Part 3

She was lovely—nothing e’er was lovelier; She was tall and slender as the pine tree; White her cheeks, but tinged with rosy blushes, As if morning’s beam had shone upon them, Till that beam had reach’d its high meridian; And her eyes, they were two precious jewels; And her eyebrows, leeches from the ocean; And her eyelids, they were wings of swallows; Silken tufts the maiden’s flaxen ringlets; And her sweet mouth was a sugar casket; And her teeth were pearls array’d in order; White her bosom, like two snowy dovelets; And her voice was like the dovelet’s cooing; And her smiles were like the glowing sunshine; And the fame, the story of her beauty Spread through Bosnia and through Herzgovina. {28} Many a suitor on the maiden waited: Two were unremitting in their service; One, the old gray-headed Mustaph Aga— He of Uraine, from the Novi fortress; {29a} And the other, Suko of Ubdinia. {29b} Both together met the self-same evening, When they came to court the lovely maiden. Thousand golden coins the old man proffer’d, And, besides, a golden drinking vessel: Round the vessel twined a mighty serpent, From whose forehead shone so bright a diamond, That at midnight, just as well as noonday, By its light you might indulge your feastings. Suko offered but a dozen ducats; All the youth possessed, except his sabre— His good sabre, and his steed so trusty. Suko dwelt upon the country’s border, As the falcon dwells among the breezes. Then his brother thus address’d Ajkuna: “Lo! Ajkuna, my beloved sister! When my mother bore thee, she betrothed thee— She betrothed thee to another lover. Many a lover, maiden! now would woo thee; But the best of all those wooing lovers Are those twain to-day that seek thy presence. One the venerable Mustaph Aga; He that comes from Uraine out of Novi. Countless are the old Mustapha’s treasures: He will clothe thee all in silk and satin, Will with honey and with sugar feed thee. Suko of Ubdinia is the other: But this Suko nothing more possesses Than his trusty steed and his good sabre. Now, then, choose, Ajkuna; choose, my sister; Say to which of these I shall betrothe thee.”

Thus his sister answer gave her brother: “Thine shall be the choice, my brother! only; Him alone I’ll wed whom thou wilt give me; But I’d rather choose a youthful lover, Howsoever small that youth’s possessions, Than be wedded to old age, though wealthy. Wealth—it is not gold—it is not silver; Wealth—is to possess what most we cherish.” Little did he listen to his sister, For he gave the maid to Mustaph Aga; To that old white-bearded man he gave her. He with speed to his own court departed, Brought the bridal guests, to lead the maiden To his dwelling; and among them Suko Lifted o’er the rest the bridal banner; And they hasten’d to the maiden’s dwelling.

At the dwelling of the lovely maiden, Three white days the bridal crowd had linger’d,— When the fourth day dawn’d, at early morning, Forth they led the maiden from her dwelling; And ere yet far off they had proceeded, Ere they reach’d the flat and open country, Turn’d the lovely maiden to the leader, And into his ear these words she whisper’d: “Tell me now, my golden ring, my brother! {32} Who is chosen for the maiden’s bridegroom?” Softly did the marriage-leader answer: “Sweetest sister! fairest maid, Ajkuna! Look to right, and look to left, about thee; Dost thou see that old man in the distance, Who like an effendi sits so proudly In the farthest palanquin of scarlet, Whose white beard o’ercovers all his bosom? Lo! it is the aged Mustaph Aga; He it is who’s chosen for thy bridegroom.”

And the maiden look’d around the circle And within her sad heart sighing deeply, Once again she ask’d the marriage-leader: “Who is he upon that white horse seated, He who bears so high aloft the banner, On whose chin that sable beard is growing?” And the leader answers thus the maiden: “He’s the hero Suko of Urbinia; He who for thee with thy brother struggled,— Struggled well indeed, but could not win thee.” When the lovely maiden heard the leader, On the black, black earth, anon she fainted: All to raise her, hastening, gather round her, And the last of all came Mustaph Aga; None could lift her from the ground, till Suko Sticks into the earth his waving banner, Stretches out his right hand to the maiden. See her, see her! from the ground upspringing, Swift she vaults upon his steed behind him; Rapidly he guides the courser onwards, Swift they speed across the open desert, Swift as ever star across the heavens.

When the old man saw it, Mustaph Aga, Loud he screamed with voice of troubled anger: “Look to this, ye bidden to the wedding! He, the robber! bears away my maiden: See her, see her borne away for ever.” But one answer met the old man’s wailings: “Let the hawk bear off the quail in safety,— Bear in safety—she was born to wed him; Thou, retire thee to thy own white dwelling! Blossoms not for thee so fair a maiden!”

ILLNESS OF PRINCE MUJO.

To the baths the noble Turks are going; From the baths are coming Turkish ladies. Lo! before the Turks Prince Mujo marches; Mahmoud Pasha’s bride before the ladies. O how wond’rous fair is princely Mujo! Fairer yet the bride of Mahmoud Pasha! How magnificent their flowing dresses! There the Tzar’s son, princely Mujo sicken’d, Smitten by the bride of Mahmoud Pasha. Ill he wended to his own white dwelling, Threw him down upon his silken pillow. All the ladies to the Prince’s mother, All in order to the Tzaress crowded; All, except the bride of Mahmoud Pasha.

Then the Mother-tzaress thus address’d her: “Noble woman! bride of Mahmoud Pasha! Think’st thou then thyself of higher lineage? In death-sickness is my Mujo lying: All the ladies of the court have sought him: Thou, and thou alone, of all, art absent!”

When the bride of Mahmoud Pasha heard it, Soon she girt her raiments—in her sleevelets She prepared medicaments the choicest; Rosy-sweets, wrapp’d up in golden vestments; Yellow honey-comb in silver dishes, And spring-cherries all preserv’d in honey; Peaches with the earliest dew-drops gather’d; Figs of Ocean, and the grapes of Mostar: {36a} These she hid beneath her richest garments, And she hasten’d to the Prince’s dwelling.

All unask’d and unobserved she enter’d: No salām {36b} she gave—but hurried forward To the balcony, where, sick and sorrowing, Lay Prince Mujo:—at his head she fix’d her; With her gold-wrought kerchief from his forehead Lo! she wiped the hot, the feverish dew-drop, And thus spoke she to the Empress-mother:

“Such a sickness as has seized the hero, May it seize upon my only brother! May it seize me, bride of Mahmoud Pasha! ’Tis not sickness—it is love hath seized him!”

When the princely Mujo heard this language, From his slumb’ring bed he sprung swift-footed, Hurried to the chamber door and closed it. Three white days he kiss’d the bride unceasing; When the fourth day dawn’d, did Mahmoud Pasha Send a beautifully-written letter To the Tzar; and this the letter’s language:

“Sultan!” said he, “noble Tzar and master! Lo! a golden duck its flight has taken, And has wander’d, monarch! to thy dwelling. Three white days with thee that duck hath lingered; Give it back—as thou on God dependest.”

Then the Tzar made answer to the Pasha: “Nay! by God! my servant, Mahmoud Pasha! I have caught a wild and untamed falcon; What he seizes never will he loosen.” {38}

FINDING OF THE HEAD OF LAZAR.

WHEN Lazār’s head, from his body sever’d, Lay upon the battle-field Kossova, ’Twas not found by any of the Servians: But a Turkish boy—a young Turk found it. ’Twas a Turk,—a Turk in slavery nurtured; But he was the child of Servian mother; And thus spake the Turkish boy who found it:

“Hear, ye Moslems! hear, my Turkish brethren! This was once the head of high-rank’d Servian; {39} And, by God! it were a shame and scandal If profaned by eagles or by ravens, If ’twere trod upon by man or courser.” So he took the head of th’ holy emp’ror, Wrapt it carefully within his mantle, Bore it to a neighbouring water-fountain, And he threw it in the crystal water.

There long time it lay, all unmolested: Happy time! it lay for forty summers. On Kossova lay the headless body; But the eagles touch’d it not, nor ravens, Nor the foot of man, nor hoof of courser; Therefore let the God of peace be worshipp’d!

Lo! a caravan of youthful travellers, From the city white, the lovely Skoplja, {40a} Leading on; both Grecians and Bulgarians Travellers they, bound to Vidīn and Nissa: {40b} And they make their halting on Kossova, On Kossova take their meal as wonted; And, when thirsty, ere the meal was over, Lo! they light the splinters of the fir-tree; Made a torch to light them as they wander, Seeking all around a water fountain. Lo! a strange and wond’rous fate awaits them! Swift they speed them to the crystal water.

Then exclaim’d one of the youthful travellers— “Lo! the moon is on the waters shining!” And another traveller thus retorted— “Brother! it is not the moon that shineth.” But the third is silent—no word utters— Turns him to the east—the sun’s uprising— Then he speaks, and prays to God the righteous; Prays to God and to the holy Nicholas— “Help me, God! and thou, O father Nicholas!” And he sought again the fountain-water; Drew the holy head from out the water— Holy head of holy Servian monarch; Threw it on the verdant turf, and pouring Water, swiftly fill’d the travelling vessel.

They had quench’d their thirst, and all were seated— Seated round the head, and look’d about them. On the verdant turf it lies no longer; O’er the field the head is slowly moving— Holy head seeks out the holy body; Joins it, where that body lay untainted.

When the dawning of the morn had broken, To the aged priests the youths reported— To the aged priests, the wond’rous story. Lo! a crowd of priests are hastening thither— Crowds of ancient priests—above three hundred, And twelve high and dignified archbishops, And four patriarchs, the most exalted: Him of Pechki, {42a} and the Tzarigrader {42b} Of Jerusalem, and Vassiljēnski. All were habited in priestly vestments; Camilanks their holy heads enshrouded; In their hands they held old sacred writings— And they pour’d their fervent prayers to heaven, And performed their holiest solemn vigils Through three days, and through three nights of darkness; Nor for rest they stopp’d, nor for refreshment, Nor for sleep, nor any interruption: And they ask’d the holy dead, unceasing, Where his grave should be—his corpse be buried; In Opōvo, or in Krushedōli, Or in Jāssak, or in Beshenōvi, Or Racōvatz, or in Shisatōvatz, Or in Jivski, or in Kurejdini, {43} Or in distant Macedonia rather. But Lazar will choose no foreign cloister; He will lie among his own loved kindred, In his own, his beauteous Ravanītza, {44} On the mountain forest, broad Kushaja, In the convent he himself erected; In his days of life and youthful glory, He erected for his soul’s salvation; With his bread and with his gold he raised it; Not with tears nor wealth from poor men wrested.

JELITZA AND HER BROTHERS.

NINE fair sons possess’d a happy mother; And the tenth, the loveliest and the latest, Was Jelitza,—a beloved daughter. They had grown together up to manhood, Till the sons were ripe for bridal altars, And the maid was ready for betrothing. Many a lover ask’d the maid in marriage; First a _Ban_; {45} a chieftain was the other; And the third, a neighbour from her village. So her mother for the neighbour pleaded; For the far-off-dwelling ban her brothers. Thus they urged it to their lovely sister: “Go, we pray thee, our beloved sister, With the ban across the distant waters: Go! thy brothers oft will hasten to thee; Every month of every year will seek thee; Every week of every month will seek thee.” So the maiden listened to her brothers, With the ban she cross’d the distant waters: But, behold! O melancholy marvel! God sent down the plague, and all the brothers, All the nine, were swept away, and lonely Stood their miserable sonless mother.

Three long years had pass’d away unheeded; Often had Jelitza sighed in silence: “Heaven of mercy! ’tis indeed a marvel! Have I sinn’d against them?—that my brothers, Spite of all their vows, come never near me.” Then did her stepsisters scorn and jeer her: “Cast away! thy brothers must despise thee! Never have they come to greet their sister.”

Bitter was the sorrow of Jelitza, Bitter from the morning to the evening, Till the God of heaven took pity on her, And he summon’d two celestial angels: “Hasten down to earth,” he said, “my angels! To the white grave, where Jovān is sleeping,— Young Jovan, the maiden’s youngest brother. Breathe your spirit into him; and fashion From the white grave-stone a steed to bear him: From the mouldering earth his food prepare him: Let him take his grave-shroud for a present! Then equip and send him to his sister.”

Swiftly hasten’d God’s celestial angels To the white grave where Jovan was sleeping. From the white grave-stone a steed they fashion’d; Into his dead corpse they breathed their spirit; From the ready earth the bread they moulded; For a present his grave-shroud they folded; And equipp’d, and bade him seek his sister.

Swiftly rode Jovan to greet his sister. Long before he had approach’d her dwelling, Far, far off his sister saw and hail’d him; Hastened to him—threw her on his bosom, Loosed his vest, and stamp’d his cheeks with kisses. Then she sobb’d with bitterness and anguish, Then she wept, and thus address’d her brother: “O! Jovan! to me—to me, a maiden, Thou, and all my brothers, all, ye promised Oft and oft to seek your distant sister: Every month in every year to seek her,— Every week in every month to seek her. Three long years have sped away unheeded, And ye have not sought me.”—For a moment She was silent; and then said, “My brother! Thou art deadly pale! why look so deadly Pale, as if in death thou hadst been sleeping?” But Jovan thus check’d his sister: “Silence, Silence, sister! as in God thou trustest; For a heavy sorrow has o’erta’en me. When eight brothers had prepared their nuptials, Eight stepsisters ready to espouse them, Hardly was the marriage service ended Ere we built us eight white dwellings, sister! Therefore do I look so dark, Jelitza.”

Three white days had pass’d away unheeded, And the maid equipped her for a journey. Many a costly present she provided For her brothers and her bridal sisters: For her brothers, fairest silken vestments; For her bridal-sisters, rings and jewels. But Jovan would fain detain her—“Go not, Go not now, I pray thee—my Jelitza! Wait until thy brothers come and greet thee.” But she would not listen to her brother: She prepared the costliest, fairest presents. So the young Jovan began his journey, And his sister travell’d patient by him.

So as they approach’d their mother’s dwelling, Near the house a tall white church was standing, Young Jovan he whisper’d to his sister— “Stop, I pray thee, my beloved sister! Let me enter the white church an instant. When my middle brother here was married, Lo! I lost a golden ring, my sister! Let me go an instant—I shall find it.”

Jovan went—into his grave he glided— And Jelitza stood—she stood impatient— Wondering—wondering—but in vain she waited. Then she left the spot to seek her brother. Many and many a grave was in the church-yard Newly made—Jovan was nowhere—Sighing, On she hasten’d—hastened to the city, Saw her mother’s dwelling, and press’d forward Eager to that old white dwelling.

Listen To that cuckoo’s cry within the dwelling! Lo! it was not the gray cuckoo’s crying— ’Twas her aged, her gray-headed mother. To the door Jelitza press’d—outstretching Her white neck, she call’d—“Make ope, my mother! Hasten to make ope the door, my mother!” But her mother to her cries made answer: “Plague of God! avaunt! my sons have perish’d— All—all nine have perish’d—Wilt thou also Take their aged mother!” Then Jelitza Shriek’d, “O open—open, dearest mother! I am not God’s plague—I am thy daughter, Thine own daughter—thy Jelitza, mother!” Then the mother push’d the door wide open, And she scream’d aloud, and groan’d, and flung her Old arms round her daughter—All was silent— Stiff and dead they fell to earth together.

HASSAN AGA’S WIFE’S LAMENT.

WHAT’S so white upon yon verdant forest? Is it snow, or is it swans assembled? Were it snow, it surely had been melted; Were it swans, long since they had departed. Lo! it is not swans, it is not snow there: ’Tis the tent of Aga, Hassan Aga; He is lying there severely wounded, And his mother seeks him, and his sister; But for very shame his wife is absent.

When the misery of his wounds was soften’d, Hassan thus his faithful wife commanded: “In my house thou shalt abide no longer— Thou shalt dwell no more among my kindred.” When his wife had heard this gloomy language, Stiff she stood, and full of bitter sorrow.

When the horses, stamping, shook the portal, Fled the faithful wife of Hassan Aga— Fain would throw her from the castle window. Anxious two beloved daughters follow’d, Crying after her in tearful anguish— “These are not our father Hassan’s coursers; ’Tis our uncle Pintorōvich coming.”

Then approached the wife of Hassan Aga— Threw her arms, in misery, round her brother— “See the sorrow, brother, of thy sister: He would tear me from my helpless children.”

He was silent—but from out his pocket, Safely wrapp’d in silk of deepest scarlet, Letters of divorce he drew, and bid her Seek again her mother’s ancient dwelling— Free to win and free to wed another.

When she saw the letter of divorcement, Kisses on her young boy’s forehead, kisses On her girls’ red cheeks she press’d—the nursling— For there was a nursling in the cradle— Could she tear her, wretched, from her infant? But her brother seized her hand, and led her— Led her swiftly to the agile courser; And he hastened with the sorrowing woman To the ancient dwelling of her fathers.

Short the time was—not seven days had glided— Short indeed the time—and many a noble Had our lady—though in widow’s garments— Had our lady ask’d in holy marriage.

And the noblest was Imoski’s Cadi; And our lady, weeping, pray’d her brother: “I exhort thee, on thy life exhort thee, Give me not, oh, give me not in marriage! For the sight of my poor orphan’d children Sure would break the spirit of thy sister!”

Little cared her brother for her sorrows; He had sworn she should espouse the Cadi. But his sister pray’d him thus unceasing: “Send at least one letter, O my brother! With this language to Imoski’s Cadi: ‘Friendly greetings speeds the youthful woman; But entreats thee, by these words entreats thee, When the _Suates_ {55} shall conduct thee hither, Thou a long and flowing veil wilt bring me, That, in passing Hassan’s lonely dwelling, I may hide me from my hapless orphans.’”

Hardly had the Cadi read the letter, Than he gather’d his Suates together, Arm’d himself, and hasten’d t’wards the lady, Home to bring her as his bridal treasure.

Happily he reach’d the princely dwelling, Happily were all returning homeward, When toward Hassan’s house they were approaching, Her two daughters saw her from the window, Her two sons rush’d on her from the portal: And they cried, “Come hither! O come hither! Take thy night’s repast with thine own children!”

Sorrowfully Hassan’s consort heard them; To the Sarisvat she thus address’d her: “Let the Suates stay, and let the horses Tarry here at this beloved portal, While I make a present to the children.”

As they stopp’d at the beloved portal, Presents gave she unto all the children. To the boys, boots all with gold embroider’d; To the girls, long and resplendent dresses; And to the poor baby in the cradle, For the time to come; a little garment.

Near them sat their father, Hassan Aga, And he call’d in sorrow to his children: “Come to me, poor children! to your father; For your mother’s breast is turn’d to iron, Closed against you, harden’d ’gainst all pity.”

When these words were heard by Hassan’s consort, On the ground she fell, all pale and trembling, Till her spirit burst her heavy bosom At the glances of her orphan children. {57}

JAKSHICH’S PARTITIONING. {58}

HARK! the moon is to the day-star calling: “Morning star! say, where hast thou been wandering; Tell me where thou hast so long been lingering; Where hast white days three so wasted,—tell me?” To the moon, anon, the day-star answer’d: “I have wander’d, moon! and I have linger’d, Lingered o’er Belgrad’s white towers, and wondered At the marvellous things which I have witness’d: How two brothers have their wealth partitioned, Jakshich Dmitar and Jakshich Bogdana. They had thus arranged the shares allotted, Well their father’s substance had divided: Dmitar took Wallachia {59a} for his portion, Took Wallachia and entire Moldavia; {59b} Banat also, to the river Danube. Bogdan took the level plains of Sermia, And the even country of the Sava; Servia, too, as far as Ujitz’s fortress. Dmitar took the lower fortress’d cities, And Neboisha’s tower upon the Danube; Bogdan took the upper fortress’d cities, And the church-possessing town, Rujitza. Then a strife arose about a trifle,— Such a trifle; but a feud soon follow’d,— A black courser and a grey-wing’d falcon! Dmitar claims the steed, as elder brother Claims the steed, and claims the grey-wing’d falcon. Bogdan will not yield or horse or falcon. When the morning of the morrow waken’d, Dmitar flung him on the sable courser, Took upon his hand the grey-wing’d falcon, Went to hunt into the mountain-forest; And he call’d his wife, fair Angelīa: “Angelia! thou my faithful lady! Kill with poison thou my brother Bogdan; But if thou refuse to kill my brother, Tarry thou in my white court no longer.”