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.