Libussa, Duchess of Bohemia/Preface
PREFACE
By the Translator.
It is a thoroughly mistaken idea, to believe that Fancy Tales are drolleries invented only to lull children asleep, and not fit to entertain the more enlightened public. The mind, as well as the stomach, requires variety and change, to prevent satiety and disgust. The plodding merchant, the calculating politician, the subtle lawyer, the serious judge, the problem-crammed mathematician, and even the dogmatic divine, need an occasional relaxation of the mind, which they find in light literature. There is certainly no want of novels—historical, sentimental, romantical, nautical, philosophical, political, or any other sort; the difficulty is only in the choice. Nor is there a want of novel-writers; of all the branches of literature this is the most prolific, for the taste of the public lies that way: but although some of the living novel-writers are authors of the highest merit, and their dishes are such as to satisfy even the most dainty, the reader might find himself at last in the predicament of the gourmand—“Tojours des perdrix.”
It may be pleasant sometimes to weep over the misfortunes of a tender and sentimental hero, like Grandison, Werther, or La Nouvelle Heloise; but the continual sight of misfortunes of the heart will, it is to be feared, have the effect of over-exciting or of blunting the feelings. Why not, therefore, let the heart for a short time repose—have a refreshing peep into the magic lanthorn, to see the figures on the wall, and allow fancy a free scope? Whatever the learned doctors may say, Fancy is the dearest boon-companion of the human mind, from the first developement of the soul in its infantine shell till the blight of its energies in the shrivelled-up body of old age. The child, whether brought up at the road-side cottage or in the castellated mansion, will abandon its dearest plaything—the hoop, the top, the wooden horse, the doll, or the drum—to come and listen to the story of Jack the Giant-killer or Mother Hubbard. The soldier sitting near the watch fire will forget the fatigues of the march, to listen, on the shores of the Ebro, to the Tales of the Alhambra, or, on the borders of the Ganges, to the genial tales of the Arabian Nights. The sailor will give his grog to listen to the elder and more weather-beaten tar relating his meeting with the phantom ship or the ghost of the Red Rover. But not those primitive minds alone are fond of the wonderful and preternatural; for many a debating senator, and grey-headed savant, will peruse with pleasure works upon animal magnetism and other wonderful inventions of the age; and Morrison’s pills, Holloway’s ointments, and Major Beniowski’s phrenotypics, will always find purchasers. Even the sober Times, knowing the taste of the public, occasionally indulges in the wonderful, and devotes a few columns to the last travels of the sea-serpent. The propensity for the supernatural is deeply imbedded in our souls. The human mind is not always satisfied with the real; its boundless activity passes from realities into the domain of hypothetic possibilities. Thus each nation has its fancy stories, which, if they form not part of its literature, are at least traditional in the mouths of the million; and, sooner or later, a man of talent will be found who, working in the large field of literature, will find some as yet uncultivated corner, and devote it entirely to popular fancy tales. This is what Musæus has done in Germany, and which has made his name as immortal as the language.
In popular fancy tales the national character can be as easily traced as in the mechanical works of art of a nation. Thus, richness of invention, luxuriance, and surfeit in strange decorations, distinguish the Eastern fabrics as well as the Eastern tales. Carelessness in elaborating, lightness and shallowness in the fundamental parts, with a certain ease and grace, are to be traced in the French manufactures, as well as in their Contes des Fées. System, harmony, and solid composition, are the marks of German implements and of German poetry.
One of the greatest merits of Musæus’s tales is, that they are neither borrowed from other nations, nor creations of his own invention; but are, without exception, purely German traditions, which have been transmitted from the great grandfather to the great grandson.
This is the third volume of Musæus’s Fancy Tales, which I here offer to the public. The success of the two former volumes allows me to hope that this will meet with a similar favour. The more so, as Libussa is one of the best of Musæus’s tales, and may be called an historical fancy tale, being, as may be seen by the notes which I have added, strictly historical. The historiographer of the Bohemian history, Dubravius, describes the persons of Krokus, Libussa, Therba, Bela, and Primislas, just as Musæus gives them. Libussa’s speech, when compelled to choose a consort, is a verbal translation from the Latin history of Dubravius. So that by reading this tale the reader will be transplanted into the country which has given birth to Ziska, Huss, and Wallenstein, at a time when the Bohemian people were yet in the cradle of civilization. Their manners and customs are well sketched; and the tale may therefore instruct, whilst the wonderful flights of fancy and easy style may amuse. If so, I shall have every reason to congratulate myself for having brought it before the English public; for trite, but still true, is the maxim—
“Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci.”