Page:Czecho-Slovak Student Life, Volume 18.djvu/423
Botto’s “The Death of Janošík”.
For the Student Life by George Gallik.
HE “Death of Janošík” (Smrt Janošíkova) is one of Botto’s best creations and one that merited him recognition as the songster-poet of his people. John Botto was born Jan. 25, 1829, in Vyšný Skalník, Slovakia, and studied at Levoč and Pešt. As early as 1846 his compositions attracted attention, particularly his “Duma pri Dunaji,” which appeared the following year. Although he did not produce as much as some of his contemporaries, still his firm mastery of the language in verse and his insight into the emotions of his countrymen was apparent from the very beginning.
From a few bare facts which he found in the archives of Levoč St. Michael, recording the execution of a certain George Janošík, leader of “mountain boys” in 1713, Botto evolved an elegy, as philosophic in some places as it is gently romantic in others. His Janošík is a national martyr, less heroic than idealistic, and as contemplative and tragic as Hamlet. In the beginning of the poem the lyrist pictures to us the lofty recesses in the Tatras where the mountain boys, or “falcons” as he calls them, and their leader roam at liberty and hold their rendezvous. He describes the sentiment of the peasants toward these champions who fought against the tyranny of the lords, the arrest and condemnation of Janošík, and the mute mourning of the oppressed people over their doomed defender. The climax is reached at the execution and death of Janošík shortly before the end of the poem. The work is replete with references to the legends of the land, which, together with the pathetic wailings of the poet, appealed to the emotional hearts of the peasant folk. Slovakia cherishes this work of Botto as a valued literary heritage of the nineteenth century.
From Botto’s “The Death of Janošík”.
Translated for the Student Life by George Gallik.
Twelve robust and strapping youngsters rendezvousing.
Youngsters hale and handsome, fond of sport and laughter,—
Never lived their like before and scarce will live hereafter!
Falcons of the Tatras, faithful to each other,
As if they were the offspring of one common mother;
Offspring, yea! and fondlings, washed in milk and bathed,
Delicately nursed, in golden garments swathed.
Braves of form and figure, straight as altar tapers,
Brightening the gloom of sylvan shades and vapors;
Shirts of verdant velvet, silvered rich and regal,
Hats profusely studded, feathered with an eagle;
Armed with axe and carbine, pistols two for action—
These are my enjoyment, pride, and satisfaction!
When they stop to bivouac ’round a camp-fire gleaming.
Twelve surrounding counties watch its skyward beaming;
When they start to drill with boyish animation,
Twelve surrounding counties throb in exultation.
Ay! and when their hatchet gleams in sun’s attention,
Lords of distant Budin quail with apprehension!
Ranges, misty ranges—fields for wanton gambols—
And yon Krivan castle frowning in the distance:
Who could dare to blight these youngsters’ free existence?!
And their gallant captain what a—lord of bearing!