Hollý The Slovak Epics

Svatopluk, the Cyrillo-Methodiad, Sláv
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-80484-197-6
Verlag: Glagoslav Publications B.V.
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 406 Seiten

The mid-nineteenth century was a time of political and cultural ferment in the Slavic lands of the Austro-Hungarian empire. The Czechs in the west, and the Slovaks in the east of the dual monarchy were striving to preserve their ethnic identities against centralising tendencies of Germanisation and Magyarisation. Literature played an important role in this 'national revival'. This was especially true of Slovakia, where the attention of poets and philologists was not merely on fostering the native language, as amongst the Czechs, but on the question of which language to foster. Should they coalesce linguistically with the kindred Czechs, or develop regional dialects into a national, Slovak language?

Ján Hollý (1785-1849), one of the greatest Slovak poets of the Romantic age, laid a sturdy foundation for the construction of modern Slovak nationhood with his three epic poems: Svatopluk (1833), the Cyrillo-Methodiad (1835), and Sláv (1839). These works both prove the suppleness and power of Slovak as a linguistic medium capable of great poetic expression and remind the Slovaks, and the world at large, of the glory that was the mediaeval Great Moravian Empire (Svatopluk), the roots of the Slovaks and Moravians in European culture (the Cyrillo-Methodiad), and the signal role of the Slavs in creating a vibrant, humanistic culture in early Central Europe (Sláv). Hollý emphasises the Slovaks as a nation in their own right, while extending a fraternal hand toward the other Slavic nations, upon whom he lavishes equal praise.

With The Slovak Epics, Glagoslav presents the reader with the entirety of Ján Hollý's three epic poems translated and introduced by Charles S. Kraszewski. All who are interested in Slovak literature, the poetry of the Romantic Era in general, and Slavic reciprocity and unity, will find  worth reading.

This book was published with a financial support from SLOLIA, Centre for Information on Literature in Bratislava.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hollý, Ján

Weitere Mitwirkende

Kraszewski, Charles S.

Leseproben

Canto I

I sing the bitter war that Svatopluk with Karolman

Waged, and how victorious, himself and his whole nation

From German yoke did liberate to independence,

Father of the great kingdom of the manly Slovaks.

Sweet Umka, if ever Thou didst deign inspire my songs,

Come to my aid now! For Thou knowest well the martial

Spirit, having thy residence on Bílá Hora

Or Kobyla or Devín, where Thou once gazed thy fill

On frightful armies massed! Come, shed thy light upon me,

Waft gentle inspiration, dispel the darknesses

That I may sing of those heroes who, up until now,

Have had no worthy bard to tell their mighty battles,

And of Svatopluk, who from sad and gloomy dungeon

Was raised to royal dignity, set upon a throne.

O Thou, who hast the fullest skill and kenning of deeds

Famous and ancient of our forefathers, O Delight

Surpassing all delight, great Glory of our nation!

Look now upon me with clement eye, and if only

Thou hast a moment free from toiling with the mighty

Bards of the great Lord God, and the clamorous appeals

Of the more humble rhymers begging inspiration,

Incline a patient ear unto this labour of mine

And as Thou hast gathered beneath thy aegis other

Songs that Thou hast reckoned worthy of thy support,

May it be welcomed too among the Slovak nation

Kindly and gladly, as something of thy fashioning.

The seventh month had passed, and now the eighth moon arose,

Unseen by Svatopluk in his dark prison pining,

Into which the German, savage, caused him to be hurled

In the despairing hope that this would shatter his faith.

So there he sat, yearning for his freedom, bewailing

His hard fate. There, as his sorrows swelled, his pains increased,

He unburdened his sad heart, lifting up this complaint:

‘Ah me! Miserable wretch, sorely persecuted,

Is my age to dissolve thus in torrents of distress?

Once more this head is pummelled by blows of misery!

No sooner had I emerged whole from one catastrophe,

Evading the cruel talons of fierce Rastislav,

Who would have swept me from the world, than I land in worse!

O, wretches who scramble after a royal sceptre!

And you who envy the ermine, believing it soft —

Learn this from me: learn what wisdom comes of my sorrow.

Look upon my suffering, learn from my example.

The higher you climb, the more violently shivers

The pine-tree in the gusts that batter it from all sides.

Such are the thrones of kings! The fires of heaven play but

On the sublimest masts that pierce the dark thunderheads!

How I would rather be somewhere in the far meadows

Of the high Tatras, a simple shepherd! A calm life,

A gay life, delightful, free of all burden and care.

How sweetly flows one’s age there, amidst the simple joys

From which hap tore me, thrusting me on a throne. This throne

Of rotten straw, this realm pitch-black of pain, pining,

To gnaw upon my own heart’s gristle in vain remorse!

And for this too I have to thank my royal sceptre,

That through no fault of mine I languish in this prison,

Where darkness, deep and endless, sears these two eyes of mine,

Where no sun rises, nor does the pale moon ever glow.

Nevermore shall I see the scattered flames of heaven

Nor their reflections on the fields: blooms and sparkling dew.

Neither breeze-flutings, nor streams’ thunder pierce these deaf walls,

Nor music sweet, nor the trillings and songs of the birds

At break of dawn or when the soft gloom of dusk gathers

Before the night spreads its deep blue wings over the land;

It’s all the same to me — I know not when the dawn breaks

Nor when the resplendent day marries the languid evening —

Here darkness broods unending with wings blacker than night.

Behold the joys of kingship, the recompense of rule!

Why am I here imprisoned? For what reason, Germans?

What is my crime? What evil have I done unto you?

Unwise was I, for entering into your friendship

When in my wretched need I sought protection here

While you cruelly ravaged our outposts with fire and steel!

Because through me Rastislav fell into your clutches

When he sought my life, laying covert traps before me,

Envenomed, abandoning that king to league with you?

Fresh is the memory of your defeat at his hands;

And even now he’d be thrashing your Bavarians

Had he not fallen into the snares he plaited for me,

And been dragged here before you, under guard, bound in them.

And lo! Now he has met with the same misfortune as I!

He, sad in his prison, I pining in prison too.

O my countrymen, and you my cousin Slavimír —

Are there no spears among you now, have you no armour

That you rush not to free me from this horrid gaol?

Have you too been charmed by regal glory, Slavimír?

But what are my vain pleas and complaints worth, anyway,

Since my raw-throated anguish will never reach your ears?

Perhaps you think I’ve died here, crushed by an evil fate?

O, if only I were to die in these darknesses,

At least my wretched suffering would come to an end!

Ah, fool! What are you thinking, trusting in human might?

Hope turns delusion when it’s placed in human hands.

Should you not rather turn from them and entrust yourself

To the mercy of the Most High Ruler of Heaven?

If He deign not to help you in your need, no one can.

He who places his hope in Him is never undone.

And so, O mighty Ruler in the sky, behold me,

O Thou, who comfortest the saddened and sendest aid

To prop up the needy, who leadest forth from darkness

Of dungeon blind into the pristine light of freedom,

Look down upon Thy servant who with mind and whole heart

Trusteth in Thee; look down upon me now, abandoned

By all, and buried deep beneath endless suffering —

And lead me forth, if I be worthy, from this prison.

O, deign to stretch forth Thy mighty arm, and lead me home!

So that I might bring to a successful end the task

I began: uprooting from the garden of my land

The rank weeds of paganism, which yet do flourish

In scattered parts, to lead all my people unto Thee,

To spread the one true faith, and gather all to worship

Pure, so that Thou, heavenly Father, alone shouldst reign,

Receiving praise and glory meet from a worshipful nation

Who serve Thee always, and everywhere, with ardent hearts’.

Thus groaned Svatopluk, complaining of his wretched lot,

Just like a nightingale captived within the stiff bars

Of a narrow cage for some thoughtless person’s pleasure,

Who thinks, to hear him trilling, that it’s from joy he sings,

The while the eyes of the poor creature well with hot tears,

Beholding him who deprived him of his liberty,

And while he crouches on his collar-beam, he sorrows,

Trilling his melodious dirge until, exhausted,

He’s emptied quite the contents of his brimming heart,

And all the house echoes with his dying, sad laments.

Now the Lord omnipotent, in the heights of Heaven,

Seated upon His golden throne flashing with diamonds,

Gazing upon the bright constellations as they roll,

And down upon the earth and all its people, at once

Beholding all things that are, were, and are yet to be,

Heard Svatopluk’s lament, and had mercy upon him.

He called before his throne one from his splendid legions

Selected (one from the ranks who serve as messengers

And comfort men in sorrow with words from on high).

Clad in refulgent armour and tunic bright with stars,

His face he covered in his pied plumes as he drew near

God’s throne — from piety, and also because the Face

Divine so radiates with light, out-shining the sun.

The angel came with alacrity and, bending low,

Attentively awaited the command of the Lord,

Which rang thus in his ears as the Omnipotent spoke:

‘Take thee off, youngster, to the city of Karolman,

And this command impart to him: “You must put an end

To the cruel captivity of guiltless Svatopluk.

The King must be led out into the bright light of day

And sent back to his realm, the land of the Slovaks”.

Let Karolman consider the fickle ways of Fortune —

What’s befallen Svatopluk might well...