STENBOCK'S MESSENGER
By Count Carl Snoilsky
From the Swedish by Sandra Dermark.
August MMXVII - Stora Höga
(Partial translation)
Within the royal castle
that rises on the isle,
by the lakeside, round towers
on which springtime won't smile,
the aged royal matriarch,
Queen Hedwig Eleanor,
three Charleses' firm supporter,
is anxious evermore.
How many nights of waking
has she spent in her life?
Her spouse fighting in Warsaw,
only son in Lund's strife!
Her grandson at Poltava...
like thunder, 't struck her ear...
Is this the fall of Sweden?
Thus does the news appear.
She sits there in the throne room,
the queen so good and old;
her granddaughter Ulrica
on her left, pale and cold...
Through her lips, no words stealing;
same King Fritz, on the right...
only the clock's tick-tocking
rouses this courtly sight.
But what's up on the staircase?
Door opens after door...
Through powdered wigs, a whisper
spreads lightning-fast for sure!
"A messenger from Stenbock!"
Victory or defeat?
At the page's announcement,
a few steps all retreat.
Two royal guards support, though,
this half-fainted young man;
on leaden feet he staggers --
they no more bear him can.
Each footstep Swedish soil leaves
on the floor -- he's so weak!
He stands before the royals --
he swoons, he cannot speak.
As pale as snow or marble,
yet remaining serene,
from her crowned throne arises
the old Dowager Queen.
"Please take a seat, Lieutenant!"
The courtiers stare in fright:
unusually, he sits there
and she's standing upright!
She waves, and a cupbearer
arrives, flagon in hand:
'tis a fine silver tankard
with scenes of war's command,
full of the finest Rhenish
within the royal store:
to the youth she has reached it,
her grip still strong and sure.
"As a dutiful soldier,
you've fulfilled your command:
thankful are not we only,
but all of Sweden's land.
Remember this good kindness:
thus, drink your thirst away,
and then, let us all listen
to what you have to say!"
No sooner have his parched lips
kissed the golden grape's blood
that through his limbs and soft face
streams anew life's warm flood.
He stands up at attention:
let all of Sweden hear
the young warrior speaking,
for sorrow or good cheer:
"Twenty-eighth of February:
At Helsingborg, the Dane
vanquished in open battle
was, with much toil and pain.
We've got thousands of captives,
and foemens' banners, too:
our bold general's written
the whole account here, true."
The mother of the Charleses
dissolves herself in tears:
"Now I shall die in peace, thus
bereft of any fears!
Amidst cheers of elation,
Ulrica's face shines bright:
she resembles her brother...
Everything's full of light!
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