THE MOUNTAIN WREATH

An Historical Happening Towards the Close of the XVIIth Century

Rendered into English by James W. Wiles

Originally published in 1930 by George Allen & Unwin, Ltd., London
 

Annotation
 

TO THE MEMORY OF KARAGEORGE,^[1] THE FATHER OF SERBIA

Proud be this Age of mine, beyond all other age;
It shall have martial memory, the Poet’s song engage;
For in Bellona’s cradle was bred a brood of eight,
She tended them and nursed them while the big world did wait -
Napoleon, Duke Wellington, Charles, Blücher, Souvorov,
Karageorge, the tyrant’s scourge, Schwartzenberg and Koutozov.
Strong Ares made them drunken, intoxicate for glory,
The whole wide earth did give to them as theatre for their story!
’Tis from the jungles great that lions great appear,
And ’tis the peoples mighty who genius should rear;
Great realms may breed the hero, grant space for glorious deeds.
Triumphal wreaths down casting as onward still he speeds;
But Karageorge immortal, from Topola unknown,
His path beset on every hand, attained a nobler throne;
He raised his people in Christ’s Name, broke the Barbarian’s chains,
Brought back from Death the Serbian folk, reviv’d their pale remains -
Secret of fame immortal - arous’d to nobler part,
When knightliness was languishing brought his people lion heart.
Pharaoh’s flashing heat ’fore Karageorge cool’d down.
When with high ardour chivalrous he nerved the Serbian arm,
Before him trembled Stamboul, father of plague and gore,
And e’en the Turks swore by his sword, no other oath they swore!
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Indeed for all the valiant is Tragedy in store,
Thy head was destin’d as the price of the fair wreath it wore.
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Let later kindred judge the deed,
And give to each as each his meed:
On Voukashin the Traitor, on Boris for his crime
Let fall the curse and nemesis throughout all aftertime;
The hateful name of Pison no calendar shall soil;
Orestes’ justice (Heaven’s thunder!) shall give Aegisthus toil.
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Upon thy shining grave let Envy outpour spite,
But shall they thus put out thy soul’s celestial light?
Ye forms with hatred stain’d. think ye the victory gain’d?
Not so ye quench this flame; it shall but burn more bright!
The ever-growing radiance no centuries shall disturb
Of thy light-diffusing torch on the pathway of the Serb.
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The simple Serbian bride may still a Dushan bear,
The Serbian mother-heart still a brave Obilitch rear,
And heroes like Pojarsky of ever dauntless face;
’Tis a high-hearted purpose inspires a suffering race;
Now flees the dreadful curse, with all its wrack and scaith;
Their Father’s vow the Serbs fulfil and vindicate his faith.

Original Dedication written in Vienna, New Year, 1847.

(The dots · · ·  indicate that the Poet was compelled (by difficult and painful circumstances) to delete several lines from his original dedication. - J.W.W.)

________

^[1] See Srpske Pesme, or “National Songs of Serbia”, by Owen Meredith, first Earl of Lytton, London, 1861. Reprinted with a Preface by G. H. Powell, London, 1917. “There remaineth to Serbia a story, A tale to be chanted and told!”
 

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

VLADIKA^[1] DANILO, Bishop of Montenegro from 1697-1737
IGUMAN^[2] STEFAN, a blind and aged abbot
SERDAR^[3] YANKO DJURASHKOVITCH, chief of a Montenegrin house
SERDARS RADOGNA, VOUKOTA and IVAN PETROVITCH
KNEZ^[4] RADÉ, brother of Bishop Danilo
KNEZ BAIKO
KNEZ ROGAN
KNEZ YANKO
KNEZ NIKOLA
VOIVODA^[5] DRASHKO
VOIVODA MILIYA
VOIVODA STANKO
VOIVODA BATRITCH
TOMASH MARTINOVITCH
OBRAD
VUK RASLAPCHEVITCH
VOUKOTA MRVALYEVITCH
VUK TOMANOVITCH
A MULTITUDE
BOGDAN DJURASHKOVITCH, brother of Serdar Janko
VUK MITCHUNOVITCH
VUK MANDUSHITCH
VUK LIESHEVOSTOUPATZ, who sings to the gouslé
POPA^[6] MITCHO, a priest of the Pravoslav Church
THE SISTER OF VOIVODA BATRITCH
HADJI^[7]-ALI MEDOVITCH, a Mohammedan Religious Judge or Kadi
SKENDER-AGA^[8], a Turkish nobleman
MOUSTAI-KADI, another Mussulman
ARSLAN-AGA MOUHANINOVITCH
FERAT ZATCHIR, a kavaz-basha^[9], or chief of a Turkish body-guard
RIDJAL OSMAN, another Mussulman
AN OLD WOMAN, a witch

________

^[1] Vladika: Serbian for Bishop.
^[2] Iguman: abbot or prior.
^[3] Serdar: an authority, sometimes civil, sometimes military, having power to punish and imprison.
^[4] Knez: a prince, leader, chieftain.
^[5] Voivoda: a marshal, a duke, in the original philological sense; leader of a host.
^[6] Popa or pop: an ordinary parish priest or clergyman, i.e. sveštenik - not a celibate - in the Pravoslav Church.
^[7] Hadji or Hadžija: a pilgrim either to Jerusalem or to Mecca; Christian Serbs bore the title if they had made the journey to the Holy Land, just as Serbian Mussulmans or Turks did who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca.
^[8] Aga: a Turkish chief officer.
^[9] Kavaz: an attendant upon a Pasha, but also in Montenegro a guard in authority at a door of entrance, taking the names of comers, and either handing them in or sending off the person according to circumstances.
Kavazbaša: chief guard. The term baša was often given out of respect or in honour to person lower in rank than the aga or the beg or nobleman.
 

ON LOVTCHEN’S SUMMIT

VLADIKA DANILO (in contemplation)

The Dragon see, with seven mantles red,
Wielding two swords and crownèd with two crowns;
Great-grandchild of the faithless Turk, with Koran!
Behind him hordes of that accursèd breed,
That they may devastate the whole wide earth,
As locusts pestilent lay waste the fields!
Had not the Rock of France its onrush curbed,
Arabia’s flood had surely deluged all!
Osman - infernal dream - was monarch crown’d;
The pale moon wedded, she his apple fair;
From whom sprang Orkan, Europe’s evil guest;
And now Byzantium’s realm is nothing more
Than the youthful Theodora’s dowry -
The star of destiny hangs darkly over her.
Now Paleologos bids Murat in,
To bury in one grave both Greeks and Serbs.
Their own ends sought both Brankovitch and Gerluka -
Meet recompense Mohammed gave to Gerluka!
From out far Asia where they have their nest,
This Devil’s brood doth gulp the nations up;
Each day a nation, as night-owl takes bird:
Murat takes Serbia, and Bosnia Bayazed;
Murat Epirus, and Mohammed Greece;
Then the two Selims Africa and Cyprus -
Each takes something till nothing is there left!
Dreadful the deeds that happen day by day;
Too small is this wide world for Hell’s great maw,
Which, though feeding ever, never knows repletion!
Yanko doth fight for Vladislaus dead;
But why fight on when fighting gives not aid?
Brave heart Obilitch beats in Skenderbeg,
And yet he pines in pitiless exile. -
But what can I! What helper is me nigh?
We have but few strong arms; our strength is small;
We are as wisps of straw tossed on the wind;
As orphan’d sad, forsaken of the world,
I see my people sleep a deadly sleep,
No parent’s hand to wipe away my tears;
God’s Heaven is shut above my head,
Giving no answer to my cries and prayers.
This world is now become a hell,
And men but demons in disguise.
Oh, dark, dark Day! oh, outlook ever black!
My fearing folk held ever underfoot!
Sure I have seen thy woe and all thine ill,
Yet ’gainst the worst I now must set my will!
When deadly wound is given in the head,
The quivering frame doth painfully expire.
Plague of mankind! May God make end of thee!
Is half a world so small, to thee so small -
A half-world filled with horror of thy deeds -
That pois’nous stenches from thy demon soul
Thou now must bring to spue upon our rock?
Is it small offering - of Serbia the whole,
From Danube river to the deep blue sea?
Thy seat thou hast, all wickedly to ride;
Thy blood-stained sceptre is thy boast and pride,
From sacred altar thou insultest God,
And where was outrag’d Cross dost rear a Mosque! -
Our very shades and relics would’st defile,
Those relics which to shelter men have brought,
And screen’d amid to eternal hills,
Dear shrines reminding of our heroes’ deeds?
These all have been o’erwhelmed in blood,
A hundred times in thine, ten times ten in ours!
The work of that accursed monarch see -
He whom the devil teaches all things bad! -
“This Montenegro, which I cannot tame,
“By means or fair or foul shall own my name:
“With it, on this wise must the method be.”
Thus spake the Devil’s Sent One; the began
Sweets of false faith to proffer unto man.
The curse of God be on this brood unclean!
What is the aim of Islam’s creed ’mongst us?
How will ye ’scape from our ancestors’ curse?
However dare ’fore Milosh to appear,
Or how before each other Serbian knight,
Whose names shall last while ever sun hath light?
... While pondering o’er this council for to-day,
Hot horror burns within my soul:
Shall brother brother ever thus war down;
Shall not such strife so bloody and so long
Destroy the very seed within the womb!
O cursèd day! - may God blot out thy light -
That thou didst bring me forth upon the world!
Last year a hundred times I curs’d the hour
Those Turks did fail to make an end of me,
Lest I should falsify my people’s hope.
 

(Vuk Mitchunovitch, reclining near the Vladika,
has feigned to be asleep, but has heard everything,
and proceeds to arouse the Bishop to action, jerking
Vladika with trenchant sentences from his purely
contemplative poise.)
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

If God thou knowest; Bishop ’tis not so!
What miseries are these now come on thee,
That thou should’st weep and wail with woman-soul,
And sink beneath the waves of all our woe?
Is not to-day a solemn festival,
A day to counsel take with all thy people,
That they may rid their land of Islam’s yoke?
Apasrt from that, our Slava falls to-day,
When all our noblest youth do gather
Their strength to test and put to trial their worth,
Their biceps’ power, the fleetness of their feet,
And with the bow contending skill to show;
Who best can strike the knife through roast ram’s shoulder;
To hear also the liturgy at Church,
And round about the precinets dance the kolo;
And chests expand in knightly exercise.
Best incense this to every hero-soul,
Forging in supple youth an iron heart!
Banish, Bishop, all these black discourses;
For men should bravely bear while women weep:
What wailing chief e’er wrought his people’s good!
Thou art not chief without some good support:
See these five hundred agile lads,
What feats of manly strength and power
Were on this field displayed to-day!
Have they not winged the arrow to her mark?
With what agility they played at grada!
How nimbly all did catch the capitsa!
Soon as wolf-cubs around the she-wolf sport,
Full well they know in roughish gambols how
Their teeth to sharpen on each other’s throat;
Or when on falcon the first feathers sprout,
Doth he still rest contented in his nest:
Doth he not pick and peck and pluck at it,
Pulling at twigs and straws time after time,
Then, twittering “seeyutchouchee”, seeks the sky?
In all these things a lesson is to find!
Beside these youths who now appear before thee,
Siz times as many like them are at home:
Their strength, Bishop, should be thy strength too.
Before the Turks have brought such to their knee,
Sure many a Turkish wife shall wear deep black;
And to this struggle no end shall ever be,
Until the Turk has disappeared - or we!
What right has anyone of us to Hope -
Except in God and in his own right arm!
Our Hope it was all buried long ago,
In one great grave on Kossovo’s broad field.
When Fortune smiles ’tis easy to be good;
Adversity is e’er the hero’s school!
 

(To the probable site of an ancient Pravoslav
church on Lovtchen’s lofty summit they have
carried crosses. The men are reclining on the
mountain summit, firing their rifles and counting
the echoes.)
 

SERDAR YANKO DJURASHKOVITCH

What wondrous gun! ’Tis worth a manly head!
Each gun of ours makes half a dozen echoes,
But Vuk Tomanovitch - his jeferdar
Brings ever nine times ringing echo!
 

SERDAR RADOGNA

Lend me your ears now, Montenegrins!
Full fifty years I’ve spun of my life's thread,
And summer on this mount have ever spent,
Ascending quite to this commanding peak.
A hundred times I’ve gaz’d at floading clouds,
Sailing as phantom ships high off the sea,
And casting anchor on this mountain range!
Now here, now there I’ve watch’d them break away,
With darts of lightning and with rumblings dread -
And sudden roar of all the sky’s artillery!
A hundred times have I watch’d from these heights,
And quietly basked beneath the genial sun,
While lightnings flash’d and thunders peal’d below:
I saw and heard how they did rend the skies;
Downpours from heaven of most hostile hail
Robbed Mother Earth of her fertility.
And how a wonder new comes into view:
Observest thou - if thou thy God dost know! -
How much is sea and how much is of shore?
View Bosnia’s plains! Herzegovina see!
Albania spreading straight unto the waves!
Seest thou how much is Montenegrin soil?
One single cloud doth surely cover all!
All around doth peal the crashing thunder,
Behold beneath us how the lightnings flash,
Alone on us doth smile the cheering sun:
Kindly the air doth greet our faces now -
’Tis wont on Lovtchen to blow somewhat cool!
 

OBRAD

Didst thou mark the wonder and the omen -
How in the sky two flashes made a Cross!
One flash there was from Kom straight on to Lovtchen;
From Scutari another - unto Ostrog!
They made a cross of living fire;
Most beautiful indeed to view;
Never before in this wide world
Was like unto it seen or even heard,
God help us Serbs in all our misery,
And let this Cross be unto us good omen!
 

VUK RASLAPCHEVITCH

Say, Drashko, say! Whereat dost point thy jeferdar?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Tempted am I to shoot a little cuckoo,
But rather grudge to spend on it the bullet!
 

VUK RASLAPCHEVITCH

Save it, then, Drashko! Let life more precious be!
From shooting cuckoos there can come no good;
Dost thou not know - if the Devil hath not thee? -
That cuckoos are the daughters of Tsar Lazar?
 

(Much shouting is heard near the ruins on
the hill-top on the north side, above the Lake.)
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

What cause for this ado? Why uproar thus?
Such babbling were a shame to any children!
 

VOUKOTA MRVALYEVITCH

A flight of partridges upon us came,
And every bird of them we took alive:
On which account this uproar great amongst us!

(More shouting.)

Let these birds go; I swear it is God’s will!
For ’twas distress that brought them here;
How could ye captive make of one of them,
Since they do fly to you for kindly care,
’Tis not God’s will that ye should them all kill!
 

(They let the birds fly off, and the young men
return to the crosses, with the aid of which they
had caught the birds.)
 

AN ASSEMBLY AT CETTIGNÉ ON THE 8TH SEPTEMBER, ON THE OCCASION OF THE FESTIVAL OF THE NATIVITY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY
 

(Some disputes are to be settled. The People
dance the Kolo; the Chiefs go aside)

The People, as they dance the Kolo,* sing:

Our God hath poured His wrath upon the Serbs,
For deadly sins withdrawn His favour from us:
Our Rulers trampled underfoot all law,
With bloody hatred fought each other down.
Tore from fraternal brows the living eyes:
Authority and Law they cast aside,
Instead chose folly as their rule and guide!
And those who served our kings became untrue,
Crimson they bathed themselves in kingly blood!
Our noblemen - God’s curse be on their souls -
Did tear and rend the Kingdom into pieces,
And wasted wantonly our people's power.
The Serbian magnates - may their name rot out! -
They scatter’d broadcast Discord’s evil seed,
And poisoned thus the life-springs of our race.
Our Serbian chiefs, most miserable cowards,
The Serbian stock did heartlessly betray.
Accursed be Kossóvo’s Evening Meal;
Far better had it been if from that hour
Our magnates all had disappear’d for aye!
If only Milosh still remain’d unto us,
With his two valiant Pòbratims,
Then Serb would be with Serb to-day.
Thou Brankovitch, of stock despicable,
Should one serve so his Fatherland,
Thus much is Honesty esteem’d?
Who, Milosh, would not envy thee?
A victim thou to thine own truth and worth!
All-puissant spirit in the things of War;
A thunder mighty which did shatter thrones!
The deeds thy knightly soul hath wrought.
Outshine all lustre of the Past, -
The fame of Sparta and of mighty Rome!
Their valiant and heroic feats
Are all surpass’d by thy proud arm.
Where is Leonidas. where Scaevola,
When Obilitch doth enter the arena?
That arm of thine with but one only stroke
Brought down a throne and made all Hell to quake!
Yet Milosh fell, most marvellous of knights,
A victim fell unto the world's great Scourge.
In proud repose the puissant Leader lies:
There from his veins did spurt his noble blood,
Where he so proudly trod a while before,
His breast possess’d by one sole dread intent,
As he did press his way through Asia’s hordes,
He swallow’d them with his great eyes of fire
Where he so proudly trod a while before.
Seeking his hallow’d tomb and life immortal,
Scorning alike the failures of small men,
And all that false and senseless company.
Our God hath pour’d His wrath upon the Serbs!
A seven-headed monster He sent forth
To plague and extirpate the Serbian Name,
Be they betrayers or be they betray’d.
On falling rums of a realm heroic
Did Milosh shine with firm and constant justice;
Crowned be too, with an undying glory,
Those pòbratims who steadfast were to Milosh;
Not less the lovely Jugovitch bouquet!
So parsed the Serbian Cap and Name away:
Warrior lions gave place to ploughmen,
While selfish poltroons took Mohammed's creed, -
Their Serbian milk shall ever bring them plague!
All those who ’scaped from death by Moslem sword,
All those who still held true to Christian faith,
Who with abhorrence thought of bonds and chains,
All such as these took flight to mountains grey,
To wane and perish and pour out their blood;
’Mid mountains, trust and heritage to guard,
Our sacred Freedom and our glorious Name.
Thereto our Traders Providence hath called,
Our Serbian Youth as radiant as the stars,
The children of these mountains wild,
In bloody combats falling day by day,
For sake of Honour, Faith, and Freedom dear;
Yet all our tears are wiped away
When skilful gouslar comes with rousing lay.
Oh, let our losses all be light,
If the hard mountains of our land
Become the grave of Moslem might!
Lo! what the cause, that long time now,
Our homeland hills have silent grown,
No longer echoing to heroic shout?
Our idling armour is consumed by rust,
And without chieftains is our country left,
Our hillsides reek with tramp of Moslem feet. -
In the same fold behold both wolves and sheep!
United now the Turk with Montenegrin,
The hodja calls upon Cettigné’s plain;
The artful Turk hath run the lion to cage;
The Montenegrin Name is underground,
The Cross with fingers three is no more found!

________

* The root meaning of the word kolo is a wheel or circle, and it is the word used all over Southern Slav lands for the national dance in which both men and women join, taking hold of hands; the number of dancers increasing and the circle extending as the dance proceeds. Even in the remotest hamlets the dancing of the kolo is the best-loved form of recreation. Groups of village children, between seven and fourteen years of age, boys and girls together, hand in hand, may be seen dancing the kolo with complete abandon and lack of self-consciousness, singing their own songs and emphasizing time and rhythm. The annual Court Ball is always opened with the kolo, the dance being led by the King and Queen.
Cf. Greek: ,dance, chorus.
 

VOIVODA MILIYA

The Kolo ye have heard: how they have sung,
And all that has been set forth in their song?
Of the whole nation there ye hear the wisdom!
Good reason sure have these our countrymen
To hurl upon us, while they curse, a heap of stones:
We dare not any high emprise begin,
To fire our folk to deeds of note and valour;
To joyful make our fathers’ sacred bones,
Until they live and sport upon their graves -
Woe unto us! We only quack like geese!
Hew down the Devil! Leave of him no trace!
Or ve shall forfeit this world and not less the Next!
 

VOIVODA STANKO

Thou givest reason sound, good Voivoda!
Of our lov’d race may God remove all trace,
If we should live in cowardice and disgrace!
What will this Dragon in our Christian land?
Why nourish we a snake within our breast!
What “brothers” these? - ’tis God alone can tell!
Who mock and scorn our very honour,
And openly insult the Cross rever’d!
 

SERDAR IVAN

What now may be! that they have not yet come,
The Ozrinitchi - they who dwell by us?
For without them our parleys sure will fail:
In multitude of counsellors wisdom lies!
 

VOIVODA MILIYA

They all set out to meet some Turks,
That they might make exchange of prisoners
But envoy have I sent to them,
That on returning they may hasten here.
Let them speed on, so waste we not the day;
For this our business brooketh no delay!
 

(The Ozrinitchi arrive.)
 

VUK TOMANOVITCH

By what misfortune are ye come so late?
Brothers, we famish, waiting here for you:
No longer have we food within our wallets,
Nor yet tobacco in our pouches;
My neck is all awry through peering after you -
Gazing far o’er the fields of yon to catch some view.
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

With haste came we, that we might quicker come!
By no means whatsoe’er more early were we done;
The Petzirèpè and the old Baleta -
Some twenty, thirty comrades have collected,
And hid in ambuscade by Douga.
There to wait a caravan from Nikshitch,
And stoutly fight the Turks upon the road.
Heads of Turks fourteen have they cut off,
And seventy horses taken from them too;
Of women they have taken two or three!
Moreover, came to us dispatch from Nikshitch,
Wherein were offers ten of pobratimstvo,
Request that we should meet at Poliana,
And render to them hostages for ransom:
So with these Turks in conference we sate. -
Good reason that, why we’re a little late!
 

KNEZ BAIKO

How spake Hamza and the Turks of Nikshitch?
Our word of honour, was it good to them,
That they should climb to Roudiné in peace?
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

Thou knowest, Baiko. it so might have been;
Who from good things doth flee away?
And how should not the Turks wish goodly things,
And space to spread their flocks wide out in peace?
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Perchance there were some words between you
Concerning prisoners - or some other thing?
 

KNEZ YANKO

Rogan. ’tis true that there was roughish speech!
Dost thou not know these Turks of Nikshitch?
A little more, and Death had all in reach!
Then, down the ages had men told the story
Of our affray and how it had been gory!
 

VUK MARTINOVITCH

How came about this little quarrel?
Who first with ill-will clouded the assembly?
 

KNEZ YANKO

It was but as in joke that things began:
Vuk Mandushitch and Vuk Mitchunovitch
With Captain Hamza first fell on
To talk on things relating to religion:
Their speech did then all of a sudden thicken,
And one affront received another back.
Unto Mitchunovitch the Captain said:
“Thou Vlach! Better am I than thou! Dost hear?
Know’st not that letter is my faith than thine!
I mount my steed and gird me with sharp sword,
And I am captain, too, of royal town;
Three hundred years my line has govern’d there,
At the sword point my grandsire did it gain,
When so were fix’d the destinies of States:
To me to rule ii cometh down by right.“
Then Vuk Mitchunovitch up straightway fir’d,
And Hamza thus address’d as he drew near: -
“Villein am I? thou hog and renegade!
Is traitor better then than knight?
How canst thou talk of ‘sword’ and ‘Kossovo’?
Were we not there together on that day?
I wrestled then, and still I wrestle now,
But thou hast ever traitor been, both first and last;
Thyself hast thou dishonour’d ’fore the world:
Thou hast denied the faith of all thy fathers:
And hast enslaved thyself to strangers!
Why boast then of thy town, or of thy lordship?
All Turkish towns that neighboring are to us,
Have I not girdled them with marble tombs?
So that for men no longer are they towns,
But rather prisons for unhappy captives!
I am a scourge of God, for thee prepar’d.
To bring to mind the evil thou hast wrought!”
 

MANY VOICES

Mitchunovitch! he acts as well as talks!
Serbian mother ne’er hath borne his like
Since Kossovo - nor yet, I trow, before it!
 

KNEZ YANKO

Methinks I have not nicely told
The reason why we almost came to blows:
Vuk and the Captain we did seek to soothe;
But well ye know how youths of Ozrinitch,
Where’er they come, how much they like a joke!
By fortune ill, there came unto this meeting
The aged hodja Brountchevitch,
Having his little carabine, -
Which scarce might be a cubit long:
He slung the weapon on his shoulder,
And then he wander’d as he willed
Across the fields like all the rest.
One of our youths then from us slipped away.
Went sidling up unto the hodja,
Sticking a horn full cubit long
Into the barrel of his gun!
O  my goodness! our three hundred fellows
Did splil their very sides with laughter;
The hodja wonder’d as he walked
What had befallen all these people,
Till in his carabine he spied the horn.
Then on a sudden clouds did gather black:
Out from our rifles living fire was pour’d:
Fifteen stretchers quickly were prepar’d.
Stretchers six for ours, nine for men of theirs!
 

BOGDAN DJURASHKOVITCH

Sure time it is we counsel look together;
Time it is we did resolve on something;
Our business is on all hands talked of;
When some inkling get the Unbelievers
They will not fritter time away as we!
 

SERDAR RADOGNA

Each one is here who needs must be with us,
Saving the five Martinovitch:
To whom has come, I doubt not, some mischance;
But lacking them, sure nothing can be done!
 

KNEZ BAIKO

Come, my comrades, let us get to business,
Or else let each away to his own house,
Lest we should be a laughing-stock for children;
Now, with the Turks, let each do how he may,
I myself shall know, should one fill in my hand!
Yet, here are we no better than those mice.
Who thought to take a bell and hang it on the cat!
 

(The Martinovitch arrive.)
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

At last you come, and sure we’ve waited for you!
Here now, comrades, are we now all gather’d,
Like tipsy wedding guests of which the story tells;
This is on you most certainly some shame,
Since all of you have shortest way to come!
 

TOMASH MARTINOVITCH

O Vuk, reproach us not, nor you, my brothers!
We were already long time with you here,
Had fortune ill not met us on our way;
Therein the reason of our brief delay!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Wine sure has stirr’d the guests to quarrel!
Holds not your patron saint his feast to-day?
 

TOMASH MARTINOVITCH

There was no quarrel ’mong our guests;
A wife of ours was captur’d by the Turks!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Some joke of thine? - what wife?
Prithee now tell us what the day has brought!
Have no concern; we lend to thee our ears,
For tales like these all ears have ever caught!
 

TOMASH MARTINOVITCH

The story I will tell - a very devil’s venture:
Our guests and we danced merrily the kolo,
And passed all round the bowl of ruby wine,
When suddenly, high up from Pishté stream,
A rifle-shot cracked forth, and someone cried:
“Where now some knight! Where now some hero bold!
Our Montenegrins are led off for slaves.”
No serious thought gave we, and little heed we paid:
“For slaves”, forsooth! - in very heart of Montenegro!
He’s drunk, said we, and thinks he sings!
Then sure two shots, one sharp upon the other:
'Tzeek! tzeek" - the sounds attacked our ears;
While, as before, the man did shout.
A serious something sure is in the air:
We seized our guns, and started off to run;
Gaining the spot, thou hast a sight to see:
Mouyo Alitch, of Turkish guards the chief,
Has run away with Rose, the wife of Kasan,
And with him taken, too, her youngest brother;
And now, behold, full year it is and more,
Since they did put their heads together,
Yet who on earth had ever dreamt
A Serbian girl could marry with a Turk?
 

KNEZ ROGAN

What woman does is ever smiling wonder;
In creeds she bothers not of “which” and “what”:
A hundred times she’d change her faith,
So she might have the longing of her heart.
 

TOMASH MARTINOVITCH

I have not spoken to you all my mind:
Eternal woe unto that soul
Which did bring such fate on Rose! -
Which such a rose did give to Kasan.
Shutting a fairy in a very prison;
This Kasan is a good-for-nothing.
And listen well, ye Montenegrins!
Might all my stock be blotted out,
Had any Serb run off with her,
And I had simply glanc’d to see -
Howe’er painful ’twere to me!
But when I heard she’d gone with Turks,
No time was there for vain reflection,
Full after them in chase we straight did go,
By Simounya did find the nuptial party,
And killed the brothers Alitch on the spot,
But, fell mischance! among the Turks the bride!
So horribly our reputation’s blacken’d
Henceforth from God we wait no grace or favour.
 

KNEZ YANKO

O dear my Lord! What mighty fruit of counsel!
Children sure have done this business?
What we would dare, we dare not do;
We have no stomach for our resolutions;
Mere thoughts we load upon our neck,
As if to think were all our business,
And it matter’d not to act!
Whene’er I have o’ermuch debated,
My deeds have ever lagged behind;
He who says always “Not to-day!” will never, never find a way!
 

(Vladika Danilo, seeing that all are gathered,
comes amongst them.)
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Hold us not back on this wise, Bishop,
Send rather all this crowd away;
Each looks to hear what thou wilt say,
But thou art tangled much in blackish thoughts:
Nor dost thou summon nor dismiss us;
Black as the earth thy brow hath come to be,
Alone thou walkest out, without companion;
Thou dost not eat nor canst thou fall asleep;
Thou turnest o’er great thoughts within thy mind;
Thy crowding dreams are ever of the Turk,
But I grow numb with over-long reflection!
 

BISHOP DANILO

Now, listen. Vuk, and ye my other brethren!
At what ye see in me ye should not wonder; -
That I so tortured am by blackish thoughts,
That things of horror heave within my mind;
Who on the mountain height doth take his stand,
Sees more than he who stays upon the plain.
Some things I see more clearly than do ye;
At times this bringeth joy, at times but misery: -
I fear them not, this Devil’s spawn,
Though they be thick as autumn leaves,
But I have fear of ills at home!
Our kinsmen wild have own’d Mahomet’s Name;
And if the renegades we should attack,
Their Serbian kindred never would desert them;
Our land would be o’erwhelm’d in tribal strife,
And there would rule red carnage and great gore.
Satan doth come unto satanic wedding,
To quench in blackness all our Serbian light;
Our ills we bear lest worse on us should come.
The drowning man will catch at any straw,
His hands expose if he may shield his head!
 

KNEZ RADÉ (brother of Vladika Danilo)

Why blacken hands, if not to strike the anvil?
Why call assembly, if thou fear’st to speak?
Last year thou scarce escap’d a hanging;
God grant thee still to swing on Turkish hook!
Something thou mournest, yet thou know’st not what;
Warrest with Turks, yet treatest them as friend,
And showest thus thy love to thine own folk!
But err thou not, nor e’er be thou deceiv’d:
If thou into their hands shouldst ever fall.
They would upon the instant take thy head:
Or, holding thee in life, would hind thee fast,
And make great sport in torturing thee!
Raven plucks not eye from raven,
And Turk is ever brother unto Turk;
Strike while thou hast arm to strike,
And tears shed not in empty lamentation.
Upon the Devil’s road have all set out,
Our land is foul - reeks of this False Religion!
 

VOIVODA BATRITCH (to Knez Radé)

Some right hast thou, though not unmixed with wrong!
What thou hast said could have been friendlier said,
So not to make his wounds to burn,
And gall him with an alien arrow!.
 

(All are silent; scarcely dare they breathe.)
 

A clear, moonlight night. They sit around the fire.
The Kolo sings upon the big threshing-floor.*

________

* In all the Serbian lands the threshing-floor is always to be found in the open, never under a roof. Sometimes one whole neighbourhood uses the same threshing-floor. The wheat is trodden from the ear by horses. The threshing-floor serves also as a rendezvous for the Kolo-dancers on Sunday afternoons and other holidays.
 

THE KOLO

None yet e’er drank a honey’d draught
Unnmixed with cup of bitter gall,
And cup of gall for honey equally doth call,
That so, the mixture one may easier drink.
Beg Ivan-beg of ancestry heroic,
Like tawny lion fought against the Turks,
On every side, and deep in gory woods:
Half of his lands the Turks did take from him,
The country delug’d was with blood,
These Moslems slew his doughty brother, -
Ferocious dragon, Urosh Voivoda! -
On tune broad fields of Tchèmovo.
Ivan his only brother mourn’d.
Mourn’d him more, - the Voivoda Urosh; -
Than were he mourning both his sons;
Mourn’d him more, the Voivoda Urosh,
Than he could mourn a whole lost land;
Mourn’d him more, the Voivoda Urosh,
Than he could mourn the loss of both his eyes;
Not dearer they to him than brother Urosh.
Full many a time and oft the hero may
Excite high heaven unto mighty laughter!
Ivan with cup on high vow’d direful vengeance,
Drinking the toast with consecrated wine.
He lets his white hair fall upon his shoulder’s.
His white beard curling down unto his waist;
With his old hands he grasps his sword and lance;
Blood-sprinkled both his weapons and his arms,
At every step he fells a Turkish foe;
The old man bounds as were he nimble youth!
O dear my Lord, it sure must be a dream,
That on this wise an aged man can leap!
Good fortune past returns to him again:
At Karoutché upon Tsrmnitsa’s boundary,
Of whole band of fifteen thousand Turks,
Not one of them escap’d alive;
Their marble tombs, which men still see,
Attest the glory of Prince Tsrnoyevitch:
God grant mercy to the soul of Urosh.
Wondrous offerings made men to his memory!
 

(All lie down to sleep.)
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Apart from Suffering never can be Song;
Apart from sweat of brow no sword is forged;
Heroic spirit conquers all life’s ills;
Deeds nobly done are sweet unto the soul,
And wine most rich for those who follow on.
Thrice happy he whose name rings down the years,
For he had reason in this world to come;
A flaming torch is he when times are dark;
A torch ne’er burning low. ne’er ’minished to a spark!
 

VLADIKA DANILO (with them, but speaking as if alone)

There where the seed doth first begin to sprout,
There may it quietly grow and bring forth fruit;
Is this mere instinct, or' the spirit’s leading?
Mere human knowledge finds quick arrestation!
As Wolf doth on the Sheep impose his might,
So tyrant lords it over feebler fellow;
But foot to place upon the Tyrant's neck,
To bring him to the consciousness of Right -
This of all human duties is most sacred!
If thou canst calmly bloody sword embrace.
If thou canst swim through waves of blackest night,
Such sacred strife shall sanctify thy dust.
Europa’s cleric from his Christian altar
Doth scoff and gibe at Asia’s Minaret:
With thundrous strokes the Asiatic club
Shatters those fanes where Crucifix is rear’d,
Blood innocent is shed within our shrines,
And relics scatter’d to the winds in dust.
Above a world of travail God keeps silent:
The Crescent and the Cross, great Symbols twain,
Do no advantage gain save in a world of slain!
It is our lot to sail this crimson stream,
Toss’d here and there upon Life’s labouring ship,
The equal fate is this of Christian and of Turk!
When Renegades blaspheme our relics blest,
Relics of saints who gave our childhood light,
The Nether World doth rise into my soul.
Men brook no flaw upon the sapling straight:
Should there be blemish on the Day's Bright Eye -
Shall Crescent rival be of Jesu’s Agony!
O my true Faith! How orphan’d, poor and wretched!
O hapless tribe! How long shall last thy sleep?
One little race - that one as good as none!
For thou art only martyr’d but the more!
Force diabolic even side doth threaten:
Oh, had we brethren somewhere in the world
To weep for us, ’twould be some kindly aid.
Dark night holds firm her heavy sway:
The Moon to me now seems to be my Sun.
Alas! my leaden thoughts! what waters have I swum?
Young corn of Serbia! ripen into ears;
All premature shall Harvest come on thee.
Holocausts all precious pilèd high I see,
Before the Altar of our Church and Nation,
While our dark mountains echo lamentation.
We must uphold our Honour and our Name,
All unremitting though that strife endure!
Let come those things men thought could never be;
Let Hell devour; let Satan swing his scythe:
Still graveyard turf shall bring forth many a flower,
For coining kindreds in Time’s later Hour!
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

God be with us, He and all His angels!
Vladika, behold how thou art driven
By all the wanton, wandering winds that blow;
By galtes of early spring when rules the witch;
By sombre autumn gusts the wizard doth control.
 

(The Bishop starts from his dream.)
 

VLADIKA DANILO

Strike for the Cross! strike for heroic name!
Whoe’er girds on his shining arms,
Whoe’er hath heart within his breast -
Strike these blasphemers of Christ’s holy Name!
Baptiz’d be they, with water or with blood!
Hunt we the leper now from out our fold;
Let chanted be some terror-bringing song;
Let the true altar rise on blood-stained stone!
 

(The chieftains leap to their feet and loudly shout:)
 

“Let it thus be, or never be at all!”
 

VLADIKA DANILO

Nay,... nay,... sit down, let us discuss yet more!
Brethren, now let us with accordant voice
Invite the heads of Serbo-Islam’s tribes, -
Our brethren - to confer on all these matters,
With word of honour for their safe return;
Perchance they may unto our faith revert,
And thus extinguish’d be this blood-feud shame.
 

SERDAR YANKO

So be it, Bishop, this will we essay,
But on my faith in God! ’twill be in vain;
He who was nurtur’d by the devil black,
Abides him faithful to the very end.
E’en without pledges will they to us come,
And will before us very stoutly stand, -
Chieftains, in truth, thou hast them call’d,
But they do call themselves the Sultan’s sons!
 

(Three or four men are sent to invite the Turks to a meeting.)
 

THE KOLO

A bitter curse fell on a renegade:
Against her will a mother curs’d her son,
The Princess-Mother, wife of Ivan-beg,
Laid curse on Stanisha, her son,
Because he bit her breast when taking milk; -
So heavenly nurture down her bosom pour’d!
The parent’s curse did fall upon the child:
Stanisha play’d false to Faith and Honour,
Prov’d traitor base unto Christ’s holy Name;
On Tzernoyé’s brave tribe he cast foul slightl;
Embrac’d the faith of bloody Moslem foe,
And thirsted e’en for very kindred blood.
What thunderings dread above Lieshko-Field:
Two brothers fight on question of Religion,
A thousand warriors drawing sharpest sword!
The mother’s curse falls sure upon her son:
That son’s whole army perish’d on the field!
Stanko fled headlong - straight to Bayazèd.
To dine with him on dish of Magyar noses.
Thou Mountain-Nest for Freedom’s Quest!
On thee God’s eye hath kept a constant guard;
What sufferings hast thou not endured;
What victories yet brings Time as thy reward!
 

Turkish Chieftains come; seven or eight, and sit
down with the Montenegrins. They all keep silence,
and do not venture to raise their eyes.
 

KNEZ YANKO

Ye wretches, are ye petrified!
Why do ye not begin some sort of speech,
Or night will overtake you in your sleep!
 

HADJI-ALI MEDOVITCH (Kadi)

Sure, right art thou, Knez Ozrinitch!
I will begin, seeing no other will.
One hundred chieftains are nowgather’d here,
Chiefs of ours and chieftains Montenegrin;
Full well I know why we are come:
To make a peace and end our mutual strife.
Cone now, O chieftains of the land!
Some method should we now devise
To reconcile two warring families:
The Velestovtzi and the Turks of Tcheklitchi;
Then the Baitzi and the Alitch clan.
Let us now try to make a peace between them,
Or some good step at least let’s make towards peace!
First will I be to stand among the sponsors,
And for life ta’en to hand a solemn wergild;
Let peace but rule again! The dinar cut in twain,
And hang upon the wall these murd’rous rifles!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Effendia, thou dost not divine
The wherefore of our meeting here;
Of problems great thou touchest smallest end.
Learned and wise art thou, ’tis said,
Hast out of books in Stamboul read,
And gone as pilgrim to some sort of Mecca;
Yet more of wisdom still must fall on thee
If in our school thou wouldst good scholar be!
 

(All again are silent, with eyes upon the ground.)
 

VLADIKA DANILO

O God of Mercy, Thou Who rulest all,
Who sittest Governor on Thy heavenly throne,
Who light and warmth dost give with glance of power;
Who wheel’st the planets in their orbit bright,
And to vain dust hast given beauteous form,
Who spread’st this Earth beneath Thy throne of light,
And hast thought fit to name it world of Thine, -
Thou puttest life in particles minute,
And add’st thereto intelligence and mind;
The Book of all Creation Thou dost hold -
That Book in which the destinies are writ
Of sentient things and beings spiritual;
Thou art in bounty graciously inclined
The agile members to endue with power
Both of proud lion and of the little ant! -
Send cheering light on Montenegro's Mount;
Forbid dread thunder and the lightning’s bale;
Hold back all clouds outpouring cutting hail!
So greatly maybe they have not transgressed:
Unfaithlul souls seduced them from the faith -
Entangled them - all in the Devil’s Net!
But what is Man? In truth, a feeble creature!

(The Turks view one another askance.)

E’en to chill lip of Age is honey sweet,
And how much sweeter unto Youth’s warm taste:
Sweet was the bait, though it had likewise hook, -
“Either take sherbet from the Prophet’s cup,
Or wait his stroke of axe between thine ears!”...
Life’s honour may be stain’d through fear of death;
We creatures frail - we cleave unto the earth;
Though slight the bond, it yet may firmly bind;
The fragile bird falls helpless down before
The light that glistens in the fox’s eye,
Though she has gazed unharmed at soaring eagle!
Sad news concerning brother or of son
Deepens threefold affection felt of yore;
Sweeter to find the lost than ne’er to lose at all;
As after hailstorm clearer is the sky,
So after sorrow more serene the soul,
And after tears more joyous is the song!
Oh, that these eyes of mine might but behold
Requital made for all my country’s loss,
Then could I deem that Right had sway -
If light from Lazar’s Crown might on me shine,
If unto us bold Milosh might return!
All tranquil then would be my soul,
As some fair morn in vernal Spring,
When gently moving winds and fleecy clouds
Do sleep upon the bosom of the sea.
 

(The Turks look darkly at each other.)
 

SKENDER-AGA

In name of my fair faith, I marvel
That such reproach, O Bishop, thou shouldst make!
What cup at once yields diverse drinks -
What cap at once upon two heads is worn?
The lesser stream doth run into the larger,
And mingles with it, losing e’en its name.
Till nameless both, when they do meet the sea!
Say, wouldst thou with thy cap be hunting bees,
And in grey mountains beehives tend?
Honey from thence no man would budge to eat!
Huge stone thou rollest vainly up high hill;
Old boughs bend not, they break before they straighten
The woodlands wild show parables to men;
Each several folk hath its peculiar faith; -
Neither ’bout eagle nor ’bout cock I ask,
But ’bout a goose - fears lion the goose? - Tell me!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

I marvel also at this talk!
The priest the sinner on his sin doth question, -
If Satan hath not led him from right way?
But never have I seen the Devil
Making confession to the priest!
 

KNEZ YANKO

Should question me my wife where I have been,
I shall tell her: “I have been sowing salt.”
And woe to her if she should not believe!
 

KNEZ BAIKO

There cometh now a story to my mind:
The Devil, when he from the pit was drawn,
Had face half white and fare half black!
 

OBRAD

Into my nose hath flown a fly;
Some sort of ill will come to me!
 

VUK RASLAPCHEVITCH

Why, sure I have an itching palm.
If anywhere there should be quarrel
We would demand a handsome ransom.
 

VOIVODA MILIYA

A gun indeed! Is anywhere a heavier!
In name of God and man, what dost thon with it, Stanko?
 

VOIVODA STANKO

Alas! my brother, I am weary of it;
For long time now no worth hath it for me.
 

SERDAR YANKO

Last night how I did shake with laughter!
Into my house from somewhere came
Two handsome youths of Bielitsa;
And, as their wont is, they began to joke:
They told how, one time, ancestors of theirs
Upon a certain place did build a mill,
Where there was neither stream nor pond;
When all was built, then thought they ’bout the water
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

My brother’s wife, alas! she lost her reason,
And without cords she could not be held in;
The Books Prophetic straightway I did open:
Some said, “Where dogs have scraped, sure she hath trod!”
But others cried, “By magic arts she is bewitched!”
I took her round to all the monks,
Who read; upon her pour’d their holy oil;
In every cloister I besought the Devil
To grant some respite unto our Angelia;
Alas! the Devil I did vainly conjure! -
At last I took my whip of triple thong,
And scourg’d her garment right into her flesh; -
The Devil said Adieu; he came not back;
And so was heal’d Angelia!
 

VOIVODA BATRITCH

My brother Turks (may the winds take the word!),
Why hide we truth, or wherefore wrap it up?
Our little land is pressed on even side;
Hard task it is for us in her to stay;
Mighty the jaws that open to devour her;
Who then should dream to split our stock in twain?
But take ye once again your Fathers’ Faith
In order with us to defend our honour!
The wolf needs not the cunning of the fox,
Nor hath a falcon need of glass to spy!
Have done with minarets and mosques!
Let flare the Serbian Christmas-log;
Paint gaily too the eggs for Eastertide;
Observe with eare the Lent and Autumn Fasts,
And for the rest - do what is dear to thee!
If ye take not the counsel that I give,
Why, then, I swear by name of Obilitch,
And by these arms in which I put my trust,
That both our faiths - they both shall swim in blood:
And that which better is - it surely shall not drown!
Bairam agrees not with our sweet Noël -
Brothers Montenegrin, is’t not so?
 

(All cry:  “’Tis so! Tis so!”)
 

MUSTAI KADI

“Is’t so? Is’t so?” - Ye surely are all mad?
Would ye give noxious prick to healthy leg!
What mean ye - “eggs and fasts and Christmas logs”?
Would ye graft such upon our Prophet’s Faith?
Night is the time for torches to be lit:
Away with torch when comes the light of day!
In Allah’s name, what parleys these for wisdom!
Of “Cross” or “Unbaptiz’d” they ever talk -
Dream of a way that we can never walk!
Allah be praised! Two hundred years have passed,
Since first we took the true Faith of our Prophet,
Since first we bow’d within the sacred mosque:
By the Holy Kaaba, there’s no trickery here!
Of what avail the weakly faith of Christ
Against the edge of our sharp, supple steel?
When the true saint brings down but once his club,
The land doth tremble underneath the stroke,
Like empty pumpkin bobbing on the water!
Handful of mortal men! Why thus so blind?
All ignorant of sweets in Paradise to find,
Ye fight with God and also fight with Man;
Without Hope’s kindly light ye live and die,
Owning Christ’s Cross, yet living after Milosh!
“The Cross”! - it is with you an empty phrase;
Your Milosh throws you into some strange stupor,
Or else intoxicates to wild excess.
Better one day of prayer within our mosque
Than four whole years of making Christian crosses!
O Hurias! With those eyes of blue! -
In agelong rapture might I gaze on you!
Where is the cloud-shade that could rise
To shield me from those star-like eyes? -
Those eyes from which keen arrows dart -
Their burning rays would fire cold stone:
Then what of me! - a weakly wight
Made but to melt beneath their light!
Such eyes are like to crystal water,
In which, as in two pearls of dew,
Thou gain’st of God some deeper view,
See’st more of God than on some clear Spring morn,
When from the mountains shimmers silver sea!
O Stamboul, thou delight of Earth!
Thou honey’d Cup. Thou Mount of sugar’d pleasures!
Thou sparkling bath of life and light,
Where in sherbet bathe the fairies!
O Stamboul, Palace of the Prophet!
Thou sacred source of strength and might,
From thee alone finds Allah his delight
By his Great Prophet earth to rule -
Could aught sever me from Thee!
How many hundred times in days of youth,
Fresh from my sleep I’ve stepped towards the Dawn,
Thy sea of light all wond’ringly to greet -
Reflected there thy visage fair,
Fairer than sun or moon or morn -
In silver mirror there to greet the sky,
And all thy towers and minarets sharp pointed;
To hear uprise into the azure blue,
At break of day in all the peace of Dawn,
A thousand, thousand holy voices,
Proclaiming to high heaven, “Allah alone is great”,
And upon all the Earth Mahomet's name and dower; -
What Faith with ours could ever hear compare?
What, other Altar Allah's favours share?
 

KNEZ YANKO (raising his cap)

Thus, Effendia, thank I thee!
Pretty sermon hast thou preached:
What we sought that we have surely found!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Let Cross and Club together strive,
But woe to him whose forehead shall be broken:
A whole egg gams o’er egg that’s cracked,
Ye’ll hear of what I do - shall I so will!
 

KNEZ YANKO

Upon my Faith, for my own part,
No more of this I’ll hear!
This hodja who’s from Cheklitché,
He crieth out “Oo-hoo!”
High perched upon his hollow stem,
As hoots an owl upon some age-worn tree.
Whom calls he so, on high,
From morn to morn, as day doth dawn?
I trow he now hath call’d enough!
I must confess it easier were for me,
If standing on my head were he!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

My left ear, how it now doth tingle!
It means, I hope some joyful news.
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Come now, Baiko, blow into mine eye;
A grain of dust doth make it very sore!
 

SERDAR YANKO

Strike now some fire that we may smoke;
For smoke is Islam’s very soul:
Effendia will not be displeased.
 

TOMASH MARTINOVITCH

Now do the ravens croak and fight;
Cheap meal shall quickly come to sight!
 

VOUKOTA MRVALYEVITCH

Over my rifle step not, Baiko,
Unless to step again - step back across it!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH (whispering in Yanko’s ear)

He holds on to the tail of Hadji-Hadja,
Nor will ever lose his grip,
Till either dog or millstone go!
 

SKENDER-AGA (displeased, seeing Vuk whispering)

What meaneth this, my brothers Montenegrin?
Who is it so hath fann’d this flame?
This thought unhappy - whence can it e’er be
To converse thus of vile apostasy?
No perverts ask we; we can brothers be;
Do we not fight and fight together,
Share we not good and ill as brothers?
Doth not veil’d Moslem girl, like Serbian maid.
Offer fair tresses on the hero’s grave?
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

O Land, thou art accurst, and fallest all to ruin!
Most dread and horrible thy name is now to me!
O Land, if I some knightly son may have,
In youth’s first blush thou takes! him from me;
Or if perchance I have some valiant, dear-lov’d brother,
He too is snatch’d away before his time;
Or if were mine some lovely bride -
A bride more sweet than any wreath of flowers -
She too would victim fall to thy fell scythe.
My Land, I see thee delug’d in our blood.
Now thou art nothing more in very truth
Than heaps of tones and mouldering tombs,
Whereon our youth, resolv’d and without fear.
Holds solemn festival with War and Death!
O Kossovo, Thou Field of ever tragic name,
No heavier doom had Sodom in her flame!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Shame on thee, Serdar, for such show of speech!
Why all these voting and ardent breasts,
Why all these eager-beating hearts within,
Whose quick blood courses through warm veins of pride?
Say, what are they? Sure sacrifice most noble,
From fields of battle taking flight
Into fair realms of poesy;
Like unto sparkling pearls of dew,
Which the sun lakes in joyous light to heaven!
What greater shame than growing old,
With faltering step and heavy eye,
With brain grown cloudy in its tony case,
With peevish look upon the deep-lined face,
And brow all wrinkled, ugly to the view,
The dim eyes sunken in perplexèd head, -
Death’s ghastly grin upon the parchment skin -
As peers the tortoise from beneath his shell!
Why spak’st thou so of Kossovo and Milosh?
Our common weal collaps’d in ruins there.
Yet Montenegro’s name and strength of arm
Came forth again from Kossovo’s dark tomb.
Beyond the gloom into a Realm heroic,
Where Obilitch with knightly souls holds sway.
 

SERDAR IVAN PETROVITCH

Mahomet gives you all a stupid head!
Ye Turks, woe be unto your souls!
Why deluge all the land in kindred blood?
Two steeds make one too many for one manger!
 

FERAT ZATCHIR (Kavaz-basha)

Thy rifle, Serdar, findeth not the target!
He cannot hear his faith blasphemed,
That Turk who still hath head on shoulders!
Small enough is this our land,
Yet two faiths there still may be,
As in one sàhan soups agree.
Let us still as brothers live,
Of further love no need have we!
 

KNEZ YANKO

Fain would we, but it cannot be;*
Such love as this were laughing-stock!
No mutual love doth light our eyes,
A brother’s glance we ne’er exchange,
Our looks are those of vengeful hate;
What saith the heart, the eyes must state!

________

* An admirable analysis of the history of Islam from the psychological and spiritual side is to be found in Moslem Mentality, by L. Levonian, George Allen & Unwin, Ltd., London, 1928..
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Brothers, see! How fine a sàrouk!
Where hast bought it, Aga? - by the Prophet say!
 

ARSLAN-AGA MUHADINOVITCH

By purchase, Vuk, it did not come to me;
The Viziier gave it me as present,
This summer when I went to Travnik.
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Upon thy love, such sàrouk get for me,
Then ox from out the yoke I’ll give to thee.
 

ARSLAN-AGA MUHADINOVITCH

I’ll give il thee for present, Vuk,
If to my son thou koum wilt be;
It will great gladness for us make
True-hearted koum like thee to take.
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Without baptizing, how can there be koum?
But to the font four times I’d go with thee.
 

ARSLAN-AGA MUHADINOVITCH

’Twixt baptism and haircutting me the differenee tell?
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Koum I’ll be - a real koum; a mere stand-by never!
 

(A great uproar between Turks and Montenegrins; the
wiser intervene to prevent slaughter. Then all are silent.)
 

THE KOLO

Serdars three and Voivodas two;
Three hundred heroes coming with them keen;
And Falcon Baio with his thirty dragons -
His name must live as long as Time endures!
Up they came on Suliman the Vizier,
’Neath Vertielka, there upon the plain;
There they fought from summer dawn to noon:
No Serb by Serb was falsely there betray’d;
At none shall After-time cast word of shame,
Nor speak with scorn of one dishonour’d name -
Not shame as that to Brankovitch once came! -
All fell there; fell one Inside the other;
Fell each a-singing, Turks the while still killing:
Three alone came forth from out the slaughter,
Out from all the heaps of Turkish slain,
Bleeding from wounds - the Turks had gailop’d o’er them!
Many a glorious death repaid maternal pangs!
Unto these our heroes will God amply dower
Memory most fair and fragrance o’er their graves.
Heroes three thousand all steadfast together
’Gainst Suliman the Vizier measur’d forces
By Krstatz Field ’fore break of day;
God helps the strokes of him who strives:
The Vizier’s might was broken quite!
Happy the man whose spirit urg’d him there,
To him Kossovo’s Field no pain shall yield,
Nor ’gainst the Turk shall futile anger flare!
Hail, Serbian knights of Vertielka Field!
The torch so lit shall never, never wane;
It shall illume the tombs in Memory’s sacred Fane!
 

(Ten Gavaz come from Podgoritza, sent by the new
Vizier, who is making a tour of the empire; they give
to Vladika Danilo a letter, which he reads thoughtfully.)
 

VOIVODA BATRITCH

Say, Vladiko, what writes the Vizier?
We will not anything be hid -
Though e’en it wore that all the Turks had wings!
 

VLADIKA DANILO (reads word by word)

“Selim Vizier, slave unto the Prophet’s slave;
“Servant of the Brother of the world’s great Sun,
“Envoy of him who ruleth all the Earth. -
“Now be it known, Ye Nobles with your Bishop,
“The Ruler of all rulers me hath sent
“To make a tour of this round world;
“To see how every State doth stand;
“To see that wolves do not o’er-eat;
“To see that lambs, escaping care,
“Do not their fleece in thickets tear;
“To shorten that which is too long;
“To pour out what is overfull;
“To east an eye o’er teeth of youth;
“To pluck the roses way from thorns;
“From out the mire to pick the pearl;
“To bridle well the raya herd -
“This raya herd of village cattle.
“Well, of your mountains ever much I hear;
“The kindred of the Holy Prophet
“Can rightly prize true heroism:
“Men speak false, if they should say
“The lion ever fears the mouse!
“Come under cover of my tent,
“Thou, Bishop, and ye Serdars bold.
“Appear before the Imperial Sign;
“Take from my hand all goodly gifts,
“Then live ye on, as ye till now have done.
“Strong tooth can crack the hardest nut;
“Sharper good sword than spiked war-club,
“Then how much more than cabbage-head!
“Is’t not enough the reed to train,
“That it bend not before the storm?
“Who can leaping torrents stay
“From onward rush unto the sea?
“Whoe’er should leave the pleasant shade
“Of the Prophet’s dreaded flag,
“The sun like lightning will him shrivel up.
“Did feeble hand yet ever forge tough steel?
“Doth pumpkin make not prison for the mouse?
“Why champ the bit? - it only breaks the teeth!
“What use were heaven, if therefrom came no thunder?
“Eyes have the rabble like to dirty water;
“The common folk are awkward sort of cattle,
“Docile only when they feel the whip.
“Woe to the land o’er which an army marches!”
 

KNEZ YANKO

With a smile, the trader lies;
A woman lies the while she cries;
But the Turk in lies all rivalry defies!
 

SERDAR YANKO

These envoys must not be detain’d;
Let them go hence with all due haste,
For fear the Pasha anxiously debate:
Let him know soon; then do whatever he may!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Make answer, Vladika - as well thou canst -
And save his face as he hath savèd thine!
 

VLADIKA DANILO (writing the answer)

“From the Prince-Bishop and from ail his nobles,
“To Selim Pasha; Greeting responsive to the letter!
“This hard nut is fruit that, giveth wonder:
“Thou crack’st it not, except thou crack thy teeth;
“The price of wine is not what once it was;
“Nor is the world as ye have thought it!
“Europe to give as present to the Prophet -
“A sin ’twould be to think of it:
“That luscious fruit sticks half-way down his throat.
“The blood of men is monstrous nourishment,
“Already to the nose it choketh up;
“O’erfull the measure of your sins!
“Mahomet’s mare hath snapp’d her saddle-girth!
“Duke Charles the Valiant of Lorraine;
“John Sobieski; Prince Eugene the Noble, -
“They broke the Turkish demon’s horns!
“The scroll of fate reveals not lot the same
“For two brothers having name the same!
“Mohammed’s horse did stumble at Vienna,
“And down the hill his chariot roll’d.
“What good is empire to inhuman men,
“Except to spread them shame thro’ all the world!
“A mind all wild with virulent desire
“Becometh well wild hog, but not a man!
“Along his path who maketh Might his Right -
“Rise stenches of inhuman cruelty.
“I have divin’d what thou wouldst wish to say!
“Footprints are many to the cave:
“For guests well hated is no feast prepar’d.
“I know full well ye have no other thought
“Than greedy tooth to sharpen on your neighbours.
“And only your own flocks to guard from wolves!
“Narrow the way of entrance to the hives;
“For use against the tear is forged an axe;
“Of sheep and fair domain ye have enough.
“Yet still ye would both man and beast despoil!
“Where e’er ye come, rise groans on every side;
“Bad men oppressed by worse; good men by bad!
“I have essayed descent upon your rope!
“And. truth to tell, I was most like to choke;
“Friends at a distance since are we;
“Into my head some wisdom have put ye!”
 

(The letter finished, he reads it aloud to all
the Montenegrins and the Turks.)
 

KNEZ ROGAN

There is the letter, and now let’s see your heels!
Give it to him, and let it talk with him!
 

(The Vizier’s Envoys sadly go away.)
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Here! take this cartridge! servant of the Sultan!
Take it, I say, as present to the Vizier,
And tell him, too, that such shall be the price
Of every single Montenegrin head!
 

RIDJAL OSMAN

What sayest thou? A cartridge for the Vizier!
Thou insolent and unbelieving haidouk!
This is no language for a Vizier;
Where Viziers come, they bring the aching fever,
Then lighten only tears each mournful eye,
And all the land re-echoes lamentation!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

If guest thou wert not in our house,
I could give thee pretty answer!
But this I’ll tell thee, anyway:
Haidouks both, say men, are we? -
Haidouk lie of slaves enchained;
Better he, since he took more!
But haidouk I, who hunts haidouks,
Haidoukship more famous far -
I waste not fair lands and peoples;
Though many a fiery-hearted tyrant
Has fallen on his nose before me,
And many a wailing Turkish wife
Behind me has unwound black wool!
 

(The Vizier’s Messengers depart. Two
cockerels fight before a ring of men.)
 

KNEZ ROGAN

What devil’s tricks these birds do play!
Wherefore fight they thus each other.
And tear out so each other’s eyes?
Thirty hens do watch behind them;
These two cocks could live like Sultans,
Did not some ill luck plague them ever! -
But why concern their quarrels me, -
Though I’d wish victory to the smaller!
And thou, Aga, by the Prophet’s beard?
 

SKENDER-AGA

I’d wish victory to the bigger:
Wherefore else should God give size?
He is bigger: let him have more power!
 

(In the moonlight: all sitting round the fire,
The Kolo sings on the big threshing-floor.)
 

THE KOLO

O Novi Grad! O Novi Grad!
Thou art seated by the sea;
Blue waves thou countest on the Main,
Like grey old man on grey stone seat,
Counting his beads with rosary!
Glorious dreams must thou have dream’d,
Till came Venetians off the sea,
And Montenegrins from the hills,
To greet each other ’neath thy walls!
With blood to sprinkle and with water holy,
Since when thou hast not smell of Infidels!
With twenty thousand men did Topal Pasha come,
In hottest haste with help for Novi Grad:
Our young Montenegrins met him
On the narrow Kamen Field,
Where perish’d fame of Turkish fez!
The Turkish host - they sank all in one grave,
And still to-day is seen the place of skulls!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH (reclining by Serdar Yanko’s side)

What wilt thou, Serdar, with this girdle?
 

SERDAR YANKO

I would wind it over all my clothes.
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

What fortune bad has come on thee
To put it thus o’er all thy clothes?
 

SERDAR YANKO

Evil dreams oppress me ever,
And I do choke when I would sleep!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Have done with nightmares and black thoughts!
Nor dreams nor witch thy bother be; -
Why! thou art round as any barrel;
Sure thy huge bulk is choking thee! -
Ne’er yet have nightmares troubled me.
 

SERDAR YANKO

True it is dream plagueth me,
Though I do take horse-radish with me
And thorn-sprig too within my doublet;
But to keep off all bad dreams
Better is girdle spread above one’s clothes!
 

KNEZ YANKO (lying beside Knez Rogan)

How these Renegades do smell!
Rogan! hast thou mark’d it well?
 

KNEZ ROGAN

How, Knez, should I fail to mark it!
When, by my luck, I have to sit amongst them,
Then ever with both hands my nose I hold:
I sure should vomit, if I did not so!
I sleep o’ nights right out upon the edge;
For close to them I ne’er could live till morn.
Thou seest now how far away they are,
Yet even here their odours wile we smell -
I’ faith, each one is reeking infidel!
 

(At dead of night. All are asleep, but someone talks
in his sleep, and Knez Yanko and Knez Rogan, rising
to see who it is, find Vuk Mandushitch talking as in
broad daylight.)
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Mandushitch, what is the matter,
That all night long thou dost so chatter?
 

KNEZ YANKO

Do not, Rogan, rouse him up;
It is his way in sleep to talk as in broad day;
Let us ply him with some questions,
And from him get at least some fun!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

I say, Vuk, what art thou telling
About our good lord Milonitch:
Hath there been a row between you?
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Brother, nothing wrong is there between us;
His daughter-in-law - I’ve talked of her a little!
 

KNEZ YANKO

And what about? - All in secret, tell me now!
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Prettier she than any fairy,
And she has scarcely eighteen summers;
She’s simply captured all my heart!
 

KNEZ YANKO

How “simply captured all thy heart”?
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

“How?” askest thou! ’tis no joke about the “how?”!
In all the world her like cannot be found!
Were I already not Godfather
Nine times for our good Ban Milonitch,
Sure the maiden would I soon have seized,
And flown with her across the world.
 

KNEZ YANKO

O silly boy! Thy mother weeps o’er thee!
She’s flown away already with tin wits.
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

By deal’s power or magic arts,
Or something worse than either two,
If I just catch her smile, this girl,
I feel the whole world round me whirl!
All this I could endure, if badly,
But one eve the devil had me
To pass a night in Milon’s cabin:
Just at dawn, the moon still shining,
Flames rose in the new-mown field;
From somewhere came the girl, - just think!
Sat by the fire to catch the glow,
Marked in the cabins how all slept,
And then unwound her lovely wreath of hair;
Down fell her tresses to her waist,
She comb’d her locks about her bosom,
With clear voice singing elegy,
Like nightingale in bushy tree:
So mourn’d she her husband’s brother,
Son dear-lov’d of Ban Milonitch -
He who was slain full year ago
By Turks in Duga’s rough ravine.
The Ban would grudge that she should cut such hair,
For more he prized her tresses fair
Than his own son who perished there.
This girl’s laments, they tore my heart;
Her glowing eyes my spirit fired;
Clear as the moonlight shone her brow;
I wept - shed tears just like a child!
How blest is Andriya so to leave the world,
When eyes so glorious thus weep o’er him,
When lips so lovely thus do mourn him.
 

(Knez Rogan whispers to Knez Yanko: “Ask him no
more for very honour, about things like these; else he
will bleat out more.”)
 

(Day breaks; they rise.)
 

OBRAD

Let me tell now what I have dreamt? -
Now, in my dream I saw great crowds,
Like unto some Church procession:
Scorching the sun, burning one’s eyes from head;
Hard, too, the ground and dry, where’er we went,
Till on such field as this we came,
And there found rest beneath an apple tree,
Beneath whose shade a clear brook played;
Together we all gather’d in the cool,
And there we pluck’d of apples ripe,
So ripe and sweet, as sweet as sugar,
While from the Gospels read the priest; -
When on the instant five Martiovitch,
The one behind the other, all arose;
Near to them also comrades three or four.
All people look’d to see where they should go;
When, taking ladder, thev climb’d on the church,
Climb’d up, right up, on to the apse’s top,
And thereupon did fix a golden cross.
The cross it shone as sun shines on the forest,
And on their feet stood all the people up,
Bowing themselves before the Cross of Honour.
Then I awaked from sleep in fear and dread.
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Good luck befall thee-after so splendid dream!
And my own dream was likewise wonderful:
Guarding myself from some ferocious dogs,
With my own sword I smote down five or six -
When I shall join a haidouk band,
Sure Turks should fall to my strong hand!
 

SERDAR YANKO

Of wedding I have dreamt to-night:
My Bogdan took him Turkish wife,
In the church we did baptize her,
And after that we married them.
 

(The Turks all go away in file; sad and angry.)
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

Our father Ozra I did see last night:
We were in all two hundred Ozrinitch,
And we drove full two hundred horses,
Wine for St. Michael’s Feast to buy,
And brought the wine from Cattaro back.
Songs we sang and fired our rifles:
Gaining Potochiné’s height,
We saw three hundred men all seated,
Each was cloak’d in green dolàma;
They’d tokés too, and each was arm’d,
And we thought, “Whoe’er should these be?
Guest perchance? - yet ’tis not time!”
But closer, saw we ancient Ozra
With chosen heroes close behind him, -
No one of them is now alive!
A torrent of reproach they pour’d:
“Why built we not a church at Tchevo,
To honour Michael the Archangel?”
Then we almost fell to fighting;
I tremble still when I do all recall!
 

VOUKOTA MRVALYEVITCH

Busy all night I was with dreams,
Until I rose, and then I all forgot!
 

(Knez Baiko and Vuk Mandushitch are sad;
neither will tell anything.)
 

KNEZ YANKO

Baiko, thou art a little sad,
That which must be, let it be!
Thy story give us - though it please thee not!
 

KNEZ BAIKO

So will I, Knez! ’Tis all the same to me!
I had a dreadful dream last night:
Broken all my arms in pieces!
Surely some ill awaiteth me,
Or else some loss in family;
When thus I’ve dreamt upon my bed.
Ne’er have I failed a death to see!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Mandushitch, why thus downcast?
Why tell’st thou not thy dream last night?
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

I’ve had no dream, nor can I tell a tale;
All through the night I slept a most dead sleep.
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Something I’ll tell, since others nothing say:
I dreamt that I saw Drashko Popovitch!
And lo! almost I could put down a wager,
Is it not he now coming down the field!
 

SERDAR RADOGNA

Behold, how mean a thing is man,
Till now he’s come not in our mind!
He, ablest of our Voivodas, -
Where’s been our Drashko Popovitch?
 

SERDAR VOUKOTA

Why, Drashko went away to Venice:
When Souleyman on Cattaro came,
With beechwood guns he shell’d the town;
Stepan the priest was there that day,
And fir’d jusi ouee from Cattaro,
Hitting straightway the Vizier’s gun, -
Knocking its food right clean into its throat -
Into three hundred pieces shatter’d it!
Then gain’d the Priest a pension from the Doge -
A hundred sequins by the year.
Bow’d down with years is Stepan now;
So Drashko made his way towards Venice
To seek his father’s pension from the Doge.
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Turn, turn the spit, my boys! Turn these half dozen rams
That we may have our meal, and get us off towards home.
 

(Voivoda Drashko arrives, kisses each of them,
embraces them, and sits down among them.)
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Tell us something, Drashko, of what you’ve seen in Venice!
What sort of people found you over there?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

“What sort of people?” ask you, Rogan! -
Just like other people, none of  ’em had horns.
 

KNEZ ROGAN

So, dear follow! So none of ’em had horns;
But were they rich and handsome?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Brother, many a handsome man I saw,
But ten times more of ugly folk;
Too ugly much to look upon!
Many a rich man was there too,
Whose wealth indeed had made him mad,
Made him like a silk child.
On every hand the poor did stand,
Toiling hard with sweat of brow,
Simply to earn a crust of bread.
Two men I saw between them bearing
Some kind of female on their shoulders.
Seated in chair so round and lazy, -
She weighed close on three hundred pounds!
All through the streets they carried her,
In daylight broad now here, now there, -
Regardless of all manly honour,
Simply to earn a crust of bread.
 

KNEZ YANKO

What sort of houses have they, Drashko?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

No finer houses in the world!
But with it all is pain and need;
All closely pack’d are they together,
’Mid odours had and noisome air;
Pale and bloodless, too, their faces. -
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

But tell me now, how was thv welcome?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

What thinkest thou! who should receive me?
No one of them was known to me,
From whom should then my welcome be!
Besides, a staring motley crowd
Did hinder me from going out;
They pointed and halloo’d at me,
When forth I went to view the town;
So ’tis with us at Eastertide,
When make our youths their masquerade!
If I had not met a friend, -
The son of Zané Grbichitch, -
I ne’er again had seen this land;
There sure had left my tones to rest;
But Zané gave me brother’s welcome,
And with me made the round of Venice.
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

And are they valiant, Voivoda?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Nay, Mandushitch. i’ faith they were not;
Of heroism be nought said!
With speeches fair they did decoy our brothers
Enticing, and then trapping them -
Yea, our falcon brothers poor -
From Dalmatia and Croatia,
Crowding their ships all full of them,
And pushing them across the world:
Thus did Venice heap up riches,
Her will impose on towns and cities!
 

SERDAR IVAN

Their Courts of Justice, are they just?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

“Just” may be, but God help thee,
If thou wouldst not Turkish justice
In them not to come!
A monstrous building there I saw,
Where they did make and fit out ships,
Where many thousand wretches toiled,
Weighed down by clank of heavy chains
They worked on vessels for the Prince:
Dreadful it was to stand there by,
Because of cries and lamentations.
Some of these prisoners were made last
By chains to huge, high-towering galleys,
Which on the silver sea they row’d,
Under burning summer suns,
Or drenching rains - amid all weathers!
They scarce might move a single foot;
But like a dog chained to his kennel,
They dragged away their nights and days.
Yet worst of all their dungeons were;
Deep down beneath the Doge’s Palace;
The foulest pits thou couldst imagine
Might not compare with these vile prisons.
A horse could not live long so kept,
And who would tie his dog down there!
Yet wretched men are stabled in them,
Ay, men are shackled there below,
And drowned too in those dread holes.
A curse upon them! I am numb
Whene’er I contemplate their horrors.
None dare compassionate his brother,
And still less come unto his aid.
As I saw brave men suffer thus,
My heart was pained, and out I cried:
“Ye heathens all, what make ye here?
“Why not boldly kill them off.
“Than torture men upon this wise?”
Then Grbichitch. he said to me:
“Let not such words escape thy lips;
“The truth to speak is here forbidden;
“Happy for thee they have not understood!”
List, brethren, what I tell to-day:
These dungeons drear have taught to me,
That such men must have greatly sinn’d.
And therefore shall their Kingdom fall, -
Fall into hands not so defil’d!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Since thou thus canst prophesy, -
Fear they none in all this world?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

What man is there entirely without fear? -
If startled only by his shadow!
No other fear, I ween, had they
Than of police and espionage:
All Venire shook with fear of spies;
When two men speak upon the street.
The third tends ear to spy on them;
Then with all speed run to the court
To tell the tale of what he’s heard,
Adding thereto some pleasant relish;
Whereon such speakers are arrested,
And forthwith sent unto the galleys.
On this wise perish half the people,
And trust no more the one the other.
From end to end through all wide Venice,
Cannot be found one single man
Who doth not fear his fellow-creature,
As lurking spy or sycophant!
The other day swore Grbichitch
That just such spies and secret agents
Had e’en denounced one day the Doge. -
The Doge himself - ’fore Senate and ’fore people!
Who was, indeed, brought to his end,
Upon the steps of his own Palace.
Then how must others quake and tremble
When they spare not the very Doge?
 

KNEZ YANKO

Have they diversions in this Venice,
As we enjoy ourselves at home?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Games there were, but not like ours:
In some house they gather’d all,
When night had fall’n, after supper;
Big was the house, and all the world was there.
Thousands of candles brightly burned;
Around the walls were curious holes.*
Holes that were all filled with people,
As well as all the floor below.
All looked out from these wall-pockets
Like mice a-peep from out a nest.
Then suddenly a curtain rose,
The third part of the place fell open!
Upon my word, it was a wonder:
Thence crept out all kinds of folk,
(In all thy dreams ne’er hast thou seen such!)
So multi-coloured, like wild cats.
Then shouts were heard all through the house,
And all the people clapped their hands;
I was nearly dead with laughter.
A little while, and they went out,
But others came to take their places;
Such ugliness, such dreadful folk,
No one e’er had seen before:
Noses they had a full foot long,
And vampire-like their starting eyes;
They ope’d their jaws like hungry wolves;
They walked around on wooden legs,
On wooden legs like unto keys;
In rags and tatters did they dress;
If one had met them in broad day,
His very hair had stood on end!
Then from these wall-holes someone cried -
May God give blessings on his head -
“The house has fir’d! Flee, flee away!”
Picture thyself the hurly-burly:
Some were crying, some did shout;
Caps a-falling, things all breaking round about;
Many a poor one trodden down;
In the crush all squeez’d and chok’d,
As herds stampeding from wild beast!
Upon the morrow we a visit paid,
But there was no one in the house:
Barr’d and bolted were all doors!
The biggest fun I’ve kept till last: -
With eyes askance you’ll at me glance -
In Venice is a wondrous joke,
Men jump and dance upon a rope!

________

* I.e. theatrical boxes.
 

KNEZ ROGAN

O Drashko, can this all be true!
Conjuring tricks they did for you!
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

That I know not; whal I saw, I saw! -
I think with thee it might be magic.
 

OBRAD

What else could it be but magic!
My grandsire old I once heard say:
To Cattaro’s bay there came one day
Some folk from Italy - or somewhere else -
To Bocco town on market -day.
Who out-cried to all the people:
“Look, ye people, at this cock!”
And when the folk the cock did view, -
His claw, it held a timber beam: -
A moment after, and we saw
That the beam was only straw!
Then, again to us they cried:
“People, hear! To each some grapes in hand;
“But if to them you place a knife,
“Then take good care lest ill befall; -
“Pray cut them not with knife at all.”
Then all the people seize their grapes,
And hold close to them all their knives: -
A miracle ne’er seen before:
The grapes all gone, they hold their noses,
And think from them to cut nice bunches! -
Then cried a third upon a wall:
“People, take care lest ye do drown!”
Whereon, upon the market square,
A rushing torrent pour’d,
And maid and man from water ran.
When, on a sudden, stream was none,
Nor yet a trace of water,
Though still there stood with skirls upturn’d
Full many a gazing daughter!
Then when the people saw
How well they’d been deceived,
All angrily they sprang
And would have kill’d each man,
But into Cattaro bay,
The wily Latins ran!
These tricks are much the sort of joke
That Drashko tells about the rope.
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Well, do they sing unto the gouslé
As pretlily as we do, Drashko?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Gouslé in Venice! What think’st thou?
I never heard the word once named.
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Without gouslé, for no game in the world
Would I give a Turkish farthing!
A house which hath no gouslé tones,
There all is dead and dry as bones!
 

SERDAR RADOGNA

On everything we’ve questioned thee; -
But the Doge, Drashko, didst thou see?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Him saw I, brother, as I do see thee now.
 

SERDAR RADOGNA

And was he... What was he really like?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Why! just a man of middle size!
If his position weren’t so high.
Sure he need i’ear no jealousy!
 

SERDAR RADOGNA

What did they call him, Voivoda?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Valiero: his other names I do not know!
 

SERDAR IVAN

Did he ask thee ’bout our land?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Brother, he did, though I forget just how!
With Grbichitch I audience had,
And I did bow as I was told:
The Doge, he cast a smile towards me,
And ask’d me questions ’bout our land,
Which made me think he lik’d us well,
For he remember’d all the wars
When we sent men to help his Venice.
He went on talking as a child,
Ask’d me all about our neighbours,
The Bosnian Turks and the Albanians:
“When such men catch a Montenegrin,
“Be he alive or be he dead” - so he did say -
“They eat him, eh?... or what do they?”
Could man eat man? Is there no God?
Where the people that do eat their neighbours?
“I have heard tell”, he next did say,
“A folk your way at least eats snakes!” -
How... eat snakes, my honoured Sire!
Not e’en to see them do our people care;
They put on end our people’s every hair!
 

KNEZ YANKO

I think that he received thee well!
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

Not only well, exceeding well!
Promis’d more than ever I did ask.
And methought, on taking leave,
“I’m bless’d both now and evermore,
“Good fortune cometh now to all our people;
“Powder enough I’ll carry back
“Al least to fire our guns against the Turks!”
But after, on the following day,
These speeches fair had melted all away,
And now I never would believe him,
Though he should tell me milk is while!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

What kind of food gave they to thee?
Didst thou get good dishes, Drashko?
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

’Mong them I saw no food save bread;
Though true they serve some sort of sweets;
Three hours tasting they think makes a meal.
Two out of three of all their men,
Though still quite young, are lacking teeth,
For they eat sweetmeats all day long!
I longed for flesh, but none was there;
Only just now I ate well here!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

In truth they are a wondrous folk!
Have you seen down at Cattaro
Sovra, the man who governs there,
And other magnates all Venetian?
They like better egg or chicken
Than sheep’s flesh or ball of cheese;
Untold the quantity of chickens
That they eat up within a year!
From this lordly life they die,
With bellies big and no moustaches,
Their craniums dusted o’er with powder
And, like ladies, dangling rings at ear!
When they reach their thirtieth year,
They get a face like some old hag,
Too ugly are they to be seen;
And even should they climb a stair,
All pale they grow and linen-white,
And something rattles in their throat;
As if had come their dying night!
 

(The roast is served. Yanko asks who gave the
ram, and looks upon its shoulder-blade: they say
that Martin Baitza provided it.)
 

SERDAR YANKO

What a fine blade and what fine fortune written!
Through all thy life shall goodly things befall thee,
Thy days shall bring thee wondrous luck.
 

KNEZ ROGAN

Which part; suppose ye, may be ours?
Is it from Cross or may it be from Pillar?
 

KNEZ YANKO

We've always held unto the Cross.
 

KNEZ ROGAN

I’ve picked a thousand shoulder-bones,
Yet never read such dire misfortune!
Whose is this shoulder that I see?
His family shall all die out,
Nor round the house shall cock more crow;
All pierced the bone right to the middle,
As cobbler with his awl might pierce it;
This bone doth show a score of graves, -
Not one outside the family!
 

(All look wonderingly at the shoulder-blade;
it is said to have been Skender-Aga’s animal.)
 

KNEZ YANKO (looking upon the bone, and reading what he sees)

Who owneth this hath twenty head of cattle,
Hb granaries shall be well filled,
His dwelling’s beams are strong enough,
Fine and handsome all his horses;
Wrapped up somewhere he has money,
Though I should say it is not much,
And it is known to all his house.
 

VOUKOTA MRVALYEVITCH (relates what he sees in another bone)

Somewhere see I booty rich,
But mixed with blood and curst of God, -
A very Kossovo for slaughter!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Ye babble fortunes like old witches,
Like old witches with their beans!
Say, is there knowledge in dead bones
Of what shall happen in the future?
 

VOUKOTA MRVALYEVITCH

Why pretendest thou to wisdom?
Since thou from bones hasl read more futures
Than any ten of us have done!
No bone can one of us e’er pick,
Ere thou dost snatch it from his lips;
So hast thou done a hundred times,
And done the devil’s business too! -
Most of thy life thou hast spent thus.
 

VOIVODA BATRITCH

Come now, Vuk, of Liéshev Stoupa!
Thy gouslé take, and entertain us so;
Good we have had; now give us something better!
 

VUK OF LIESHEV STOUP (singing to the gouslé)

O Plain of Tchevo, thou art nest of heroes,
And field where men most bloodily have fought;
What memories of battles round thee circle,
How many a mother thou to grief hast brought!
Thy plain is whiten’d o’er with dead men’s bones;
And drench’d with blood are all thy stories!
Since Vidov Day alway thy ground doth find
For ravens black and for brown howling wolves
Rich meals of flesh of horse and humankind.
’Twas horrible to see how on that day
Clouds of black smoke made heavy pall alway;
To thee one hundred thousand Turks had run,
And there was murderous crack of every gun;
While doughty men most furiously did cry,
And croaking ravens hover’d black on high.
As after darkness shineth forth the sun,
So towards evening clear’d the storms sky:
How many Turkish corses strewn o’er thee! -
Men counted them, how many might there be,
But on their number none did e’er agree.
 

(He lays down the gouslé.)
 

VOIVODA BATRITCH

Cease not, Voutché, let thy song still flow,
Without thy gouslé, Time doth heavy go.
 

VUK OF LIESHEV STOUP

As ’tis not in me, Voivoda, to sing on,
It is better I should stop.
 

(Rifle shots are heard up the field. About hundred
and fifty men are singing.)
 

VOIVODA DRASHKO

What sounds are these? Are they not mad?
 

SERDAR YANKO

They are the nuptial guests of Moustafitch.
The Turkish standard-bearer, Soulio, doth wed
The Kadi’s niece from out the fort of Obod.
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Not all the guests are Turks, it seems to me;
Among them there are Montenegrins.
 

SERDAR YANKO

There are of Montenegrins there
A little less than half.
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Whence come these house-dogs, pickers-up of crumbs,
These Brankovitchi, lickers-up of dishes?
Why make they comrades of the Turks?
 

KNEZ YANKO

What a diabolic wedding,
To have no blessing from the Church, -
And copulate like any cattle!
 

SERDAR YANKO

’Mongst them there is no nuptial crowning,
They only make a kind of contract,
As if they simply hired a cow;
Within the house no partner is the wife,
They hold her like a slave for selling,
And they tell you: Woman is for man;
As some sweet fruit or like roast lamb;
While such she be, let her keep sale at home;
Be she not so, then throw her out of doors!
 

KNEZ ROGAN

In God’s great name, oh! what a breed of dogs!
How drunk with evil and iniquity!
Where comes the Turk, there law doth cease to be;
His heart’s own I lust-that is his only law, -
What he desireth not is writ not in the Koran!
 

(The Wedding Guests are singing in the field.)
 

A TURKISH WEDDING GUEST (improvising)

O Guerguelez, thou of quick falcon wing,
Who on fleet steed to Paradise didst speed
Of thy free will impell’d by no compulsion,
More quickly so to greet great Allah’s Prophet! -
The sweetest hourias sure have captur’d thee,
That thus thou dost delay to us to come:
Come - with no wailing! Make thee now swift way;
Upon the back of thy wing’d charger come!
Forget thee not thy sabre, nor thy lance;
Thy scourge infernal lake with thee withal,
Seeing the raya lifts again his head:
Drive him once more as cattle back to stall, -
Each wolf of thine doth snap his jaws with hunger!
Let brightly flash thy keen Damascus blade.
That whelping dogs may bark not on the Prophet!
 

A MONTENEGRIN WEDDING GUEST

Where art thou, Marko! thou our champion mighty?
Though thou hast been the Sultan’s vassal nam’d,
Alway thou art our glory and our pride!
Make fast the saddle-girth on thy fam’d steed, Sharatz,
From thy whole armoury no weapon take,
Saving thy heavy iron-knotted Club:
At Guerguelez betwixt his shoulders aim good blow,
And let him have his hourias and his prophet!
 

A TURKISH WEDDING GUEST

And thou, Ilderim, Thunder of the Prophet!
Wast thou not satiate of the Cross and Christian folk
Through farspread lands from Morning unto Even?
Not space enough to ride thy winged horse?
Thy keen Damascus blade - could it not slake its thirst?
Most dreaded pupil thou of our Mahomet!
Yet must thou sped to hunt the kin of Fatima,
The best lov’d daughter of great Allah’s Prophet! -
A sin was that, ’fore God and ’gainst the Prophet,
And he who so offends, he heavily must pay.
But all thy sins, be they forgiven thee,
Since thou hast broken stubborn Bosnia’s horns,
Since thou hast struck on head the Prophet’s foes,
And only spar’d the common toil-worn herd
To do our will, and wail before the Cross!
 

A MONTENEGRIN WEDDING GUEST

And thou, bold Obilitch, thou flaming Dragon,
All eyes were blinded which did look on thee!
Thy name heroic must most honour’d be!
For ne’er didst thou thy Sovereign Lord betray.
But set thy foot to stop proud Murat’s way,
When thou thy path didst thread unto his tent! -
On thy horse, Ždral, I see thee still,
Smiting a road through all the Turkish camp!
What man can smile away stern things which have to be;
For Serb with Turk sure sooner would agree,
Than would to sherbet turn the salt, salt sea!
 

A TURKISH WEDDING GUEST

Stay, Ali, stay! child of unwedded maid!
Kotari’s girls are scattered far and wide;
It were a shame for such a falcon grey
The partridge thus to hunt along the glade,
And still so long without a meal to bide!
Strike, Tale, strike! Strike with thy knotted club,
Which cracketh human ribs like hazelnuts!
Though half of all thy men should lose their heads,
Thou shouldst not give o’er Kossa to the giaours -
So fine a fruit is no dessert for Serbs!
 

A MONTENEGRIN WEDDING GUEST

Fly, Komnen, warrior bold!
Since thou hast captur’d such a prey,
Thou hast enough repos’d thy wings.
Nor is Kotàri far away!
Thine own sweet Haika likes thy faith,
And would, maybe, become a Christian!
Starina-Novak, haidouk brave!
Shout down the glen as is thy wont;
The Moslem’s ears are closed with dirt,
Wake up the fleas upon his shirt.*
Now, Bayo, eye each living wight!
Lei no more guest, arouse these hills,
If thou or Limo deem not right!

________

* Literally, within his fur coat.
 

(Moustai-Kadi requests the lads to stop this kind of
singing near the Montenegrins, lest some chieftains
should be offended. They may, however, sing wedding
songs, and he himself logins.)
 

MOUSTAI-KADI

Weep not, Mother, pretty Fatima:
She is married, she’s not buried;
From off her bough falls not this rose;
She dwelleth hence on fruitful ground!
For Fatima will Soulyo guard
As the dear apple of his eye.
Fatima hath wondrous figure,
And her eyes are like two stars;
Her countenance the ruddy morn;
Her garland hair crowns radiant brow;
Fits smallest coin her sweet-curv’d mouth,
And rose alone could colour such red lips;
Betwixt them greets the glance at whiles
A bracelet row of snowy pearls!
Her throat it is of ivory pure,
So white her arms as wings of snow-white swan.
This Morning Star is pois’d above sweet flowers!
O’er her life’s waters move but silver oars,
And blest the pillow that she rests upon!
 

A MONTENEGRIN WEDDING GUEST

Falcons like not dusty fields;
Do falcons scour a marsh for frogs?
The falcon loves the rocky steeps,
The falcon’s eye the partridge doth spy out, -
Some partridge light and timorous,
Sharp-darting as quick fire!
 

A TURKISH WEDDING GUEST

Waste not the hours, thou senior guest,
For hours to-day have equal worth to years;
The time to Soulyo will seem long!
God in His kindness man’s brief day hath given,
That he may have some joy upon this earth,
And it is sin to ’minish what God gives!
 

VOIVODA STANKO

Shameful is this! A most wretched medley!
Mark’d ye not well the fashion of their singing?
’Tis of no use for foes to fraternize.
Always must come allusions to past times:
Milosh and Marko, Mouïo and Ali!
The storm doth gather slowly, then suddenly bursts fort,
As seething water plays with kettle-lid!
 

VUK MANDUSHITCH

Why with the foe should fraternize men so?
If they were fried upon one pan,
The gravies would not mix together!
 

VUK MITCHUNOVITCH

Most impudent and dirty rascals
With all indecency do us dishonour!
If they did know the dignity of heroes,
Could they be hangers-on to these vile Turks?
To me more hateful they than Turks! -
But what care I for Turks or them?
They challenge and defy the Turks,
And yet, like dogs, do lick the Turkish dishes!
 

BOGDAN DJURASHKOVITCH

They would ever sing just so,
Unless that artful fox said No!
See ye not that Kadi there?
Thereïs not his like upon the earth;
His mouth is full of honey’d words.
Around the Cross he softly treads,
But he is full of foulest cunning;
A bitterer foe the Cross hath not,
By Montenegrin gun let him be shot!
 

(The Wedding Guests depart. Soon afterwards
a group of mourners* appear upon the horizon.
At their head is the Sister of Batritch, mourning
for her brother.)

________

* In Montenegro those who lament and mourn the dead are called pokainitse. These pokainitse include not only the nearer kinfolk; but also more distant relatives and friends. The nearer kindred attend the funeral lamenting; other relatives and friends, if they cannot attend the funeral, come on the second or third day to mourn the deceased.
 

THE SISTER OF BATRITCH

Whither hast thou flown from me,
                                    O falcon mine!
From all thy noble company,
                                    O brother mine!
Didst thou not know the faithless Turk, -
                                    May God him curse!
Could never faithful be?
                                    Most lovely head!
My world is gone now thou art gone,
                                    My sun! My brother!
Never can my wounds be sooth’d,
                                    My smarting wounds!
My very eyes and pluck’d from me.
                                    Light of mine eyes!
To whom shall now go all thy brothers!
                                    O thou their pride!
And Pera grey, thy stricken sire? -
                                    Thy stricken sire!
Young sisters three bereft of thee, -
                                    Each mourning thee!
Bereft thy seven brothers’ wives!
                                    O darken’d lives!
Why throw thy handsome head away,
                                    Thou princely spirit!
O’er thy head now gloats the foe!
                                    Our boast and pride!
’Gainst honour’s word they hew’d thee down!
                                    Most treach’rous brood!
Too well they garnish’d Travnik town!
                                    God make them pay!
They deck’d it with thy lovely head!
                                    My heart lies dead!
Round whom now will heroes gather?
                                    Thou of men the leader!
Who now defend the far-flung wing?
                                    Protecting wing!
Who now keep count of Turkish heads?
&nbs