Orval, or The Fool of Time :: :: University of Virginia Library

Melted away long ago.
It is neither snow-fall, nor yet swan-flight,
But the tent of Hassan Aga so white.
Sore was the wound which in battle he got,
His mother and sister (for these without blame
Might do as they listed) to visit him came;
But his wife, for the modest-minded shame
Of a matron chaste, could not.

Wherefore, when he had heal'd him his wound so sore,
Anger'd he said to his faithful spouse:
“Meet me no more, see me no more,
'Mid our children, within my white house.”
He frown'd and he rode away.
Silent with deep dismay.
The Turkish woman wept,
Bitterly wept at her husband's word,
Clothed herself with sorrow, and crept
Into her chamber, and cover'd her brows,
When the hoof of a horse was heard
At the door of the Aga's house.

The fair Aguinitza fled trembling away
To the window, to fling herself down in her fear:
Her two little daughters came running, and they
Cried, “Mother, come back, mother dear!
For it is not our father Hassan is here,
But our uncle Pintorovitch Bey.”

Back she turn'd, faltering she came,
Weeping she fell on the breast of her brother,

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And . . . “O my brother,” . . . she cried . . . “the shame,
From her children to sever a mother!”

The Bey held silence, nor answer'd a word,
His smile was stern but his eyes were dim,
As he drew from his silken pouch, and laid
In the hands of his sister, the letter which said
That her dower to her should, in full, be restored,
And she should return to their mother with him.
When the fair Turk that letter had read,
Her children she call'd to her one by one,
She kist her two boys on the brow and cheek:
She kist her two girls on their lips' young red
But when to the little one, lying alone
In the little cradle, she came,
The little one smiled as he slept:
Her heart began to break
With an inward anguish of shame:
She could neither move nor speak:
She sat down by the cradle and wept.

Then her brother Pintorovitch Bey
Drew softly the cradle away,
Lifted her into the saddle behind,
Turn'd, as he mounted, and kist her,
And rode off to his house with his sister,
Over the hills, in the wind.

Not long in the house of her mother
She rested; not even a week.
Lovers, one after the other,

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Came riding to sue and to seek:
For never more lovely a lady
Breath'd beauty to trouble the land,
And soon from Imoski the Kadi
Came gaily to ask for her hand.

“O spare me, O save me, my brother!
My poor heart in sunder is reft:
My poor eyes are full of old tears:
Let me not be the bride of another,
For the sake of my little ones left,
For the sake of the once happy years!”

But of all this full lightly he thought,
And he gave to the Kadi her hand:
Then sadly the Bey she besought,
And moaning she made her demand—
On a fair paper, pure white,
These words to Imaski to write:

“Fair greeting, in fair courtesy,
From her that hath been given to thee,
And courtesy to her prayer!
When the noble Svals assembled be,

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And ye come in a noble company
From her white house to carry thy bride,
Bring ye a long white covering fair
To cover her eyes; that so, when ye ride
Beside the white house of the Aga, she
May see not the little ones there.”

When this letter was come to the Kadi's hand,
He assembled the noblest Svats of the land;
And they all in a noble company rode
To carry the bride from her white abode.
Gaily to seek her they started,
And with her they gaily departed.
But, when they were merrily riding before
The Aga's white house, from the window at once
Lookt her two little daughters; her two little sons
Came running to her from the door,
And . . . “Come back, mother dear, with us, come!
For dinner is waiting at home.”

Then, weeping, the twice-wedded spouse
To the bold Stari Svat, . . . “Dear, my brother in God,

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For the dear love of God, pass not by this abode!
Let the horse wait here by the house;
That I, ere I see them no more,
(My dear ones, my little ones, see them no more!)
May speak, though it be but a while.”
And the horses stopt straightway, and stood by the door,
And she past through the door with a smile.
Gay gifts to her children she gave:
To both of her boys bold and brave
Golden jatagans rich, and to both
Of her girls a long tunic of cloth.
But when to the little one, lying alone
In the cradle, she came, she laid mournfully on
The small cradle a white orphan garment,
A little white garment, and sigh'd,
And turn'd from the cradle wild-eyed,
With looks of despairing endearment.

All of this Hassan Aga espied,
And he turn'd to his two sons, and cried,
“Little orphans, come here! come to me!
For pitiless, children, is she,
Your mother stone-hearted, the bride!”

Cruel, cruel and keen was the word!
Silent she listen'd and heard,
Heard the harsh words that he said.
To the black earth she bow'd her bright head:
She had not another reply,
Than to droop her white forehead, and die:
For the heart of the mother was broken in twain
For the love, and the loss, of her little ones ta'en.

This poem was translated by Goethe into German, in 1789, from an Italian translation published by the Abbé Fortis in 1774; and was thus first of these national songs and legends that ever passed from Servia into more civilized lands. Goethe's translation (Klaggesang von der edeln Fraun des Asan Aga) is unrhymed.

The wife of an Aga; as Pachinitza, wife of a Pacha.

The writing of divorce.

The Servian ceremonial of marriage is very peculiar. On the wedding day the bridegroom proceeds to the house of the bride, accompanied by the guests, of both sexes, who attend the marriage on his invitation; and who in this capacity (of guests or witnesses) are called Svats. He is supported by a Koum, or Best-man, a Stari Svat, or chief guest (the oldest and most honoured of the company), who attest the marriage, and a Dever (paranymph or groomsman), which latter personage may be a married man. These receive the bride from the hands of her parents, and are bound not to lose sight of her till she enters her new home. All participation in the nuptial ceremonial is interdicted by custom to the parents of the bride, who do not again behold their daughter until eight days after the marriage. A mother, indeed, cannot, compatibly with established usage, attend or be near her daughter in child-bed. By being groomsman or witness to a marriage, a relationship is contracted with the bride's family of a nature so close and so strict as to be deemed incompatible with marriage at any future period between the groomsman and any member of that family.