 |
|
The Legend of Rozafat Castle

The legend of Rozafat Castle, now
the ruins of a no doubt originally Illyrian fortification soaring
above the town of Shkodra in northern Albania, involves one of
the grimmest motifs of Balkan legendry, that of immurement. The
story of a woman being walled in during the construction of a bridge
or castle in order to stabilise the foundations is widespread
in oral literature in Albania, the Balkans and elsewhere. Variants
in Albania are also told of the castle of Turra south of Kavaja,
of the castle of Petro Petroshi in Lleshan south of Elbasan,
and of the fortress of Elbasan itself. The earliest version outside
Albania may be that of the Bridge of Adana in southern Turkey,
which was constructed in 527-565 A.D. The best known variant
in the Balkans itself is that of the Bridge of Arta in northern
Greece, which was constructed in 1602-1606. Other variants are
known to the Romanians in the legend of the Monastery of Argesh,
the Bulgarians in the legend of the Bridge of Struma, also called
Kadin Most, the Bosnians in the legends of Teshanj Castle and
the Bridge of Mostar, and the Serbs, who indeed have a Serbian
variant for the legend of Rozafat Castle, "Grad gradili
na Skadar," recorded by Vuk Karadzic (1787-1864). Also related
are the Hungarian ballad of the castle of Deva and the German
legend of the castle of Henneberg. The Albanian version of the
legend of Rozafat Castle was first recorded by Thimi Mitko (1820-1890)
in his folklore collection 'Albanike melissa / Belietta sskiypetare'
(The Albanian Bee) in 1878. The immurement legend is based no
doubt upon a Balkan reality. Even at the beginning of the twentieth
century, animals such as sheep, goats and chickens were still
being sacrificed on such occasions in Albania and their remains
were immured in the foundations of bridges and other buildings.
The practice is still widely encountered today. Here is a prose
summary of the Rozafat legend.
Fog lay over the Buna for three days
and three nights, blanketing the river completely. When three
days and three nights had passed, a strong wind began to blow,
dissipating the mists and making Mount Valdanuz visible once
again. Up on the mountain there were three brothers at work building
a castle. The foundations they built during the daytime always
collapsed at night, so that they could never finish the castle.
One day, an old man came by and greeted the three brothers, saying,
"I wish you success in your work!" "We wish you
success, too, old man, though we ourselves are not doing very
well. Day after day, we work and build and, at night, the foundations
collapse. Do you know what we can do to make the walls stay put?"
"Yes, I do," replied the old man, "but it would
be a shame if I told you." "Let the shame be ours,
because we are the ones who want to build the castle." The
old man reflected for a while and then asked, "Are you married?
Do you all have wives?" "Yes, we are married,"
they replied, "Each of us has a wife. But tell us what to
do to build the castle." "If you really want to finish
the castle, you must swear never to tell your wives what I am
going to tell you now. The wife who brings you your food tomorrow
must be buried alive in the wall of the castle. Only then will
the foundations stay put and last forever." Thus spoke the
old man and departed. But alas, the eldest brother broke his
promise and revealed to his wife at home everything that had
happened and told her not to approach the place where the castle
was being built. The second brother broke his promise, too, and
told his wife everything. Only the youngest brother kept his
word and said nothing to his wife at home.
The next morning, the brothers rose early
and went off to work. Their axes resounded, rocks were crushed,
the walls rose and their hearts beat faster and faster... At
home the mother of the three brothers knew nothing of their plot.
She said to the wife of the eldest brother, "The men need
bread and water and their flask of wine, daughter in law."
She replied, "I'm sorry, dear mother, but I really cannot
go today. I am ill." The mother then asked the second wife,
who answered, "My word, dear mother, I cannot go either,
for I must visit my parents today." The mother then turned
to the youngest wife, saying, "My dear daughter in law,
the men need bread and water and their flask of wine." She
got up and said, "I would willingly go, mother, but I have
my young son here and am afraid he will need weaning and will
cry." "You go ahead," said the other two daughters
in law, "we shall look after the boy. He won't cry."
So the youngest and best wife stood up,
fetched the bread and water and the flask of wine, kissed her
son good bye on both cheeks and set off. She climbed up Mount
Valdanuz and approached the place where the three workers were
busy. "I wish you success in your work, gentlemen!"
But what was wrong? The axes stopped resounding, their hearts
beat faster and faster, and their faces turned pale. When the
youngest brother saw his wife coming, he hurled his axe into
the valley and cursed the rocks and walls. "What is the
matter, my lord," his wife asked, "why are you cursing
the rocks and walls?" Her older brothers in law smiled grimly
and the oldest one declared, "You were born under an unlucky
star, sister in law, for we have sworn to bury you alive in the
wall of the castle."
"Then may it be so, brothers in
law," replied the young woman. "I have but one request
to make. When you wall me in, leave a hole for my right eye,
for my right hand, for my right foot and for my right breast.
I have a small son. When he starts to cry, I will cheer him up
with my right eye, I will comfort him with my right hand, I will
rock him with my right foot and I will wean him with my right
breast. Let my breast turn to stone and may the castle flourish.
May my son become a great hero, the ruler of the world!"
They then seized the poor young woman
and walled her into the foundations of the castle. This time
the walls did not collapse, but stayed put to rise higher and
higher. Even today, at the foot of the castle, the stones are
still damp and mildewed from the tears of the mother weeping
for her son.

[from Mitrush Kuteli (ed.)
Tregime të moçme shqiptare (Tirana: Naim Frashëri,
1965, reprint 1987, 1998). Translated from the Albanian by Robert
Elsie.]
|