CHAPTER IV: KRALYEVITCH MARKO; OR, THE ROYAL PRINCE MARKO

The Marko Legends

Marko was, as we have already seen, the son of King Voukashin; and

his mother was Queen Helen, whom the Serbian troubadours called by

the pleasing and poetic name Yevrossima (Euphrosyne) in their songs

and poems.

According to the popular tradition, the Prince was born in the castle

of Skadar (Scutari), and his mother, being the sister of that most

glorious and adventurous knight Momchilo, fortunately transmitted

much of the heroism, and many of the other virtues, characteristic

of her own family, to her son.

But there is also another tradition, equally popular, which

maintains that Marko was the child of a veela (fairy-queen) and a zmay

(dragon). The fact that his father was a dragon is believed, by those

who accept this tradition, to explain and in every way to account for,

Marko's tremendous strength and his astonishing powers of endurance.

Truly Prince Marko possessed a striking and extraordinarily attractive

personality: he so vividly impressed the minds of the Serbian people,

people of all ranks and localities, that he has always been, remains to

this day, and promises ever to remain, our most beloved hero. Indeed

there is no Serbian to be found, even in the most remote districts,

who has not a great love for Kralyevitch Marko, and who cannot tell

his story.

This Prince's brave deeds and all his exploits have luckily been

immortalized by the national bards, who are never weary of describing

him in their ballads and legends as a lover of justice, the hater

of all oppression, and the avenger of every wrong. He is always

represented as the possessor of great physical strength: his principal

weapon was his heavy war-club (it weighed one hundred pounds--sixty

pounds of steel, thirty pounds of silver, and the remainder was pure

gold) and it must be borne in mind that the swords and clubs wielded

by the merely human hands of his antagonists can never kill him; they

never injure him, for they scarcely ever even touch this hero. Marko

is always thought to have had much of the supernatural in him.

Marko, who was often rough and ready in his behaviour, and more

especially so to the Turks, whose very Sultan, indeed, he mightily

terrified with the tales he told of his many bloodthirsty and warlike

deeds, was invariably a most dutiful, loving and tender-hearted son to

his mother: and there were occasions when he willingly consulted her,

and followed the advice she gave him.

Prince Marko was fearless: It was said that "he feared no one but God";

and it was his rule to be courteous to all women. In Serbia it was

the usual custom to drink a great deal of wine, the red wine of which

we so often hear, and this custom was one which Marko upheld: but it

is always said, and universally believed, that he was never drunk.

The ballads also sing of King Voukashin. Voukashin had been the

Councillor of State during the reign of Doushan the Powerful. The

capital of the Empire was Prizrend, and Marko was brought up then

at the Court, by his father Voukashin. According to the generally

accepted belief it was Marko who, a little later on, attended the

Emperor as secretary and councillor of State, and was entrusted by

Doushan, on the approach of death, with his young son Ourosh.

The Bad Faith of Voukashin

One ballad relates that the Emperor Doushan had bequeathed the crown to

Voukashin and stipulated in his will that that monarch should reign for

seven years, and at the end of that time he should give up the rule to

the Tsarevitch Ourosh. King Voukashin not only prolonged his haughty

rule to sixteen years, but absolutely refused to yield the sceptre

even then, and moreover proclaimed himself sovereign Tsar. The ballad

further depicts the incessant struggles which were in the end to cause

the downfall of the Serbian mediaeval State. And so tradition, earnestly

sympathizing with the just anger felt by the people against the rebels,

and their lamentation over the lost tsardom, charges Voukashin with all

the blame and responsibility--curses him as a usurper and a traitor,

and execrates him for his cunning and inconsistency: whilst on the

other hand tradition ever extols and glorifies his son Marko as the

faithful defender of Prince Ourosh, as the great avenger of national

wrongs, and praises him at all times for his good heart, his generous

foresight in politics and private affairs, his humanity, and above

all his readiness to perish in the cause of justice.

The Horse Sharatz

The story of Marko cannot be told without some account of Sharatz,

his much-loved piebald steed, from whom he was never parted.

Sharatz was undoubtedly unique. There are several versions of the story

as to how Marko became possessed of him: Some of the bards assert

that Sharatz was given to Marko by the same veela who had from the

first endowed him with his marvellous strength; but there are others

who affirm that Marko once bought a foal suffering from leprosy, and

that the Prince tended him himself and completely cured him, taught

him to drink wine, and finally made him the fine horse that he became.

And there are others again who say that at one time, in his youth,

Marko served a master for three years, and that for his sole reward

he asked permission to choose a horse from among those then grazing

in the meadow. His master gladly consented, and Marko, according to

his custom, tested each horse in turn, by taking it by the tail and

whirling it round and round.

At last, when he came to a certain piebald foal he seized it by the

tail: but this animal did not stir, and Marko, with all his vast

strength, could not make it move one step. Marko chose that foal,

and it became his beloved Sharatz. The Serbians of Veles still call a

great plain near Demir-Kapi 'Markova Livada' (Marko's meadow). Sharatz

means 'piebald,' and it is said that the skin of Marko's horse was

more like the hide of an ox in appearance than like the skin of an

ordinary horse. The Prince called him by various endearing names,

such as Sharin or Sharo, and was devoted to him for the hundred and

sixty years they were together.

This wonderful beast was the strongest and swiftest horse ever known,

and he often overtook the flying veela. He was so well trained

that he knew the very moment when to kneel down to save his master

from an adversary's lance; he knew just how to rear and strike the

adversary's charger with his fore-feet. When his spirit was thoroughly

roused Sharatz would spring up to the height of three lengths of a

lance and to the distance of four lance-lengths forward; beneath his

hoofs glittering sparks shone forth, and the very earth he trod would

crack and stones and fragments fly in all directions; and his nostrils

exhaled a quivering blue flame, terrifying to all beholders. He often

bit off the ears of enemies' horses and crushed and trampled to death

numbers of Turkish soldiers. Marko might peacefully doze, and sometimes

even go to sleep, when riding through the mountains; and all the time

he was safe, for Sharatz would keep careful guard. Therefore the Prince

would feed his steed, with bread and wine, from the vessels that he

used himself and loved him more than he loved his own brother; and

Sharatz shared, as he deserved to share, the glory of many a victory

with his master. Marko never rode upon another horse, and together

they were described as "a dragon mounted upon a dragon."

There are in existence about thirty-eight poems and perhaps

twice as many prose-legends containing detailed descriptions of

Marko's thrilling exploits, and there is hardly a Serb or a Bulgar

anywhere to be found who cannot recite at least a few of them. In

the Balkans-Turkish War, 1912-13, a gouslar, when not fighting,

would take his goussle [24] and recite to his comrades heroic poems

of which the greater number related to Marko. The intense veneration

felt by Serbians for this beloved Prince proves an unfailing bond

between them in their own country and in all parts of the world.

There are, naturally enough, various accounts of the death of

Marko. The story that has most appealed to his countrymen and taken

a specially firm hold of their poets' imaginations is that he never

died. It is believed that he withdrew to a cave, near his castle at

Prilip, which is still standing, to rest, and that he is there, now,

asleep. From time to time he awakes and looks to see if his sword

has yet come out of a rock into which he had thrust it to the very

hilt. When the sword is out of the rock Marko will know that the

time has come for him to appear among the Serbians once more, to

re-establish the mediaeval empire, lost at the battle of Kossovo. [25]

As for Sharatz, he is still feeding, but he has now nearly finished

his portion of hay.

PRINCE MARKO TELLS WHOSE THE EMPIRE SHALL BE

Four tabors [26] met together on the beautiful field of Kossovo

near the white church Samodrezja: [27] One tabor was headed by King

Voukashin; the second by Despot Ouglesha; [28] the third by Voivode

Goyko, and the fourth by Tsarevitch Ourosh.

The first three of these were disputing over the inheritance of the

Empire and were ready to stab one another, so eager were they all to

reign. They did not know who had been appointed the Tsar's successor

and who was the rightful heir to the throne. King Voukashin announced:

"The Empire was left to me!" Voivode Goyko cried out: "Not so! The

Empire is mine!" and Despot Ouglesha interposed angrily, "You are

both wrong, for know that the Empire is mine."

The youthful Tsarevitch remained silent, for he was not bold enough

to proffer a single word in the presence of his haughty elders.

King Voukashin prepared a message and sent it by a faithful servant

to the Archdeacon Nedelyko, at Prizrend, summoning him to come at

once to the field of Kossovo and state without delay to whom the

Empire had been left--for he must surely know, having received the

last confession of the illustrious Tsar Doushan the Mighty and been

in attendance upon him up to his death. Besides, it was known that

the Archdeacon had the archives under his care, and could at least

produce the Emperor's will. Despot Ouglesha also sent a missive to the

Archdeacon by his swiftest messenger; a third was written by Voivode

Goyko, who dispatched it by his special courier, and a fourth was

inscribed and sent off by Ourosh.

The messages were all dispatched secretly, but the couriers reached

Prizrend and met at the gates of Nedelyko's dwelling. But Nedelyko

had gone, as Court Chaplain, to officiate at the morning service in

the Cathedral. The men were enraged at the delay, and without even

alighting from their horses, they rushed infuriated, into the sacred

edifice, raised their whips and brutally struck the good Archdeacon,

commanding him: "Behold, O Archdeacon Nedelyko! Hasten now, this very

hour, to the plain of Kossovo. Thou must state to whom the Empire

belongs, for thou hast received the confession from the illustrious

Tsar and administered the last sacrament to him, and it is thou who

hast the state records in thy care. Hasten, hasten, lest we, in our

fierce impatience, do sever thy head from thy body!"

Archdeacon Nedelyko wept with grief and mortification and thus replied:

"Begone, ye servants of the most mighty princes! Begone from the

House of God! Suffer first that we end God's service, then will I

make known into whose hands the Empire is to fall!"

The couriers then went out and awaited the coming of the

Archdeacon. Presently the Archdeacon came to them and spake in this

wise: "O my children, messengers from the King himself, and from the

Princes! I received the last confession of our glorious Tsar, and

gave him the sacrament; but about the Empire and affairs of state he

spoke never a word, for we were concerned only with the sins that

he had committed. Ye must go to the city of Prilip, for there is

the castle of the Royal Prince Marko. Marko, as ye may remember,

learned from me how to read and write; later he was secretary to

the Emperor and he was then entrusted with the care of the records,

and he will surely know to whom the empire was entrusted. Call Marko

to the field of Kossovo to say who is now the Tsar. Marko will tell

the truth, for he fears none but God!"

Marko is Summoned

The messenger set out at once, and, arriving at Prilip, they smote

on the portals of the castle. The knocking was heard by Yevrossima,

and she spoke thus to her son: "O Marko, my dearest son! who are they

who knock at the gates below? They may be messengers from thy father!"

Marko commanded that the gates should be opened, and when the

messengers entered they bowed with profoundest respect, and said:

"May God always help thee, O noble Lord Marko!"

The Prince laid his hand upon their heads with kindness and said:

"Be welcome, ye my dear children! Are the Serbian knights in good

health? And is all well with the glorious Tsar and King!"

The couriers again made humble obeisance, saying: "O noble Lord,

thou most Royal Prince Marko! All are well, though not, we fear, upon

friendly terms together! The King, thy father, and other princes are

seriously contending for the Empire upon Kossovo, that vast field

which is near the church Samodrezja; they are ready to stab each

other at any moment with their blades, for they know not to whom the

Empire rightly belongs. Thou art now called upon, O noble Prince,

to proclaim the heir to the Imperial crown."

The bard goes on to narrate how Marko went to Yevrossima and asked

her advice, and although it was well known that Marko himself loved

the truth, his good mother implored him with the following words:

"O Marko, thy mother's only son! May the food on which thou wert

nourished be not cursed! Speak not falsely either to please thy father,

or to satisfy the ambitions of thine uncles, but tell, I beg of thee,

the truth before God lest thou shouldest lose thy soul. It were better

that thou shouldst perish than sin against thy soul!"

Marko took the ancient documents, mounted Sharatz and rode forthwith to

the plain of Kossovo. As he approached his father's tent King Voukashin

saw him and exclaimed: "Oh, how fortunate am I! Here is my son Marko;

he will say that the Empire was left to me, for of course he knows

that it will pass from father to son!"

Marko heard this, but said not one single word, neither would he turn

his head towards the King's tent.

When Despot Ouglesha saw Marko, he spoke in this wise: "Oh, what a

lucky thing for me! here is my nephew Marko; he is certain to say

the Empire is mine! Say, O Marko, the Empire is mine! We would reign

together, you and I, like brothers!" Marko still kept silent and did

not even turn his head in the direction of his uncle's tent.

As Voivode Goyko perceived his coming, he exclaimed: "Oh, here is a

stroke of good fortune for me! here is my dear nephew Marko: he is

sure to say that the Empire was left to me. When Marko was a little

child I used to caress him fondly, for he was dear to me as a golden

apple, and always most precious. Whenever I rode out on horseback I

always used to take Marko with me. O Marko! dear Marko, thou must say

that the Empire is mine! It will be virtually thou who shalt reign as

Tsar, and I shall be at thy right hand, at all times ready, as thy

counsellor!" Marko, still without a word, and completely ignoring

Voivode Goyko, went straight on to the tent where Tsarevitch Ourosh

was, and there he alighted from his Sharatz.

When the young Ourosh saw him, he sprang from his silken couch,

and exclaimed: "Hurrah! Behold my godfather Marko! Now he is going

to tell us who the true Tsar is!" They embraced each other, inquired

after each other's health, and seated themselves upon the couch from

which Ourosh had just risen.

Marko tells the Truth

Some time elapsed and the sun had set, the night passed, morning

dawned, and church bells called all to morning prayers, and after

the service the King, the Princes and great Lords went out into the

churchyard, where they took their places at tables, and ate sweet-meats

and drank brandy. Marko at last opened the ancient documents, and said

aloud: "O my father, thou King Voukashin! Art thou not content with

thy Kingdom? May it be turned into a desert if thou art not. Oh! that

thou shouldst wish to seize another's Empire! And thou, my uncle,

Despot Ouglesha! Art thou not satisfied within thine own territory? Is

it indeed too small for thee that thou must struggle for the Empire

that belongs to another? May it also turn into a desert! And thou,

my uncle, thou Voivode Goyko! Is thy Dukedom not vast enough for

thee? May it likewise become a desert if it is not! Oh that thou

too shouldst strive for another's Tsardom? Do ye not all see and

understand? If ye fail to see may God not see ye! It is clearly stated

in the records that the Empire was left to Ourosh. From father shall

it pass to son. To this youth now belongs the Imperial Crown of his

ancestors. It was Ourosh whom our late Tsar, on his dying day, named

as his successor!" When King Voukashin heard this, he sprang to his

feet, drew out his golden yatagan and would have pierced his son with

it. The Prince, pursued by his father, fled, for, indeed, it would have

been unseemly for Marko to fight with and perhaps mortally strike his

own father. Marko ran round the church Samodrezja, his father closely

following, till they had run round the building three times, and then,

when Voukashin was on the point of getting within reach of his son,

all at once a mysterious voice from within the church uttered these

words: "Run into the church, O, thou Royal Prince Marko! Seest thou

not that otherwise thou shalt perish by thy father's hand, because

thou hast spoken the truth so dear to God?" The doors suddenly

opened of themselves and Marko passed inside; then they closed and

interposed themselves between the two men. King Voukashin began to

strike violently upon the doors with his short hanging sword until

he noticed that there were drops of blood trickling down the beam,

whereupon he was seized with remorse and sighed in lowly penance,

saying: "Alas! Unfortunate man that I am! O, thou infinite and divine

God! Hear me! I have killed my son Marko!" But the mysterious voice

from the church answered: "Behold! Voukashin thou most mighty King! Lo,

thou hast not even wounded thy son Marko, but thou hast injured the

angel of the true God!"

At these words the King grew again enraged with Marko and cursed him

in these words: "O Marko, my only son, may God kill thee! Mayest thou

never be entombed! Mayest thou have no son to come after thee! May

thy family end with thee! And, worse than all, may thy soul depart

not from thy body before thou hast served as vassal to the Turk!" In

these bitter words the King cursed Marko, but the new Tsar, Ourosh,

blessed him, saying: "O my beloved god-father, Marko! May God ever

support thee! May thy word be always respected and accepted by all

just men for ever in the divan! [29] May thy bright sabre prosper

in all battles and combats! May there never be a hero to overpower

thee! May it please God that thy name shall at all times be remembered

with honour, for so long as the sun and the moon continue to shine."

PRINCE MARKO AND A MOORISH CHIEFTAIN

A great and powerful Moorish chieftain had built for himself a

magnificent castle, rising to the height of twenty storeys. The place

he had chosen for the castle was by the sea, and when it was quite

completed he had panes of the most beautiful glass put in for windows;

he hung all the rooms and halls with the richest silks and velvets and

then soliloquized thus: "O my koula, [30] why have I erected thee? for

there is no one but I who is there to tread, with gentle footsteps,

upon these fine rugs, and behold from these windows the blue and

shining sea. I have no mother, no sister, and I have not yet found a

wife. But I will assuredly go at once and seek the Sultan's daughter

in marriage. The Sultan must either give me his daughter or meet me

in single combat." As soon as the Moor, gazing at his castle, had

uttered these words, he wrote a most emphatic letter to the Sultan at

Istamboul, [31] the contents of which ran thus: "O Sire, I have built

a beautiful castle near the shore of the azure sea, but as yet it has

no mistress, for I have no wife. I ask thee, therefore, to bestow upon

me thy beloved daughter! In truth, I demand this; for if thou dost

not give thy daughter to me, then prepare thyself at once to meet me

face to face with thy sword. To this fight I now challenge thee!"

The letter reached the Sultan and he read it through. Immediately he

sought for one who would accept the challenge in his stead, promising

untold gold to the knight who would show himself willing to meet the

Moor. Many a bold man went forth to fight the Moor, but not one ever

returned to Istamboul.

Alas! the Sultan soon found himself in a most embarrassing position

for all his best fighters had lost their lives at the hand of the

haughty Moor. But even this misfortune was not the worst. The Moor

prepared himself in all his splendour, not omitting his finest sabre;

then he proceeded to saddle his steed Bedevia, securely fastening the

seven belts and put on her a golden curb. On one side of the saddle

he fastened his tent, and this he balanced on the other side with

his heaviest club. He sprang like lightning on to his charger, and

holding before him, defiantly, his sharpest lance, he rode straight

to Istamboul.

The instant he reached the walls of the fort, he spread his tent,

struck his lance well into the earth, bound his Bedevia to the lance

and forthwith imposed on the inhabitants a daily tax, consisting of:

one sheep, one batch of white loaves, one keg of pure brandy, two

barrels of red wine, and a beautiful maiden. Each maiden, after being

his slave and attending on him for twenty-four hours, he would sell

in Talia for large sums of money. This imposition went on for three

months, for none could stop it. But even yet there was a greater evil

to be met.

The Entrance of the Moor

The inhabitants of Istamboul were terrorized one day when the haughty

Moor mounted upon his dashing steed entered the city. He went to the

Palace, and cried loudly: "Lo! Sultan, wilt thou now, once and for

ever, give me thy daughter?" As he received no answer he struck the

walls of the Palace with his club so violently that the shattered

glass poured down from the windows like rain. When the Sultan saw

that the Moor might easily destroy the Palace and even the whole

city in this way, he was greatly alarmed, for he knew that there was

no alternative open to him in this horrible predicament but to give

up his only daughter. Although overwhelmed with shame, therefore,

he promised to do this. Pleased with his success, the Moor asked for

fifteen days' delay before his marriage took place that he might go

back to his castle and make the necessary preparations.

When the Sultan's daughter heard of her father's desperate resolution,

she shrieked and exclaimed bitterly: "Alas! Behold my sorrow, O

almighty Allah! For whom have I been taught to prize my beauty? For a

Moor? Can it be true that a Moor shall imprint a kiss upon my visage?"

The Sultana's Dream

That night the Sultana had a strange dream, in which the figure of

a man appeared before her, saying: "There is within the Empire of

Serbia a vast plain Kossovo; in that plain there is a city Prilip;

and in that city dwells the Royal Prince Marko who is known among

all men as a truly great hero."

And the man went on to advise the Sultana to send, without delay, a

message to Prince Marko and beg him to become her son-in-God, and at

the same time to offer him immense fortune, for he was without doubt

the only one living likely to vanquish the terrible Moor and save

her daughter from a shameful fate. The next morning she sped to the

Sultan's apartments and told him of her dream. The Sultan immediately

wrote a firman [32] and sent it to Prince Marko at Prilip, beseeching

him to journey with all speed to Istamboul and accept the challenge of

the Moor, and if he should succeed in saving the Princess the Sultan

would give him three tovars [33] of pure golden ducats.

When Marko read the firman, he said to the Sultan's young courier,

a native of Tartary: "In the name of God go back, thou Sultan's

messenger, and greet thy master--my father-in-God--tell him that I dare

not face the Moor. Do we not, all of us, know that he is invincible? If

he should cleave my head asunder, of what avail would three tovars,

or three thousand tovars, of gold be to me?"

The young Tartar brought back Marko's answer which caused the

Sultana so much grief, that she determined to send a letter to him

herself, once more beseeching him to accept the challenge and this

time increasing the reward to five tovars of pure gold. But Marko,

though generally so chivalrous and courteous to all women, remained

inexorable, replying that he would not meet the Moor in combat even

if he were to be presented with all the treasure the Sultan possessed;

for he did not dare.

The Princess appeals to Marko

When the broken-hearted bride heard that this answer had come from

Marko she sprang to her feet, took a pen and some paper, struck her

rosy cheek with the pen and with her own blood traced the following:

"Hail, my dear brother-in-God, O, thou Royal Prince Marko! Be a true

brother to me! May God and Saint John be our witnesses! I implore thee,

do not suffer me to become the wife of the Moor! I promise thee seven

tovars of pure gold, seven boshtchaluks, which have been neither woven

nor spun, but are embroidered with pure gold. Moreover, I shall give

thee a golden plate decorated with a golden snake, whose raised head

is holding in its mouth a priceless gem, from which is shed a light

of such brilliance, that by it alone you can see at the darkest hour

of midnight as well as you can at noon. In addition to these I shall

present thee with a finely tempered sabre; this sabre has three hilts,

all of pure gold, and in each of them is set a precious stone. The

sabre alone is worth three cities. I shall affix to this weapon the

Sultan's seal so that the Grand Vizir may never put thee to death

without first receiving his Majesty's special command."

When he had read this missive, Marko reflected thus: "Alas! O my dear

sister-in-God! It would be but to my great misfortune if I came to

serve thee, and to my still greater misfortune if I stayed away. For,

although I fear neither the Sultan nor the Sultana, I do in all truth

fear God and Saint John, by whom thou hast adjured me! Therefore I

now resolve to come and, if necessary, to face certain death!"

Marko prepares to succour the Princess

Having sent away the Princess' messenger without telling him what he

had resolved to do, Marko entered his castle and put on his cloak and

a cap, made of wolves' skins; next he girded on his sabre, selected

his most piercing lance, and went to the stables. For greater safety

he fastened the seven belts under the saddle of his Sharatz with his

own hands; he then attached a leathern bottle filled with red wine on

one side of his saddle and his weightiest war-club on the other. Now

he was ready and threw himself upon Sharatz and rode off to Istamboul.

Upon reaching his destination he did not go to pay his respects either

to the Sultan or to the Grand Vizir, but quietly took up his abode in

a new inn. That same evening, soon after sun-set, he led his horse to

a lake near by to be refreshed: but to his master's surprise Sharatz

would not even taste the water, but kept turning his head first to

the right, then to the left, till Marko noticed the approach of a

Turkish maiden covered with a long gold-embroidered veil. When she

reached the edge of the water she bowed profoundly toward the lake

and said aloud: "God bless thee, O beauteous green lake! God bless

thee, for thou art to be my home for ever more! Within thy bosom am I

henceforth to dwell; I am now to die, O beauteous lake; rather would

I choose such a fate than become the bride of the cruel Moor!"

Marko greets the Princess

Marko went nearer to the maiden and spoke thus: "O, thou unhappy

Turkish maiden! What is thy trouble? What is it that has made thee

wish to drown thyself?"

She answered: "Leave me in peace, thou ugly dervish, [34] why dost

thou ask me, when there is nought that thou canst do to help me?"

Then the maiden related the story of her coming marriage with the

Moorish chieftain, of the messages sent to Marko, and finally she

bitterly cursed that Prince for the hardness of his heart.

Thereupon Marko said: "O, curse me not, dear sister-in-God! Marko is

here and is now speaking to thee himself!"

Hearing these words the maiden turned toward the famous knight,

embraced him and earnestly pleaded: "For God's sake, O my brother

Marko! Suffer not the Moor to wed me!"

Marko was greatly affected, and declared: "O dear sister-in-God! I

swear that so long as my head remains upon my shoulders, I shall never

let the Moor have thee! Do not tell others that thou hast seen me

here, but request the Sultan and thy mother to have supper prepared

and sent to the inn for me, and, above all things, beg them to send

me plenty of wine. Meanwhile I shall await the Moor's coming at the

inn. When the Moor arrives at the Palace, thy parents should welcome

him graciously, and they should go so far as to yield thee to him in

order to avoid a quarrel. And I know exactly the spot where I shall

be able to rescue thee, if it may so please the true God, and if my

customary good luck, and my strength, do not desert me."

The Prince returned to the inn, and the maiden hastened back to

the Palace.

When the Sultan and the Sultana knew that Marko had come to their aid,

they were much comforted, and immediately ordered a sumptuous repast

to be sent to him, especially good red wine in abundance.

Now all the shops in Istamboul were closed, and there was silence

everywhere as Marko sat drinking the delicious wine in peace. The

landlord of the inn came presently to close his doors and windows,

and, questioned by Marko as to why the citizens were all shutting

up their dwellings so early that day, he answered: "By my faith,

you are indeed a stranger here! The Moorish chieftain has asked

for our Sultan's daughter in marriage, and as, to our shame, she is

to be yielded to him, he is coming to the Palace to fetch her this

day. Therefore, owing to our terror of the Moor, we are forced to close

our shops." But Marko did not allow the man to close the door of the

inn, for he wished to see the Moor and his gorgeous train pass by.

The Moor in Istamboul

At that very moment, as they were speaking, Marko could hear from

the city the clangour caused by the Moorish chieftain and his black

followers, numbering at least five hundred, and all in glittering

armour. The Moor had roused his Bedevia, and she trotted in such

a lively manner that the stones, which she threw up with her hoofs,

whizzed through the air in all directions, and broke windows and doors

in all the shops she passed! When the cavalcade came up to the inn,

the Moor thought: "Allah! I am struck with wonder and astonishment! The

windows and doors of all the shops and houses throughout the entire

city of Istamboul are closed from the great fear the people have of

me, except, I see, the doors of this inn. There must either be nobody

within, or if there is anybody inside, he is assuredly a great fool;

or perhaps he is a stranger, and has not yet been told how terrible

I am." The Moor and his retinue passed that night in tents before

the Palace.

Next morning the Sultan himself presented his daughter to the Moorish

chieftain, together with all the wedding gifts, which were known to

weigh twelve tovars. As the wedding procession passed the inn where

Marko waited, the Moor again noticed the open door, but this time he

urged Bedevia right up to it to see who might be there.

Sharatz and Bedevia

Marko was seated at his ease in the most comfortable room the inn

could boast, leisurely drinking his favourite red wine; he was not

drinking from an ordinary goblet, but from a bowl which held twelve

litres; and each time he filled the bowl he would drink only one

half of its contents, giving, according to his habit, the other half

to his Sharatz. The Moor was on the point of attacking Marko, when

Sharatz barred his way and kicked viciously at Bedevia. The Moor,

meeting such unexpected resistance, promptly turned to rejoin the

procession. Then Marko rose to his feet, and, turning his cloak

and cap inside out, so that to the first glance of those who saw

him he presented the terrifying appearance of a wolf, inspected his

weapons and Sharatz's belts carefully, and dashed on his charger after

the procession. He felled horsemen right and left, till he reached

the dever and the second witness, and killed them both. The Moorish

chieftain was immediately told of the stranger who had forced his way

into the midst of the procession, and of those whom he had killed, also

that he did not look like other knights, being clad in wolves' skins.

Marko and the Moor

The Moor astride his Bedevia, wheeled round and addressed Marko thus:

"Ill fortune is indeed overtaking thee to-day, O stranger! Thou must

have been driven here by Satan to disturb my guests and even kill my

dever and second witness; thou must be either a fool, knowing nothing

of to-day's events, or thou must be extremely fierce and hast gone

mad; but maybe thou art merely tired of life? By my faith, I shall

draw in the reins of my Bedevia, and shall spring over thy body seven

times; then shall I strike off thy head!" Thereupon Marko answered:

"Cease these lies, O Moor! If God, and my usual luck, do but attend me

now, thou shalt not even spring near to me; still less can I imagine

thee carrying out thy intention of springing over my body!" But,

behold! The Moor drew in his Bedevia, spurred her violently forward

and indeed he would have sprung over Marko, had not Sharatz been

the well-trained fighter that he was, and in a trice he reared so

as to receive the adversary against his forefeet and swiftly bit

off Bedevia's right ear, from which blood gushed forth profusely

and streamed down over her neck and chest. In this way Marko and

the Moor struggled for four hours. Neither would give way, and when

finally the Moor saw that Marko was overpowering him, he wheeled

his steed Bedevia round and fled along the main street of Istamboul,

Marko after him. But the Moor's Bedevia was swift as a veela of the

forest, and would certainly have escaped from Sharatz if Marko had

not suddenly recollected his club, and flung it after his adversary,

striking him between his shoulders. The Moor fell from his horse and

the Prince severed his head from his body. Next he captured Bedevia,

returned to the street where he had left the bride, and found, to his

astonishment, that she with her twelve tovars of presents, was alone,

awaiting him, for all the wedding-guests and the retinue of the Moorish

chieftain had fled at full gallop. Marko escorted the Princess back

to the Sultan, and cast the head of the Moorish chieftain at his feet.

The hero now took his leave and started at once on his journey back

to Prilip, and the following morning he received the seven tovars of

gold which had been promised to him, the many precious gifts which

the Princess had described, and last of all a message thanking him

for the marvellous deeds he had done, and telling him that the vast

stores of gold belonging to his father-in-God, the Sultan, would for

ever be at his disposal.

PRINCE MARKO ABOLISHES THE WEDDING TAX

Early one morning the Royal Prince Marko rode across the plain of

Kossovo. When he reached the river a maiden from Kossovo met him,

and Marko greeted her in the usual Serbian custom: "May God aid thee,

O maiden of Kossovo!"

The maiden bowed very profoundly, and answered: "Hail! thou unknown

hero!"

Marko, after having looked for a while at her, said: "Dear sister,

thou maiden of Kossovo, thou art beauteous, though thou mightest well

be a little younger! Thou art tall, strong and graceful; thy cheeks

look healthful and thou hast a pleasing and dignified appearance. But,

alas! dear sister, thy hair is grey and becomes thee not. Who caused

thy sorrow? Tell me, is it thyself, thy mother or thy aged father."

The maiden shed many bitter tears, and amidst her sobs answered Marko

thus: "O dear brother, thou unknown knight! I am not the cause of mine

own misfortune, and it is neither my mother nor yet my father who has

brought great trouble upon me; but I have lost all happiness through

the evil-doing of a Moor who dwells beyond the sea. He has taken

possession of the whole field of Kossovo and has imposed, among other

extortions, a terrible tax of thirty ducats to be paid by all brides,

and thirty-four ducats by all bridegrooms. My brothers are poor and

have not the money necessary to pay my tax, therefore I am unable

to wed my sweetheart and have thus lost all happiness. Merciful God,

should I not go and take my life?"

Thereupon Prince Marko said: "Dear sister, thou maiden of Kossovo! Do

not trifle with thy life; abandon every such idea, else thou shalt

bring sin upon thy soul! Tell me, where is the castle where the

Moorish Lord may be found? I think I have something to say to him!"

To this the maiden answered: "O my brother, thou unknown knight! Why

dost thou inquire about his castle? How I wish it could be razed to

the ground! Thou hast, perhaps, found a maiden according to thy heart

and thou goest now to pay the wedding tax, or art thou the only son

of thy dear mother? I fear for thee, O brother, for thou mayest perish

there, and what then would thy sorrowful and lonely mother do?"

Marko plunged his hand into his pocket, took out a purse and handed it

to the maiden saying: "O sister! take these thirty ducats, go home and

await in peace for what may befall thee; [35] only kindly point out to

me the castle of the Moor, for I am going to pay him thy wedding tax!"

Thereupon the maiden, glowing with unexpected happiness spoke thus:

"It is not a castle, but tents (and may they be cursed!). Seest thou

not upon the plain where flutters that silken flag? There is the

Moor's own pavilion; around it grows a pleasant garden which he has

dared to decorate with the heads of seventy-seven Christian heroes,

and he has forty servants, who are, day and night, on guard near by."

Marko visits the Moor

Upon hearing these words Marko took leave of the maiden and rode

toward the tents. He urged his steed so violently that under his

hoofs living fire shone, and from his nostrils appeared a bright

blue flame. Mad with anger Marko rode fiercely across the camp and,

with tears streaming from his eyes which were fixed upon the plain of

Kossovo he exclaimed: "Alas, O plain of Kossovo! Oh! to think that

thou shouldst have remained to see this day! And, after the reign

of our great Emperor, [36] that thou shouldst be here to witness the

tyranny of a Moor! Can I endure such shame and sorrow: Oh! that the

Moors should be allowed to ravage thee! Now shall I either avenge thee,

or perish!"

The sentinels observed Marko's arrival and went to inform their Lord:

"O Master, thou Moor! A strange and fierce hero, riding a piebald

steed, is approaching; and it is plain that he intends to attack us."

But the Moor answered indifferently: "O my children, ye forty true

servants of mine! That hero will not attack us. He is undoubtedly

bringing his wedding tax and, because he regrets the amount of money

he has to give up, he is impatiently urging on his charger. You

had better go forth and welcome him; take his steed and his weapons

from him and show him to my tent. I do not care for his treasure,

but I am quite willing to cleave his head and seize his courser,

which would suit me well!"

The servants went forth to obey, but when they saw Marko near, they

were so terrified that they did not dare face him, but fled to hide

themselves behind their chieftain, concealing their yataghans under

their cloaks at the sight of Marko.

As the fierce Prince came up, he alighted in front of the opening of

the tent and spoke aside to his trusty courser: "Walk about alone,

my Sharo," said he, "for I am going into this tent to see the Moor;

go not too far from this spot, as should evil happen I may have need

of thee!" Then Marko entered the pavilion.

The Moorish chieftain sat enjoying cool wine which was poured out for

him by a Christian woman and a maiden. The princely Marko saluted the

Moor: "May God help thee, my Lord!" The Moorish chieftain answered:

"Hail, thou unknown knight! Be seated, that we may drink wine together

ere thou dost tell me why thou hast come hither!"

Prince Marko answered: "I have no time to drink with thee; but I have

come with the intention of seeing thee. I have found a maiden after my

own heart, my guests and their horses await me a little way down the

road, while I came to pay thee my wedding tax. I shall at once give

thee the gold so that nothing may hinder my happiness. Tell me now,

what must I pay?"

The Moor answered in a very friendly manner: "Well, thou oughtest

to have known that long ago: it was thirty ducats for brides

and thirty-four for bridegrooms; but as thou appearest to be a

distinguished knight, it would not hurt either of us if thou gavest

me a round hundred ducats!"

Prince Marko took out of his pocket three ducats and laid them before

the haughty Moor, saying: "Believe me I have no more money; I should

be grateful if thou wouldest wait till I reach my bride's house,

for there we shall certainly receive many rich presents. I shall give

thee all the presents and will retain the bride only for myself!"

Marko pays for All

Thereupon the mighty Moor shouted out, bitterly enraged: "I allow

no credit, thou wretch! Thou art bold enough to laugh at me!" Then

he sprang to his feet, raised his club and struck Marko's shoulders

three or four times.

Marko smiling, said: "Heroic Moor, dost thou strike in earnest or

dost thou merely strike in jest?"

The Moor, continuing the assault, hissed: "I beat thee in earnest!"

Marko smiled again, and remarked: "Oh, then, I pity thee! Since

thou art striking with serious intent, know then that I too have a

club. Now I shall smite thee as many times as thou hast struck me,

no more than that! Let us make it a fair fight!" With this, Marko

raised his mace and smote the Moor with such force that his head fell

from his shoulders!

At this Marko burst into laughter: "Merciful God, mayest thou be

thanked! How quickly the Moorish hero's head was cleft asunder! It

now lies just as if it had never been upon his shoulders!"

He now unsheathed his sword, and caught the Moor's bodyguard, cleaving

also their heads one after the other, except four of their number, whom

he left to tell the tale to all who wished to hear the truth. Then he

took down the heads of the Christian heroes and carefully buried them,

that wolves and vultures might not devour them. He next instructed

the four remaining servants to run across the field of Kossovo,

north, east, south, and west, and to proclaim to all that maids and

youths were henceforth free to marry without paying the hated tax,

for had not the Royal Prince Marko come and paid once for all?

When the oppressed Christians learned the news, they all, young and

old, joined in the joyful cry: "May God grant Royal Prince Marko long

life! For Marko has freed our land of a monster! We pray to God that

his soul may be purified of all sin."

PRINCE MARKO AND BOGDAN THE BULLY

Early one morning three Serbian knights rode out from Kossovo;

one was Prince Marko of Prilip; the second was Relya of Bazar, and

the third was Milosh of Potzerye. They were bound for the seashore,

and their way lay through the vineyards of Bogdan the Bully. Relya

of Bazar was a joyous young knight, and he encouraged his steed to

prance gaily through the vineyard, whereby he broke some of the tall

vines loaded with sweet grapes.

Marko admonished his friend thus: "Thou hadst better leave these

vineyards alone, O my Relya! If thou only knewest whose they are

thou wouldst keep thy courser under careful control: for they belong

to Bogdan the Bully. Once I, myself, was riding through these very

vineyards, and as I was young then, I also made my Sharatz prance

along, as thou art doing. But, alas! I was seen by Bogdan riding on

his slender mare Bedevia. I knew that I was at fault and, as the true

God does not support guilty men, I dared not face him, but fled up the

rocky coast. He pursued me, and if I had not had my trusty Sharatz

he would indeed have caught me. But thanks to Sharatz I at last got

farther and farther from him. When Bogdan saw that at the rate I was

fleeting he could never reach me, he swiftly threw his club after

me and just touched my back with its handle, so that I fell forward

over on the ears of my Sharatz and regained my seat only by a great

effort. However, I did escape him. This happened some seven years ago,

since when I have not come this way until to-day."

As Marko said this, the three knights noticed in the distance a

cloud of dust, in the midst of which they recognized Bogdan with

twelve attendants on horseback. Marko exclaimed: "Hark ye, my two

brothers-in-God! Here he is! and he will surely kill all three of us

if we do not make our escape."

To this Milosh of Potzerye answered: "O my brother-in-God, thou Royal

Prince Marko! The whole people believe that there are no greater

heroes living than we three Serbian knights; it would be far better

for us all to perish than shamefully to flee!"

When Marko heard this, he said: "Listen to me, my

brothers-in-God! Since that is so, let us divide the enemy. Will ye

face Bogdan alone or his twelve knights?"

Milosh and Relya chose to fight Bogdan alone, leaving Marko to meet

the twelve followers. This division was quite agreeable to Marko,

and it was hardly arranged than Bogdan came up at the head of his

troop. He was immediately engaged by Milosh and Relya, while Marko

turned his attention to the twelve attendants. Swinging his heavy

mace he urged Sharatz against his foes, and in a very short time

all were hurled to the ground. Marko then alighted from his horse,

bound their hands behind them, and drove them through the vineyards.

He had gone but a little distance when he saw Bogdan driving toward

him his two friends, their arms bound in the same manner as those of

Bogdan's followers. At this Marko was seized with fear and looked

around for a means of escape. The next moment he remembered that

the three brothers-in-God had sworn faithfulness one to another,

and that they were pledged at all times to help one another. So

tightening Sharatz's reins he drew his helmet over his forehead,

furiously unsheathed his trusty sabre, and cast one fierce, dark

glance at Bogdan.

The Bully fears to meet Marko

When the Bully saw the terrific fury and determination in Marko's eyes

his legs shook beneath him, and he turned his mare away, not daring

to meet Marko face to face. He could not, however, hope to escape the

vengeance of the Prince, and so after a short silence he called out:

"Come, O Marko, let us be reconciled. Wilt thou release my twelve

attendants? If thou art willing to do that I shall in turn set free

thy brothers-in-God."

Marko agreed to this, and alighting from Sharatz, he unhooked from his

saddle a skin of wine, and they all sat down to refresh themselves

with the cool wine and to partake of freshly gathered grapes. When

they had rested, the three friends mounted their horses and prepared

to depart. As they were about to ride off Marko thus addressed Bogdan:

"Mayest thou prosper with God's help, O Bogdan! And may we meet again

some day in good health and once more drink together!"

To this Bogdan replied: "Farewell! and may God ever help thee, O thou

Royal Prince Marko! But may my eyes never again behold thee! Seeing

how thou hast terrified me this day, I do not think that I shall wish

ever to meet thee again!"

PRINCE MARKO AND GENERAL VOUTCHA

Hark! Is it thunder or is it an earthquake? Neither, but guns are

roaring from fort Varadin: General Voutcha is feasting in triumph, for

he has captured three Serbian heroes; the first is Milosh of Potzerye,

the second is Milan of Toplitza, and the third is Ivan Kosantchitch.

The General has thrown them into the deepest dungeons of his castle,

noisome holes where stagnant water lies knee-deep and the bones of

warriors lie piled as high as the shoulders of a hero.

Milosh of Potzerye is of noble lineage, unaccustomed to privation and

suffering, and he bitterly laments and deplores his fate, as he peers

anxiously through the grating of the massive door into the dark passage

by which alone succour might come. And, indeed, after three days he

saw a messenger, to whom he called: "O, my brother-in-God! Bring me

that whereon I may inscribe a missive!"

The man was pleased to be called a brother-in-God of such a famous hero

and swiftly brought a roll to Milosh, who inscribed on it the following

words: "To the Royal Prince Marko of Prilip: O brother-in-God, thou

princely Marko! Either thou dost not want to hear more of me or thou

hast ceased to care for me! Fate has been hard, and I have fallen,

O brother, into the hands of a foe. The Magyar Voutcha has captured

me and my two brothers-in-arms. We have been immured in this vile

dungeon for three whole days, and it is impossible that we should

remain for another three days and live. Therefore, if thou wouldst

see us again, rescue us, O brother, either by heroic deeds or by

ransom!" Milosh scratched his cheek and sealed the missive with his

blood; he then handed it to the man, together with twelve ducats,

and implored him to hasten with it to Prilip. The messenger rode with

all speed, arriving at the city of Prilip on a Sunday morning. Prince

Marko was coming out of church when the courier dashed up to him with

the missive. As the Prince read of the terrible straits in which his

friends found themselves tears ran down his cheeks, and he swore that

he would save his noble brothers-in-God.

The bard here describes Marko's preparations in much the same manner as

in the ballad, "Prince Marko and the Moorish Chieftain." Next he tells

of the journey from Prilip to Varadin, but not without exaggerating

as a matter of course, the wonderful alertness of Sharatz, who,

on this occasion, swam across the Danube.

The Arrival of Marko

Arrived on the plain before the castle of Varadin, Marko spread his

tent, unhooked his skin of wine, the contents of which he drank

from a bowl 'containing twelve okas' (about forty-eight pints),

never forgetting to have half the quantity of wine each time he

filled the bowl, for his beloved Sharatz. This action was observed

by a fair Magyar lady, the wife of General Voutcha's son Velimir,

and being alarmed at seeing such a strange hero, she was suddenly

seized with a fever ('which will torture her for three years') and

hastened to tell the General what she had seen, and described to him

every detail of Marko's attire.

But General Voutcha, feigning indifference, comforted his beloved

daughter-in-law, promising that he would capture him as easily as he

had captured the three knights already lying in his dungeons. Voutcha

called his son, whom he ordered to take three hundred horsemen,

and seize the haughty stranger immediately.

Marko sitting and enjoying his wine, did not see the approach of

Velimir, but the faithful Sharatz began striking the earth with his

right forefoot, thus warning his unobservant master. Marko understood,

turned his head, and saw that a whole squadron was surrounding him;

so he drank one more bowl of wine, threw the vessel on the grass,

sprang on to his horse and fiercely attacked the army, 'as a falcon

attacks the timid pigeons.' One portion he cut to pieces, the second

he ran down with his Sharatz, and the third he drowned in the Danube.

But Velimir nearly escaped him, thanks to his own speedy charger. When

Marko saw that Sharatz, tired out, could not possibly come up with

Velimir's horse, he remembered his mace, which he now hurled so

skilfully that the heavy handle only touched the youth with sufficient

force to fling him to the earth. Marko was by his side immediately

and he had Velimir securely bound, whereupon he threw him down on to

the soft, green grass, and went on drinking more of his wine.

Velimir's wife had witnessed the whole of the proceedings, and she

now ran swiftly to the General, who was furious at the intelligence

and ordered all the siege-guns to be fired. Then he collected three

thousand warriors and mounting his mare he led this host against Marko.

The Magyars completely surrounded the hero, but Marko saw nothing of

it as he went on sipping his wine. Sharatz, however, was watchful and

came to the side of his master, who, realizing his critical position,

sprang to the saddle and, more furious than before, rushed fiercely at

the Magyars, with his sabre in his right hand, his lance in his left,

and Sharatz's reins held firmly in his teeth. Those whom he struck

with his sabre, he cut in two; those he touched with his lance,

were thrown over his head.

Marko captures General Voutcha

After three or four encounters Marko had killed so many Magyars that

those who were left, filled with horror, fled in disorder. Marko next

captured General Voutcha in the same manner as he had his son, and

after tying his hands, bound him to his Sharatz's saddle and carried

him off to where Velimir lay groaning. Making the two of them fast

to the General's mare, he proceeded to Prilip and cast them prisoners

into a dungeon.

A few days later he received a letter from Voutcha's wife, beseeching

him not to destroy Velimir and his father, and offering him vast sums

of gold as ransom. And Marko sent the following answer: "Behold! thou

faithful consort of General Voutcha! If thou desireth that I should

release my prisoners, thou hast but to release my old friends Milan of

Toplitza and Ivan Kosantchitch and give to each three tovars of gold

to compensate for the time he has wasted in prison; and thou must also

give me a like sum, for I have had to overwork my good Sharatz. And

there is still my friend Milosh of Potzerye within your castle,

but I authorize him to settle his own affairs with you in person,

for I agree to whatsoever he may arrange."

The wife of the General lost no time in sending the required quantity

of gold. Then she took the keys of the dungeons, and released the

heroes; sent for a number of barbers to shave their beards, and to

attend to their hair and nails. She next ordered a large quantity

of the finest wines and most costly dishes to be served to the noble

Serbians, and after the feast, she narrated to them Marko's wonderful

deeds, beseeching Milosh of Potzerye to use all his influence and

persuade the princely Marko to have mercy on her husband and her

son. Thereupon Milosh promised that her wish should be gratified,

and that she had no need to fear. Only he requested her to give him:

first, the best horse from General Voutcha's stables, the one that

Voutcha rode once a year to go in state to the church at Tekiye;

secondly, the gilded coach, harnessed with twelve Arabian coursers

used by General Voutcha when travelling to Vienna on his visits to

the Emperor, for in that carriage Milosh wished to drive home the

aged hero, Milan of Toplitza. And finally he asked that his friend

Toplitza might be allowed to wear the fine attire which the General

wore on Easter day. To all this Voutcha's wife agreed and, moreover,

she gave each of the friends one thousand ducats in order that they

might not be short of wine on their journey to Prilip.

Marko greeted the knights in a warm brotherly manner, and then

released General Voutcha and his son Velimir, ordering a powerful

convoy to escort them to Varadin. When the noble Serbian voivodes had

enjoyed Marko's hospitality for several days (consuming during that

time a formidable quantity of his red wine) they embraced and kissed

each other on the cheek; the friends, in addition, kissing Marko's

uncovered hand. Then each proceeded in peace to his own domains.

PRINCE MARKO'S WEDDING PROCESSION

One evening as Prince Marko sat at meat with his aged mother, she

requested him to seek a maiden of his heart, that she might enjoy

the companionship and support of a daughter-in-law. Thereupon Marko

answered: "May God be my witness, O mother dear! I have journeyed

through nine kingdoms and through the whole Turkish empire, and

whenever I found the maiden I wished to make my bride, I never found

that thou wert of the same mind with me. Sometimes it was that thou

didst not feel friendly toward her family; and when I chanced to find a

family to thy liking there was never the maiden thou didst desire for

me! Howbeit, when I was wandering through Bulgaria I once reined my

Sharatz near a well, and lo! there I saw a maiden so fair and gentle,

that all at once it seemed to me as if the grass near where we stood

were turning round us again and again. Later I learned that this maiden

was the daughter of King Shishman of Bulgaria: assuredly this would

be the very maiden for me and a family which would please thee! If

thou approvest, therefore, I will at once go and ask her in marriage."

Marko's mother, delighted with this choice of her son, hastened to

prepare the usual presents that very night, for she feared her son

might change his mind before the morrow. Next morning, however, Marko

ordered Sharatz to be saddled, and slinging the necessary skin of

wine on one side of the saddle and his war-club on the other, he took

leave of his mother and rode straight to the castle of King Shishman.

The Bulgarian sovereign saw Marko while he was still a long way

off, and walked forth to greet him. When he was quite close, Marko

alighted from Sharatz, stretched out his arms and the two embraced,

each inquiring after the state of the other's health. The King then

led Marko into the castle while Sharatz was taken by the grooms to

the royal stables.

A little later, in the course of the gorgeous banquet which had been

immediately arranged in honour of the princely guest, Marko sprang to

his feet, bowed deeply before the King and asked his daughter's hand

in marriage. The King was so pleased to have such a noble and valiant

son-in-law that he consented without hesitation. Marko expended

three tovars of gold on the ring to be worn by his future bride,

for her wedding-robe and other presents. Next he asked if he might

return to Prilip to gather his wedding guests and friends, and as he

was on the point of leaving the Palace, the Queen specially advised

the Prince not to select as the bride's leader one whom he could not

trust implicitly, but rather to choose his own brother or at least

a cousin, for, said she, a stranger might possibly prove a rival,

so charming and beauteous was her daughter.

When Marko came near to Prilip, his mother walked forth to greet him,

and, after embracing him warmly on both cheeks and giving him her

fair hands to kiss, she inquired if he had had a prosperous journey

and had become betrothed to the Princess. Marko narrated all that had

happened, and did not forget to repeat the Queen's words at parting,

complaining of his great misfortune in that his brothers were dead,

neither had he a cousin. His mother, filled with joy, advised Marko not

to lament because of that, but to send at once a message to the Doge

of Venice, inviting him to come with a company of five hundred and to

act as koom; also to send to Styepan Zemlyitch, asking him to join the

wedding party with five hundred followers and to be the bride's leader.

Marko thought the counsel good and dispatched couriers forthwith,

as his mother advised. The Doge soon appeared with his five hundred

horsemen and Styepan Zemlyitch likewise. Marko welcomed them cordially

and hospitably, and there was no lack of good red wine.

The company now proceeded to the court of the Bulgarian King, who

received them most heartily and feasted them for three days. On the

fourth day the wedding party prepared to return for it was evident

that if the guests were to remain for another three days the King

would have no wine left. Shishman presented all with royal gifts: to

some he gave silks, to others costly shirts, to others again golden

dishes and plates; to the bride's leader was presented a special shirt

embroidered in gold. When the bride was mounted, her royal father

presented her to the bride's leader with these words: "Here are now,

in thy keeping, the bride and her horse till thou arrivest at Marko's

castle; once there thou shalt give Marko the bride, but her courser

thou mayst retain for thyself!"

The Wedding Procession

The procession rode on through the Bulgarian woodland and meadows, and

as there is no happiness without some misfortune, a gust of wind blew

aside for a moment the bride's veil. The Doge of Venice, riding close

by her side, beheld the maiden's fair face and was so fascinated by

her wondrous beauty that he fell violently in love with her. When the

whole party of wedding guests halted for the night, he went unperceived

to the tent of Styepan Zemlyitch, addressing him thus: "O thou bride's

leader! Wilt thou yield to me thy charge that we may flee together: I

will give thee a bootful of golden ducats!" Styepan Zemlyitch answered

indignantly: "Keep silent, thou Doge of Venice! Mayest thou be turned

to stone! Hast thou made up thy mind to perish!"

When they reached the halting-place on the second day, the Doge again

went secretly to the tent of Styepan Zemlyitch and once more asked for

the bride, but this time he offered two bootfuls of ducats. Again the

bride's leader refused, saying: "Begone, O Doge! Lest thou shouldst

have thy head cleft asunder! Has anybody ever heard of a koom taking

his kooma from her bridegroom?"

The Unfaithful Koom

When the third night came, the Doge offered to the bride's leader three

bootfuls of pure golden ducats. This enormous sum of money was too

great a temptation for the bride's leader, and he gave up the bride to

the Doge, who conducted her to his own tent. Then he declared his love

to the maiden, and in impassioned tones implored her to fly with him

to Venice, where he could offer her all that heart could desire. But

the Bulgarian maiden turned from him with loathing. "For pity's sake,

O thou Doge of Venice!" said she, "the earth under us would surely

crack to swallow us and the skies above us would burst asunder if a

kooma should thus be false to her bridegroom."

But the Doge persisted: "Oh do not be so foolish, my sweet kooma! I

have kissed and caressed many koomas, but never once did the earth open

under us, or the heavens burst asunder. Come, let us embrace!" The

maiden thought it well to dissemble, and she replied: "O my koom,

thou Doge of Venice! My aged mother told me that I should have her

curse if I ever kissed a bearded hero; and I swore to her that I

should love only a shaven knight such as is the Royal Prince Marko."

Upon this the Doge called two barbers: one to shave his beard and the

other to wash his face clean. As they were thus engaged the maiden

stooped and gathered up, unnoticed, the Doge's beard and wrapped it

in the folds of her silken robe.

The Doge now dismissed the barbers and endeavoured afresh to make

love to the bride, who feigned coyness and said that she feared that

they both would surely perish when Marko learned of what had taken

place. But the Doge protested: "Oh do not be so foolish. I have five

hundred followers with me! Marko's tent stands far away. Dost thou

not see it in the distance? On its top is fixed a golden apple. In

the apple are placed two large diamonds which shed a light so far

and wide that the neighbouring tents need no candles at night."

The Escape of the Maiden

The maiden pretended that she wished to have a clear view of this

wonder, and the Doge gallantly raised the hanging at the door that

she might see more clearly. The next moment she was running swiftly

as a deer toward Prince Marko's pavilion.

Marko was sleeping, and was greatly astonished when suddenly he

was awakened by the entrance of his unexpected visitor. When he

recognized in the maiden his future wife he addressed her angrily:

"Thou maiden of low birth! Is it seemly that thou shouldst visit me

contrary to all our Christian customs?"

The maiden bowed low and replied: "O my Lord, thou Royal Prince

Marko! I am not a girl of low birth, but of most noble lineage. Thou

hast brought with thee guests of most evil dispositions. Know then,

that my leader Styepan Zemlyitch sold me, thy bride, to the Doge of

Venice for three bootfuls of gold! If thou canst not believe this,

look! Here is the Doge's beard!" and she unfastened her robe and took

out the Doge's beard and showed it to him.

Marko's wrath was now directed against his perfidious friends, and

at break of day, wrapping himself in his wolf-skin cloak, and taking

his heavy mace, he went straight to the bride's leader and to the

koom, saying: "Good morning to ye, O bride's leader and koom! Thou

leader, where is thy sister-in-law? And thou, O koom, where is thy

kooma?" Styepan Zemlyitch kept as silent as a stone, but the Doge said:

"O thou Royal Prince Marko! There are such strange people about that

one cannot even make a joke without being misunderstood!"

But Marko answered: "Ill is thy joke, O thou Doge of Venice! Where

is thy beard? It is a very strange joke to shave one's beard!" The

Doge would have answered, but before he could do so Prince Marko had

unsheathed his sabre and cleft his head in twain.

Styepan Zemlyitch attempted to escape, but Marko rushed after him

and struck him so neatly with his keen sabre that he fell to earth

in two pieces.

This done, Marko returned to his tent, ordered the procession to

advance, and arrived without mishap at Prilip.

PRINCE MARKO AND THE MOORISH PRINCESS

One day the mother of Prince Marko spoke thus to her son: "O,

my darling son, thou Royal Prince Marko! Why dost thou erect

so many churches and shrines? Either thou hast sinned gravely

before God and thou art in lowly penance, or thou must have piled

somewhere superabundant wealth?" Then Marko of Prilip answered her:

"My beloved, aged mother! I will tell thee the truth. Once while I

travelled through the Moorish country I rose early one morning in

order to go and refresh my Sharatz at the well. When I arrived there

I found twelve Moors who had come for the same purpose, and, as I,

in my pride, would not await my turn, the twelve Moors opposed me

because they had come first. At once we began to quarrel. I lifted my

heavy club and felled one of the Moors, to the earth; his companions

attacked me and I struck another to the ground; ten assailed me and I

killed a third; nine engaged me and a fourth bit the dust; the other

eight rushed on me and I knocked down the fifth; seven strove with

me and I sent to eternity the sixth; but I had to face the remaining

six, who overpowered me; they bound my arms to my back and carried

me to their Sultan, who flung me in prison. There I dwelt for eight

years knowing nothing of the seasons, save that in winter girls would

play with snow-balls and sometimes fling them through my prison bars,

wherefore I knew that it was winter; or maidens flung me bunches of

basil, and thus I knew when it was early summer."

The Moorish Princess

"When the eighth year broke upon me, it was not my dungeon that

distressed me so much as a Moorish maiden, the beloved daughter

of the Sultan. She annoyed me by coming every morning and every

evening and calling to me through my dungeon-window: 'Why shouldst

thou perish in this prison, O Marko? Give me thy word that thou art

willing to marry me and I will release thee, and thy Sharatz too,

I would take with me, also, heaps of golden ducats; as much, O Mark,

as thou canst ever wish to have.'

"At that time I was in very great misery and despair, O my mother, and

so taking off my cap and placing it upon my knee I addressed it thus:

'By my firm faith! I shall never abandon thee; neither shall I ever

forget thee, upon my soul! The sun itself has often changed, shining

not in winter as in summer, but my promise shall be unbroken for ever!'

"The maiden believed, in pleasant delusion, that I had sworn

faithfulness to her, and so at dusk one evening she opened the doors

of my prison, led me along to my spirited Sharatz, having got ready

for herself a fine noble charger. Both steeds bore on their backs

bags filled with ducats. The Moorish maiden brought in addition my

best tempered sabre and we sped swiftly through the Moorish lands.

"When darkness came upon us and I flung myself on the ground to

slumber, the Moorish princess did likewise, and lo! she threw her arms

around me. And I looked at her, O my mother, and I saw how black her

face was and how white were her teeth! I shuddered with horror and

hardly knowing what I did, I sprang to my feet, mounted my Sharatz,

and galloped away madly, leaving her alone. The maiden called after

me in anguish: 'O my brother-in-God, thou Royal Prince Marko! Leave

me not thus!' But I would not stay my flight.

"Then and there, O my mother, I sinned before God! Then it was that

I obtained gold in profusion, and therefore is it that I have built

numberless churches and shrines to expiate my sin!"

PRINCE MARKO AND THE VEELA

Prince Marko and Milosh of Potzerye rode early one morning across

the beauteous mountain Mirotch, carrying their lances and trotting

their steeds. They loved each other so dearly that they would now

and then embrace. Suddenly Marko began to doze on his Sharatz, and

tried to persuade his companion to sing something in order to keep

him awake. Thereupon Milosh answered: "O dear brother-in-God, thou

Royal Prince Marko! I would gladly sing a song for thee, but last

night when I was with veela Raviyoyla, I drank far too much wine,

and she threatened, in truth she promised, to pierce both my heart

and my throat with arrows if she ever heard me sing again."

But Marko insisted: "Oh do sing, brother dear! Fear not the veela as

long as I, Prince Marko, live; and as long as I have Sharatz and my

six-edged club!"

So Milosh to please his pobratim, began to sing a beautiful song

telling of their valiant and virtuous ancestors; how they had held

kingdoms and ruled in succession over the much-honoured land of

Macedonia; and how every one of those good sovereigns had erected a

shrine or a church.

The song pleased Marko so much that, lulled by Milosh's melodious

voice, he fell asleep. But it happened that the veela also heard

the song, and began to sing in turn with Milosh, doing all the time

her very best to show him that she sang better than he did. Milosh

really sang better, for he possessed a magnificent voice, and this

fact much irritated the veela; she took two slim arrows, twanged her

bow, and transfixed first Milosh's throat and then his heart.

Milosh uttered a piercing cry: "Alas, O my mother! Alas, Marko,

my brother-in-God! The veela has shot me with her arrows! Did I not

tell thee, O pobratim, that I must not sing on the mountain Mirotch?"

The Pursuit of the Veela

This lamentation awoke Marko at once. He leaped lightly from the

saddle, tightly fastened his Sharatz's girths, embraced him, and thus

whispered in his ear: "Lo, Sharo, thou on whom I depend for speed! Oh,

thou must overtake, now, the veela Raviyoyla; and I shall shoe thy

hoofs with pure silver and gild them with the finest gold; I shall

cover thee with a silken cloak reaching to thy knees, and on it I

shall fasten fine silk tassels to hang from thy knees to thy hoofs;

thy mane shall I intertwine with threads of gold and adorn it with

rare pearls. But, woe to thee if thou reachest not the veela! Both

thy eyes shall I tear out; thy four legs shall I break; and I shall

abandon thee here and thou shalt for ever creep from one fir-tree to

another, exactly as I should do if I lost my dear brother Milosh!"

Then Marko sprang upon Sharatz, and rode swiftly after the

veela. Raviyoyla was already flying over the mountain top, and when

Sharatz caught sight of her he bounded fiercely forward, leaping to

the height of three lances in the air, and covering the length of

four lances at each bound. In a few moments Sharatz came up with the

veela, who, greatly affrighted, flew upward to the clouds. But Marko

pitilessly hurled his far-reaching club and struck her between the

white shoulders, and she fell instantly to the earth. Marko struck

her several times as she lay on the earth, exclaiming: "O Veela! May

God requite thee! Why didst thou pierce my dear pobratim's throat and

heart? Thou hadst better give him healing herbs, else thou shalt not

carry thy head much longer upon thy shoulders!"

The veela implored Marko to forgive her, and to become her

brother-in-God. "For God's sake, O my brother Marko, and by the memory

of St. John," she cried, "spare my life, and I will go through the

mountain and gather herbs to heal thy pobratim's wounds!"

Marko was very easily moved by the mention of the divine's name,

and he released the veela, who went at once, but never out of hearing

and answering to Marko's frequent calls.

When the veela had collected herbs she brought them to Milosh and

healed his wounds; his voice was not only quite restored, but it was

finer than before and his heart was sounder. Then the brothers-in-God

rode straight to the district of Poretch, where they crossed the

River Timok, and soon arrived at the town of Bregovo, whence, after

tarrying awhile, they departed to the district of Vidin. When the veela

rejoined her sisters she admonished them, saying: "Hark, ye veelas,

my sisters! Do not shoot any heroes in the mountains with your bows

and arrows, so long as the Royal Prince Marko and his Sharatz are

alive. Oh, what I, much to be pitied, have suffered at his hands

to-day! I marvel, indeed, that I still live!"

PRINCE MARKO AND THE TURKISH HUNTSMEN

Amouradh, the grand Vizir once arranged a hunting party of twelve

Turkish warriors to which he also invited Prince Marko. They hunted

for three days and found nothing in the mountain-forest. But,

behold! they suddenly discovered a green-bosomed lake upon which a

team of wild ducks was swimming! The Vizir let loose his falcon and

bade him pounce upon a gold-winged duck, but the duck did not even

allow the falcon to see it, so swiftly it flew toward the clouds;

as for the falcon it fell on the branches of a fir-tree.

Then Prince Marko spoke thus to the Vizir: "Am I permitted, O Vizir

Amouradh, to release my falcon and try to secure the gold-winged

duck?" "Surely you may, Prince Marko," answered the Vizir. Then the

princely Marko let loose his falcon, and the bird ascended to the

clouds, sprang upon the gold-winged prey, and bore it down to the

foot of the green fir-tree.

When Amouradh's falcon saw this it became greatly excited and,

according to its natural habit of seizing others' spoil, it turned

violently upon its rival and tried to pluck the duck from its claws.

But Marko's falcon was exceedingly valiant, worthy of its master, and

would yield its well-earned trophy to none but its master. So it turned

sharply on Amouradh's falcon and vehemently tore at its proud feathers.

When the Vizir saw this, he too became excited and in great rage

rushed to the combatants and flung Prince Marko's falcon fiercely

against a fir-tree so that its right wing was broken. He then took

horse with his followers and fled from the scene of his violence.

The noble falcon, as it lay upon the ground, wailed in its pain and

Prince Marko ran quickly and caught it to his breast, for he loved

it very dearly. Then very tenderly he bound its wounded pinion and

addressed the bird with emotion: "Woe to me and to thee, my falcon,

that ever we went hunting with the Turk without our dear Serbians,

for the Turk must ever violate the rights of others!"

After having bound his falcon's wing, Marko sprang upon Sharatz and

sped through the forest swift as a veela. Soon he left the mountain

behind and he observed the fleeing Turks in front of him. The Vizir

turned in his saddle and saw Marko in the distance, wherefore he

spoke thus to his twelve valiant companions: "Ye, my children,

ye twelve valiant heroes! See ye yonder mountain-mist approaching,

and in it the Royal Prince Marko? Hark! how fiercely he enrages his

Sharatz! God alone knows, what will befall us!"

The Vengeance of Marko

He had barely uttered these words when Prince Marko came up flourishing

his bright sabre. Instantly the twelve Turks dispersed like a flock

of sparrows startled by a vulture. Marko made for the Vizir and with

one thrust of his sabre cleft his head asunder. Next he pursued the

twelve Turkish warriors, each of whom he cut in two, striking them

through their Turkish sashes. Then he stood for a while in doubt:

"Oh, what am I to do now? Ought I to go to the Sultan at Yedrenet or

had I perhaps better return to my white castle at Prilip?" After long

thought he decided that it would be far better to go to the Sultan

and give an account of what had happened than to give an opportunity

to his foes to calumniate him to the Padishah.

When Prince Marko arrived at Yedrenet he was at once received in

divan by the Sultan.

A poet describes Marko's eyes as being as bright and fierce as those of

a hungry wolf; and the Sultan was terrified by the lightning flashing

from his eyes. He deemed it well to temporize and so spoke gently to

the hero: "O my dear son Marko, why art thou so enraged to-day? Art

thou, perchance, short of gold?"

Prince Marko narrated to the Sultan what had happened to his Vizir

Amouradh, not omitting to mention one single incident. When he had

heard the tale, the Sultan, convulsed with laughter, comforted Prince

Marko: "May Blessings fall upon thee, my dearest son Marko!" said

he. "If thou hadst not behaved thus, I would no longer call thee

a son of mine; any Turk may become Vizir, but there is no hero to

equal Marko!" With these words the Sultan plunged his hand in his

silk-lined pocket, drew out a purse containing one thousand ducats and

proffered it to Prince Marko, exclaiming: "Accept this as a gift from

me, O my dearest son Marko, take some wine and go in peace!" Marko,

nothing loth, accepted the purse and left the divan.

The Sultan, however, was not moved to this seeming generosity by

friendliness to Marko; on the contrary he feared him exceedingly and

was anxious only for his speedy departure.

PRINCE MARKO AND MOUSSA KESSEDJIYA [37]

"Moussa Arbanass [38] was one day drinking wine in a white tavern in

Istamboul. Presently, when he had drunk a good deal he began to talk

thus: 'It is just about nine years since I entered the service of

the Sultan at Istamboul, yet he has never given me a horse, or arms,

or even a velvet cloak! By my faith, I shall rebel! I shall go down

to the coast, seize the harbours and all the roads leading to them:

and then build myself a koula, around which I shall erect gibbets

with iron hooks and hang his hodjas (priests) and hadjis (pilgrims)

upon them.'"

The threats the Albanian made in his drunkenness he actually carried

out when he became possessed of his senses. He turned rebel, seized the

sea-ports and the main roads, captured and robbed the rich merchants,

and hanged the Sultan's hodjas and hadjis. When the Sultan heard of

all these misdeeds, he sent the Grand Vizir Tyouprilitch with three

thousand men to undertake a campaign against Moussa. But, alas! no

sooner had the Turkish army reached the sea-coast than Moussa dispersed

it and took the Grand Vizir prisoner. Next he bound the Vizir hand and

foot and sent him back thus ignominiously to his master at Istamboul.

Now the Sultan, in despair, published a proclamation all over his vast

empire, promising untold riches to any knight who would vanquish the

rebel. And many a brave knight went to fight the rebel, but, alas! not

one ever returned to Istamboul to claim the promised gold! This

humiliation threw the Sultan into unspeakable distress and anxiety.

At length the Grand Vizir Tyouprilitch came to him and said: "Sire,

thou Glorious Sultan! If only we had now with us the Royal Prince

Marko! He would surely overcome Moussa the Bully!"

The Sultan cast at his Vizir a reproachful glance, and, with tears in

his eyes, said: "Oh, torture not my soul, by speaking of the princely

knight Marko! His very bones must have rotted long before this day,

for at least three years have flown since I threw him into my darkest

dungeon, the door of which has remained fast bolted." Thereupon the

Vizir asked: "Gracious master, what wouldst thou give to the man who

could bring Marko into thy presence alive?" And the mighty Sultan

answered: "I would give him the vizirate of Bosnia, with power there

to remain for nine years without recall, and I would not demand from

him even a dinar of the revenues and taxes which he might collect."

Marko is Sent for

Hearing this, the cunning Vizir hastened to the prison, opened the

door of the dungeon, brought out the Royal Prince Marko and led him

before the Sultan. Marko's hair had grown to the ground, one-half

of it he had used to sleep upon, and with the other part he covered

himself at night; his nails were so long that he could plough with

them; the dampness and dirt in the dungeon had changed him so that

he was as black as a black stone.

When the Sultan saw him, he exclaimed: "Dost thou still live,

Marko?" "Yea, I am still alive, but hardly can I move my limbs,"

the hero answered.

And the Sultan went on to tell Marko about the evil doings of Moussa,

and asked him: "Couldst thou undertake, O Marko, to go to the sea-coast

and kill Moussa Kessedjiya? If thou wouldst do this, I would gladly

give thee as much gold as thou canst desire."

Thereupon Prince Marko answered: "Alas, O Sire! The dampness of the

stone dungeon has ruined my bones and much hurt my eyes. How could I

venture to fight a duel with Moussa? But, if thou wishest me to try

that feat, place me in a good inn somewhere, supply me with plenty of

wine and brandy, fat mutton and good white bread, that I may perhaps

regain my strength. I shall then tell thee as soon as I feel myself

able to fight a duel."

Hearing this, the Sultan summoned attendants to wash Marko, to cut his

hair, to shave him and to trim his nails. Then he had him conducted

with honour to the New Inn, where there was abundance of everything

to satisfy his needs.

Marko remained in the inn for three months, zealously eating and

drinking, and he had thus considerably restored his strength, when

the Sultan asked him: "Dost thou yet feel thyself able to go and

overcome Moussa, for my poor subjects are incessantly sending me

complaints against that accursed brigand?" And Marko answered the

Sultan thus: "Let a piece of perfectly dry wood of a medlar-tree,

which has been cut off nine years be brought to me, that I may test

my strength!" When the piece of wood was brought, Marko took it in

his right hand and squeezed it so hard that it broke in three. "By

my faith, Sire, it is not yet time for me to venture a duel with such

a dangerous adversary as Moussa!"

So Marko remained in the New Inn for another month, eating, drinking,

and resting, till he felt a little stronger. Then he asked again for

a dry stick from a medlar-tree. When the wood was brought to him,

he squeezed it with his right hand till it broke in pieces, and this

time two drops of water came from it. Then Marko said to the Sultan:

"Sire, now I am ready to fight the duel."

Marko orders a Sword

From the palace Marko went straight to Novak, the famous maker of

swords. "Make me a finer sword than any thou hast ever made before, O

Novak!" said Marko, and he gave the smith thirty ducats and went back

to the inn. There he stayed to drink red wine for the next few days,

and then went again to the smith's. "Hast thou finished my sword,

O Novak?" And the swordsmith brought forth the blade and gave it to

Marko, who asked: "Is it good?" "There is the sword and here is the

anvil; thou canst try on it the quality of thy sword!" answered Novak

timidly. Thereupon Marko lifted his sword and struck the anvil with

it so hard that he cut right through it. "O Novak, the swordsmith,

tell me now, truthfully--and may God help thee--hast thou ever made a

better sword?" And Novak answered: "Since thou didst call upon the name

of the true God, I must tell thee truthfully that I did once make a

better sword; yea, and it was for a better warrior. When Moussa turned

rebel and went to the sea-coast, he ordered me to make him a sword,

with which he cut right through the anvil as thou hast done, and

through the trunk of an oak-tree upon which it was standing, as well."

This enraged Marko. "Hold out thy hand, Novak, that I may pay thee

for my sword!" No sooner had the man stretched forth his right arm,

than Marko by a swift stroke cut it off from the shoulder. "Now, O

Novak, from this day thou shalt not make either a better or a worse

sword than mine! And take these hundred ducats as thy reward!"

Marko meets Moussa

Then Marko mounted his Sharatz and rode off to the sea, seeking and

inquiring all the way for Moussa. One morning early he rode up the

defile Katchanik, when suddenly he saw Moussa Kessedjiya, calmly seated

on his black steed with his legs crossed, throwing his mace to the

clouds and catching it again in his right hand. When the two knights

met, Marko said to Moussa: "Knightly Moussa, move aside and leave

the path free for my Sharatz to pass! Move aside or bow before me!"

To this Moussa answered: "Pass on quietly, Marko, do not start

a quarrel. Better still, let us dismount and take refreshment

together. I shall never move aside to make way for thee. I know well

that thou wert born of a queen in a palace, and wert laid upon silken

cushions. Doubtless thy mother wrapped thee in pure silk, and fastened

the silk with golden thread, and gave thee honey and sugar; my mother

was a poor, wild Albanian, and I was born on the cold rocks near the

sheep she was tending, and she wrapped me in a rough, black cloth,

tying it on to me with bramble twigs; she fed me on oatmeal--but

above all things she always made me swear that I should never move

aside for anybody."

Hearing this, Marko of Prilip aimed his lance at Moussa's breast, but

the fierce Albanian received it on his warrior-mace, and it glanced

off, whizzing high above his head. Then Moussa threw his own lance,

aiming at Marko's breast, but the princely hero received it on his

club and it broke in three. They next unsheathed their swords and

attacked each other at close quarters. Marko gave a great stroke,

but Moussa interposed his mace and the sword was shattered. Instantly

Moussa raised his own sword to strike his adversary, but Marko, in

the like manner, received it upon his club and the weapon snapped in

two near its hilt. Then they began labouring each other with their

maces until these broke too. They next dismounted and seized each

other fiercely. The famous heroes were equally matched for once,

the knightly Moussa against the princely Marko. Moussa could neither

throw Marko down, nor could Marko overcome Moussa. For a whole summer's

morning did they wrestle together. At about noon, white foam rose on

Moussa's lips, and Marko's lips were covered with blood and foam. Then

Moussa exclaimed: "Do throw me down, O Marko! or, if you cannot do

it, let me throw you down!" Marko did all he could, but his attempts

were vain. Seeing this, Moussa exerted his last remnants of strength

and, lifting Marko from the ground, he threw him on to the grass and

pressed his knees on his breast.

Marko, in great danger, exclaimed: "Where art thou now, my

sister-in-God, thou Veela? Where art thou to-day, mayst thou live no

longer! Now I see thine oath was false when thou didst sware to me

that whenever I should be in distress, thou wouldst help me!"

The veela appeared from behind the clouds, saying: "O my brother,

Royal Prince Marko! Hast thou forgotten my words: That thou shouldst

never fight on Sunday? I cannot help thee, for it would not be fair

that two should fight against one. Where are thy secret poniards?"

Moussa cast a glance to the clouds to see where the voice came from,

and this was his undoing, for Marko seized the moment, drew out a

secret blade, and with a sudden fierce stroke cut Moussa so that his

body was opened from his waist to his neck.

Marko disengaged himself with difficulty from the embraces of

the horrible Moussa, and as the body lay upon its back the Prince

discovered through the gaping wound that his adversary had three rows

of ribs and three hearts. One of the hearts had collapsed; another

was still beating excitedly; on the third a serpent was just awaking,

and as it saw Marko it hissed: "Praise God, O Royal Prince Marko,

that I still slept while Moussa was alive--for a three hundred fold

misfortune would surely otherwise have befallen thee!"

When Marko heard this, tears poured down his cheeks and he lamented:

"Alas! Gracious God forgive me, I have killed a better knight than

I am!"

Then he struck off Moussa's head with his sword, put it into Sharatz's

nose-bag and returned triumphantly to Istamboul. When he flung the

head of Moussa before the Sultan the monarch was so horrified that

he sprang to his feet. "Do not fear the dead, O gracious Sultan! If

thou art frightened by the sight of Moussa's head, what wouldst thou

have done if thou hadst met him alive?"

The Sultan gave three tovars of gold to Marko, who returned to his

castle at Prilip.

As for Moussa the Bully, he remained on the top of Katchanik Mountain.

THE DEATH OF PRINCE MARKO

In the early dawn of a Sabbath morning Prince Marko paced the

sea-shore. Soon he came to a bridle path that led up the slopes of

the Ourvinian mountain, and as he got near to the mountain top, his

faithful Sharatz suddenly stumbled and began to shed tears. His moans

fell sadly upon Marko's heart and he addressed his favourite thus:

"Alas! dear Sharo, my most precious treasure! Lo! we have dwelt happily

together these many summers as beloved companions; till now thou hast

never stumbled, and to-day for the first time thine eyes do weep:

God alone knows what fate awaits us, but I can see that my life or

thine is in great peril and that one of us is surely doomed to die."

When Marko had spoken to his Sharatz thus, the veela from the Ourvinian

mountain called to him: "My dear brother-in-God! O Royal Prince

Marko! Knowest thou not, brother, why thy horse is stumbling? Thy

Sharatz is grieving for thee, his master. Know that ere long ye must

be divided!"

Marko answered: "O thou white veela! May thy throat cause thee pain

for speaking thus: How in this world could I ever part from Sharatz,

who through many a land and many a city hath borne me from dawn till

sunset; better steed never trod our earth than Sharatz, and Marko

never better hero. While my head is on my shoulders, never will I be

severed from my beloved steed!"

And the veela called again: "O my brother, Royal Prince Marko, there is

no force which can tear thy Sharatz from thee; thou canst not die from

any hero's shining sabre, or battle-club, or lance of warrior; thou

fearest no hero on earth--but, alas! thou must die, O Marko! Death, the

ancient slayer, will smite thee. If thou wilt not believe me, hasten

to the summit of the mountain, look to the right and to the left, and

thou wilt presently see two tall fir-trees covered with fresh green

leaves and towering high above the other trees of the forest. Between

those fir-trees there is a spring; there alight, and bind thy Sharatz

to one of the fir-trees; then bend thee down and the water will mirror

thy face. Look and thou shalt see when death awaits thee!"

Marko learns his Fate

Marko followed the veela's instruction, and when he arrived upon

the mountain top, he looked to the right and to the left, and truly,

he saw the two tall straight fir-trees just as she described them,

and he did everything she had counselled him to do. When he looked

into the spring he saw his face reflected in the water, and lo! his

fate was written on its surface!...

Then he shed many bitter tears, and spoke in this wise: "O thou

treacherous world, once my fairy flower! Thou wert lovely--but I

sojourned for too short a time with thee: yea for about three hundred

years! The hour has come for me to depart!" Then he drew his sabre

and hastened to Sharatz; with one stroke he smote off his head. Never

should he be mounted by the Turk; never should a Turkish burden be

placed upon his proud shoulders; never should he carry the dyugoom

[39] from the well for the hated Moslem!

Marko now dug a grave for his faithful Sharatz and interred him with

more honour than he had buried Andreas, his own brother. Then he

broke his sabre in four that it might not fall into the hands of a

Moslem, and that the Turk might not brandish it with something of his

own power, lest the curse of Christendom should fall upon him. Marko

next broke his lance in seven pieces throwing the fragments into the

branches of the fir-tree. Then he took his terrible club in his right

hand, and swiftly flung it from the Ourvinian mountain far into the

dark sapphire sea, with the words: "When my club returns from the

depths of the ocean, then shall come a hero as great as Marko!" When

he had scattered thus all his weapons, he drew from his belt a golden

tablet upon which he inscribed this message: "To him who passes over

this mountain, and to him who seeks the spring by the fir-trees and

finds Marko's body: know that Marko is dead. There are here three

purses filled with golden ducats. One shall be Marko's gift to him

who digs his grave: the second shall be used to adorn churches; the

gold in the third shall be distributed among the blind and maimed,

that they may wander in peace through the land and with hymns laud

Marko's deeds and feats of glory!"

When Marko had thus written he bound the tablet to a branch that it

might be seen by the passers-by. He spread his cloak on the grass

beneath the fir-trees, made the sign of the holy cross, drew over

his eyes his fur cap and laid himself down....

The Finding of Marko

The body of Marko lay beside the spring day after day till a whole

week had passed. Meanwhile many a traveller passed over the broad

path and saw the knightly Marko, but one and all believed him to be

slumbering and kept a safe distance, fearing to disturb or awake the

sleeping hero. Fortune is the leader of misfortune, as misfortune

often leads to fortune: and it befell that Vasso the igouman (abbot)

of Mount Athos, rode that way from the white church Vilindar attended

by the youthful Issaya his deacon. When the igouman noticed Marko,

he beckoned to Issaya. "O my son," he said, "be cautious, lest thou

wake the hero, for Marko is furious when disturbed and may destroy us

both." Then he looked anxiously round and saw the inscription which

Marko had fixed above his head. He drew near cautiously and read the

message. Then he dismounted hastily from his horse and seized Marko's

hand--but the hero moved not! Tears rushed from the eyes of Vasso, and

he lamented loudly the fate of Marko. After a time he took the three

purses from the hero's girdle and hid them beneath his belt. Long he

pondered as to where he should entomb Marko; at length he placed the

hero's body on his horse and brought it to the shore. In due course

he arrived safely with it at the white church Vilindar, and having

sung the customary hymns and performed those rites which are fitting

he interred Marko's body beneath the centre of the church.

There the aged igouman buried Marko but he raised no monument over

the tomb, lest foes should learn the whereabouts of the hero's grave

and take vengeance on the dead.