Poems (Eminescu)/Third Epistle
THIRD EPISTLE
Once upon a time a Sultan, ruler over nomad bands,
Roaming with their herds and seeking pastures new in many lands,
On the earth lay sleeping, pillowed was his head upon his arm,
But his eyes, beneath closed lashes, now awoke in dream’s sweet charm.
From the sky down gliding gently, all in silver dress arrayed,
Came the moon towards him descending as a pure and lovely maid,
On her pathway, all, around her, as on mild spring’s step did bloom,
Yet her eyes were full of shadows born of secret sorrow’s gloom,
All the woods with so much beauty charmed were thrilling with delight,
All the brooks and rivers quivered with their limpid faces bright,
Diamond dust was lightly falling from above like finest rain,
Glitt’ring in the air, on flowers, over all in nature’s reign,
In the night resplendent rainbows arching on the sky were seen,
And bewitching, softly whispered, sounded music sweet, serene…
Lovely arms she streched towards him as he lay, her raven hair
Fell like silken waves down streaming on her snowy shoulders bare:
—„Let our lives be bound together, come, belovèd, to my breast,
Soothing balm to my sweet sorrow be thy sorrow, near me rest…
This in Life’s book for all ages on the stars did Fate record:
I must be thy sovereign lady, thou must be my life’s dear lord.“
As to her he looked and listened, darkening she disappeared;
From his heart sprang up a tree that towards the sky its branches reared,
And it grew, it grew in moments as in ages long, this tree
Shot its boughs with massy foliage over all, on land and sea,
Underneath the shadows creeping over all the world disperse,
One great shadow now embracing all the boundless universe.
On the four points of th’horizon the gigantic mountain ranges,
Atlas, Caucasus and Taurus, and the Balkans hoar with ages,
And the Tigris, the Euphrates and the Nile, the Danube old,
All the world th’unmeasured shadow of this tree did now enfold.
Vast espanses, Asia, Europe, Africa with deserts wide,
With their sea-shores and their harbours, and strong cities on each side,
On the seas and on the rivers galleons rocking on the waves,
And the undulating corn-fields, riches, all that man’s heart craves,
Linked together, countries, nations, wheresoe’er his eyes would stray,
A vast carpet intermingling countless hues before him lay.
Through a greyish mist transparent there before his eager view,
Under one tree’s shadow only an all-powerful empire grew.
Towards the sky the eagles flying to its branches could not soar;
Loud and victory presaging, a strong wind began to roar,
And the rustling foliage wildly in the stormy blast was rent,
Cries of battle, Allah! Allah! to the highest clouds were sent.
And the tumult grew tremendous like a high tempestuous sea,
Shouts of triumph, shouts of horror, howling now unceasingly;
But with spear-like leaves the branches in the tossing winds contending,
Over the new Rome inclining to the earth were lowly bending.
Shaken by his dream the Sultan wakened... looking upwards, there
On the sky the moon was gliding o’er the hills of Eski-Shehr,
And behind a latticed window smiling was a face so meek,
Twas the graceful child, the daughter of Edèbali, the sheik,
Like a hazel twig so slender, haloed by the bright full moon,
Dreaming on the casement leaning stood the fair maid Malcatoon.
Then he knew that the great Prophet had imagined this device,
That in dream he had ascended in Mohammed’s paradise,
And that from his love an empire would be born and wide would grow.
But its destined years and limits Heaven could alone foreknow.
So, as Fate decreed, the passing ages proved his vision true,
Like an eagle soaring upwards every year the empire grew,
Sultan after sultan followed, their green banner rose still higher,
Nation after nation conquered was by them with sword and fire,
Country after country open all the ways for them did set…
Full of glory to the Danube came the stormy Bajazet.
At a sign with floating vessels shore to shore was quickly bound,
The whole army crossing over to the martial trumpets’ sound.
Janizaries, Allah’s children, spahees, with their spears and shields,
Swarmed like bees, the whole earth dark’ning on Rovine’s[1] marshy fields,
Numberless their high tents pitching, waiting for the battle grim;
Ominous the oak-woods rustled looming in the distance dim.
A peace messenger came bearing on a rod a kerchief white.
Bajazet then asked him, looking as to one whom he did slight:
—„Say, what wantest thou?“
—„Your Highness, peace is all we come to seek,
If you grant it, fain our lord would with the gracious emperor speak“
At a sign the way was opened, to the tent with nobleness
Came an old man plain and simple in his words and in his dress.
—„Thou art Mircea?“
—„Yes, High Sultan!“
—„For thine homage here came I,
Lest thy crown to thorns be changèd, with my will thou must comply.“
—„Howsoe’er thou camest, Sultan, and whate’er thy thought may be,
While we are in peace and quiet, as a friend I welcome thee.
As for vassal’s homage, pardon! but our honour this denies:
Would’st thou with thy warring armies this poor country now chastise?
Give us rather, mighty Sultan, a high token of thy grace
And magnanimously leave us, back again thy way retrace...
Be the one or be the other, what our fate may have in store,
Gladly shall we bear it always, be it peace or be it war.“
—„When the world to me is open, thinkest thou that I can bear
That my mighty host should stumble on a stump that’s lying there?
O thou knowest not how many in my way with armies pressed!
All the heroes bold and famous, all the glory of the West.
All that ’neath the cross was gathered, kings and emperors great did form
An innumerable army ’gainst the crescent’s furious storm.
In their shining mail, well armoured, and in martial proud array
Came the dauntless knights of Malta bold and eager for the fray;
And the Pope, the triple-crownèd, all his gathered thunders sent
Gainst the thunder that most direful earth and sea with rage had rent[2].
At a sign, like rivers flooding from the mountain, field and wood,
The whole West sent forth its nations, for the glory of the Rood.
And they came, the whole world shaking from its deepest quietness,
Darkening the far horizon with their shields, spears numberless.
On the land like moving forests they advanced in awful might,
By their daring galleons shaken, trembled e’en the sea with fright.
At Nicopolis thou sawest how they camped, assembling all,
To my power there opposing an unshaken bulwark wall;
When I saw them there as many as the sands are on the shore,
With an unquenched hate I muttered in my beard, an oath I swore,
Over them to tread, to crush them, ruthlessly my way to force,
And in Rome, on Peter’s alter, make a manger for my horse.
And my hurricane, that’s sweeping all away like dust and chaff,
Thinkest thou that thou canst stay it only with an old man’s staff?“
—„Yes, ’tis true, an old man, Sultan! but the man thou dost behold
Is a man not of the common, but Wallachia’s ruler bold.
I wish not that thou shouldst ever come our direful wrath to know,
That thy mighty hosts should perish in the Danube’s angry flow.
Yet in olden times full many, on their way all conquering,
First of all and the most famous, great Darius, Persian king,
Built a bridge on our old Danube, battling o’er with might and main.
Fright’ning all around and thinking the whole world was their domain:
Emperors, whom the vastest empires could within their bounds not hold,
Came here asking earth and water, as in olden tales is told,
And I do not wish to frighten, nor do I now wish to boast,
They were turned to earth and water, nought was left of all their host.
Thou dost boast that thou couldst conquer, all before thee crushing down,
Emperors’ proud, great hosts, well armoured, bravest knights of high renown,
Thou dost boast the Western powers all their armies ’gainst thee pressed,
But what urged them to the battle, what allured the glorious West?
They would fain have torn the laurels from thy iron brow so bright,
Victory for faith and glory — this was sought by every knight.
I do here defend my country, my poor nation in distress…
Therefore all that here is stirring, friends to me with help will press:
Men, all creatures, woods and rivers, everything will be thy foe,
And the meaning of our hatred to its fulness thou wilt know.
Armies have we not, but know it, love of country is a wall
That by fear is never shaken, nothing ever makes it fall!“
Scarce the old man had departed, when with storm the forest torn
Rustled, roared with shouts and clangour, sounds of arms and sounds of horn.
Coming from the dark, deep shadows, on the green skirts of the wood,
Thousands, thousands of bright helmets, long-haired yeoman gathered stood.
At a sign together swarming, on their horses, wild and fleet,
On the panting flanks the riders with their wooden stirrups beat,
Like a dust cloud, storm fore-telling, lightly, swiftly on they sped,
Shield on shield gave back the sunlight, spear points glittered over head,
As from copper clouds in autumn hail storms driven by the blast,
Hide in darkness the horizon, so sharp arrows flashing passed,
Whizzing, singing, hurtling, ringing, filled the air with dread alarms,
And to thundering horsehoofs echoed cries of battle, clash of arms.
Vainly like the fiercest lion did the sultan roar and rage,
Death’s grim shadow grew still greater on all those who war did wage:
Vainly to arouse their spirits did they lift the Prophet’s flag,
For on front, on flanks fast seizing Death did all to ruin drag;
Wavering whole troops were shaken, thinned fell down long battle rows,
The Arabians fell like grass-blades, when a man his meadow mows,
Horsemen from their steeds were tumbled, footmen beaten to their knees,
And the arrows came like billows surging on tempestuous seas,
Like the frost from all sides biting, and it seemed as if the world,
To the darkest depths down falling, heaven and hell on earth were hurled.
Mircea led himself in battle this fierce storm so wildly rushing,
Coming on and on, in fury, all beneath it trampling, crushing.
Vanquished were the foe’s great armies, scattered, cast away, like rags,
And victoriously advancing came the country’s blessed flags.
As in wind the chaff is winnowed, so the paynims were dispersed,
To the Danube they were driven, as within a flood immersed,
That doth carry all resistless to the raging sea’s wild coast,
And behind them came in triumph the Rumanian glorious host.
As to rest the army settled, gorgeously the sun went down,
As if victory’s bright nimbus the land’s highest crests would crown,
Like a long and lasting lightning, that with splendour now did rest,
O’er the dark high rising mountains, our land’s bulwark toward the West.
From the deep night of the ages, one by one, the stars came, soon
From the mists, o’er darkgreen forests, shimmering appeared the moon.
The great queen of night and oceans, peace and sleep to all things sent.
A young son of our bold ruler watchful sat beside his tent,
Smiling with a dear remembrance, while the calm moon shone above,
On his knee a letter writing, home to send it to his love:
From Rovine, in a dale
Lady mine, I send this mail.
Many things I have to say,
But thou art so far away.
I must send all in a letter,
Since I cannot now do better.
Lady dear this soul of mine
Yearns for all that’s truly thine,
For thine eyes, sweet, smiling, good,
For the springs, the fields, the wood.
Send them, for I too send, dear,
All that is most lovely here,
My proud host with banners glorious,
Over our great foes victorious,
And with them will come together
My bright helm with pea-cock feather
And my brows, my loving eyes:
All to thee, with longing hies.
Thanking Christ, God save my soul!
I am safe and sound and whole.
With my love I send thee this,
Thy sweet lips, sweet soul, I kiss.
Such were those old times that happy chroniclers and poets knew,
Our own age is full of jugglers, mountebanks and all their crew.
In the legends and old annals may the heroes still be found.
Shall I greet with dreamy music, with my lyre and flute’s sweet sound
All these patriots who later in their heritage did follow?
Oh! before all these, with horror, veil and hide thyself, Apollo!
You were hid in glorious shadows of the past, O heroes bold!
But it is the newest fashion, with your fame from annals old
Our own hollow times to brighten, and to drape with it those fools,
Who your golden age are smirching with their prose, their filthy pools,
Bassarabs, Mushats[3], in holy shadows stay, you noble race,
Settlers of the land and givers of new laws, you who did trace
With the spade and plough new frontiers for a country large and free,
Far extending from the mountains to the Danube and the sea.
Is not great our present? Does not all that one can wish abound?
In our throng is there not any precious jewel to be found?
Is not here the Sybaritic temple of false glories, none
But are offsprings of the taverns, reputations cheaply won!
See we not the fighting heroes, who with rhetor’s lances meet,
Thus exciting the loud plaudits of the rabble in the street?
Dancers on the rope, impostors, jugglers, rivals for the prize,
Famous masquerading actors in the comedy of lies.
Does the liberal not always speak of virtue, country-love?
One would think his life is crystal, like the purest sky above.
You would not think that before you is a coffee-house supporter,
Who at his own words is laughing, a mere ape, a word distorter.
See that soulless, heartless being, with big jaws, and swollen face,
Monster in whom all the vices find the fittest meeting place,
Swarthy, hunchbacked, greedy, wily, he with all the ruffians leagues,
And imparts to his low fellows all his venomous intrigues.
On their lips is always virtue, but their souls are hollow shells,
Worthlessness in these mere nothings, void from top to bottom, dwells.
Mustering his army’s numbers, eagerly and well pleased spies
Over all that hideous monster with his swollen, frog-like eyes.
Such are those whom our land choosing representatives must call,
Men who fitly would be gathered all behind some bedlam’s wall,
In long shirt and with a fool’s cap; these assemble now and thus,
Making laws and fixing taxes, they our public weal discuss.
Patriots and pious founders of establishments like those
Where in words, in deeds, in gestures lewdness, only lewdness shows.
They in parliament assemble, sit admiring there each other’s
Thick, stiff necks or long, thin noses, all these Greek, Bulgarian brothers.
Heirs of the great Roman empire are they alil, and everyone
Of his ancestors is boasting, being Trajan’s great grandson!
And this mob, this scum, this vermin, this our country’s desolation,
They should now become our leaders, rulers of this once great nation!
All that in the neighb’ring countries was deformed and misbegotten,
All that’s stained with foul corruption’s mark by nature, all that’s rotten,
All these helots, mean and greedy, which the Phanar[4] here has sent,
Self-styled patriots, so-called brothers, on their selfish schemes intent,
Babblers, stutterers, and cretins, wry-mouthed wretches, now grown great
Are your masters,— yes, these prattlers are the pillars of the state.
You the heirs of Rome? You, eunuchs, of her fame are boasting when
All the world, with horror shrinking, is ashamed to call you men!
And this pestilence, these creatures with their nasty mouths proclaim
That they are the country’s saviours, and they dare, they have no shame,
All the glory of our nation with their filth but to besmear
And thy holy name pronouncing to disgrace it, country dear!
In the lupanars, in Paris, day and night you have been seen
With the most depraved of women and in revelry obscene,
You have lost your youth and fortune, gambling, drinking, wild and lewd,
How could Paris make you better, since in you was nothing good?
Wearing monocles like dandies, with a little walking cane,
You came back, your heads pomaded, in your brains did nought remain
But some waltz learnt in the ballrooms, nothing else was left behind:
And all prematurely withered, with an empty childish mind,
And a harlot’s dancing slippers, all the wealth you did acquire…
I admire you, proudest offspring of the Romans, I admire!
Now you look amazed and frightened to our cold and sceptic eyes,
And you wonder why no longer we can listen to your lies?
When we see that all these loafers, who with great words make such din
Are but chasing after money, cheaply, without work to win.
If these polished, empty phrases, all this idle talk, my brothers,
Cannot cheat us any longer, is it now the fault of others?
Too much did you this poor country with our foes to pieces tear,
Too much did you shame our nation, too much, too much did you dare
Our most holy things, our customs, language, ancestors defile!
But we have now all your measure, O you scoundrels mean and vile!
Yes, to gain without an effort is your end, and rich to be,
Virtue is the merest folly, genius is but misery!
Let the ancestors sleep soundly in their annals’ dusty book,
From their glorious past they surely down on you with scorn would look.
Where art thou, old prince, Vlad Tzepesh[5], on them all to lay thy hands
Treating them as rogues and madmen, to divide them into bands,
Throw them into two big houses, as with others thou didst whilom,
Setting fire unto the prison, and the lunatic asylum.
- ↑ Rovine (pron. Roveena), a marshy plain near the Danube where Mircea Basarab (pron. Meerchah), ruler of Wallachia (1386—1418) vanquished the sultan Bajazet. He also took part at the battle of Nicopolis (1396) in the last crusade of the West against the Turks.
- ↑ Allusion to the name of Bajazet „the Thunder“
- ↑ Bassarab and Mushat: the names of the two ruling families of Wallachia and Moldavia.
- ↑ The Rumanian principalities, fallen under the Turkish yoke, were governed during the XVIII-th Century by Greek princes sent by the Turks from the Phanar of Constantinople. Many of these princes, with their followers, had devastated the country.
- ↑ Vlad, ruler of Wallachia in the XV-th century, famous for his cruelty; surnamed Tzepesh (The Impaler) because after a victory against the sultan Mohammed II he impaled all the prisoners. He is said to have imprisoned in a house all the thieves he could catch, afterwards setting it on fire.