(Prose rendering of the first verse of "Shepherds’ Dance")

I wish I had woken up sooner. I have just heard the angels’ voice telling us that Jesus was born in a humble stable. Now I want to go there, hoping to see Little Jesus. Come, dear friend, let us go our old shepherd friend will play the flute. We shall entertain Jesus and Mary while you catch a lamb.

(Recorded in Pest county, Central Hungary).

(Extracts – in prose – from "Gloria . .")

Gloria in excelsis – wake up, shepherds, wake up!

Today your Lord was born in Bethlehem.

You find Him in a humble stable there. . .

(Recorded in Northern Hungary).

(Variant of the carol "Herdsmen. .")

Herdsmen, when in Bethlehem, they were

Tending herds in the night on the fields,

God’s angels appeared before them.

With great fear their hearts grew heavy.

I bring you good news, don’t be afraid,

For today was born your Lord and Saviour.

(Variant of the carol "Kirje. .")

She could find no shelter in the town,

They will have to stay in the desert,

I would not let you catch cold,

I would cover you and look after you,

I would serve you, my Master.

(Recorded in a Great Plain village).

0, if you had been born

In our town, Bicske,

In Hungary you would have found

A warmer home and better people

(Recorded in Komarom county, Transdanubia).

(Extracts from a "Bethlehem play"):

Except Saint Joseph’s cloak.

Aye, aye, aye, Jesus, sleep!

(Recorded in Sopron county, Transdanubia).

(Extracts from the address given by Louis Kossuth in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania in 1852. He looks back on the achievements of Hungary’s freedom struggle in 1848-1849 then appeals for American moral and political support for Hungary’s continued struggle to regain her independence)

"…In Hungary (before 1848) the people of every race were equally excluded from all political right – from any share of constitutional life. The endeavours of myself and my friends for internal improvement – for emancipation of the peasantry – for the people’s restoration to its natural rights in civil, political, social and religious respects – were cramped by the Habsburg policy. But the odium of this cramping was thrown by Austria upon our conservative party: and thus our national force was divided into antagonistic elements.

Besides, the idea of Panslavism and of national rivalries, raised by Russia and fostered by Austria, diverted the excitement of the public mind from the development of common political freedom. And Hungary had no national army. Its regiments were filled with foreign elements and scattered over foreign countries, while our own country was guarded with well disciplined foreign troops. And what was far worse than all this, Hungary, by long illegalities, corrupted in its own character, deprived of its ancient heroic stamp, Germanized in its salons, sapped in its cottages and huts, impressed with the avoidable fatality of Austrian sovereignty and the knowledge of Austrian power, secluded from the attention of the world, which was scarcely aware of its existence, –Hungary had no hope in its national future, because it had no consciousness of its strength, and was highly monarchial in its inclinations and generous in its allegiance to the King..."

(This logical, unemotional analysis of the deeper causes of Hungary’s defeat in 1848-49 from an address given in English to an American audience compares interestingly with a highly emotional speech given to the Hungarian Parliament in July 1848. On this occasion Kossuth, the Finance Minister of the first Hungarian government, asked for an appropriation to enable the government to set up a national defence force of 200,000 soldiers (Cf. Chapter 19). The following are the introductory and concluding sentences of the speech):

"Gentlemen, in ascending the Tribune to call upon you to save the country, I am oppressed with the greatness of the moment; I feel as if God had placed in my hands the trumpet to arouse the dead, that if sinners and weak, they may relapse into death, but that if the vigour of life is still within them, they may waken to eternity. The fate of the nation at this moment is in your hands; with your decision on the motion which I shall bring forward, God has placed the decision on the life or death of Hungary…"

. . (After having explained the need for a strong defence force, he concluded:) ". .. I here solemnly and deliberately demand of this House, a grant of 200,000 soldiers and the necessary pecuniary assistance.

(When Kossuth reached this part of his speech, Paul Nyary, the leader of the opposition, stood up, and raising his right hand, as if in the act of taking an oath, exclaimed: "We grant it . ." As one man the deputies repeated the words of Nyary. Kossuth continued with a voice trembling with emotion):

"(Gentlemen). . . you have all risen to a man, and I bow be fore the generosity of the nation, while I add one more request: let your energy equal your patriotism, and I venture to affirm that even the gates of hell shall not prevail against Hungary…"

(Hollister, W.C. "Landmarks…" J. Wiley and Sons New York, 1967; Headley: Life of Kossuth, quoted in "Hungary and its Revolutions" by E. 0. S., London, G. Bell, 1896).

(From: S. Petofi: "National Song):

Break the chain which now enthralls you.

(Tranl. by W. N. Loew, From: "Hungarian Poetry").

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

(Transl. by E. F. Kunz).

("The cottage door. .")

(Transl. by C. H. Wright. From ‘Hungarian Poetry").

Are your romantic eyries, bold with pine?

Ye win my admiration, not my love,’

Your lofty valleys lure no dream of mine.

Down where the prairies billow like a sea,

Here is my world, my home, my heart’s trite fane,

My eagle spirit soars, from chains released,

When I behold the unhorizoned plain.

Upwards I mount in ecstasies of thought

Above the earth, to cloud-heights still more near,

And see, beneath, the image of the plain,

From Danube on to Tisza smiling clear.

Stampeding herds of horses, as they run,

Thunder across the wind with trampling hoof,

As lusty herdsmen’s whoops resound again

And noisy whips crack out in sharp reproof.

Far, far away, where heaven touches earth,

Blue tree-tops of dim orchards tower higher,

Like some pale fog-bank, and beyond them still

A village church projects a simple spire.

Fair art thou, Alfold, fair at least to me!

Here I was born, and in my cradle lay.

God grant I may be buried ‘neath its sod,

And mix my mouldering cerements with its clay!

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

(From: "One Thought torments me. . . ":)

One thought torments me: that I lie

Upon a featherbed to die!

Flowerlike, the furtive earthworm’s prey,

And when, from my lips, last paeans of joy but start,

Let them be drowned in the clatter of steel,

In the roar of the guns, in the trumpet's peal,

And through my still corpse

Shall horse after horse

Full gallop ahead to the victory won,

And there shall I lie to be trampled upon.

(Transl. by E. B. Pierce and E. Delmar).

(Transl. by C. H. Wright. From: "Hungarian Poetry").

(From: "The Bards of Wales":)

Edward the king, the English king,

Bestrides his tawny steed,

"For I will see if Wales" said he,

"Accepts my rule indeed."

"In truth this Wales, Sire, is a gem,

The fairest in thy crown:

The stream and field rich harvest yield,

And fair are dale and down."

"And all the wretched people there

Edward the king, the English king,

Bestrides his tawny steed;

The castle named Montgomery

Ends the day’s journeying;

The castle’s lord, Montgomery,

Must entertain the king.

"Ye lords, ye lords, will none consent

His glass with mine to ring?

What! Each one fails, ye dogs of Wales,

To toast the English king?"

All voices cease in soundless peace,

All breathe in silent pain;

Then at the door a harper hoar

Comes in with grave disdain:

"Harsh weapons clash and hauberks crash,

And sunset sees us bleed,

The crow and wolf our dead engulf –

This, Edward, is thy deed!"

"Now let him perish! I must have"

(The monarch’s voice is hard)

"Your softest songs, and not your wrongs!" –

In steps a boyish bard:

"The breeze is soft at eve, that oft

From Milford Haven moans;

It whispers maidens’ stifled cries,

It breathes of widows’ groans.

Ye maidens bear no captive babes!

The fierce king nods. The lad is seiz’d

And hurried from the spot.

"No more! Enough!" cries out the king.

In rage his orders break:

"Seek though these vales all bards of Wales

And burn them at the stake!"

in martyrship, with song on lip,

Five hundred Welsh bards died;

Not one was mov’d to say he lov’d

The tyrant in his pride.

"‘Ods blood! What songs this night resound

Upon our London streets?

The mayor should feel my irate heel

If aught that sound repeats!"

Each voice is hush’d; through silent lanes

To silent homes they creep.

"Now dies the hound that makes a sound,

The sick king cannot sleep."

"Ha! Bring me fife, drum and horn,

And let the trumpet blare!

In ceaseless hum their curses come

But high above all drum and fife

And trumpets’ shrill debate,

Five hundred martyr’d voices chant

Their hymn of deathless hate.

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

(From: "The Death of Buda", Canto Six: ‘The Legend of the Wonder Hind").

That issues from the tomb with pallid brow

Who can rejoice in flowers that are dead?

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

(Extracts from I. Madach: "The Tragedy of Man").

(Scene One:)

Lucifer (to God):

(Scene Three:) (Adam and Eve have just been expelled from Paradise)

Eve (to A dam): I am making such an arbour

(Scene Eleven: Eve looks at a grave:)

Dost thou believe I fear thine awful gloom?

(Scene Thirteen: Adam, though disgusted with the frustrations of mankind, realises that he has a task to perform:)

Adam: Though Science may redeem the Earth, in time

(Scene Fifteen: Adam, having seen in his dream the tragedies and frustrations of human history, decides to prevent it all by committing suicide:)

Adam: Before me is that cliff – below the gulf.

Eve; . . . I am a mother, Adam

(Adam falls upon his knees and turns to the Lord again, but he still fears for the future:)

After a long winter’s night.

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

(From the last chapter of "The Dark Diamonds" by M. Jokai: Ivan, the owner of a coal-mine, finds the girl of his dreams – working in his coal-mine)

The girl stood still on top of the coal. . . The next moment Ivan was at her side…

"You are here! You have come back here!"

"I have been here, sir, for almost a year, and if you will keep me on, I should like to stay."

"You can stay, but only on one condition – as my wife" cried lvan, pressing her hand to his heart.

Evila shook her head, and drew away her hand. "No, no. Let me be your servant, a maid in your house, your wife’s maid. I shall be quite happy; l want nothing more . . . if you knew all, you would never forgive me."

"I know everything, and I can forgive everything."

His words proved that Ivan knew nothing. If he had known the truth, he would have known that there was nothing, nothing to forgive. As it was, he pressed his love to his heart, while she murmured:

‘You may forgive me, but the world will never pardon you."

"The world!" cried Ivan, raising his head proudly. "My world is here," laying his hand on his breast. "The World! Look around from this hill. Everything in this valley owes its life to me; every blade of grass has to thank me that it is now green. Hill and valley know that, with God’s help, I have saved them from destruction! I have made a million, and I have not ruined any one.. My name is known all over the world, and yet I have hidden myself here, not to be troubled with their praises."

"Oh, sir," she whispered, "if l do not die, I shall always love you, but I feel that I shall die."

As she spoke she fell back in a faint. Her brilliant colour faded to a wax pallor, her flashing eyes closed; and her body, which a moment before was like a blooming rose, crumpled lifeless, like an autumn leaf.

Ivan held her lifeless body in his arms.

The woman whom he had loved for so long, for whom he had suffered so much, was his, just as her pulse ceased to beat, just as she said: "I shall always love you, but I feel that l shall die."

But she did not die.

A diamond is a diamond for ever.

(From: K. Mikszath’s novelette, "The Gentry": a Budapest journalist has been a guest at a wedding attended by Hungarian-Slovak gentry in the northern county Saros. After the wedding he asks his friend about the luxury and pomp displayed by the guests)

"And those four-in-hands," I exclaimed, "the pomp, the splendour and brilliance, the Havana cigars and everything, everything?"

"So much eyewash. The four-in-hands were borrowed from one place; the trappings here, the first pair of horses there, the second pair from another place. "

"But this is sheer deceit!"

"Poppycock," Bagozy interrupted passionately. "Who would be deceived? Everyone knows that the other hasn’t got four horses. These good boys, myself included, simply keep up fornm. . . beautiful, ancient form. Why, all this is so charming. . . This is the custom with us and customs must be respected at all costs. . . But as regards the merits of the case, even if the brilliance and pomp, the splendour and liveliness, the refined and easy manners, the joviality and aristocratic airs. . . the horses, the silver cutlery don’t belong to one or the other. . . by all means they belong to somebody – to all of us. These things happen to be scattered among us and whose business is it if, on certain occasions, we artificially pool them on one spot?.

(Transl. by L. Halapy. From: "Hungarian Short Stories", Oxford Uni. Press, London, and Corvina, Budapest, 1967).