Letter III [Scrisoarea III] - Mihai Eminescu

A sultan like all the sultans who reign over certain nation,
Who new pastures seek for their flock, a new country, new location,
On the ground, reclined, is sleeping on his hand like on a pillow;
But his sight, which can't see outwards, travels inwards like a billow,
And he sees how from the heaven the full moon glides down while turning
Into an amazing maiden who approaches him with yearning.
And the narrow trail is blooming like in spring and looks so grateful;
Her big eyes are full of shadows and of things annoying, painful;
The thick forest starts to shiver for this beauty leaves no traces,
While the waters make small ripples on their blue transparent faces,
Dust of diamonds falls around him, like a drizzle fine and shining,
On the ground and on the branches many sparkling shapes designing
In this charming scene some whispers sing a song, pathetic, saintly,
On the sky appears a rainbow and the night makes it look stately...
She sits next to him and stretches her fine hand, while her black tresses
Look like waves, which on her shoulders fall with silky soft caresses:
– Let my life with yours be mingled...Come into my arms with passion
Soothe my sweet and pleasant sorrow with the grief of your compassion...
In the Book of Life is written by the ages that are fleeing,
I to be your gentle mistress, you the master of my being.
While the sultan watches closely, she grows dim and fades completely,
In his heart he feels a movement, for a tree is rising fleetly,
And it grows in a split second like in many, many ages
Spreading its impressive branches all over the world, in stages;
Its enormous gloomy shadow reaches quickly distant places
And the universe is captured by this shade, which fills all spaces;
In the corners of the wide world sees the stately mountain chains,
Atlas, Caucasus and Taurus, and the Balkans – old remains;
Sees the Euphrates and Tigris, and the Nile, the Danube River –
The tree's shadow reigns all over and makes everyone to quiver,
So that Asia and Europe, Africa with its hot rays,
The black ships which sway so swiftly on the foamy waterways,
The green crops growing all over, rye and wheat and golden maize,
And the seas with shores around them, fortresses close to the bays,
All lie there like on a carpet, almost without explanation,
He sees country after country and sees nation after nation –
Like through whitish haze all gather and the omens now foreshadow
They will turn into a kingdom right beneath the tree's big shadow,
Eagles cannot reach its branches when they soar up to the sky
Then a triumph wind starts blowing bringing woe and bitter sigh
And it hits the rustling foliage and it hits the huddled crowds,
Allah! Allah! – shout the voices in the dense and fluffy clouds,
And the noise grows even louder, sounds like an enraged high sea
Battle cries are heard all over in that huge and mighty tree,
The strong wind causes the leaves now to be scattered all around
And to bow in front of new Rome until they will touch the ground.

Sultan shivers... wakes up quickly... and up in the sky's domain
Sees the moon, which now is floating over the Eskhisher plain,
Then he looks a bit disheartened at the Edebali's place
And behind a lattice window sees a maiden's lovely face
Smiling, being lithe and slender like a hazelnut tree bough;
She's the sheikh's amazing daughter, Malcatun, with her wide brow.
Then, he knows the dream was given by the prophet good and wise,
That Muhammad took him briefly high above, in Paradise,
And that from his earthly fondness an empire starts to grow
So vast that the eyes can't grasp it and its bounds no one can know.

His dream comes alive and slowly the empire, year by year,
Stretches farther and still farther with the sword and with the spear,
The green banner rises higher with each human generation
And is followed by each sultan and by his entire nation.
Thus the road that leads to glory is wide open and all shiver...
Stormy Bayezid now reaches the bank of the Danube River...

When he waves, the boats are fastened and connect the Danube's banks
And his troops are crossing quickly on a bridge of wooden planks;
Janissaries, raised for Allah, Spachies looking for big gains
Come and cloud with their great number the Rovine muddy plains;
Swarming like the ants they're pitching their big tents upon the ground,
While the forest in the distance roars and makes a clanking sound.
There! A peace envoy is coming with a kerchief on a stick
Bayezid, watching him closely, a fierce quarrel wants to pick:
– What'd you want?
– We? Peace and quiet! And if you are not hostile
Our prince would like to chatter with Your Highness for a while.

At a sign, they let him enter and draws near, the tent to reach,
An old man dressed in plain garments, with a simple lovely speech.
– Are you Mircea?
– Yes, Your Highness!
– I demand you to kneel down,
Or I'll lay upon your forehead a disgraceful thorny crown.
– I don't really care, Your Highness, why you've come and what you do,
While we are at peace, however, I shall warmly welcome you!
But the kneeling down, O, sultan, is a thing that we'll ignore,
Now, will you command your army to reprove us with a war,
Or you'll want to stop your foray and go back where you belong
Showing that you are forgiving, for we know you're very strong...
Be it one way or the other, what is written is all right
We shall face our fate with gladness, if it's peace, if we must fight.
– What? When all the world is waiting to be mine you think I can
To obey a petty fellow and forget my lofty plan?
You don't even dream, old ruler, how I fought and I impressed!
All the famous cream of leaders and the armies of the West,
All who stand in cross's shadow, emperors and haughty kings
Gather to oppose the tempest that the mighty crescent brings.
The courageous knights of Malta dressed in armors shining bright
And the Pope, with three crowns mounted on his forehead high and white,
Threw their streaks against the lightning that obeyed my harsh command
Which enraged, like stormy weather, seized the sea and grasped the land.
Only with a wink or gesture that they made, looking severe,
All the West sent many nations against us, to make us fear;
For the cross to be victorious, they moved raging, like big streams,
Coming either from the forests, or from deserts, or from dreams;
Shaking up the world's beginning from its peace, marching on fields,
Blackening the blue horizon with their tens of thousand shields,
They were moving spreading terror, like some woods of swords and spears,
And the sea was very frightened by their ships and by their cheers!...
At Nicopolis you noticed their large camps, you can recall
How they tried to stand against me like a huge unbending wall.
When I saw them very many, as the stars upon the sky
With a voice filled with much hatred then I whispered in reply,
Swearing to defeat them quickly and to drown them in the motes,
To reach Rome, enter its altar, feeding there my horse with oats...
And knowing my stormy temper, with your staff you think you can
Hinder all the Turkish people from pursuing their big plan?
– Yes I'm old, you're right Your Highness, but the old man who stands here
Is the prince of all Wallachia, a man noble and sincere.
Well, I'd never want to see you fighting me, knowing me well,
Or that Danube drown your armies, for with anger it will swell.
In the past, came many others, starting with that ancient guest
Darius, son of Hystaspes, who around here tried to rest;
Later, others built a strong bridge and the Danube crossed in line
Spreading terror with their armies, thinking that they were divine;
Emperors the world could hardly still endure and understand
Also came in our country to request water and land –
I'm not boasting, I assure you, I''m not trying to confound,
But as soon as they set foot here, in the water all they drowned.
And you brag that you defeated in a bloody fighting then
The large armies, clad in armors, led by kings and mighty men?
You pretend the West with violence tried to stop you, but in vain,
Why did they engage in battle, what were trying to obtain?
To remove the wreath of laurel off your forehead made of steel,
Every knight faced you with courage, for his faith, for his ideal.
I, instead, protect my nation and my poverty right now
Therefore, in this lovely country, both the river and the bough,
Will for ever be my comrades, while for you they will be foes
They will hold a grudge against you, even if nobody knows;
We do not possess an army, but our love is like a flame
Hence, I tell you, we're not frightened, Bayezid, by your great fame!

But as soon as left the old man... what a turmoil, what a sound!
The dark forest boiled with roaring, lots of weapons were around,
And so many long-haired fighters, and so many shinning shields
Get out of its restful shadow, spreading quickly on the fields;
Horsemen fill the muddy lowlands and are motioned to attack
So, they hit the fast wild horses in the belly, on the back,
Their tough hoofs tread without mercy the black surface of the ground
Slender spears spark in the sunlight, bows are stretching all around,
And like clouds of reddish copper and like rumble made by hail,
Darkening the blue horizon, arrows come in a thick veil,
Whizzing like an angry tempest, sounding like a heavy rain...
Raves the battlefield in terror and in a tremendous pain.
To no use cries out the sultan like a wild and maddened boar
The death's shadow spreads all over, ruthless and increasing more;
And in vain the dark green banner he is raising in despair
For his army is in trouble, being smitten everywhere,
For its rows become disordered and are tossing and feel pain;
Fall the soldiers like some thickets spread at random on the plain,
Those who fight on foot are kneeling, horses then are overthrown;
When the waves of wooden arrows drop with a terrific groan
Hitting them in front and sideways, like the blizzard and the frost,
They believe the sky is crumbling on the earth, and they feel lost...
Mircea is the one who's driving the wild tempest on the ground
Which is coming, coming, coming, sweeping everything around.
Horsemen come and they are rumbling like a wall of pointed spears,
Through the pagan crowds they're passing, cutting trails and spreading fears;
In disorder run the rascals, with their armors turned in rags,
While behind them, full of glory, come the country's daring flags,
Like a flood bringing destruction, like a sea hitting the land
In an hour, all the pagans, are like chaff threshed by the hand.
To the Danube they are driven by that strong and steely hail
And the brave Romanian army in a short while will prevail.

When the army rests in silence and the sun starts to retire
All the summits of the country seem engulfed by a huge fire,
Like a big triumphant halo one can see a long bright lightning
Bordering the blackish mountains in that twilight so exciting,
And the stars as old as ages in the sky rise very soon
Then, from gloomy mists and forests comes out trembling the big moon:
Like a lady of the dark night spreads tranquility around
Near his tent, a ruler's offspring is now sitting on the ground
Smiling, on his knees is writing a letter without delay,
Wants to send it to his lover, who is very far away:

“From the Rovine low plain
Now I speak to you again,
Through this letter, as you see,
For you are not here with me.
I would like to ask you, dear,
If you can, to send me here
What is best around you there:
The woods with their glades so fair
And your eyes lit by a flare;
And I'll send, to you addressed,
All the things I deem the best:
This brave army with its flags,
The woods with their stately stags,
The high helmet with its feather
And my pretty eyes together,
To tell you that in this place
I'm safe, thanks to Christ's good grace,
And I send you an embrace”

Such great times caught the attention of the minstrel and the scribe;
Now, the world is full of jesters and of villains who take bribe...
I still find the mighty heroes in the notes from ancient time;
But with sounds of dreamy lyre and of flute, sweet and sublime,
Can we welcome any patriots who have proudly lived since then?
Go away, clever Apollo, and don't show your face again!
O, you heroes full of greatness from our country's lovely story,
From the pages of the records you inspire with your glory,
For your names are often mentioned by all kinds of knaves like those
Who mingle the golden ages with the mud of their bad prose,
Basarabs and you, Muşatins, have remained deep in the shade,
Country founders, rulers, judges, who with your relentless blade
And with plows enlarged the country and made everyone to quiver
From the mountains to the sea shore and the mighty Danube River.

Is the present so majestic? Will it offer a renewal?
Will I find among our people some prodigious, sparkling jewel?
Is not Sybaris the altar of the habits bad and shallow?
Are not glories born in cafes and in streets crowded and narrow,
Don't we have a lot of fellows who fight harshly with their words
In the cheers of evil scoundrels, as with sharp and ruthless swords,
Jugglers, who now rule the country and who walk like on a rope,
Masks of lies and melodramas, which pretend to give us hope?
Homeland, virtue, are the subjects of the rotten politician
As if life were pure like crystal, always in a good condition.
You don't even dream that somewhere sits a loafer every day
Laughing at these words and saying they are nothing but cliche.
You see the abomination without conscience, without soul,
With a swollen face, short-sighted, pursuing his selfish goal,
Dark and greedy and round-shouldered, tricking all his bitter rivals,
To his fellows telling always only stupid things and trifles;
On their lips is only virtue, but they play a lot of roles
Quintessence of gross deception, wickedness from head to toes,
Such a guy is always perky, everybody else defies
When from his futile pedestal casts around his bulging eyes...
From among them our country today chooses its officials!
Lunatics freed from Ste. Golia, these are our politicians,
Long-sleeved shirts and silly bonnets cover their monstrosity
They give laws, collect the taxes, talk about philosophy.
They are patriots and founders of all sorts of institutions
Where the lustful villains gather to indulge in their illusions,
With a treacherous devotion, as if sitting in a pew,
Clap their hands at songs and dances and at everything they view...
In the Council then they gather and put on pathetic shows
Dull Bulgarians with thick napes, Greeks who have a slender nose;
All these faces are pretending that from ancient Romans bud,
All these Greeks and dull Bulgarians have in veins the Trajan's blood!
This embittered scum, this garbage, this grotesque and lousy crowd
Is the master of this country, of this nation good and proud!
All those who in other countries are just fools and loathsome freaks
All those branded by the nature, who have swollen rotten cheeks,
All those who are false and greedy, born in Phanar, petty guys,
All have flown in our country, patriots immersed in lies,
So the snufflers and the talkers, those who have impressive craws,
Stammerers, whose mouths are crooked, keep this nation in their claws.
You, the heirs of Rome? Good gracious! You are eunuchs, bad and blind,
No one in this world considers you belong to human kind!
And these weird pathetic creatures, which are nothing but a plague,
Have no shame and are disdainful in the statements that they make
About the entire nation, on which always lay the blame,
And they even dare to utter our country's sacred name!
In the lousy Paris brothels, where the shamelessness is rife,
With the lewd disgusting harlots who bring shame to holy life,
There you put your youth and fortune, coveting and gambling, too...
How the West could change your nature when there's nothing good in you?
Then you came to us for showing that your mind is really vain,
Wearing proudly a monocle, in your hand a walking cane,
Withered early, yet possessing brains like those of a small child
Having knowledge of some waltz dance with its music sweet and mild,
And like your entire fortune boasting with a whore, indeed...
I resent your great impudence when you say you're Roman seed!
Now you're looking scared and worried at our cold and gloomy face,
Don't you see that all your statements are a lie and a disgrace?
Those who utter words of wisdom, who pretend to love their neighbor,
Only want to get possessions, fame and money without labor,
Nowadays, when polished phrases can't deceive us all along
How dare you blame all the others for the things you have done wrong?
You have shown your nasty temper, tearing our land apart,
Scorning the entire nation, breaking our honest heart,
Mocking our holy language, our elders and traditions
To conceal your real baseness and your many vain ambitions!
Yes, the gain without much labor is your only major goal
Virtue? is a foolish feature; Genius? just a funny role,
Leave alone at least the elders, spare them of your tyranny;
From their past so full of glory they would look with irony,
Where are you, Vlad the Impaler? To arrest them all now come
Then divide them in two clusters: lunatics and vicious scum,
Throw them in two gloomy dungeons to await their execution,
Burn the jail with all these rascals and the mental institution!

Added by: Octavian

Translator: Octavian Cocoş
Language: English

see more poems written by: Mihai Eminescu