The Pobratim: A Slav Novel. Jones P.
upon all his guests, who stood grouped behind him, after which all the guests answered in chorus, "And so be it." Thereupon all the men standing outside the house fired off their guns and pistols to show their joy, shouting: "May Christmas be welcome to you."
After this Uros brought in his own log and the same ceremony had once more to be gone through.
The logs were then festively placed upon the hearth, where they had to burn the whole night, and even till the next morning.
In the meantime a copious supper was prepared and set upon the table. In the very midst, taking the place of an epergne, there was a large loaf, all trimmed up with ivy and evergreens, and in the centre of this loaf there were thrust three wax candles carefully twisted into one, so as to form a taper, which was lit in honour of the Holy Trinity. Christmas Eve being a fast day, the meal consisted of fish cooked in different ways.
First, there was a pillau with scallops, then cod – which is always looked upon as the staple fare of evening – after which followed pickled tunny, eels, and so forth. The starescina, taking a mouthful of every dish that was brought upon the table, went to throw it upon the burning log, so that it might bring him a prosperous year; his son then followed his example.
After all had eaten and were filled, they gathered around the hearth and squatted down upon the straw with which the floor was strewn – for, in honour of Christ, the room had been made to look as much as possible like a manger, or a stable. They again greeted each other with the usual compliments, "for many years," and so forth, and black coffee was served in Turkish fashion, that is, in tiny cups, held by a kind of silver, or silvered metal, egg-cup instead of a saucer. Most everyone loosened his girdle, some took off their shoes, and all made themselves comfortable for the night. Thereupon Milenko, who was somewhat of a bard and who had studied an epic song for the occasion, one of those heroic and wild junaske, took his guzla, and gave the company the story of "Marko Kraglievic and the Moor of Primoryé," as follows: —
An Arab lord had once in Primoryé,
A mighty castle by the spray-swept shore;
Its many lofty halls were bright and gay,
And Moorish lads stood watching at each door.
Albeit its wealth, mirth never echoed there;
Its lord was prone to be of pensive mood,
And oft his frown would freeze the very air;
On secret sorrow he e'er seemed to brood.
At times to all his svati would he say:
"What do I care for all this wide domain,
Or for my guards on steeds in bright array?
Much more than dazzling pomp my heart would fain
Have some fond tie so that the time might seem
Less tedious in its flight. I am alone.
A mother's heart, a sister's, or, I deem,
A bride's would be far more than all I own."
Thus unto him his liegemen made reply:
"O, mighty lord! they say that Russia's Czar
Has for his heir, a daughter meek and shy,
Of beauty rare, just like the sparkling star
That gleams at dawn and shines at eventide.
Now, master, we do wait for thy behest.
Does thy heart crave to have this maid for bride?
Say, shall we sally forth unto her quest?"
The master mused a while, then answered: "Aye,
By Allah! fetch this Russian for my mate!
Tell her she'll be the dame of Primoryé,
The mistress of my heart and my estate.
But stop. – If Russia should not grant his child,
Then tell him I shall kill his puny knights,
And waste his lands. Say that my love is wild,
Hot as the Lybian sun, deep as the night!"
Now, after riding twenty days and more,
The svati reached at last their journey's end,
Then straightway to the Russian King they bore
Such letters as their lord himself had penned.
The great Czar having read the Moor's demand,
And made it known to all his lords at Court,
Could, for a while, but hardly understand
This strange request; he deemed it was in sport.
A blackamoor to wed his daughter fair!
"I had as lief," said he, "the meanest lad
Of my domains as son-in-law and heir,
Than this grim Moor, who must in sooth be mad."
But soon his wrath was all changed into grief,
On learning to his dread and his dismay,
That not a knight would stir to his relief,
No one would fight the Moor of Primoryé!
Howe'er the Queen upon that very night
Did dream a dream. Within Prilipù town,
Beyond the Balkan mounts, she saw a knight,
Whose mighty deeds had won him great renown.
(Kraglievic Marko was the hero's name);
His flashing sword was always seen with awe
By faithless Turks, who dreaded his great fame;
And in her dream that night the Queen then saw
This mighty Serb come forth to save her child.
Then did the Czarin to her lord relate
The vision which her senses had beguiled,
And both upon it long did meditate.
Upon the morrow, then, the Czar did write
To Marko, asking him to come and slay
This haughty Moor, as not a Russian knight
Would deign to fight the lord of Primoryé.
As meed he promised him three asses stout,
Each laden with a sack of coins of gold.
As soon as Marko read this note throughout,
These words alone the messenger he told:
"What if this Arab killed me in the strife,
And from my shoulders he do smite my head.
Will golden ducats bring me back to life?
What do I care for gold when I am dead?"
The herald to the King this answer bore.
Thereon the Queen wrote for her daughter's sake:
"Great Marko, I will give thee three bags more,
Six bags in all, if you but undertake
To free my daughter from such heinous fate,
As that of having to become the bride
Of such a man as that vile renegade."
To Prilipù the messenger did ride,
But