martes, 3 de diciembre de 2013

BACK TO LEIPZIG... AND TO DRUNKEN MESSENGERS

Mai and Beaflor, the umpteenth "Handless Maiden" story, is now available on Google Books. A wonderful 1848 Leipzig edition for you to enjoy.
In a land ruled by a dashing, fair, and clever count, a foreign princess soon arrives, fleeing from her wicked stepfamily. Love strikes like lightning.
But when Count Mai goes forth to battle the infidels in distant Al-Andalus, the messenger stops by at the Countess Dowager's, in her mansion of Klaremunt on the edge of the shire. And this old lady is not pleased with having a foreigner for a daughter-in-law...

You've guessed it! IT'S DRUNKEN MESSENGER TIME!!

Another of my translations (from the German) of my favourite passage in this kind of tale ensues.

Let's start with the prologue, all right?

Die Heldin Beaflor landet an der Küste eines Landes, in dem ein Fürst namens Mai herrscht. Mai gewährt ihr Gastfreundschaft, aber sie verrät weder ihren Namen noch ihre Herkunft. Schließlich verliebt Mai sich in sie und die beiden heiraten, allerdings gegen den Willen von Eliacha, Mais Mutter, die daraufhin den Hof verlässt.
Knapp ein Jahr später muss Mai seinem Onkel, dem König von Spanien, im Krieg gegen die Heiden beistehen und reist ab. Beaflor bleibt zurück unter der Obhut zweier treuer Räte und bringt wenig später einen Knaben auf die Welt. Ein Bote wird losgeschickt, um Mai von diesem Ereignis zu unterrichten. Doch der Bote geht erst zu Eliacha. Diese sinnt immer noch auf Rache und bewirtet den Boten mit reichlich Alkohol, um dann den Brief gegen einen anderen auszutauschen. Der neue Brief beschuldigt Beaflor des Ehebruchs und bezeichnet das neugeborene Kind als Ungeheuer. Mai ist außer sich vor Wut, aber ordnet an bis zu seiner Rückkehr nichts zu unternehmen. Der Bote wird auf dem Rückweg wieder von Eliacha abgefangen und ein anderer Brief untergeschoben. Darin befiehlt sie den Räten Beaflor und das Kind zu töten. Die Räte jedoch verschonen die beiden und schicken sie auf einem Schiff fort. Das Volk, das Beaflor lieb gewonnen hatte, ist darüber empört und will Mai bei seiner Rückkehr steinigen. Die Intrige fliegt auf, der Bote gesteht, bei Eliacha gewesen zu sein, und Mai ersticht seine Mutter aus Rache.

"She persuaded him to stay that night at her place, plied him up to eleven (sie bewirtete ihn aufs reichlichste), and exchanged the letters while he lay in an unconscious state (während er in bewusstlosen Zustande lag)."
Zum Unglück nahm der Bote seinen Weg über Klaremunt, vermeinend, der alten Königin mit seiner Nachricht ebensalls Freude zu machen. Begierig ergriff diese die willkommene Gelegenheit, ihre Rachepläne auszuführen. Sie nöthigte ihn, her ihr die Nachtherberge zu nehmen, bewirthete ihn auss reichlichste, und vertauschte, während er in bewusstlosem Zustande lag, die Briefe der Beaflor und die beiden Räten mit einem andern [···]
Aus seiner Heimreise kehrte der Bote, wie Eliacha es von ihm verlangt hatte, wieder aus Klaremunt ein. Eine zweite Briefverwechslung fand statt [···]
Der Bote gestand seinen zweimaligen Besuch auf Klaremunt, und Eliacha, des heillosen Betruges überführt, wurde von ihrem eigenen Sohne erstochen. 
In the Grimm version, the antagonist swaps the letters while the weary messenger is taking a nap in the shade of a tree. In talkes of other type ("lost husband" or "Polyphemus" tales, for instance), all it takes to drug a naive character is some herb or powder slipped into any kind of draught. But let's face the facts: liquor is quicker. Enough said.
Our clever Leipzigers also mention "The Daughter of the Slavic King" (an Eastern European version) in the prologue:
"She received the messenger quite wonderfully [···] Then, the old vixen [···] had strong wine brought for him. And, when the messenger was drunk, she purloined the letter". No mention of internal efffects such as ethylic coma.
In Eastern Europe, the wealthy drank Riesling and Cognac, while the commoners only had vodka.

And thus, let's proceed to the scene in the tale of Count Mai and his stepmother Eliacha itself. The original is not in pentameter, but I couldn't make it fit into the German verse. I give the highlighted lines original in German:

"The Lady for him lavishly did care,
and gave her faithful cupbearers commands
to serve him noble wine, glass upon glass,
until he crossed the threshold, could not hold,                     [···]     dass er voll verduldete.
lost all good sense, and consciousness as well.                    Von seine Sinne er davon schiet,
He sold his loyalty to quench his thirst!                                      also in Untreue geriet.
As he lay drunk, bereft of consciousness,                                  Davon er betrunken gelag [···]
the wicked Lady carried on her ruse:
the letters from his pocket she did steal [···]
[···] that he had drunk much more than he could hold,                 dass er von Trinken wird
so that the messenger forgot himself,                                          das er sein Selbes vergisset, 
till he yielded, defeated, overcome,                                             das von er übermisset
                                                                                                       bei Tage Treue ohne Zucht [···]
turned coat, and gave his loyalty away.
That leads to so much sorrow and dismay![···]

Oh, that they sent the same messenger back!
When he wants to rejoice, for a good price,
...
He proved, during the journey of return,
that he was but a pawn for evil schemes;
experience had taught him, yet he traced
his path once more to Klaremunt; his heart,
wounded, thither him led. Oh, had he not
made that decision! Into the estate
he rode, and there most cordially received
he was: towards him strode Dame Eliacha
...
The Lady stayed disloyal till the end:
she called for the same wine of evenings past,
and got him drunk, as she had done before,                            und machte ihn trunken,
until he could not hold, lost consciousness,                                                                        
and thus, trifled his loyalty once more.
 She stole the second letter, as before [···]
The messenger was still stark unaware:                                Der Bote, der nicht war inne,
he lay there, lost in surreal, crazy dreams,                                    er warf mit Unsinne,
for he had drunk until he fell asleep,
sweetly coaxed by a strong intoxicant,                                      dass er sich süß tränken ließ,
but all those joys would soon come to an end.                        davon Freude will vergehen.
                                                                                                 Wenn er erwachte, wusste es nie
When he woke up, he didn't have a clue
of what the Lady'd done behind his back,
the change of letters on that fateful night,
whil he lay down, bereft of consciousness.
His clouded mind gave way to aching heart:                    Sein Dummheit erkannte Herzeleid:
he rested before getting on his steed.                                   Er nahm Urlaub von die Reit.
He still thanked Her Ladyship for all 
and promised he'll reward her even more
at the end of the war, with precious gifts
That made him proud and confident again.

...


"Tell me what's become of the murderer,
the killer messenger; a curse upon him,
since I am myself of dishonour free!"
The lords replied: "our Liege, right here is he."
"Now heat up and bring him before my throne."
They spoke: "our Liege, that will we do right now."
Thus they sent for the messenger; quoth he:
"They always seize, accuse, and threaten me;
this means that something serious has occurred".
Thus they sent for the messenger; the lords
said: "you must wear a hempen cord cravat
around you neck, or broken on the wheel
of Cath'rine be; of you no one will speak,
for you have brought a murder upon us,
and such pain we can't forget or forgive."
The messenger replied: "Don't be so sure:
say, what have I done for this grisly fate
of torture, execution, to befall me?
'To me, poor sinner, that is all unfair.
Sure, Your Lordships, your hearts will recognise
and know I am completely innocent.
Now, lords, please tell me what you really mean."
"Does the murderer not know it himself?
Now tell us, scoundrel, enjoy it or not,
where were you, murderer? And who exchanged
the letters? Tell us who has wrought the crime?"
The messenger thus honestly replied:                                       
"I did not stop from here to Klaremunt.
And if someone betrayed us, I don't know."

(Der Bote sprach gar vorhteclich: 
'...da ich hier von Hause schiet, dass 
meine Reise nicht geriet 
wan us das Haus ze Klaremunt. 
... uns verraten hat, das weiss ich nicht.')

"Oh, such a sorrowful tale!" sobbed Count Mai.
...
And soon, they rode their way to Klaremunt;
the messenger, he rode with them as well.
And, as soon as the Lady was aware,
she bid them take their comfortable place,
making her most cordial and friendly face,
and with her very best manners them addressed.
So sollicitly did she them receive.
"Good welcome, bienvenus, to me!! quoth she;
the messenger replied: "No, nevermore
shall I fall for your shameful, wicked ruse:
for you greet like Judas Iscariot,
whose false greeting wrought infamous dismay
when he kissed to receive Lord Jesus Christ,
then hung a cord cravat around his neck.
Tell us: Where are the letters that you took
from the messenger who had come to you
led by his trust and loyalty? Now! Bring them quick!
You forged those letters and led us to death!"
"My Liege, I know not; my conscience is clean,
free from remorse: of letters I know not."
(Mai threatens his stepmother with a drawn sword, that he will stab her through.)
She was frightened; her heart stopped in her chest.
Quoth she: "my son and heir and Liege, please have
mercy upon me: do not hurt me sore."
She sent a maid to bring the letters forth,
and the letters were quickly soon produced.
Then, right before Count Mai, she bent the knee
and fell as if kowtowing before him.
Quoth she: "my son and heir and Liege, mercy, please!
Let all your rage upon me ... "
(He cuts the arteries of her wrists, then remorsefully watches her bleed to death.)
The servant sighed and sobbed with all his lungs,
most sorely. Quoth he: "I'll go nevermore
to life, since all the tale of me occurred.
I should not be let live; my story's told."
(der jammerhafte leider Knecht 
stöhnt mit grossen Riuwen. 
rousen unde bliuwen 
begunde er sich sehr. 
er sprach : 'ich gehe nicht mehr
ze lebene, sit die geschicht 
von mir geschach. man soll mich nicht 
für das Leben lassen. 
min sælde si verwassen.')
They still wanted the messenger to hang;
yet Count Mai said: "now please let him go free,
heat up the land in assembly against him,
and tell him he should be burned at the stake
if he returns to us -- be it nevermore!"
No one heard those words then -- ah, so sore!
(sie wollten den Boten erhängen han. 
der Fürste sprach : 'nu lat in gan. 
heizet in verschwörn das Land 
und saget ihm, dass er werde verbrant 
ob er zu uns kom immer me.'
man hörte da nicht, wan ach owe!)
The Klaremunt ladies with spouse and child
should well be spared, for their families' sake;
the residence rang loud with screams and sobs.
They called for Monsignor of Anderville,
who came with all the priests as retinue,
as though to the place where anyone dies,
and for the female dead sang requiems.
Though these were single females, without spouse,
since they were maiden-sworn at Klaremunt.
The Count was there with all his entourage,
upon the scene. But right then were revealed
the consequences of what he had done.
The people mourned their ruler's sore distress,
and, some of them, for the maidens that died.
They were all buried in a common grave,
and Monsignor wrote a good epitaph,
one that, written, explained who lay beneath.
Put to death they were, earthed in common ground,
for they had all surely deserved that fate.


That "aching heart" or "Herzeleid" that has made our drunken messenger have a rest is, like in Trivet's version, a run of the mill case of veisalgia, an affliction otherwise known as hangover or wrath of grapes. He is not only a lightweight, but also a weak-willed individual who resists only for a few seconds, like his literary descendant... Lieutenant Cassio (whom Othello even chides for "forgetting himself" under the influence)! That makes most readers identify with the drunken messenger rather than with the many nobles and royals in this type of story (I came to Othello for young Cassio, and I stayed for him!).
Also, the messenger here in this version is (just like Romeo Montague) declared persona non grata. Other versions have him pardoned or even atoning for his slight on the battlefield to the point of becoming so much more than just a simple messenger.





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