to ? Just bring a little salad
and some raki. ”
« The shepherd's not there,” cried the short zaptié at that
moment, as he returned with the mayor.
“Well, we must find the rascally Komita, if we have to
turn the whole village upside down,” said the one-eyed man,
drinking.
"What do you say to giving the old boy another taste of the
stick ? ” asked the short one in a low voice, adding something in
a whisper. His comrade winked with his only eye in assent.
"Mayor, go and fetch the father here: we want to ask him
something — and fill this at the same time,” said Youssouf Aga,
handing him the empty raki bottle.
“It's too late for that, Aga: the shop's shut. ”
The only reply was a blow in the face from the one-eyed
zaptié. He was naturally a little more humane than the other;
but drink, or the desire for it, maddened him in a moment.
A quarter of an hour afterwards old Stoïko appeared. He
was about fifty years of age, with a sharp and intelligent counte-
nance, expressive of determination and obstinacy.
« Stożko, tell me where your son is, — you know where you've
hidden him,- or it will be the worse for you. ”
As the one-eyed zaptié said this, he poured out and gulped
down a glass of raki. His eye flashed as he did so. Then he
handed the glass to his comrade.
“I don't know where he is, Aga,” replied the old man.
“You do, ghiaour; you know quite well,” cried the zaptié,
enraged.
The old man again repeated his denial.
“You know, and you'll tell us, or we'll pull out your eye-
teeth for you; and if you won't say then, I'll tie you behind my
horse, and you'll come with us to-morrow,” roared the infuriated
zaptié.
«You can do what you like to me — I've only got one life,”
answered the old man firmly.
“Go over there and think it over a little; then we'll talk to
you again,” the one-eyed zaptié said with pretended gentleness.
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»
Their object was to extract a bribe from old Stoïko, to be sug-
gested to him by the mayor. It was brigandage of the worst
description, but they wished to give it the appearance of a volun-
tary gift: it was the system usually followed in such cases.
But old Stoïko did not move.
They looked at each other, astonished at his firmness, and cast
ferocious glances at the old man.
"Did you hear what I said, you old fool ? ” cried the one-eyed
zaptié.
"I've nothing to think about — let me go home,” he answered
hoarsely.
The zaptiés could not contain themselves.
Mayor, throw the old fool down,” cried the one-eyed ruffian,
seizing his kourbash or Circassian whip.
The mayor and Tsanko begged for mercy for the old man.
The only reply was a kick which felled Stoïko to the ground.
Then blows followed fast on his body. Old Stoïko groaned
heavily for some time, then became silent: he had fainted; his
forehead was drenched with a cold sweat,- he was worn out by
his day's work.
They undressed him to bring him to his senses.
When he comes to himself, let me know; — I'll make him
speak. ”
“For God's sake, Hajji Aga, I entreat you, have pity on the
poor old man! He can't stand any more pain,- he'll die,” said
Tsanko entreatingly.
"Long live the Sultan, you rebel! ” cried the short zaptié
in a passion. “You deserve to be hanged yourself for harboring
rebels in your house; you're very likely hiding the shepherd here
somewhere. Let's search the house! ”
Tsanko's face fell involuntarily. Although frenzied with drink,
the one-eyed zaptié saw his confusion. He turned at once to
the short one: -
“Youssouf Aga, there's something wrong here — let's search
the ghiaour's house. ”
And he arose.
"At your service,” said Tsanko hoarsely, showing the way
with a lantern.
He led them all over the house, leaving the closet to the
last. Finally he lighted them there too. In the blackened ceiling
there was a trap-door which led to the rafters, and so outside
on to the roof. When it was closed it could not be noticed.
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»
Tsanko knew that Ognianoff had climbed up through it to the
rafters and replaced the cover. So he led the Turks in with the
utmost confidence.
His first glance was towards the ceiling. What was his sur-
prise to find the trap-door open!
Tsanko remained petrified where he stood. The Turks
searched the closet.
“Where does that opening lead to ? ”
“To the rafters, muttered Tsanko. His legs trembled under
him, and he had to cling to the wall for support.
The short zaptié noticed his terror.
"Just give a light here while I get up, will you ? ” he said;
I
but a sudden thought crossed his mind, and he called to his
comrade: -
“Hassan Aga, you're taller than I am: get on the mayor's
back. ”
Hassan Aga knew no fear when he had got his skinful; drink
made a hero of him. He at once climbed up over the mayor's
shoulders.
“Now then, bring the light, confound you! ”
Tsanko, white as a sheet, handed him the light mechanically.
The zaptié first held the lantern in front of him, then put
his head within the opening. From the motion of his body one
could see he was searching with the light on every side.
At last he reappeared, jumped down, and said:-
“Who is it you've been hiding there? ”
Tsanko looked blankly at him. He did not know what
answer to give. He had suffered so much that evening that he
had almost lost his senses; his thoughts became confused. The
question was repeated: he stammered out some meaningless re-
ply.
“The rebel will give a proper answer at Klissoura. There's
a better prison there; he can stop here for the night. ”
And the zaptiés locked him up in the dark and chilly closet.
Tsanko was so overwhelmed with terror and confusion that it
was some minutes before he could collect his thoughts. He
clasped his head with both hands, as if to retain his presence of
mind. He was lacking in determination, and suffering had at
once crushed him. He sobbed and groaned in despair.
There was a knock at the door, and Deïko's voice was heard:-
“What are you going to do now, Tsanko ? »
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IVAN VAZOFF
“I don't know, Deïko. Tell me what's best. »
“ Come, you know the Turks' weakness. You must give them
something; it's the only way to get out of it: else they'll drag
you from one court-house to another till you're utterly ruined.
Poor old Stoïko could have spared himself this with a trifle.
Give, Tsanko! give 'em your white silver to keep off black sor-
row. ”
His wife came too, weeping bitterly:-
“Let's give them what we can! Never mind, Tsanko: it's
the only way to get out of the murderers' hands. They've killed
poor old Stoïko. Dear, dear! to think I should live to see it. ”
« But what are we to give, wife ? You know we haven't
any money. ”
"Let's give the necklace! ”
Donka's necklace, with the coins ? »
“Yes, yes! it's all we have,- it's the only way to get rid of
them. Why, they're asking for Donka now - the cursed brutes ! »
“Do what God thinks best, wife. I'm all in a muddle,” mut-
tered Tsanko from his prison.
His wife and Deïko went away.
Soon after, a light shone through the chinks in the boards of
the closet, and the door was unlocked.
"Come out, Tsanko: you're free,” said Dečko.
« The Agas
were good fellows after all. They've given you back the knife
as well; so there's no cause for fear. You've got off cheap. "
And bending to his ear, he whispered low:-
"It can't last much longer: either they'll finish us off, or we
must them. This life can't go on like this. ”
« What!
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