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Serbia in Light and Darkness / With Preface by the Archbishop of Canterbury, (1916) cover

Serbia in Light and Darkness / With Preface by the Archbishop of Canterbury, (1916)

Chapter 14: FOOTNOTES:
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About This Book

A collection of lectures, essays and curated folk material outlines Serbia's history, spiritual life and wartime trials for an English-speaking readership. The narrative contrasts peaceful periods of daily work, prayer and cultural expression with times of oppression, resistance and military sacrifice, and appeals for sympathy and solidarity abroad. Two supplementary parts gather national proverbs and popular poetry, while prefatory commentary and illustrations emphasize leaders, clergy and ordinary people coping with upheaval and recovery.

Great and small would point their fingers at me,
Saying,—'That is the unhappy woman,
That is she who kill'd her husband's brother!'
But if I refuse to poison Bogdan,
Never will my husband come to bless me!'
Thus she thought, until a thought relieved her;
She descended to the castle's cavern,
Took the consecrated cup of blessing.
'Twas a cup of beaten gold her father
Had bestow'd upon his daughter's nuptials;
Full of golden wine she fill'd the vessel,
And she bore it to her brother Bogdan.
Low to earth she bow'd herself before him,
And she kiss'd his hands and garments meekly.
'Lo! I bring to thee this cup, my brother!
This gold cup, with golden wine o'erflowing.
Give me for my cup a horse and falcon.'
Bogdan heard the lady speak complacent,
And most cheerfully gave steed and falcon.
Meanwhile through the day was Dmitar wandering
In the mountain-forest; nought he found there;
But chance brought him at the fall of evening
To a green lake far within the forest,
Where a golden-pinion'd duck was swimming.
Dmitar loosen'd then his grey-wing'd falcon,
Bade him seize the golden-pinion'd swimmer.

First he sought, impatient, for his lady—
'Angelia! thou my bride all faithful!
Tell me, tell me, hast thou kill'd my brother?'
Sweet indeed was Angelia's answer:
'No! indeed I have not killed thy brother;
To thy brother have I reconciled thee.'"
JELITZA AND HER BROTHERS.
Nine fair sons possessed a happy mother;
And the tenth, the loveliest and the latest,
Was Jelitza,—a beloved daughter.
They had grown together up to manhood,
Till the sons were ripe for bridal altars,
And the maid was ready for betrothing.
Many a lover asked the maid in marriage;
First a Ban;
[9] a chieftain was the other;
And the third, a neighbour from her village.
So her mother for the neighbour pleaded;
For the far-off dwelling ban her brothers.
Thus they urged it to their lovely sister:
"Go, we pray thee, our beloved sister,
With the ban across the distant waters:
Go! thy brothers oft will hasten to thee;
Every month of every year will seek thee;

Let him take his grave shroud for a present!
Then equip and send him to his sister."
Swiftly hasten'd God's celestial angels
To the white grave where Jovan was sleeping.
From the white grave-stone a steed they fashion'd;
Into his dead corpse they breathed their spirit;
From the ready earth the bread they moulded;
For a present his grave-shroud they folded;
And equipp'd, and bade him seek his sister.
Swiftly rode Jovan to greet his sister.
Long before he had approach'd her dwelling,
Far, far off his sister saw and hail'd him;
Hastened to him—threw her on his bosom,
Loosed his vest, and stamp'd his cheeks with kisses.
Then she sobb'd with bitterness and anguish,
Then she wept, and thus address'd her brother:
"0! Jovan! to me—to me, a maiden,
Thou, and all my brothers, all, ye promised
Oft and oft to seek your distant sister:
Every month in every year to seek her,—
Every week in every month to seek her.
Three long years have sped away unheeded,
And ye have not sought me"—For a moment
She was silent; and then said, "My brother!
Thou art deadly pale! why look so deadly

When my middle brother here was married,
Lo! I lost a golden ring, my sister!
Let me go an instant—I shall find it."
Jovan went—into his grave he glided—
And Jelitza stood—she stood impatient—
Wondering—wondering—but in vain she waited.
Then she left the spot to seek her brother.
Many and many a grave was in the churchyard
Newly made—Jovan was nowhere—Sighing,
On she hasten'd—hasten'd to the city,
Saw her mother's dwelling, and press'd forward
Eager to that old white dwelling.
Listen
To that cuckoo's cry within the dwelling!
Lo! it was not the gray cuckoo's crying—
'Twas her aged, her gray-headed mother.
To the door Jelitza press'd—outstretching
Her white neck, she call'd—"Make ope, my mother!
Hasten to make ope the door, my mother!"
But her mother to her cry made answer:
"Plague of God! avaunt! my sons have perish'd—
All—all nine have perish'd—Wilt thou also,
Take their aged mother!" Then Jelitza
Shriek'd, "0 open—open, dearest mother!
I am not God's plague—I am thy daughter,
God of mercy! what a wond'rous wonder!
Such a wonder ne'er before was witness'd.
In Saint Paul's—within the holy cloister,
Gather'd round a golden table, seated
In three ranks, the saints are all collected;
O'er them sits the thunderer Elias;
[10]
In the midst are Sava and Maria;
At the ends are Petka and Nedelia;
And their health the holy Nicholas pledges.
Pledges them their health to Jesus' glory.[11]
But behold, behold the saint!—he slumbers;
From his hand the cup of wine has fallen,
Fallen from it on the golden table:
Yet the wine's unspilt,—the cup unbroken.
Then laughed out the thunderer Elias:
"0 my brother! 0 thou holy Nicholas:
Often drank we cooling wine together;
But it was our duty not to slumber,

Not to drop the cup—And tell me, brother,
Why to-day does slumber's power subdue thee?"
Him thus answer'd Nicholas the holy:
"Jest not thus with me, thou sainted thunderer!
For I fell asleep, and dreamt three hundred,
Dreamt three hundred friars had embark'd them
In one vessel on the azure ocean;
Bearing offerings to the holy mountain,
Offerings,—golden wax, and snowy incense.
From the clouds there broke a furious tempest,
Lash'd the blue waves of the trembling ocean,
Scooping watery graves for all the friars.
Then I heard their blended voices call me,
'Help, 0 God! and help, 0 holy Nicholas!
Would that thou, where'er thou art, wert with us!'
So I hurried down to help the suppliants—
So I saved the whole three hundred friars
So I shipped them full of joy and courage;
Brought their offerings to the holy mountain,
Brought their golden wax, their snowy incense;—
And meanwhile I seem'd in gentle slumber,
And my cup fell on the golden table."
A maiden proudly thus the sun accosted:
"Sun! I am fairer than thou,—far fairer;
Fairer than is thy sister
[12] or thy brethren,—
Fairer than yon bright moon at midnight shining,
Fairer than yon gay star in heav'n's arch twinkling,
That star, all other stars preceding proudly,
As walks before his sheep the careful shepherd."
The sun complain'd to God of such an insult:
"What shall be done with this presumptuous maiden?"
And to the sun God gave a speedy answer:
"Thou glorious Sun! thou my beloved daughter![13]
Be joyous yet! say, why art thou dejected?
Wilt thou reward the maiden for her folly—
Shine on, and burn the maiden's snowy forehead.
But I a gloomier dowry yet will give her;
Evil to her shall be her husband's brother;
Evil to her shall be her husband's father.
Then shall she think upon the affront she gave thee."

FROZEN HEART.
Thick fell the snow upon St. George's day;
The little birds all left their cloudy bed;
The maiden wander'd bare-foot on her way;
Her brother bore her sandals, and he said:
"0 sister mine! cold, cold thy feet must be."
"No! not my feet, sweet brother! not my feet—
But my poor heart is cold with misery.
There's nought to chill me in the snowy sleet:
My mother—'tis my mother who hath chill'd me,
Bound me to one who with disgust hath fill'd me."
LIBERTY.
Nightingale sings sweetly
In the verdant forest:
In the verdant forest,
On the slender branches.
Thither came three sportsmen,
Nightingale to shoot at.
She implored the sportsmen,
"Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!
"Shoot me not, ye sportsmen!
I will give you music,

In the verdant garden,
On the crimson rose-tree."
But the sportsmen seize her;
They deceive the songster,
In a cage confine her,
Give her to their loved one.
Nightingale will sing not—
Hangs its head in silence:
Then the sportsmen bear her
To the verdant forests.
Soon her song is waken'd;
Woe! woe! woe betide us,
Friend from friend divided,
Bird from forest banish'd!"
BROTHERLESS SISTERS.
Two solitary sisters, who
A brother's fondness never knew,
Agreed, poor girls, with one another,
That they would make themselves a brother:
They cut them silk, as snow-drops white;
And silk, as richest rubies bright;
They carved his body from a bough
Of box-tree from the mountain's brow;

PRINTED BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD., AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS GLASGOW, GREAT BRITAIN.

PHOTOS

[Illustration: KING PETER.]

[Illustration: CROWN PRINCE ALEXANDER]

[Illustration: PREMIER N.???]

[Illustration: KING The fourteenth century]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: DURING TURKISH RULE IN SERBIA. Serbs?? away?? the????]

[Illustration:???]

[Illustration: THE SECOND SERBIAN REVOLUTION OF 1815.]

[Illustration: THE MONASTARY OF KALENIC. Built by Stephen the Tall.]

[Illustration: SERBIAN SOLDIERS WITH AN ENGLISH NURSE.]

[Illustration: SERBIAN OFFICERS UNDER ADRIANOPLE IN 1912.]

[Illustration: THE CATTLE MARKET.]

[Illustration:]

[Illustration: A TYPICAL MONTENEGRIN LADY: H.M. QUEEN MILENA.]

[Illustration: PEASANT TYPES.]

[Illustration: THE SUPERIOR OF A MONASTERY.]

[Illustration: KING PETER: "How did it happen, General, that you Turks lost the battle on Kumanovo?"

THE TURKISH GENERAL: "Kismet!"]

[Illustration: Photo-Underwood and Underwood

WOMEN DOING THE WORK OF MEN.]

[Illustration: SERBIAN WOMEN CARRYING WOUNDED.

From photograph by kind permission of Mr. Crawford Price.]

[Illustration: WAITING FOR A PLACE AT THE HOSPITAL.]

[Illustration: "MY MOTHER"

Sculptor: T. Mestovic]

[Illustration: SPLIET-SPALATO.]

[Illustration:]

[Illustration: DUBROVNIC RAGUSA]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This lecture was delivered in December, 1915.

[2] The Archbishop of Canterbury, The Character and Call of the Church of England, p. 118.

[3] Stanley Lane-Poole, Turkey, p. 40.

[4] Daily Telegraph, 5th February.

[5] Kavavlashka.

[6]Karabogdanska. The above and following poems are taken from John BOWRING: Serbian Popular Poetry. London, 1827.

[7] Belgrad.

[8] Chekmel-Juprija.

[9] Ban, a title frequently used in Servia. Its general acceptation is governor. It may be derived from Pan, the old Slavonic for Lord.

[10] Gromovnik Daja.

[11] I napij. i u slavu Ristovn.

[12] Svezdá, star, is of the feminine gender.

[13] Sun is feminine in Servian.