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in two[1]. His hand-grip is such that he can squeeze drops of water out of a piece of dry, hard wood: he overcomes a succession of the doughtiest champions, he fights victoriously against overwhelming odds, and, most wonderful of all, he pursues and captures the dangerous and elusive Vila of the mountain.
What an illuminating glimpse we get in Jevrosima's remark that she is utterly sick and weary of having to wash blood-stained garments. She suggests that her son should try ploughing for a change. Marko tries, in a grimly humorous way of his own, but his peaceful venture ends in a battle with Turkish janissaries. His amazing strength more than atones for his lack of weapons, for he whirls plough and oxen round his head, and with this original bludgeon beats the life out of his enemies[2].
Yet for all his courage and for all his strength, he is not always unflinching in fortitude nor supreme in the matter of thews and sinews. With true artistry the ballads tell how his spirit quailed in the frightful dungeon of Azak[3], how his courage halted in the presence of the Perilous Bogdan, how his strength was surpassed by that of Moussa the Outlaw. He is marvellous, indeed, but he is mortal man; he is portrayed neither as a god nor as an abstraction, and these deft touches which reveal his limitations and his weaknesses, serve but to reinforce his warm human vitality.
There remains the interesting question of his allegiance to the Sultan. How is it possible that the Serbs should have as their national hero one who was in the service of their mortal foe? The ballads themselves supply a partial answer. It is clear that the makers recognised the difficulty but turned it to their own advantage by a skilful reversal of the rôles, in such sort that Marko positively bullies his imperial master. That unhappy potentate usually brings the interview hurriedly to an end by plunging his hand into his "silken pocket" and presenting Marko with a fistful of ducats. One of several scenes of the sort takes
