The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

by P. Jones

KRAGLIEVIC MARKO I CRNI ARAPIN.

An Arab lord had once in Primoryé,
A mighty castle by the spray-swept shore;
Its many lofty halls were bright and gay,
And Moorish lads stood watching at each door.
Albeit its wealth, mirth never echoed there;
Its lord was prone to be of pensive mood,
And oft his frown would freeze the very air;
On secret sorrow he e'er seemed to brood.
At times to all his svati would he say:
"What do I care for all this wide domain,
Or for my guards on steeds in bright array?
Much more than dazzling pomp my heart would fain
Have some fond tie so that the time might seem
Less tedious in its flight. I am alone.
A mother's heart, a sister's, or, I deem,
A bride's would be far more than all I own."
Thus unto him his liegemen made reply:
"O, mighty lord! they say that Russia's Czar
Has for his heir, a daughter meek and shy,
Of beauty rare, just like the sparkling star
That gleams at dawn and shines at eventide.
Now, master, we do wait for thy behest.
Does thy heart crave to have this maid for bride?
Say, shall we sally forth unto her quest?"
The master mused a while, then answered: "Aye,
By Allah! fetch this Russian for my mate!
Tell her she'll be the dame of Primoryé,
The mistress of my heart and my estate.
But stop.—If Russia should not grant his child,
Then tell him I shall kill his puny knights,
And waste his lands. Say that my love is wild,
Hot as the Lybian sun, deep as the night!"
Now, after riding twenty days and more,
The svati reached at last their journey's end,
Then straightway to the Russian King they bore
Such letters as their lord himself had penned.
The great Czar having read the Moor's demand,
And made it known to all his lords at Court,
Could, for a while, but hardly understand
This strange request; he deemed it was in sport.
A blackamoor to wed his daughter fair!
"I had as lief," said he, "the meanest lad
Of my domains as son-in-law and heir,
Than this grim Moor, who must in sooth be mad."
But soon his wrath was all changed into grief,
On learning to his dread and his dismay,
That not a knight would stir to his relief,
No one would fight the Moor of Primoryé!
Howe'er the Queen upon that very night
Did dream a dream. Within Prilipù town,
Beyond the Balkan mounts, she saw a knight,
Whose mighty deeds had won him great renown.
(Kraglievic Marko was the hero's name);
His flashing sword was always seen with awe
By faithless Turks, who dreaded his great fame;
And in her dream that night the Queen then saw
This mighty Serb come forth to save her child.
Then did the Czarin to her lord relate
The vision which her senses had beguiled,
And both upon it long did meditate.
Upon the morrow, then, the Czar did write
To Marko, asking him to come and slay
This haughty Moor, as not a Russian knight
Would deign to fight the lord of Primoryé.
As meed he promised him three asses stout,
Each laden with a sack of coins of gold.
As soon as Marko read this note throughout,
These words alone the messenger he told:
"What if this Arab killed me in the strife,
And from my shoulders he do smite my head.
Will golden ducats bring me back to life?
What do I care for gold when I am dead?"
The herald to the King this answer bore.
Thereon the Queen wrote for her daughter's sake:
"Great Marko, I will give thee three bags more,
Six bags in all, if you but undertake
To free my daughter from such heinous fate,
As that of having to become the bride
Of such a man as that vile renegade."
To Prilipù the messenger did ride,
But Marko gave again the same reply.
The Czar then summoned forth his child to him:
"Now 'tis thy turn," said he; "just write and try
To get the Serb to kill this man whose whim
Is to have thee for wife." The maid thus wrote:
"O Marko, brother mine, do come at once.
I beg you for the love that you devote
To God and to St. John, come for the nonce
To free me from the Moor of Primoryé.
Seven sacks of gold I'll give you for this deed,
And, if I can this debt of mine repay,
A shirt all wrought in gold will be your meed.
Moreover, you shall have my father's sword;
And as a pledge thereon the King's great seal,
Which doth convey to all that Russia's lord
Doth order and decree that none shall deal
Its bearer harm; no man shall ever slay
You in his wide domains. Come, then, with speed
To free me from the lord of Primoryé."
To Prilipù the herald did proceed
With all due haste; he rode by day and night,
Through streams and meads, through many a bushy dell;
At last at Marko's door he did alight.
When Marko read the note, he answered: "Well—"
Then mused a while, then bade the young page go.
But said the youth: "What answer shall I give?"
"Just say I answered neither yes nor no."
The Princess saw that she would ne'er outlive
Her dreadful doom, and walking on the strand,
There, 'midst her sobs, she said: "O thou deep sea,
Receive me in thy womb, lest the curst brand
Of being this man's wife be stamped on me."
Just when about to plunge she lifts her eyes,
And lo! far off, a knight upon a steed,
Armed cap-à-pie, advancing on, she spies.
"Why weepest thou, O maid? tell me thy need,
And if my sword can be of any use . . ."
"Thanks, gentle sir. Alas! one knight alone
Can wield his brand for me; but he eschews
To fight."
"A coward, then, is he."
"'Tis known
That he is brave."
"His name?"
"He did enrich
The soil with Turkish blood at Cossovo.
You sure have heard of Marko Kraglievic."
Thereon he kissed her hand and answered low:
"Well, I am he; and I come for your sake.
Go, tell the Czar to give thee as a bride
Unto the Moor; then merry shall we make
In some mehan, and there I shall abide
The coming of the lord of Primoryé."
The Princess straightway told the Czar, and he
At once gave orders that they should obey
All that the Serb might bid, whate'er it be.
That night with all his men the Arab came—
Five hundred liegemen, all on prancing steeds;
The Czar did welcome them as it became
Men high in rank, and of exalted deeds.
Then, after that, they all went to the inn.
"Ah!" said the Moor, as they were on their way,
"How all are scared, and shut themselves within
Their homes; all fear the men of Primoryé."
But, as they reached the door of the mehan,
The Arab, on his horse, would cross the gate,
When, on the very sill, he saw a man
Upon a steed. This sight seemed to amate
The Arab lord. But still he said: "Stand off!
And let me pass."
"For you, this is no place,
Miscreant heathen dog!"
At such a scoff
Each angry liegeman lifted up his mace.
Thereon 'twixt them and him ensued a fight,
Where Marko dealt such blows that all around
The din was heard, like thunder in the night.
He hacked and hewed them down, until a mound
Of corpses lay amid a pool of blood,
For trickling from each fearful gash it streamed,
And wet the grass, and turned the earth in mud
Of gore; whilst all this time each falchion gleamed,
For Marko's sword was ruthless in the fray,
And when it fell, there all was cleaved in twain;
No coat of mail such strokes as his could stay,
Nor either did he stop to ascertain
If all the blood that trickled down each limb
Was but that of the foe and not his own.
And thus he fought, until the day grew dim,
And thus he fought, and thus he stood alone
Against them all; till one by one they fell,
As doth the corn before the reaper's scythe,
Whilst their own curses were their only knell!
The Serb, howe'er, was still both strong and lithe,
When all the swarthy Arabs round him lay.
"Now 'tis thy time to die, miscreant knight!"
He called unto the Moor of Primoryé.
With golden daggers they began to fight;
They thrust and parried both with might and main;
But soon the Arab sank to writhe in pain.
Then Marko forthwith over him did bend
To stab him through the heart. Then off he took
His head, on which he threw a light cymar
(For 'twas, indeed, a sight that few could brook):
Thus covered up, he took it to the Czar.
Then Marko got the Princess for his wife—
Besides the gold that was to be his meed,
And from that day most happy was his life,
Known far and wide for many a knightly deed.

The merry evening came to an end; in the meanwhile the weather had undergone another transformation. The cold having set in, the thin sleet had all at once changed into snow. The tiny patches of ice and the little droplets of rain had swelled out into large fleecy flakes, which kept fluttering about hither and thither, helter-skelter, before they came down to the ground; they seemed, indeed, to be chasing one another all the time, with the grace of spring butterflies. Even when the flakes did fall it was not always for long, for the wind, creeping slily along the earth, often lifted them up and drove them far away, whirling them into eddies, till at last they were allowed to settle down in heaps, blocking up doors and windows; or else, flying away, they ensconced themselves in every nook and corner, in every chink and cranny.

That evening, when the good Christians went to church to hear the oft-repeated tidings of great joy, uttered by the vladika, or priest, in the sacramental words: Mir Bogig, Christos se rodè, or "The peace of God be with you, Christ is born"; and when, after midnight, they returned home, while huge logs were blazing on every hearth, they hardly knew again either the town or its neighbourhood, all wrapped up in a mantle of dazzling whiteness; the sight was a rather unusual one, for the inhabitants of Budua had seen snow but very seldom.

The whole Christmas Day was spent very pleasantly in going about from house to house, wishing everyone joy and happiness, or receiving friends at home and drinking bumpers to their health. It was, indeed, a merry, forgiving time, when the hearts of men were full of kindness and good-will, and peace reigned upon earth.

There were, indeed, some exceptions to the general rule of benevolence, for, now and then, some man, even upon that hallowed day, bore within his breast but a clay-cold heart, in which grudge, envy and malice still rankled, and the Christmas greetings, wheezed through thin lips, had but a chilling and hollow sound.

The very first person who came to Bellacic's house early on Christmas morning was Vranic, the spy. It was not out of love that he came. He had been sneaking about the house, casting long, prying glances from beneath the hood of his kabanica, or great-coat, trying to find out whether Milena were there, for he knew that she had not passed the night in her own house.

All at once, whilst he was sneaking about, he was met by several young men, bent on their Christmas rounds of visits; they took him along with them, and, though quite against himself, he was the first to put his foot in Bellacic's house upon that day.

According to the Slav custom, he was asked, after the usual greetings, to tap the yule log with his stick. He at once complied, with as much good grace as he could muster, uttering the well-known phrase:

"May you have as many horses, cows, and sheep as the badnjak has given you sparks."

Knowing that while he was saying these words every member of the family, and every guest gathered together around him, would hang upon his looks, trying to read in his face whether the forthcoming year would be a prosperous one, for the expression of the features, as well as the way in which these words are uttered, are reckoned to be sure omens, Vranic, therefore, tried to put on a pleasant look and a good-natured appearance, but this was so alien to his nature that he was by no means sure of success.

Uros and Milena had, however, stood aloof; they had understood that the prediction must be unfavourable, and, though they did not look up, they heard that the voice, which was meant to be soft and oily, was bitter, hard and grating.

A gloom had come over the house just then; it seemed as if that man of ill-omen had stepped in to damp everyone's joy.

Uros remained stock-still, and though his fingers instinctively grasped the handle of his knife, still he was too much of a Slav to harm a guest in his own house. As for Milenko, not having any reasons for being so forbearing, he was about to thrust the fiend out of his adopted parents' house, when Vranic, drawing back from the hearth, caught his foot on the fag end of a log, and, not to fall, stepped over it. This was the remainder of that log which Uros had himself put upon the fire, and, according to the traditional custom, it had been taken away from the hearth before it had been quite consumed, for it was to be kept, as the fire on New Year's Eve was to be kindled with it. Vranic hardly noticed what he had done, but everyone present looked stealthily at one another, and quietly crossed themselves. Vranic, they knew, had come with evil thoughts in his head, but now he had only brought harm upon himself, for it is well known that whoever steps over a badnjak is doomed to die within the year.

The seer went off soon after this, and then, when the other well-wishers came, the gloom that he had left behind him was dispelled, and the remainder of the Christmas Day was spent in mirth and jollity.