He said and squeezed the vine, his stick, and pure red wine burst out of it. ‘Here’s a gift for you; now, then, where are you?’ He found the man on the earth the other side of the sea, where he was enjoying a bowl of sweet stirabout. ‘What are you doing, my lord?’ said Kurent. ‘I’ve mixed a bowl of stirabout from white wheat and red fruit, and, see, here I am eating it and drinking water.’ ‘My poor lord! you are emperor of the world and drinking water! hand me a cup, that I may present you with better drink, which I, your humble servant, have prepared for you myself.’ The man was deceived, took the cup with red wine, and drank some of it. ‘Thank you, adopted brother; you are very kind, but your drink is naught.’ Kurent was disgusted, went off again, and thought and thought how to cheat the man. Again he squeezed his stick, again red wine burst forth from it, but Kurent did not allow it to remain pure, but the rascal mixed hellebore with it, which Vilas and prophetesses pluck by moonlight to nourish themselves with. A second time he went in search of the man, and found him at the bottom of the earth, where the pure gold was flowing like a broad river. ‘What are you doing, my lord?’ asked Kurent. ‘I am getting myself a golden shirt, and I am tired and very thirsty; but there’s no water here, and it’s a long way to the world—seven years’ journey.’ ‘I am at your service,’ said Kurent; ‘here’s a cup of wine for you; better never saw the red sun.’ The man was deceived, took it, and drank it up. ‘Thank you, Kurent; you are good, and your drink is good, too.’ Kurent was going to pour him out a fresh cupful, but the man would not allow it, for his nature was still sober and sensible. Kurent was disgusted, and went off to see whether he could not devise something better. For the third time he squeezed his stick; wine burst out more strongly, but this time it did not remain pure nor without sin. The rascal applied an arrow, opened a vein and let some black blood flow into the wine. Again he went in search of the man, and found him on the high mountain at God’s table, where he was feasting on roast meat, which had not been roasted for him, but for God himself. ‘What are you doing, my lord?’ asked Kurent in amazement and joy, when he saw that the man was sinning abominably. ‘Here I am, sitting and eating roast meat; but take yourself off, for I am afraid of God, lest he should come up and smite me.’ ‘Never fear!’ was Kurent’s advice; ‘how do you like God’s roast meat?’ ‘It’s nice, but it’s heavy. I can scarcely swallow it.’ ‘I am at your service,’ said Kurent; ‘here is wine for you, the like of which isn’t on earth or in heaven, but only with me.’ The third time the man was deceived, but cruelly. ‘Thank you, Kurent,’ he said; ‘you are good, but your drink is better; draw me some more, as becomes a faithful servant.’ Kurent did so, and the man’s eye became dim and his mind became dim, and he thought no more of God, but remained at table. Suddenly God returned, and seeing the man dozing and eating roast meat at his table, became angry, and smote him down the mountain with his mighty hand, where he lay, half dead, for many years, all bruised and hurt. When he got well again his strength had diminished; he could neither step across the sea, nor go down to the bottom of the earth, nor uphill to the celestial table. Thus Kurent ruled the world and man, and mankind have been weak and dwarfed from that time forth.
LI.—THE HUNDRED-LEAVED ROSE.
The man contended with Kurent for the earth. Unable to decide their dispute by agreement, they seized each other, and struggled together up and down the earth for full seven years; but neither could Kurent overcome the man, nor the man Kurent. At that time they kicked the earth about and broke it up, so that it became such as it now is: where there was formerly nothing but wide plains, they dug out ravines with their heels, and piled up mountains and hills. When they were wearied with fighting, they both fell down like dead corpses, and lay for a hundred and a hundred years; and the mighty Dobrin hastened to the earth, bound both the man and Kurent, and ruled the world. But the two woke up, and, looking about them, observed Dobrin’s cords, and wondered who had thrown spider’s webs over them. Raising themselves, they broke their bonds as mere spiders’ webs, seized Dobrin, bound him with golden fetters, and handed him over to a fiery dragon, to plait the lady-dragon’s hair and wash her white hands. Then said Kurent to the man: ‘See, by quarrelling we got tired out, and fell asleep, and a good-for-nothing came to us and ruled the world. We have handed him over to the fiery dragon, but if we contend as before, a stronger than Dobrin will come to us, and will conquer both me and you, and we shall suffer like silly Dobrin. But let us give up disputing; you are a hero, and I think I am, too; the hills and abysses are our witnesses, when they crashed under our heels. Hear, therefore, and follow my advice. I have a garden, and in my garden is a mysterious plant, the hundred-leaved rose. By the root it is attached to the bottom of the earth, imprisoning a terrible creature—the living fire. In vain does the creature endeavour to release and free itself from its bonds, the roots. But woe to us, if you pull up the hundred-leaved rose out of the earth! The creature ‘living-fire’ would force its way through, and the earth, and all that is in it, would become nothing but a mighty desert where the water has dried up. Such is the root of the hundred-leaved rose. But don’t seize hold of its top, either. It is in your power to pull it off, it is neither too strong nor lofty, but it conceals within it wondrous powers—lightning and thunder. They would knock to pieces both you and the earth, and all that is beneath it and above it; the hundred-leaved rose would alone remain; but a hundred and a hundred of God’s years would elapse before a new earth grew up around it, and a living race was again produced. Such is the garden of the hundred-leaved rose. But it also possesses extraordinary petals. I have often sat a day at a time under them, and the petals would comfort me, and sing songs sweeter than even the slender throat of a Vila singing ever uttered. But from the petals there is no danger; pluck them, and next morning they will sprout forth handsomer than ever. But up to the present time I have not injured them, but have noticed in the night, how they fell and raised themselves again; and I easily understood how the stars and the moon go round, for all came up in the sky just like the petals of the hundred-leaved rose. Come, then; let us ask the wondrous plant, and then make peace together. The first petal is yours, the second mine, the third belongs to neither of us, and so on till we pluck all the petals: let him who pulls off the last petal be ruler on the earth, but not for ever, for that would be a disgrace to a hero, but for one of God’s hours, a hundred terrestrial years; and when the hour passes, let that one rule again to whom that luck does not fall the first time, whether it be I or you, so that we may arrange to succeed each other in a friendly manner without dispute and dangerous discord. But the beginning is difficult; let us have no suspicion, either I as to you, or you as to me, but let all be of goodwill, and without trickery; let us ask the hundred-leaved rose, with whom there is no unrighteousness.’ The man agreed to what Kurent said; one hero trusted the other. They went off to the garden, and asked the hundred-leaved rose. The man pulled a petal, Kurent pulled one, and the third petal remained unowned. ‘I am yours,’ ‘you are mine,’ ‘each is his own;’ ‘I am yours,’ ‘you are mine,’ ‘each is his own;’ so said both heroes, as they pulled the mysterious petals. But it was not the will of the hundred-leaved rose that one autocrat should rule the earth. There were still three petals, the first belonging to the man, the second to Kurent, and the third to neither, and this was the only one remaining on the hundred-leaved rose. Kurent and the man saw that it was not destined for either to rule or to humble himself; they parted in grief, and roamed through the wide world, each afraid of the other, so that they did not venture even to go to sleep at night. An hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years, elapsed, and then both heroes met again. For the second time they consulted the hundred-leaved rose, and it arranged it so, that Kurent was to humble himself, and the man, who pulled off the last petal, was to rule. The hero humbled himself to him, but the man did not know how to rule, but allowed himself to be deluded, and lay down on a plain to rest and sleep. Thus he lay for a whole hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years, and the wild beasts came up and made game of him: foxes littered in his ear, and predaceous kites nested in his thick hair. The man was a great simpleton, but also a mighty hero, as tall, as a plain, the end of which you cannot see, is long, and as shaggy as a wooded mountain. But the hour of God had elapsed, and Kurent came to the sleeper, and woke him up in no agreeable fashion. The man saw that he had slept through his term of rule, and that it was his, according to the agreement, to serve during an hour of God, a hundred terrestrial years. Kurent began to rule, but he didn’t go to sleep, but made use of his rule, and exercised his power to the full. He invited the man to dinner, and treated him in a courteous and friendly manner, that he might soon forget his servitude. Kurent kept this in view, and drew him a cup of wine straight from his own vineyard. The simpleton was tricked, and drank it up; but it tasted sour to him, so he grumbled: ‘Bad drink at a bad host’s!’ Kurent did not get angry at this, but drew him a second cup of old red wine: ‘Drink, and don’t find fault with what is God’s.’ The second time the man was tricked and drank it up. It did not taste sour to him, but he said: ‘Wondrous drink at a wondrous host’s!’ Kurent drew him a third cup, of wonderful wine, which the first plant, the first planted, yielded, of the first autumn in the first created year. The third time the man was tricked, but for ever. After drinking it up, he threw his arms round Kurent’s neck, and cried out: ‘Oh, good drink at a good host’s! Treat me with this wine, and rule both my body and soul, not only for one hour of God, but from henceforth for evermore.’ Kurent was delighted, and plied the man with sweet wine, and the man drank, and cried without ceasing, that he had no need of freedom so long as there was wine to be had with Kurent. Kurent laughed at him, seeing how the man’s powers had decayed through wine, and that nobody could any more contend with him for the sovereignty of the earth.
CROATIAN STORIES.
THE Croats are believed to take their name from their former abode in the ancient Chrobatia, north of the Carpathian Mountains, whose name retains the same root, CRB(or P)T. Among them we meet with a wonderful hero, ‘Marko’ ([No. 52]), the account of whose buzdovan, or mace, the southern representative of Thor’s hammer, may be compared with ‘Little Rolling-pea’s bulava ([No. 22]), and that of Ivan Popyalof’ (Ralston, p. 66). Marko appears to have been a very unprincipled hero, with very slight ideas of honesty and fair-play. He is represented as gaining his vast strength from a superhuman source—a Vila, of whom more anon. In [No. 53], we are carried into cloudland, and meet with representatives of the Clashing Rocks’ (Symplegades), through which the good ship Argo had to pass before she could make her way into the Black Sea, and which, till their reappearance in this story, seem to have dropped altogether out of folklore. From this story, and also from several incidents in [No. 52], we perceive that the Vilas of the South Slavonians are not denizens of the earth, the waters, or the woods, but of the clouds, and thus a journey has to be made into cloudland to find the daughter of their king.[18] [No. 54] will remind us of Aladdin and his wonderful ring and lamp, although animals play a part in it unknown to the Oriental tale. [No. 55] introduces us to the singular relations supposed to exist between human beings and wolves, and [No. 56] exhibits a curious mixture of destiny and ingenuity.
[18] It must also be noticed that the hero is represented as catching the Storm-mare, just as Bellerophon does the horse Pegasus by the fountain Peirene.
LII.—KRALJEVITCH MARKO.
There was once upon a time a mother who gave birth to Kraljevitch Marko. She reared him, and placed him in a position to become a hero. When Marko was growing up he was obliged to feed swine, but he was then weakly, and so dwarfish a lad that his comrades were able to beat him, and wanted him to be a sort of servant for them and tend their swine. But he was not willing to do this, so they beat him and lugged him by the hair, so that he was obliged to run away from them. He got away, and went into the fields, and there roamed about, thinking: ‘They would be beating me all day, now one, now another of them; but as it is, when I go to them in the evening, they will only beat me once.’ As he roamed about, he came up to a baby. He saw that it was a handsome one, and that it was lying in the sun. He made it a cool shade with branches, and went a little way off and sat down. As he thus sat, up came a Vila, and said to herself: ‘Gracious God! who has done this? Let him ask me for anything in the world; I will give it him.’ He heard this, approached, and said: ‘Sister, I have done this for you.’ ‘You have done it, little brother? Come! what do you ask of me in return, that I may reward you for being so good as to make a cool shade for my baby?’ ‘Ah, dear sister! what I should ask you, you could not give me.’ ‘Well, what is such a mighty matter? only tell me.’ He was thinking of this, that his comrades might not beat him at the pasture; therefore he said that he should wish that they should not beat him. She replied: ‘Well, if that is what you wish for, come and suck my breast.’ He obeyed her, went and sucked. When he had finished sucking, the Vila said to him: ‘Well, go now and heave yon stone, and try whether you can heave it up.’ The stone was twelve hundredweight. He went to heave it, but could not stir it from its place. Then the Vila said to him: ‘Come and suck again; when you have done sucking, go and heave it.’ He went to suck, and when he had finished, went to heave it, but only lifted it a little. Then he went again to suck, with such effect that he could already cast it a little way. He went to suck once more. Then he was already able to cast it to a great height and over hills, so that it was no more to be found. Once more she bade him come to suck. He sucked his fill, and then she said to him: ‘Go now whithersoever you will; no one will beat you any more—no, not your comrades.’ He went merrily to the herdsmen, and they called to him: ‘Where have you been that we are obliged to tend your swine?’ and rushed upon him to beat him. He only waited for them. When they came up to him, he seized one, knocked them down, and the one who was in his hands was quite squashed, with such force had he taken hold of him. The other shepherds, who saw what he did, ran to the home of those whom he had knocked down, saying: ‘Marko has knocked down your son, and so-and-so’s, and so-and-so’s.’ They all went to his mother: ‘What manner of son is this that you have reared up?—a brigand, who kills our children!’ She was terrified out of her wits, thinking what her son had done. She began to revile him: ‘Sonny, never did my eye see that you did anything; wherefore do you thus to me, that other people come to revile me because of your doings? Go! I shall be glad if my eye never sees you more. Why do you put me to shame?’ ‘Well, then, good! if so you say, I will go into the world.’ ‘Only go that I may never see you.’ ‘Well, then, good! go I will.’
He went. Now, he thought to himself: ‘What shall I do? I am a hero, but I have not what a hero requires.’ Then he went to a smith, at whose smithy were five-and-twenty smiths. ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! why have you come to me?’ ‘I have come to you that you may forge me a sword weighing twelve hundredweight; then you shall also forge me a mace, if you make the sword well; but you must know that it must be stronger than your anvil. If it cuts it through, you shall receive payment; otherwise, not. Have you understood me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, then make it now.’ All five-and-twenty smiths went immediately and forged the sword. When it was ready, Marko came. ‘Well, smith, have you got it ready?’ ‘Yes, Marko.’ ‘Now come, let me see.’ Marko struck, but the sword broke into two pieces, and not the anvil. ‘Ah! friend smith, you’ve not done it well; you get no pay.’ He went on to another smith. ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God help you, Kraljevitch Marko! What work do you want done?’ ‘I have come to you to make me a sword weighing twelve hundredweight, and to make it stronger than your anvil, because, if it cuts through your anvil, you will receive payment; if not, you will get nothing. Have you understood me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then make it.’ Then up came the thirty smiths, worked at the sword, and worked until they had finished forging it. Marko came: ‘Well, smith, is the sword ready?’ ‘It is, Marko.’ ‘Show it me that I may see it.’ Marko took it, struck, cut through the anvil, and cut right into the block. ‘Well, smith, you’ve made it well. Now that you’ve made me a sword, make me also a sheath for the sword, and also a club, that is, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight, then I will pay you all at once. But when I throw the mace, it must not break; if it breaks, then you get no payment.’ He made him a mace also, but did not make it well. When Marko threw it, he let it fall upon himself, and the mace broke. Then said Marko: ‘You have made me the sword well, but not the mace. Reach out your hand that I may pay you for the sword.’ The smith reached out his hand, and Marko cut it off with the sword, saying: ‘There’s your payment, smith, for the sword, that you may no more make such swords for any hero.’ Then he went to a third smith, with whom thirty-eight smiths were at work, and said: ‘God help you, smith!’ ‘God requite you, Marko! why have you come to me?’ ‘I have come to you to make me a club, that is, a mace, weighing twelve hundredweight; I tell you the truth, if I throw it up on high, and it breaks when it falls, you get no payment.’ All thirty-eight smiths worked till they forged it. Marko came: ‘Well, is the mace ready?’ ‘It is, Marko.’ ‘Show it, that I may see it.’ When he gave it him, he threw it so high into the air that it was three days and three nights in the sky. When it came down, Marko presented his back; it fell upon him, and cast him to the ground, and blood flowed from his nose and teeth, but the mace remained sound. But Marko sprang up quickly, and said to the smith: ‘Ah! dear smith! you’ve made it well for me; reach out your hand that I may pay you.’ He reached out his hand to him, and he cut his hand off with his sword. ‘Let this be your payment, smith, that you may no more make such staves for any hero.’