LITERATURE. A CRETAN TRAGEDY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5986, 22 July 1887, Page 1

LITERATURE. A CRETAN TRAGEDY.

[Br ChAbi.es EowAnr>E3.] (Concluded.)

Eventually w6 broke from an extensive J>liv4 Wood Which covered several miles of sotratxy, and made direofc for a dark ravine In the mountains. Eight miles from tho opening of this defile was the village of Afltranea, a small community of proud Greek Cretans, who would as soon shoot a couple of Turks as a red-legged partridge. Astranes was perched on the Acropolis of one of Crete's ancient " hundred cities ;" and it was reckoned impregnable against Mohammedan soldiers. On three sides ifc was guarded by tremendous walls of black mountains, the north-eastern roots of Ida ; and it was approachable only by the gloomy path upon which we were now entering, and which ascended towards it by a devious and rocky inoline that would test our horses' strength and nerve conBiderably. To let them recover - their breath, therefore, before the effort, we dismounted by a Venetian aqueduct for a few minutes. I "I think, Effendi, that you know DemetrioS CaStrianki ? " said the Arnaut while we were resting. i I knew him well. Admiring the native Cretans for their manly looks and good qualities as, I did, I acknowledged that this Demetrios had always seemed to me the very handsomest Cretan of my acquaintance. He was a haughty young fellow, considering how ignorant he was, though I had always liked Demetrios. But his sister, Irene, I had never seen ; and so I asked HoUssein about her. j " I Have seen her — yeß, I have seen her !" j he replied with an odd movement of his head, peouliar to him when his words came halting. " And I have never even anyone like her, even, in my dreams. Effendi, Bhe's a houri of Paradise. Such dove-like eyes, and such a neck of snow ! no peacock carries her swelling bosom like Irene ! And yet I think she is kind, not proud. They call her the Lily of Aatranes— Anian ! Aman ! And he was the first stranger that eaid kali mera (good morning) to her. It is bad indeed!" "What is bad!" " I will tell you nothing what I think, Effendi ; we shall see what we shall ccc. Demetrios is strong, but you are tough. Allah help me, therefore !" An idea occurred to me. . It was one that did wrong to the dead, but knowing human nature and the weakness of the flesh, I could not put it summarily away from me. " Tou do not mean to say that Mr Mactnorran ill-used this girl, Irene Castridnki." "111-need? No. But I siy no more about it. Before we have the moon, it will ; all be made known. We had better start again." It was a gloomy and toilsome climb. The rooks contracted as we advanced and soared out of sight above our heads. There was a damp chilliness about us hardly reconcilable with the dry heat of the plains we had left. Occasionally an eagle flapped it 3 great wings before or behind us, tho noise echoing preternaturally through tho defile. But, with all the roughness and steepness of the way, our horses struggled on bravely. They panted and strained every muscle, and their bodies were sleek and resplendent with the Bweat of their exertions. The more stupendous' the scenery and the darker the shadows thrown upon us, the higher my Arnauf s spirits seemed to rise. He encouraged his horse with wild Bhouta, and then took to singing a ballad j in praise of a certain Cretan Turk who had killed numbers of the Christians earlier in the century— " Behold him, sword in hand, advance It confliotolofle to fight) At once they all upon him rash, Swift as the swallow's flight. An instant more, from hidden foo, A fatal blow was sped ; Audio! a Sphabian's right arm Struck ofi Qlenildhi'a head." And bo on. I brought this ballad to a prompt conclusion. Otherwise it might have given cause to a shot or two being flre'd at us from some warm - blooded Christian above or below. For Houssein sang with the expression of a Moslem, dwelling with emphasis upon the episodes in the ballad which redounded to the praise of the Turks and the discredit of the Greeks. At length we sighted the tiny white church of Astranes. I shall never forget the scene. The black wall of the mountain recce's behind the village towered aloft until it was lost in the still higher ridge of Ida beyond, the snow upon which was tinged with the crimson of sunset. But it was a spectacle of ominous splendour, for in half-an-hour we should have darkness upon us. I urged Housßein to push on therefore. Instead of obeying me, or even acknowledging my words, however, the Arnaut, by a swift movement spurred his horse aßide, where a detached mass of the mountain formed a defile within the defile. He disappeared ; butthe next minute I saw hint again, dismounted, leading his horse with one hand, and his other hand on the shoulder of an ancient Cretan, whose white heard reached to his girth. The old man was gesticulating excitedly, and when they came near me I saw that he was telling Houssein something which interested the man deeply. "Ah, Effendi," said the Arnaut, looking vp 1 at me fehen the old man stopped; "I was not so very wrong, then. Listen I" A long wail came down to ua from the head of the gorge; it was repeated again and again. There could be no doubt as to its significance. Some one was dead, and the sounds, were from the throat of a mourner. Considering the time, the place, and the oiroumstancea (mysterious as these last seemed to be), the lugubrious echo made me shiver from head to foot.

"What is the meaning of it P" I asked. Hotteseln looked at me steadily for two or three seconds, and then tiaid :

*' Ido not tell you, Effendi. We will go on into the village." We proceeded again in silence. The old man, with whom Houssein seemed to wish to hold no further intercourse, followed us, groaning now and then, and sighing as old people who think the world is much more wicked than of yore are wont to sigh. I could not question him, as my Greek was of the most elementary conversational kind at that time.

Once we heard the church bell above us toll a single note. It wbb when the screams ceased. Shortly afterwards the darkness fell upon us suddenly, like a mist. But fortunately we were by this time within the village} the first white square house of earth and plaster waa close to us. This proved to be the cottage of the old man wo had met. Housaein got off his horse at this spot, and signalled (or me to do the same. Ho had already arranged with the greybeard that the animals were to bo tethered there for awhile. He had also done more than this { for, leading me inside the house, we waited while two long, shaggy capotes were being produced from the old man's wardrobe. And in the meantime the Arnaut told me of the plan he had devised. Since I was with him, he was not going to imperil^ his life, he said. Hence the capotes with whioh we were to disguise ourselves. I was to stay in the hovel for a few minutes, while he went into the village square and ascertained what he wished to ascertain. He would then return to me, and if he thought it worth while, show me the proof of his own astuteness. Afterwards we were to get down the defile and into Candia again aa fast as our jaded .homes would two usi

I will have no bloodshed," I said. " .Remember that, Hougßein." "You shall have none, then," said he. " What I have iB my own business. But, Effendi, aa I Bay before, I am to t>9 Ely, because of you. I will be olever, then : you see ?" j There was so much suspicion of coming calamity in the man's words and face (his ferocity of expression was exaggerated by the darkness of the old man's cabin), that I resolved not to content myself with the inactive part he had prescribed for me in this mysterious expedition. If he was bent on evil, I would do my best to oppose him. If not, at leastl should be satisfying my curiosity, which had become very strong. I could not understand how poor Macmorran's murder was connected with this distant hill fastness of Aotranes. Therefore, when the Arnaut stole out into the night air I followed him. A sound of voices, as of a congregation repeating part of a churoh service, came to Us from ahead. We passed several feeblo lights gleaming faintly from the inside of cottages, and then we were in the open space of Astraues, corresponding to the village green of an English village. The church was by one side of this open space. Its doors were open ; and, thanks to the illuminations within, we could see • that a number of people were taking part I in the service or ceremony, and two priests in front of the screen dividing the more holy part of the church from the nave. One of the priests began a dirge-like ; chant, and it was immediately taken up by other voices, amid which one could i distinguish the shrill treble of the boys. We met not a soul on our way. Everyone save the old man seemed to be in the church. And probably the opportunity of j baing able to do what he purposed doing, I without being • interfered with, made Houssein hurry, so that I very nearly lost sight of him two or three times. I wish to Odd I had done so, or that I had stayed by the horses, since I was destined to be an impotent spectator of what followed. It all took place in a few seconds — proving how the Arnaut had planned tor our escape without the loss of a moment. Pushing open the door of a cottage standing by itself away from the public square, Houssein entered, and before I ooiild come up with him I heard his voice. Then I too entered the cottage, but it was all over by that time. The room was the ordinary living room of a certain peasant. Its floor was the native earth. There was an earthen oven and fireplace by one side, and a pile of bed I clothes on another Bide ; two or three chairs and stools were here and there; and from the blackened rafters overhead hung some herbs, onions, bits of meat, and other trifles. All this I saw at a glance, but my eyes stayed upon the figure 6*f a girl lying on the bed, atretched out with her hands tied on her bosom, and a gash in her white throat that must have almost severed her head. And what a head it was ! Withal its pallor it was intensely beautiful. Yet one look was enough to show that she was dead, and had died a violent death. Not, however, at the hands of the Arnaut. There was a man in the room when we entered it. He must have been sitting on one of the stools in a bending attitude, when Ho tisfiein's voice made him stand up. And; without another moment's delay, my man had plunged his dagger into the heart of the other. " There's for you, and that, and that," he said. It was all over in a few seconds, and there was Houssein and I face to face in the house of Demetrios Castrianki. On the one side of us lay the lovely Irene Caßtrianki, and on the other Demetrios, her brother, both dead. Houssein had started back in alarm when he felt my hand upon him ; but seeing who it was he soon recovered himself. Wiping his dagger on a corner of the bedding he prepared to take the consequences of his crime. "You may thank me, Effendi, if you will," he said, "or shoot me ; he killed Mr Macmorrah, and I have killed him. It is equal. Listen, Effendi, though it were better we were on the horses." In brief, from evidence now first put before me by Houssein, and thoroughly confirmed by the dead body of the unfortunate Irene, I could not doubt that Demetrios Caßtrianki was the assassin of Maomorran. He had seen poor Macmorran's admiration for his sister the other day. This to the proud young Cretan was bad enough; but he thought, moreover, that he saw in his beautiful young sister's eyes a reciprocal sentiment of admiration. Such insults against the honour of his family and the community were to be washed out in blood alone; It was nothing to him that he had to murder one man who had not really wronged him in the slightest particular, and then to cut his own sister's throat— this was nothing compared to the need of satisfying his own wounded pride. No one ignorant of the character and traditions of the Cretans would believe that a village of grown men and women and priests not only condoned, but approved the untimely and brutal death of that hapless girl. But so it was. There had been but one dissentient voice in the community — that of the mother of Demetrios and Irene, and it was the, wail of grief from the poor soul that reached us in the ravine. It was a miserable, miserable business from firßt to last — a horrid crime and a horrid atonement.