Most of these songs are taken from my book, published in Paris at the end of 1827 of the year, called La Guzla, or choice of Poems Illyrian, collected in Dalmatia, Bosnia, Croatia and Herzégowine (guzla, or elected Illyrian poems, collected in Dalmatia, Bosnia, Croatia and Gercegovine. (France.)).
Unknown publisher said in his preface, what, collecting once artless songs of half-savage tribe, he did not think them public, but then, seeing spreads the taste for the works of foreign, especially to those, which are removed from the classical models in its forms, He recalled his meeting and, on the advice of friends, I translated some of the poems now, etc.. This unknown collector was none other, how Mérimée, acute and original writer, author Theater Clara Gazyul, Chronicles of the time of Charles IX, Double errors and other works, extremely remarkable deep and pitiful decline of current French literature. Poэt Mickiewicz, Critic keen and delicate and expert in the Slovenian poetry, no doubt of the authenticity so Songs, and some German scientist wrote them a lengthy dissertation.
I would love to know, on which the invention is based so strange songs: WITH. BUT. Sobolewski, at my request, I wrote to Merimee, with whom he was briefly acquainted, and in return I received the following letter:
Paris, 18 January 1835.
I thought, your Majesty, Guzly that there were only seven readers, including you, I Corrector: great pleasure to know, I can classify them two more, which is ultimately a decent number nine and confirms the adage - no one is a prophet in his own country. I will answer your questions candidly. Guzlu I wrote for two reasons, - First of all, I wanted to laugh at the "local color", in which we blindly hit in the summer from the birth of Christ 1827. To explain the second motive to tell you the following story. In the same 1827 year we are with one of my friends have conceived a trip to Italy. We are sketching out a pencil on our route map. So we arrived in Venice - course, map - where we were fed up with the British and the Germans encountered, and I offered to go to Trieste, and from there to Ragusa. The proposal was accepted, but our wallets were almost empty, and this "incomparable sorrow", in the words of Rabelais, We stopped halfway. Then I suggested to first describe your journey, bookseller to sell and to use the money on something, to check, we greatly mistaken. I took over the collection of folk songs and translate them; I expressed disbelief, but the next day I brought my travel companion five or six transfers. I spent the autumn in the village. The breakfast we had at noon, I got up at ten o'clock; smoked one or two cigars and not knowing, what to do before the arrival of the ladies in the drawing room, I wrote a ballad. Of them were volume, I issued strict confidence, and mystified them two or three people. Here are my sources, where I learned this much vaunted "local flavor": First of all, small booklet of the French consul in Banyaluke. Its title, I forgot, but give the concept of it is not difficult. The author tries to prove, that Bosniaks - real pig, and this results in a rather convincing case. Mostly he uses the words Illyrian, to show off their skills (in fact, may be, he knew no more of my). I carefully collected all these words and put them in the notes. Then I read a chapter: About morals Morlac Italian. from 'Travels in Dalmatia "Fortis. There I found the text and translation of pure Illyrian zaplachki wife ACCA-Agha; but this song is translated poems. I had great difficulty to get a word for word translation, what had to compare repeated the words of the script with the transposition of the Abbe Fortis. With some patience, I got a literal translation, but about some places still hampered. I asked one of my friends, knowledgeable in Russian, I read him the script, pronouncing it in the Italian style, and it is almost completely figured it out. Wonderful, that Nodier, Unearth Fortis and ballad ACCA-Agha and translated the abbot with the poetic translation, more poetisized it in his prose, - I shouted at all intersections, I stole it. Here is the first verse in the Illyrian text: "What is white on the mountain green" Illyria. Fortis has translated: "What is white among the green forest" of Italy.. Nodier turned Bosco - a green plain; he missed, because, as explained to me, gorje means: Forest. That's the whole story. Give Mr.. Pushkin my apologies. I'm proud and ashamed at the same time, that he was caught, etc.. (France.)
1. vision King.
King walks with long strides
Back and forth on the chambers;
People sleep - only the king could not sleep:
King Sultan precipitates,
Head cut off his threatened
And Istanbul wants to send her.
Often it comes to window;
Did not hear any noise?
hears, howling night bird,
She feels trouble neminuchu,
Soon her search for a new roof
For their chicks hapless.
Not owl howls in Key City of,
Not the moon illuminates the key-city,
The Church of God thundering drums,
All candles illuminated the church.
But no one does not hear the drums,
No light in the Church of God does not see,
Only the king had heard and seen;
From his chambers he goes
And there is one God in the church.
I stood on the porch, the door opens ...
Horror in it heart sank,
But he is doing a great prayer
And quietly in the church of God comes.
Then he saw a wonderful vision:
On the platform strewn corpses,
Between them gushing blood streams,
As streams of autumn rainy.
He's coming, stepping over corpses,
Blood on the ankles
it is within the reach ...
above! in the church of the Turks and Tatars
And traitors, enemies Bogumil.
The pulpit himself Sultan bezbozhnыy,
He keeps it on holo-saber,
Blood saber breath of fresh air
With eyes open up to the hilt.
King nezapny embraced the cold:
Immediately he saw his father and brother.
Previous Sultan poor old man right,
Humbly kneeling down,
It gives him his crown;
Left, and kneeling down,
His son, Radivoje accursed,
Infidel turban covered
(C by the same rope, which
He strangled the unfortunate old man),
Edge floors Sultan kissing,
As slave, punished phalanx.
And Sultan bezbozhnыy, grinning,
I took the crown, trampled underfoot,
And then remarked Radivoje:
“If you are over Bosnia my ruler,
For Gyaur Christian behlerbeem”.
And apostate brow beat Sultan,
Three floor bloody kissing.
And the servants of the Sultan clicked
And said: “Post a coat Radivoje!
Not velvet caftan, not parchevыy,
A sodratʹ the kaftan Radivoâ
Skin with the mother's brother”.
Busurmanov to run against King,
Pre-Naga stripped of all his,
Ataganom his skin ripped,
They began to fight with his hands and teeth,
Uncovered meat and wires,
And stripped to the bone,
And clothed with skin Radivoya.
Martyr prayed aloud to the Lord:
“you're right, Christ, me I ORDER!
My flesh utterly at the mercy of,
Only mercy on my soul, Jesus!”
Herewith name the church trembled,
Everything suddenly utihnulo, faded, —
Everything was gone - if he had not happened.
And the king of groping in the dark
Somehow I got to the door
And with a prayer on the street came.
Was quiet. With high sky
City white moon was shining.
Suddenly soared due to the city bomb,
I went on the Internet busurmane.
2. Janko Marnavich
What's on the road beat Janko Marnavich?
That he can not sit at home?
Why is it two nights in succession
Under the roof of one not nochuet?
Ali foes his mighty?
Al afraid he krovomschenya?
Not afraid to beat Janko Marnavich
None of their enemies, not krovomŝenʹâ.
But it roams, like the soldier homeless
Since then,, how Cyril died.
The Church of the Savior they bratovalis,
And God was for brothers;
But Cyril died unhappy
By their hand chosen brother.
Merry was feasting,
Many drinking honey and burner;
Ohmeleli, frenzied guests,
Two mogučie bei pobranilisʹ,
Janko fired his pistoles,
But his hand was shaking drunk.
In suprotivnika her he did not get,
And he came to his friend.
Since that time, he wanders yearning,
Alphanumeric vol, stung zmieyu.
Finally, he returned to his homeland
And he went to the Church of St. Savior.
There's a day he prayed to God,
Weeping bitterly and crying pitifully.
At night, he came to his house
And supper with his semeyu,
Then he went to his wife and said the;
“Look, woman, you are the window.
You see the Church of the Savior henceforth?”
wife got, I looked out the window
And she said: “In the courtyard at midnight,
Beyond the river thick fog,
The mist can not see anything”.
Janko turned Marnavich
And he began to quietly read a prayer.
Prayerfully, He uttered it again:
"Look, What do you see in the box?»
and the woman, pohlyadev, answer:
“I see, Won, small ogonechek
Barely a glimmer in the darkness beyond the river”.
He smiled Janko Marnavich
And again he began to pray silently.
Pomolyasy, He again said the wife:
“Open-ka, female, window you:
Look, what else can be seen?”
and the woman, pohlyadev, answer:
“I see the radiance on the river,
Nearing it to our house”.
Bay sighed and fell out of bed.
Then it happened, and death.