The Czechoslovak Review/Volume 3/Spectre's Bride
Spectre’s Bride
By KAREL JAROMÍR ERBEN[1])
(Translated by Dr. Joseph Štýbr.)
It struck eleven of the night;
The little lamp still shed its light;
The little lamp was burning still
That hung above the kneeling sill.
Upon the wall of a low room
God’s mother’s image hung in gloom,
The mother with her Baby-God—
An open rose, a tender bud.
And at the feet of that great saint
A maiden’s kneeling with her plaint.
She knelt with her face bending low,
Her hands lay on her chest below;
Hot tears came dropping from her eyes,
Her breast rose high with grief and sighs,
And as a little tear would drop,
Upon her white breast it would stop.
“Alas! Where is my father gone?
With green grass his grave’s overgrown!
Alas! Where is my mother dear?
She’s lying by my father near!
A bullet brought my brother’s fall;
My sister shortly joined them all!
“I had a lover in my heart
For whom with life I’d gladly part.
He’s gone away—I’ve lost his track—
And up till now he came not back.
“While leaving, he allayed my fears,
He soothed my grief and dried my tears,
“ ‘Sow flax, my sweetheart, on your lay,
Keep thinking of me eve’ry day.
The first year you shall daily spin,
The second, bleach your linen thin,
The third year, work your needle, pin.
Your shirts once finished and laid down,
You’ll weave your blooming myrtle crown.’
“My shirts are finished, they are done;
They’re laid in my chest one by one;
My myrtle’s blossoms fade and fall;
My sweetheart does not come at all!
Far in the world he’s lost and gone
Like in the ocean’s depth a stone.
For three years he cannot be found,
And God knows if he’s alive and sound!
“Oh Mary! Virgin powerful!
Lend me thy help, be merciful!
Bring back my lover from afar,
The blossom of my bliss, my star!
Bring back my love from foreign land—
Or take my life by sudden end!
With him alone my life can bloom,
Without him ev’rything is gloom.
Oh Mary! Mother of relief,
Be merciful and sooth my grief!”
The picture moved above the light;
The maiden screamed aloud in fright;
The lamp which had been burning low
Burst with a crash and stopped to glow.
May be, it was a blast of wind,
May be—an omen of some kind!
Hark! On the walk there sounds a step,
And at the window ,rap, rap, rap!
“Halloo, dear! Do you wake or sleep?
Come, tell me how your health does keep?
Hoh, sweetheart I came at your will;
Tell me if you do know me still
Or someone else comes to your sill?”
“Oh darling me! For heaven’s sake!
I think of you just while I wake!
With you my thoughts have always stayed:
This minute yet for you I prayed!”
“Hah! quit your prayers—don’t stop long,
Arise and come with me along!
The moon shines bright on our ride:
I just arrived to claim my bride.”
“For God’s sake! Ah, what do you say?
It is so late,—Ah, let us stay!
The night is dark; the wind blows high;
Don’t go away—the daybreak’s nigh.”
“Hah, day is night and night is day—
I sleep in daytime, I can’t stay!
Before the roosters start to crow
You shall be mine—now let us go.
Don’t tarry long, spring to my side,
To-night yet you shall be my bride!”
The night was deep; upon the sky
The moon shone brightly from up high;
The village lay in deep repose;
A gust of wind at times arose.
And he went first—with bound and leap
And she behind strove pace to keep.
The village dogs began to bark
In scent of travellers half-dark;
Their moans and groans did sound so queer:
They smelled a dead one passing near!
“A lovely night, bright—at this hour
The dead in graves regain their power,
And ere you know they will be near—
My sweetheart, do you have no fear?”
“Why should I fear while you are here
And God’s with His eye always near?—
My darling sweetheart, will you tell
About your father—is he well?
Your father, mother, are they alive?
Will they be pleased when I arrive?”
“Dear maiden, you inquire a lot!
Come quickly, you’ll see on the spot.
Come quickly, for the time won’t wait;
Our journey’s long, so we’re not late.—
What’s in your hand, dear? Let me look.”
“I took with me my prayer-book.”
“Away with it! our prayer tones
Are heavier than heavy stones!
Away with it, so your step’s light
To keep pace with me in my flight.”
He took the book, cast it aside.
And they made ten leagues with one stride—
The way led uphill, hard and stiff,
Through woodlands and past rock and cliff.
From clumps of brushes and rocks dark
Wild beasts would howl, wild hounds would bark.
The owl, too, hooted tidings queer
Of danger that was coming near.—
He still ahead with bound and leap,
And she behind strove pace to keep.
Wild rose-shrubs and stones in their path
Gave her white feet their dewy bath,
And hawthorns sharp wher’er she trod
Bore red marks from her oozing blood.
“A lovely night, bright—at this hour
The dead the live join with new power,
And ere you know they will be near—
My sweetheart, do you have no fear?
“Why should I fear while you are here
And God keeps His hand always near?—
My darling sweetheart, will you tell,
Your cottage, is it furnished well?
Your little room, neat light and gay?
The church is sure not far away?”
“Oh dear me! You inquire a lot.
Just wait, we’ll shortly reach the spot.
Make haste; the time is getting short,
And still far off’s our journey’s port.—
At your waist, what’s that finery?”
“I took with me my rosary.”
“Hah, rosary! That beaded fake
Will wind around you like a snake!
Will smother you and choke your breast;
Away with it, so we go fast!”
He seized the beads, cast them aside—
They made leagues twenty with one stride.—
The way led them through vast low lands,
Across deep waters, meadows, sands,
Past marshes, caves, where in the air
Danced flitting lights, blue, bright and fair
In two rows, nine in each arrayed,
As though a corpse to rest were laid;
And in the brook the frogs did spell
A song like to a funeral.
He always first—with bound and leap;
She vainly strove her pace to keep.
Sharp weeds made the poor maiden feel
As though keen razors cut her heel,
And wild green ferns where’er she trod
Retained fresh red stains of her blood.
“A lovely night, bright—at this hour
The living speed to graves with power,
And ere you know your grave is near—
My sweetheart, do you have no fear?
“I do not fear, for you are here
And God’s will’s guarding always near!
But stop a moment in your haste;
Grant little rest to my poor chest.
My soul is weak; my legs cant’ stand;
Knives pierce my heart on eve’ry bend!”
“Just come and hurry on, my dear!
For we are coming very near.
Guests wait for us with mirth and rhyme,
And like a dart fast flies the time.—
What is it, dear, upon your neck,
Suspended on that ribbon black?”
“A cross my mother left me back”
“Hahhah! be damned that yellow gold
With edges cutting sharp and bold!
It’s cutting you—and me it hurts;
Away with it; we’ll be like birds!”
He snatched the cross, cast it aside—
They made leagues thirty with one stride.—
Here, on plain ground in obscure light
A building stands, large, lofty, white.
Its windows are high, narrow, tall,
A pointed belfry crowns it all.
“Well, here we are! Like on a wing!
My dear, do you see anything?”
“You mean that church? For heaven’s sake!”
“That is my castle where I wake!”
“That graveyard—and those crosses steep?”
“That is my garden where I sleep!
Hold on, my dear, don’t shrink at all
And leap now briskly o’er that wall!”
“Oh, leave me now! Oh, leave me here!
Your look is dreadful, your face queer;
Your breath is poison, so your eyes;
Your heart is stubborn, cold like ice!”
“My sweetheart, don’t be scared the least!
My home is jolly with a feast:
Of meat enough, but with no juice;
To-night we’ll have it as we choose!—
I see, dear, you still bear a load.”
“Those are the shirts that I have sewed.”
“Of those you will need shortly none
But one for you and for me one.”
He flung the bag with grewsome laugh
Against a tombstone’s epitaph.
“Just look at me, don’t fear at all,
Leap to that bag there o’er the wall!”
“But you have been first ev’ry place,
I only followed in your race.
You have been first up until now:
So leap again and show me how.”
He bounded o’er the barrier
Suspecting no deceit in her;
He made a bound some five rods high—
But then she vanished from his eye;
A single glimpse of her dress white
He barely caught in her swift flight.
She ran not far and still got lost—
A great surprise for her bad host!
A morgue stands here with door and lock
Just ready his access to block.
In there she ran and locked the door,
And he can get her nevermore!
The building’s strong, just four bare walls,
But through a crack spare moonlight falls;
The building’s like a cage with latch,
And inside—a corpse, stiff in stretch.
Hark! how from outside fiercely raves
An ugly legion from the graves!
They rattle as they tramp around
And utter words of grewsome sound:
“The body falls due to the tomb;
Alas! whose soul falls to her doom!”
And now at the door, rap, rap, rap!
Her lover outside pounds with slap.
“Arise, you dead one, from your stretch
And open on the door that latch!”
The dead one opens his dim eyes,
He rubs them once, he rubs them twice,
He raises his head from the ground
And stares in semi-circle ’round.
“Oh, holy God! Pray, by me stand!
Don’t give me into devil’s hand!
You dead one, don’t arise, lie, please:
May God give you eternal peace!”
And then the dead one dropped his head
With eyes again closed and lay dead.
And now again, rap, rap, rap, rap!
Her lover pounds with harder slap,
“Arise, you dead one, from your stretch;
Push back for me your chamber’s latch!”
And on that word and on that noise
The dead one rises from his poise
And points his cold stiff arm once more
Toward the latch upon the door.
“Oh, Jesus Christ! Pray, save my life
And soul in anguish and in strife!—
You dead one, don’t arise, lie, please:
May God give you—and me, too—peace!”
The dead one stretched out without noise
His limbs again to former poise.
And from without still, rap, rap, rap!
Her ears are deaf, her eyes agap.
“Arise, you dead one! Don’t you hear?
And pass the live one over here!”
Alas! Alas! and woe to her!
The third time does the dead one stir
And turns his bulging eyes in gloom
To the one half-dead in the room.
“Oh, Virgin Mary! With thy power,
Pray, ask thy son for help this hour!
Unworthily to Thee I’ve prayed;
Forgive me the great sin I’ve made!
Oh Mary, mother of relief,
Oh, save me in my woe and grief!”
And hark! from somewhere down below
A rooster just began to crow,
And through the village happily
In joined the rooster family.
And then the dead one, standing tall,
Fell backward with a mighty fall.—
A lull ensued and nothing reared,
Her lover, too, had disappeared.—
On morning people going past
To early mass halt here aghast:
One of the graves does gape and lurk;
A maiden’s locked up in the morgue,
And on each grave-mound in the dirt
A shred lies from a brand new shirt.—
***
Oh maiden! It was very wise
That you have raised to God your eyes
And shirked that fellow, full of vice!
Had your action been different,
Your life would have been poorly spent:
Your white, clean body ere the morn
Had like the shirts to shreds been torn!
- ↑ In that period of the Czech literature which followed after the general awakening of the Czech nation in the nineteenth century and the poetry of which is customarily called “classical”, the name of Karel Jaromir Erben (1811—1870) shines as a star of the first magnitude. Although his fame as a scientist and an historian is firmly engraved in the Czech historical literature side by side with his two great contemporaries, Palacký and Tomek, and although he has never been outdone as an untiring and most successful folklorist: it is his single volume of poetry “Kytice z pověstí narodních” (A Bouquet of National Legends) that made his name truly immortal and most beloved to the heart of every Czech. For, which of the Czechs does not know or is not able to recite more or less extensively the verses of his “Kytice”? By common consent of the people in general as well as of the literary critics the little volume is considered a jewel of so many pearls in the Czech poetry.The above translation presents to the readers of the Review one of the most popular poems of the book as an illustration of Erben’s muse. The Czech title of the poem is Svatební Košile (Wedding Shirts).
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
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| Translation: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929. The longest-living author of this work died in 1938, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 85 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
