The Timeless Nation

Timeless Nation

CHAPTER 15

l shall die indeed,

Mother, my dear mother,

For Helen Gorog,

For her slender waist,

For her full lips,

For her rosy cheeks

For blue-eyed Helen Gorog.

Do die, my son, do,

Ladislas Bertelaki,

They’ll come here to see

The marvellous dead

Virgins and fair maidens.

Your love will come too,

Your fair Helen Gorog.

- Arise, my son, arise,

Ladislas Bertelaki,

She for whom you have died

is standing at your feet…

(Extracts. Transl. in Leader: Hungarian Ballads)

(The concluding verses:)

Her little son set out crying,

He set out crying to the tall castle of Deva.

Three times he shouted at the tall castle of Deva:

"Mother, sweet mother, speak but one word to me!"

"I cannot speak my son, for the stone wall presses me,

I am immured between high stones here."

Her heart broke, so did the ground under her. Her little son fell in and died.

(Extract from N. Leader: Hungarian Ballads).

(The concluding lines: after the boy’s suicide)

His mother sent

River-divers,

They took them out dead,

The girl in his arms;

One of them was buried

In front of the altar,

The other was buried

Behind the altar.

Two chapel-flowers

Sprang up out of the two,

Thev intertwined

On top of the altar.

(Extract from N. Leader: Hungarian Ballads).

(The first and last lines:)

"Aye! Come home, mother, Father is ill"’

"Wait, my daughter, a little,

Let me dance a little,

I’ll go at once,

I just spin and dance a little,

I’ll be at home soon

"Aye! Come home, mother,

We have buried lather."

"Oh, aye, my bedlinen,

I may get a new husband,

But I can’t make bedlinen,

Because l cannot spin or weave

(Extracts from N. Leader: Hungarian Ballads).

Once upon a time out went fair maid Julia To pluck comflowers in the cornfield, To pluck comflowers, to bind them into a wreath, To bind them into a wreath, to enjoy herself.

Up, up she gazed into the high heaven,

Behold! a fine pathway came down from it,

And on it descended a curly white lamb.

It carried the sun and the moon between its horns,

it carried the sparkling star on its brow,

On its two horns were ay! two fine gold bracelets,

Ay! at its two sides were two fine burning candles,

As many as its hairs, so many the stars upon it.

Up and spoke to her the curly white lamb:

‘Do not take fright at me, fair maid, Julia,

For now the host of virgins has fallen short by one.

If you were to come with me, I would take you there,

To the heavenly choir, to the holy virgins, as to complete their pious host;

I would give the key of Heaven into your hands.

At the first cockcrow I would come and see you,

At the second cockcrow I would propose to you,

A t the third cockcrow I would take you away.

Fair maid Julia turns to her mother,

And up and speaks to her: "Mother, my sweet mother,

(…she tells her mother what happened and continues:)

Lament for me, mother, lament. Let me hear while I still live,

How you will lament when I am dead."

"My daughter, my daughter, in my flower garden,

You the wee honeycomb of my first bee-swarm,

You the golden wax of this wee honeycomb,

The earth-spreading smoke of this golden wax,

The earth spreading smoke, its heaven-breaking flame!

The heavenly bell, untolled it toiled,

The heavenly gate, unopened it opened,

Alas! my daughter, she was led in there!"

(Complete text except for repetition in verse 4 – from N. Leader: Hungarian Ballads).

(Extracts)

Once a prince of old

Thought he could find a sweetheart.

He decided right there

Dressed up as a coachman.

(He went to the rich judge’s daughter, asked her hand in marriage but she said:)

I would never wed, no,

A poor coachman fellow!

Ask my poorest neighbour!

Basket-weaver’s daughter.

(He did and the basket-weavers daughter said):

Yes, I will, I like you! I’ll be waiting for you!

(Dressed as a prince he went back to the judge’s daughter, who said she would be delighted to marry him, but the prince told her that he was marrying the poor girl. The prince then went to the basket-weaver’s daughter who could not recognise him and refused:)

I refuse to do so!

Handsome prince, I say no!

I have promised my hand

To a handsome coachman!

(The prince removed his royal disguise and said):

I am he, no other!

Let us kiss each other! (They did).

(Transl. by J. C. Toth).

(Passage from the Tale of a King, a Prince and a Horse):

We are passing through the glittering Glass Mountain of Fairyland" – said the "taltos" horse. "You see, those who want to carry off a "Tunder" (fairy) girl for a wife must cut their way through the Glass Mountain. But there is no other horse except me that could do it. You know now why I have asked for the diamond shoes. Without them we would not be able to cross the Glass Mountain . . . Bind up your eyes and let us go ahead."

(So they did. The Prince bound up his eyes and the horse set forth at a great speed). "Now, dear master, you can untie your eyes," the "taltos" horse said. The boy looked around and saw around him a beautiful meadow undulating with the ripple of pure silk and with every blade of grass in it as bright as a pin. Right in the middle of that meadow there lay a man. As the man lay there his sword went round and round him. "He is the old comrade your father is yearning to see" said the taltos horse . . . (When the old man woke up) the boy greeted him:

"May God bless you with a happy day, uncle." "God bless you too, my son. What brought you here, beyond the beyond, far even for the birds to come?" . . . "I am a Prince, the youngest son of the King who weeps with one eye and laughs with the other. It was his wish that I come here to lead you to him, because you are his dear old comrade, and just like him, you weep with one eye and laugh with the other. But he feels sure that if he could see you again, both his eyes would weep first and then laugh for joy."

(The Prince brought the old man back to his father then went back and married the princess of Fairyland ("Tunderorszag"), and they had a big wedding feast . . . and if they are not dead, they are still alive to this day.

(From "Folktales of Hungary", ed. L. Degh transl. by J. Juhasz, Uni. of Chicago Press, 1965).

(The conclusion of the legend "Blood Treaty")

Chieftain Almos turned toward the people and spoke:

The time has come when we shall retake the land, which is our rightful legacy, the land of Atilla. According to the customs, the people of the Magyars must select a ruler who shall lead them in war and in peace. . . The tribes must unite into a nation again, and have one leader and one mind, as it was in the days of Atilla. . . The chiefs have chosen my oldest son, Arpad, to be your ruler for life."

The seven chiefs held a shield in front of Arpad. As Arpad stepped on it, they raised him high above their heads. He stood straight on the uplifted shield and in his hand sparkled the Sword of God (Atilla’s sword).

The people around him broke out in cheers and the Taltos stepped forward with Atilla’s wooden cup in his hand.

"Come before me, ye seven Chiefs," said the Taltos in a loud voice, "and you Kabars, who are joining us, do the same. Pledge your oath to your leader, Arpad, and his descendants.

One by one, the Chiefs slit the flesh of their forearms and let their blood flow into Atilla’s cup. . - The Taltos mixed wine with the blood, poured a small amount on the ground, and sprayed a few drops into the wind, in four directions. Then he gave them the cup, and one by one, they drank from it.

(Extracts from "Selected Hungarian Legends" ed. A. Wass, Danubian Press, 1971. Transl. by F. Wass de Czege).

(The last episode from "Matthias and his Barons")

Once the king and his barons were walking past a reedy swamp. A hot day it was. "A bit of rain would be just in time for these reeds," said the king though the reeds stood in water. The barons caught each other’s eye and began to laugh. ‘What need was there of rain when the reeds stood in water?’ The king made no reply. When they got home, he gave orders to serve them the finest dishes generously salted and without any drink to wash the. meal down. And at his orders big bowls were placed under the table, at the feet of each baron. The bowls were filled with water, and the barons had to put their feet into the bowl. When they had finished supping, the barons desired some drink as the good dishes made them thirsty. They asked the king to let them have some water as they were nearly dying with thirst.

Said the king: "What for? Your feet are in water. You were laughing at me when I said the reeds wanted a good rain. You said, ‘Why should they want rain as they stood in water?’ Well, why should you want water when your feet are in it? You will get none.

(From "Folktales of Hungary", ed. by L. Degh, transl. by J. Juhasz, Uni. of Chicago Press, 1965).

In the far-off days when Jesus and Peter were still going about in the world, they were making for the Hungarian "puszta" (Plain) when they came to a village inn. Peter, Who was tired said "Let us go in." The Lord said then, "AIl right, let us take a little rest in there." Inside the inn, some "betyars" (outlaws) were making merry, shaking their legs in a lively dance.

The two wanderers lay down by the wall to rest for a while. But Peter, who was lying nearest the dance floor, received so many kicks in his side as the dancers went dancing past him that before long he felt anything but pleased at their manners. So he thought that it would be quite a good idea to change places with the Lord.

"Let us change places, Lord," he said, "and let me lie next to the wall for a while."

"All right, Peter, let’s change places."

But now the dancers thought that for a change they should give a few kicks to the man lying next to the wall, and it was Peter again who got all the kicks.

(From "Folktales of Hungary").

CHAPTER 17

(The first verse of the "Siege of Eger":)

You, Hungarians worship God now,

And indeed give thanks to Him,

Of valiant soldiers in Eger speak highly,

I tell you a chronicle, give me hearing …

(Extracts from "Of the many Drunkards":)

You many drunkards, hear about your morals,

A bout the sins committed in your drunkenness against God,

For many a time you forget your God…

…

In thirst this was composed by one called Sebestyen,

In Nyirbator in 1548,

The stewards did not give me wine, be cursed…

(Extracts)

Soldiers, what men could be

More blessed on earth than we,

Here in the frontier command?

For in the pleasant spring

Merrily songbirds sing,

Gaily on every branch!

Sweet is the meadow rose,

Sweet dew the sky bestows;

What men know life like our band!

(Transl. by Paul Desney)

(In a similar vein he grieves, in Christian humility for the sins of his youth);

Unhappy is my lot;

My pangs are great, God wot;

My youth is turned to sighing.

For toil is hard to bear,

My yoke is harsh to wear

In spite of all my trying.

The good old times have flown

By winds of evil blown,

And left me to my crying.

("Farewell" – first verse. From Kunz: Hungarian Poetry. Transl. by W. Kirkconell)

When autumn dews are done,

Across the waning sun

November winds come blowing.

They snatch the falling leaves,

A cross the bitter eves

Their yellow fragments strowing

Soon where I walk today

A long the greenwood way

Strides winter with its snowing.

("Farewell": as above)

(From: "Greeting on finding Julia")

I do not even want the world without you, my sweet love, who now stands whole beside me, my sweet soul.

The joy of my sad heart, sweet longing of my soul, you are the happiness of all; the pledge of God be with you.

My precious palace, fine scented red rose, beautiful queen-stock, long life, fair Juha!

(Extract. Transl. by Paul Desney).

(Extract from Peter Pazmany’s "The Guide to the right Faith):

Men build slowly, but they are quick to destroy their beautiful buildings. Not so Almighty God. For he builds quickly. In six days He created Heaven and Earth in all their fairness and splendor, but he took seven days to lay siege to a single city, Jericho. He decided to bring Niniveh to dust and ashes and yet He tarried forty days.

Nor will He hasten to bring this world to dust and ashes. He waits with great patience, as He does now. When the time will approach, He will give terrifying signs. Do you know, 0 Christians, why God has willed that there be great and manifold horrors before the Last Judgement? Because our God is infinitely good and full of mercy. He threatens us, so that we may know there is still time to come to Him.

(From: B. Menczer: A Commentary. . . Amerikal Magyar Kiado, 1956).

The concluding strophes of Zrinyi’s "Peril of Sziget" express the poet’s pride in his achievements both in poetry and in warfare. Whilst his somewhat exaggerated claim to poetic immortality is in keeping with the typical baroque style of his age, he realizes that his true destiny is to "fight the Ottoman moon":

My work is done, a monument whose grace No spiteful stream of time can wash away, No fire’s rage can harm, nor steel deface, Nor gnawing envy cause its slow decay.

I seek my fame not only with my pen, But also with my sword so feared by men;

And all my life I’ll fight the Ottoman moon, And gladly for my country die, be it late or soon.

(Transl. by W. Kirkconnell. From: "Hungarian Poetry")

(The folk-song variation of "Rakoczi’s Farewell" – as recorded in an eastern-Hungarian village in Szatmar county):

Listen to my speech,

My dear. Hungarian people,

Advise me, my brave soldiers,

What should I do?

The Germans are coming,

Destroying everything,

By sword and fire.

(The "Rakoczi-song" – the work of a skilled poet):

Alas, Rakoczi, Bercsenyi,

Leaders of brave Magyars,

Bezeredi!

Where are you now,

Living idols of

Our Magyar people!

Alas, you great, old

Magyar people,

How the enemy is

Ravaging you!

Once a beautiful,

Ornate picture!

CHAPTER 18

(As the bride leaves her parents’ house for the church she says):

The hour has come to start out on my road,

To reach the goal with my beloved mate,

That we may be linked with the chain of love

In the house of God, that we may have another.

My dear parents, your tears spring from

The painful feeling in the parental heart.

Although I was a flower blooming in your garden,

I desired an even greater happiness than that.

Let me go on my road. now,

I leave you in the protection of the Lord, I greet you with all my heart.

(As she enters the house of her mother-in–law:)

My dear mother, I wish you good evening,

I stand at the door of your house with fear.

As the migrating bird leaves her nest,

So I left . that of my dear parents.

So does a single bird fly about alone

Until it finds its mate at last.

But your dear son is no longer alone,

Having found his loving mate already.

I have become a companion to your dear son today,

Receive me as your daughter now.

(From: Fel - Hofer: Proper Peasants, Corvina; Budapest, 1969).

(Good-wish song – usually sung by the children of the family):

Arise, brave people,

Dawn is smiling,

Approaching, like an angel

On wings of golden feathers.

Green blades of grass,

Dress up prettily,

They wash and dry themselves

With lilies and roses.

As the number of grasses

In the flowery meadows,

As the number of drops in the great. ocean

So many blessings

For our dear…

CHAPTER 20

(Extracts from D. Berzsenyi: ‘My portion"):

Peace is my portion. I have moored my boat;

No fairy dream shall, lure me to cast loose;

Place of retirement, to thy breast receive

Th’ aspiring youth.

Wherever fate shall cast my lot in life,

I am free from penury and care,

Always and everywhere it: calm content

To heaven I look.

(Transl. by W.N. Loew. From: "Hungarian Poetry" ed. E. F. Kunz, Pannonia PubI. Co. Sydney, 1955).

(From: M. Csokonal-Vitez: "To the Rose-bud"):

Open, Rose-bud, sweetly smiling,

Open up at last;

Open to the vagrant breeze

Whose kisses are awaiting you.

Oh, how this weedy garden

Will take pride in you!

Oh, how dare they take

This precious garment from you.

Let me pick you, elegant stalk;

Already you are beautiful.

How many pert, coquettish,

Cheeky girls await you!

No, no! let no one of these

Undo her clasps at your sight;

Dear Julia, who planted you

Will grant you a new garden.

There you may parade your purple

Among more precious robes;

There you may parade your perfume

Among her dearer scents.

(Transl. by Paul Desney.)

(Extract from the song "To Hope" by M. Csokonai-Vitez):

Why do you flatter me with your honied lips?

Why are you smiling at me?

Why do you still raise in my bosom a dubious heart?

Keep to your own devices, you encouraged me once,

I had believed your pretty words, yet you have deceived me.

(Two stanzas from S. Kisfaludy’s "Lamenting Love"):

(No.75) 0 thou stream, that springing

from the cold hill’s side

tears down sadly ringing

where dark pine trees bide

with hesitant windings

between rock and tree,

till, loosing your bindings,

you reach the sea, art the image of my life,

which sobs its tortured way

snared by endless strife

towards its final bay.

(No. 126) Days come, days go back,

but sorrow does not range;

the hours fly and pass,

but my destiny does not change.

Volcanoes tire;

Rivers, lakes run dry:

but not my fire

or tears from my eye;

forests, meadows, come alive;

star-clusters turn and swill;

fortune revolves and thrives;

only my misery stands still.

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

(First verse of "National Anthem" by F. Kolcsey):

God, bless the Hungarian

With abundance; gladness,

Graciously protect him when

Faced with foes or sadness.

Bring for people torn by fate

Happy years and plenty:

Sins of future, sins of late,

Both are paid for amply.

(Transl. by E. F. Kunz. From: "Hungarian Poetry", ed. by E.F. Kunz).

("The Sorrowing Husband" by Ch. Kisfaludy):

At Szatmar village is an inn,

Fair Mistress Therese lives within.

Her eyes are lustrous, black her hair,

Her form all grace, beyond compare,

She is the fairest of the fair.

But woe! – the truth, – it must be told, –

Though beautiful, she was a scold.

Just now a quarrel she began;

To chide, to brawl, to rail – it ran

As but an angry woman can.

This time it was the husband who

Upon himself her anger drew.

He meekly sat behind the stove

From whence she with a broomstick drove,

When sudden, in the noisy hum,

A cry is heard: "The Tartars come!"

Though each one trembles, runs, hides, weeps;

Still, our good Mistress Therese keeps

Her courage, goes into the street

For boldly any man to meet,

A splendid weapon is her tongue.

As said before, she’s fair and young,

Her face all rosy from the flare

She had been in; her neck, arms are bare,

Her heaving breast, her fiery eye

Her usual good looks amplify.

The Tartar comes. His eyes are fire,

And burning with brute desire

When Mistress Therese he espies

He realises what a prize

She would be. So with no ado

Up comes to her the Tartar foe

And taking hold around her waist,

With one strong pull he had her placed

Beside himself, and then with haste

He into the far distance raced.

No woman more his saddle graced

Than now he, drunk with joy, embraced.

The spouse, whose wife had just been stolen,

Feels, that his eyes with tears are swollen;

Looks up the road on which they fled

"Poor Tartar!" is all that he said.

(Transl. by W. N. Loew. From: "Hungarian Poetry", ed. by E.F. Kunz).

(A prose rendering of the concluding lines of "Fair Helen" by M. Vorosmarty)

. . Pale as a snow-white statue stands fair Ilonka, speechless, numb.

"Shall we indeed go to the huntsman at the court of Matyas, dear child? It is better for us in the wilds of Vertes; our little home there will give us peace". The grandfather spoke with understanding grief, and the sad pair went on their way, their steps stricken with care.

If you have seen a fair flower in bloom drop through inner sickness – so did fair Ilonka, fearing the light, droop beneath her secret sorrow. Her companions were feelings aflame, painful memories, dead hopes. Her life, brief yet an agony, passed away, fair Ilonka languished to the grave; her languishing was the fall of lilies: her face of innocence and grief. The King comes and stands in the deserted house; they rest in their eternal home.

(From: "Five Hungarian Writers", D. M. Jones).

(From "To the Daydreamer" by M. Vorosmarty):

Into what place does the world of your eyes now lapse?

What do you look for in the doubtful distance there?

Can it be past time’s dark flower perhaps

Upon which, trembling, clings your wondrous tear?

Clad perhaps in the future’s veil you see

Nightmarish apparitions which come your way.

He who wants a flower does not bear a bush;

He who would have vision gazes not into the sun;

He who would seek after pleasure loses out.

Only the humble are not brought pain through desire.

. . Don’t took, don’t look into the distance of desire

The entire world is not our land to hold;

Only that which the heart alone can encompass,

That only can we hold as our own.

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

(From "Thoughts in the Library" by M. Vorosmarty):

What can we do here? struggle – each one

according to his strength – for the noble aim.

Before us a nation’s destiny lies.

When we have raised that from its sunken state

and placed it as high as possible by

the clear rays of spiritual struggle,

we can say, turning to our ancestors’

ashes: Thanks be, Life! To your health!

we’ve had a good time – we've done a man’s work!

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

(From "Appeal" by M. Vorosmarty)

Be true to the land of thy birth,

Son of the Magyar race;

It gave thee life and soon its earth

Will be thy resting place.

Although the world is very wide,

This is thy home for aye;

Come weal or woe on fortune’s tide

Here you must live and die.

This is the dear, hallowed soil

On which our fathers bled;

This, where a thousand years of toil

Has bound the mighty dead.

(Transl. by W. Jaffray. From: "Hungarian Poetry").

(From ‘The Old Gypsy" by M. Vorosmarty:)

Gypsy, strike up! You’ve gulp’d your wine for pay.

Strike up! Who knows how soon the day will come

When fiddle-bow is bent and music dumb?

Griefs in your heart, but wine is in your glass:

Play, gypsy, play, and let your troubles pass!

Your boiling blood should eddy like the tide,

The marrow of your brain be stirr’d and warm.,

Your eyes should glitter like a meteor,

Your sounding string be like a thunderstorm.

Strike up? But no! In silence leave the strings

Until that day when earth shall join in feast,

Till all the storm and darkness shall be past,

And war’s abhorrent discords shall have ceas’d

When that day comes, play on with new-found cheer

Until the very gods rejoice to hear!

(Transl. by W. Kirkconnell. From: "Hungarian Poetry").

Timeless Nation