Hero Tales and Legends of the Serbians Part 20

On his oath, too, did Uglesha trample!

And he gave his wife this early warning: "Be not thou betray'd, sweet love! to danger!

Go not thou to-morrow to Boyana!

Carry not their rations to the workmen!

Else in earliest youth thy friend might lose thee!

Thou might be immured in the foundation!"

Faithful to his oath, young Goko whisper'd Not a breath to warn his lovely consort.

When the morning dawn'd upon the morrow, All the brothers roused them at the day-break, And each sped, as wont, to the Boyana.

Now, behold! two young and n.o.ble women; They--half-sisters--they, the eldest sisters-- One is bringing up her snow-bleach'd linen, Yet once more in summer sun to bleach it.

See! she comes on to the bleaching meadows; There she stops--she comes not one step further.

Lo! the second, with a red-clay pitcher; Lo! she comes--she fills it at the streamlet; There she talks with other women--lingers-- Yes! she lingers--comes not one step farther.

Goko's youthful wife at home is tarrying, For she has an infant in the cradle Not a full moon old; the little nursling: But the moment of repast approaches; And her aged mother then bestirs her; Fain would call the serving-maid, and bid her Take the noon-tide meal to the Boyana.

"Nay, not so!" said the young wife of Goko; "Stay, sit down in peace, I pray thee, mother!

Rock the little infant in his cradle: I myself will bear the food to Skadra.

In the sight of G.o.d it were a scandal, An affront and shame among all people, If, of three, no one were found to bear it."

So she staid at home, the aged mother, And she rock'd the nursling in the cradle.

Then arose the youthful wife of Goko; Gave them the repast, and bade them forward.

Call'd around her all the serving maidens; When they reach'd Boyana's flowing river, They were seen by Mrnyavtchevitch Goko, On his youthful wife, heart-rent, he threw him; Flung his strong right arm around her body; Kiss'd a thousand times her snowy forehead: Burning tears stream'd swiftly from his eyelids, And he spoke in melancholy language:

"O my wife, my own! my full heart's-sorrow!

Didst thou never dream that thou must perish?

Why hast thou our little one abandoned?

Who will bathe our little one, thou absent?

Who will bare the breast to feed the nursling?"

More, and more, and more, he fain would utter; But the king allow'd it not. Vukashin, By her white hand seizes her, and summons Master Rado,--he the master-builder; And he summons his three hundred workmen.

But the young espoused one smiles, and dreams it All a laughing jest,--no fear o'ercame her.

Gathering round her, the three hundred workmen Pile the stones and pile the beams about her.

They have now immured her to the girdle.

Higher rose the walls and beams, and higher; Then the wretch first saw the fate prepared her, And she shriek'd aloud in her despair; In her woe implored her husband's brothers: "Can ye think of G.o.d?--have ye no pity?

Can ye thus immure me, young and healthful?"

But in vain, in vain were her entreaties; And her brothers left her thus imploring.

Shame and fear succeeded then to censure, And she piteously invoked her husband: "Can it, can it be, my lord and husband, That so young, thou, reckless, would'st immure me?

Let us go and seek my aged mother: Let us go--my mother she is wealthy: She will buy a slave,--a man or woman, To be buried in the wall's foundations."

When the mother-wife--the wife and mother, Found her earnest plaints and prayers neglected, She address'd herself to Neimar Rado: [76]

"In G.o.d's name, my brother, Neimar Rado, Leave a window for this snowy bosom, Let this snowy bosom heave it freely; When my voiceless Yovo shall come near me, When he comes, O let him drain my bosom!"

Rado bade the workmen all obey her, Leave a window for that snowy bosom, Let that snowy bosom heave it freely When her voiceless Yovo shall come near her, When he comes, he'll drink from out her bosom.

Once again she cried to Neimar Rado, "Neimar Rado! In G.o.d's name, my brother!

Leave for these mine eyes a little window, That these eyes may see our own white dwelling, When my Yovo shall be brought toward me, When my Yovo shall be carried homeward."

Rado bade the workmen all obey her, Leave for those bright eyes a little window, That her eyes may see her own white dwelling, When they bring her infant Yovo to her, When they take the infant Yovo homeward.

So they built the heavy wall about her, And then brought the infant in his cradle, Which a long, long while his mother suckled.

Then her voice grew feeble--then was silent: Still the stream flow'd forth and nursed the infant: Full a year he hung upon her bosom; Still the stream flow'd forth--and still it floweth. [77]

Women, when the life-stream dries within them, Thither come--the place retains its virtue-- Thither come, to still their crying infants!

II. THE STEPSISTERS

Near each other grew two verdant larches, And, between, a high and slender fir-tree: Not two larches were they--not two larches, Not a high and slender fir between them-- They were brothers, children of one mother.

One was Paul; the other brother, Radool, And, between them, Yelitza, their sister.

Cordial was the love her brothers bore her; Many a token of affection gave her, Many a splendid gift and many a trifle, And at last a knife, in silver hafted, And adorn'd with gold, they gave their sister.

When the youthful wife of Paul had heard it, Jealousy swell'd up within her bosom: And she call'd, enraged, to Radool's lady: "Sister mine! thou in the Lord my sister, Dost thou know some plant of demon-virtue, Which may bring our sister to perdition?"

Radool's wife her sister swiftly answered: "In the name of G.o.d, what mean'st thou, sister?

Of such cursed weeds I know not.--Did I, Never would I tell thee of them, never; For my brothers love me; yes! they love me-- To their love full many a gift bears witness."

When Paul's youthful wife had heard her sister, To the steed she hastened in the meadow, Gave the steed a mortal wound, and hurried To her husband, whom she thus accosted:-- "Evil is the love thou bear'st thy sister, And thy gifts are worse than wasted to her; She has stabb'd thy courser in the meadow."

Paul inquired of Yelitza, his sister, "Why this deed, as G.o.d shall recompense thee?"

High and loudly, then the maid protested: "By my life, it was not I, my brother; By my life and by thy life, I swear it!"

And the brother doubted not his sister.

Which when Paul's young wife perceived, at even To the garden secretly she hasten'd, Wrung the neck of Paul's grey n.o.ble falcon,-- To her husband sped she then and told him: "Evil is the love thou bear'st thy sister, And thy gifts to her are worse than wasted; Lo! she has destroy'd thy favourite falcon."

Paul inquired of Yelitza, his sister, "Tell me why, and so may G.o.d reward thee!"

But his sister swore both high and loudly: "'Twas not I, upon my life, my brother; On my life and thine, I did not do it!"

And the brother still believed his sister.

When the youthful bride of Paul discover'd This, she slunk at evening,--evening's meal-time, Stole the golden knife, and with it murder'd, Murder'd her poor infant in the cradle!

And when morning's dawning brought the morning, She aroused her husband by her screaming Shrieking woe; she tore her cheeks, exclaiming: "Evil is the love thou bear'st thy sister, And thy gifts to her are worst than wasted; She has stabb'd our infant in the cradle!

Will thine incredulity now doubt me?

Lo! the knife is in thy sister's girdle."

Up sprang Paul, like one possess'd by madness: To the upper floor he hastened wildly; There his sister on her mats was sleeping, And the golden knife beneath her pillow Swift he seized the golden knife,--and drew it-- Drew it, panting, from its silver scabbard;-- It was damp with blood--'twas red and gory!

When the n.o.ble Paul saw this, he seized her,-- Seized her by her own bright hand and cursed her: "Let the curse of G.o.d be on thee, sister!

Thou didst murder, too, my favourite courser; Thou didst murder, too, my n.o.ble falcon; But thou should'st have spared the helpless baby."

Higher yet his sister swore, and louder-- "'Twas not I, upon my life, my brother; On my life and on thy life, I swear it!

But if thou wilt disregard my swearing, Take me to the open fields--the desert; Bind thy sister to the tails of horses; Let four horses tear my limbs asunder."

But the brother trusted not his sister: Furiously he seized her white hand--bore her To the distant fields--the open desert: To the tails of four fierce steeds he bound her, And he drove them forth across the desert;-- But, where'er a drop of blood fell from her, There a flower sprang up,--a fragrant flow'ret; Where her body fell when dead and mangled, There a church arose from out the desert.

Little time was spent, ere fatal sickness Fell upon Paul's youthful wife;--the sickness Nine long years lay on her,--heavy sickness!

'Midst her bones the matted dog-gra.s.s sprouted, And amidst it nestled angry serpents, Which, though hidden, drank her eyelight's brightness.

Then she mourn'd her misery--mourn'd despairing; Thus she spoke unto her lord and husband: "O convey me, Paul, my lord and husband!

To thy sister's church convey me swiftly; For that church, perchance, may heal and save me."

So, when Paul had heard his wife's pet.i.tion, To his sister's church he swiftly bore her.

Hardly had they reach'd the church's portal, When a most mysterious voice address'd them: "Come not here, young woman! come not hither!

For this church can neither heal nor save thee."

Bitter was her anguish when she heard it; And her lord the woman thus entreated: "In the name of G.o.d! my lord! my husband!

Never, never bear me to our dwelling.

Bind me to the wild steeds' tails, and drive them; Drive them in the immeasurable desert; Let them tear my wretched limbs asunder."