The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence by E. F. Benson
CHAPTER XIII
NICHOLAS GOES HOME
The room was lighted by an oil-lamp, turned low and shaded from thesick man. Yanni, who had been watching all night, was lying on thefloor, dozing from sheer weariness; but he woke at the sound of Mitsos'entering, and got up.
"Oh, Mitsos, you have come," he whispered, "he has asked for you sooften."
"Leave me alone here," said Mitsos, and the two were left together.
Nicholas was lying with eyes only half closed, and Mitsos knelt by thebed.
"Uncle, dear uncle," he said, "I have come."
Nicholas only frowned, and passed his hand wearily over his eyes. Theother bandaged arm was lying outside the thin bed-covering under whichhe lay.
"I looked everywhere," he muttered, "and I could not find her. Willlittle Mitsos ever forgive me, I wonder--yet I did all I could. Whydoes not the dear lad come? Has he forsaken me?... No, it will neverdo; this traffic brings disgrace on us all. Stop it, Petrobey, stop it,in God's name.... Ah, that is better, up, up, hand over hand, quick,give me the flag. Where is the flag, O devils of the pit? but give itme. Ah, you are no better than the Turks.... Yes, I will pay you wellto give it me, if that is what you want. A million piastres? I willgive you two millions.... Ah, up with it."
The muttering sank down again into silence, and the eyelids droopedwearily. Mitsos, kneeling there, felt that the life was leaving him.Suleima dead, Nicholas dying, there was but little left of the Mitsoshe knew. Dry-eyed he knelt there in the blank, black despair of ahopeless anguish. If only it was he who was lying there! There wasnothing to live for; everything was gone in this moment of victory,when his heart should have been larklike, soaring with song.
Petrobey brought him in food and wine.
"Drink, little Mitsos," he said; "it is very good wine."
But Mitsos would not even look at it.
"Leave me alone," was all he said; "I will call you if he wants you.Oh, go, man," he repeated, in a shrill whisper, and with a sudden burstof childish, impotent anger, which gave Petrobey a more pitiful momentthan he had ever known; "may not my heart break in peace?"
It had been past midnight when Mitsos came in, and already the starswere beginning to pale in the east when Nicholas stirred and woke. Hesaw Mitsos by him, and knew him and smiled to him. He spoke slowly andfaintly.
"Ah, little Mitsos," he said, "so you have come at last, but not muchtoo soon. My poor lad, you know I did all I could; Yanni and I lookedfor her everywhere, but found her not. Oh, little Mitsos, my heart isbleeding for you. Tell me you know I did all I could."
At the sound of that dear voice, obeying again the will and the brainof the man he loved, no longer wandering idly as a thing apart, Mitsosbroke down utterly, forgetting all but the dear, dying uncle.
"Oh, you will break my heart if you speak like that," he sobbed. "Iknow--how can I but know?--that you did all the best and noblest of mencould do. Oh, uncle, I cannot do without you. Oh, come back, come back."
Nicholas's hand gently stroked the boy's head as he knelt with his faceburied in the bed-covering.
"Why, Mitsos, Mitsos," he said, "what is this? We are behaving as butpoor weak folk--I, whom the merciful God is taking, and you, who Hewills shall live and go on with the work we have begun. A man's life isbut short, but, God knows, mine has been partly very sweet; and out ofwhat was bitter He has given us a wonderful victory. From Corinth toMaina, little one, a free people thanks Him. But that is not all. FromThermopylae to Corinth must those thanks go up, and it is you, firstamong all the first, for whom that work is waiting. Promise me, littleone, you will not fail. For this was the oath you swore, and already,oh, my dearest lad, you have kept it well."
"I promise, oh, I promise," sobbed Mitsos; "but what am I without you?"
"God is with you, little Mitsos," said Nicholas, "and He will be withyou, as He has been with you till now. Tell me, is Ypsilanti comingback here?"
"He is on his way, and Germanos with him."
Nicholas frowned and raised his voice a little.
"I will not die with a lie on my lips," he said. "He is a bad man; Iforgive him not, and see that you do not trust him."
"Oh, uncle," said Mitsos; "what does it matter now? Think of him not atall, then. This is no time for little things."
Nicholas lay silent a moment, still stroking Mitsos' hair.
"After all, what does it matter?" he said. "The man has failed; that isenough. He shall not poison these few minutes. Oh yes, I forgive him,little one. I do really; tell him so when he comes. If he were here Iwould take his hand. But"--and a faint smile came round his mouth--"donot trust him too far, all the same."
His face was growing very white and tired in the pale gray morningbefore the dawn, and Mitsos, at his request, gave him water and put outthe lamp.
"There is but little more to say," he whispered, "and it is a selfishthing; yet, as you love me, I think you will hear it gladly. LittleMitsos, I am happier than the kings of the earth. I am dying, but dyingin the shout of victory. Oh, I am happy on this morning. But, poor lad,whom I love so, it is hard--"
His face flushed suddenly.
"Victory! freedom!" he said, raising his voice again with tremulousexcitement; "that is the singing bird in my heart, that and you and theclan, and Catharine and the little one. Ah! merciful God, but I am ahappy man. Where is Petrobey? Call him in, him and the dear clan. Kissme first and for the last time, and then bring them all in, as many ascan stand in the room."
Mitsos hurried out to fetch them, and found Petrobey's room full of menwaiting for news from the sick bed, watching faithfully through thenight, and he beckoned them silently up. The sun had just risen, andthe first ray clean and bright fell full on the bed where the dying manlay. By an effort he raised himself on his elbow, and looked at themwith bright, shining eyes as they trooped in. At that sudden movementhis wound broke out afresh, and a great gush of blood poured down.
"BY AN EFFORT HE RAISED HIMSELF ON HIS ELBOW"]
Then suddenly he sprang to his feet.
"Shout, shout," he cried, "for the freedom of Greece! Ah, Catharine, Iam coming; I am coming very quickly."
On the word a great shout arose from the men crowded into the room, andin the glory of that triumphant cry, standing there in the dawn of thenewly-risen day, he fell forward, and his strong soul went forth freefrom the death that had no terror for him.
They took his body up to the Turkish mosque which crowned the citadel,and at the east erected a tall, rough, wooden cross, and there helay all day, and the clan came and looked their last on the man theyhad loved. The hawklike, eager eyes were closed, the eager nostrilswere still, and the dignity of death gave the face a wonderful sweetseriousness, and a tranquillity which it had seldom worn in life. Theprince and Germanos arrived before noon, knowing only that Tripoli wastaken, and Petrobey, to whom Mitsos had told what Nicholas had said,found words which were a humbling and an awe to that proud man, andtogether the two went to where he lay. Then said Germanos:
"I never did him honor, God forgive me, in life; but you will let me dohim honor, now?"
The funeral was fixed for sunset, and he was to be buried just outsidethe mosque on the highest ground of the citadel. The first part of theservice would be in the mosque, the remainder at the grave, and Mitsos,returning just before sunset from his finished and hopeless quest, wentstraight there. All day, first in the town and then in that valley ofdeath behind Trikorpha, he had sought among the heaps of the dead,longing rather to know and see the worst, to look once more on herface, than to carry about with him this load of torturing uncertainty.He prayed that he might find her undisfigured, that her face might bequiet and calm like Nicholas's, for he felt that it would be a thing ofconsolation to know she had died quickly. One thought only sustainedhim through those terrible hours, and that the remembrance of the wordsNicholas had spoken. He had bargained to sacrifice himself and all thathe held dear for that which was already won, and in the very flush andpresence of victory he wo
The sun was just setting, and before they left the mosque it wasalready twilight; but the men had a number of pitch torches, and theprocession went out to the grave, headed by thirty Mainats, who carriedthese, and stood round the newly dug grave, while the body, with itsface uncovered, according to the Greek use, and dressed in soldier'sclothes, was placed in the coffin and lowered. At the head of the gravestood Germanos, and at the foot Petrobey with Mitsos. Many of the clanwho stood round were weeping unrestrainedly and without shame; butMitsos was perfectly quiet and calm. Only once when the first spadefulsof earth rattled on the rough coffin lid did he move, and ran forward astep to the edge of the grave with one sob so piteous and broken thatPetrobey clinched his teeth to prevent himself, too, sobbing aloud. Butafter that he was quite quiet again, and Germanos, who had read theservice, stepped forward and gave the address at the grave.
"This day," he said, "is the birthday of a new-born people, and it isso that Nicholas would have you think of it. To all of us has come agreat and wonderful victory, and to all has come a terrible loss; but Ipray God, clan of the Mavromichales, to none of you such an unavailingregret as is mine. Of myself I would not speak to you, but for this,that before Nicholas died he forgave the cruel wrong I had done him,and it is that forgiveness of his alone which gives me any right to behere. You knew him, he was of the same blood as you, and it is for youall to lament not nor wail, but think only that God in His infinitekindness has let him see the dawn of this day, and then, while theflood of joy burst his heart, has taken him to Himself. To work fora great cause, as Nicholas worked, and as none but he, was a greatreward; to see the fruit of his labors and so die, in the very flushof victory, is what comes to but few. By his rank and his work his wasamong the highest places in all Greece; but how did he die? As a commonsoldier, serving in the ranks, and by his own choice. And to me thatappears--though the cause for it is a bitterness and regret of whichI cannot speak--a wonderful and an appropriate thing. Nicholas--thevictory of the people."
The darkness had completely fallen while he spoke, and overhead,through the sombre smoke of the torches, the stars peered out ofan infinite depth of blue. In front of Germanos rose the mould offreshly raised earth, for they had filled up the grave before he beganspeaking, and the wooden cross from the mosque had been fetched out andplanted on the top of it. Round in dense ranks stood the Mainats, theflickering glare of the torches striking strong light and shadows ontheir brown faces. But by degrees the torches planted on long stakesround the grave began to burn low; now and then one would shoot upwith a sudden flare and die out again, and in a few minutes more theyhad all burned down, and only smouldering red cores of glowing ashremained. From the darkness Germanos's voice came slow and solemn atfirst, but as he went on he gained force and vigor.
"The birthday of the people--think of this day thus, and then ofhim whom you loved--the victory of the people. This is no time forlamentations nor weeping, for how did he take leave of you? Not witha wail, nor with any regret, but with a shout. Think of him, then, ashe took farewell; happier, as he said to one of you, than the kingsof the earth; mourn if you will for those who mourn, but rejoice withthose who rejoice. And he went from us strong and with but one thought,which overmastered all. Thus it is no night nor valley of death he hasgone into--or so it appeared not to him--but the dawning of the freshday. Then, turning his brave eyes forward from dawn to dawn, whateyes should meet his, or what name should be on his lips? You heardit yourselves. And is there any cause for sorrow there? Do we weepand wail when the bridegroom meets the bride, or when after some longjourney a faithful man goes home to her he loves? Ours is but a selfishgrief if we look at it rightly. Let, then, this thought make youstrong, and because you loved him turn from yourselves, who, God knows,have cause enough for grief, and think of him and the shout and raptureof his passing. Out of the day he has passed to the day, out of lifeinto life, a faithful man made perfect. Call to him, then, once more,let him hear the shout which he led; let him hear again, for so webelieve, the voices he knew, the shout of the men he loved and loves.The freedom of Greece, and Nicholas--the victory of the people!"
From the darkness the shout was taken up and repeated till it seemed toshake and split the darkness. As from one throat, it burst up thricerepeated, and then together they called Nicholas's name aloud, andwent in silence back to their quarters. Mitsos returned with Petrobey,feeling somehow strangely strengthened. All he had been trying to feelall day had been said for him, and all that was brave within him--andof that there was much--rose and caught at it triumphantly, and heclung to it with conviction and courage in his heart.
The Mainats were to leave next morning, but Mitsos dreaded any hourspent in inaction, and he decided to go himself at once and againtravel through the night. To stop here was only to talk of Nicholas,or to grow feverish again with the hopeless, impossible hope thatSuleima was still somewhere in the town. With a good horse he couldreach Nauplia next day soon after dawn, and he longed with the longingof a child in some distant land for the familiar places. Here all thatspoke to him of Suleima spoke in words of blood and cruelty, whichstabbed and stung him into a sense of maddened rage and regret. There,perhaps, with the thrill of home about him, his anguish would changeto something less terrible, and not so discordant to the image hisheart held of her. Even now, when so few hours had passed, he seemedto have lived with the sorrow for a lifetime, and realized that itwas for a lifetime it would abide with him. The place where he hadlost all he loved had a brooding horror over it; he could not think ofher as he wished to think; but by the cool bay, the dark headlands,and that beach, with its whispering reeds, surely he would find anaspect of sorrow different to this, instinct with the bitterness ofsomething which had once been infinitely sweet, instead of with thebitterness of horror and hatred. Above all, he dreaded the moment ofwaking next morning, and though many morrows stretched away before him,each with its cup of remembrance coming with the light at the end ofsleep, yet it would be something over to get rid of this one, to haveanother four-and-twenty hours with his sorrow, which perhaps mighthelp to prepare him for the pangs of that first moment of the wakingto consciousness again, and the dead weight of grief which would haveto be taken up anew. Then his father was there, and oh, how Mitsoslonged for that quiet, protective presence. Here, it is true, were thedear clan; but the clan, though the best of companions, gave not thefellowship he wanted now. He wanted to be alone, and yet to have someone who loved him present with silent sympathy that needed no words.Even the companionship of Yanni, who followed him with the eyes of somedumb creature that knows its master is suffering, yet cannot consolehim, was irksome. None understood this better than poor Yanni himself;and though he tried to keep away he could not, and followed Mitsos,unable to say a word to him, and yet unable to leave him.
Mitsos rose from where he had been sitting in Petrobey's room andwalked across to him.
"I think I shall go home at once," he said. "It will be better that Ishould be there."
"But not to-night, dear lad," said Petrobey, "and not alone. We are allcoming to set you on your way to-morrow."
Poor Mitsos nearly broke down again at this. Somehow, a kindnessreached the seat of tears, while his sorrow passed it by.
"No, I will go alone and now," he cried. "Oh, I cannot say what Ithink. You are all so good to me; but I want to be alone. Say good-byeto them all for me; I should not be able to tell them myself--andgood-bye. Before long, I doubt not, we shall meet again; for I promisedhim always to be ready, and I shall always be
Petrobey kissed the boy.
"Little Mitsos," he said, "we are not men of many words; but you know,you know. God keep you."
Yanni was watching Mitsos with hungry eyes, and he turned from Petrobeyand went to him.
"Come out with me, Yanni," said Mitsos, "while I get my horse. Come asfar as the gate, if you will."
Mitsos' horse was stabled below, and in silence the two went outtogether. Then, as they turned to walk down the deserted street to thegate, Mitsos passed one arm through the bridle and put the other roundYanni's neck.
"Yanni," he said, "you do not think me unkind? But it is this waywith me: that somehow or other I must get used to these awful things,and I am best alone. We have had merry times together, have we not?and, please God! we shall be together many times yet; and, though Isee not how, perhaps merry times will come again. I want to be alonewith myself to-night and then alone with my father, for with him it isdifferent. But of all others in the world--why need I tell you?--it isyou I would choose to be with. You understand, do you not?"
"Yes, dear Mitsos," said Yanni, rather chokedly, "and if ever you wantme, either come, or I will come to you. For, oh, Mitsos, I'm so sorryfor you that I don't know what to do or say; and I owe all to you, andyet I can do nothing."
And with that he fairly burst out crying.
They walked on in silence to the Argive gate, and then Mitsos stopped.
"So let us do as Nicholas would have us do," said he, smiling at theother, "and think only of this wonderful birthday of the people, asGermanos said. And now I am going. So good-bye, Yanni, dear Yanni!"
"Oh, Mitsos, let me come!" cried Yanni. "No, no; I did not mean that.Good-bye and God speed!"
And he turned quickly and walked back into the town without anotherword or look.