# The Czechoslovak Review/Volume 4/Christmas Eve

A ballad from the cycle The Garland of National Legends (Kytice z pověstí národních), originally published in Czech in 1853.
Christmas Eve. By Karel Jaromír Erben. Translated by Dr. Jos. Štýbr.
The night is dark, with frost the windows tapping, But the large stove heats the whole room; The hearth is lighted, the old dame is napping, The girls spin flax and work the loom.
“Turn and burr and reel, my dear spinning wheel, For the Advent’s short and makes us feel How near we are to Christmas Eve!”
What sweet delight a maiden finds in spinning In the long dreary winter nights! For the end she firmly hopes in winning What in her heart so gently lights.
Her stately lad will call on the brave maiden And urgently say: “Be my wife! Give me your hand and heart, so pleasure-laden, I’ll be your faithful mate in life.
“I’ll be your husband and you my companion— My sweetheart, give me your soft hand!” And the dear maiden who’d been spinning—anon Will sew her trousseau in the end.
“Turn and burr and reel, my dear spinning wheel, For the Advent’s short and makes us feel That at door is Christmas Eve!”
II.
O thou blessed Christmas Eve, Night mysterious, holy! What doest thou bring us this year To bar melancholy?
To the farmer his big roll— The cow her bite’s taking! Garlick is the rooster’s share, His mate’s, peas, for waking.
The fruit trees are offered bones, From the table wasted; Golden shower on the wall Comes to him who fasted.
Hey, I am a jolly lass, My heart’s freely dreaming, And a plan quite different My mind long was scheming.
There, below the forest’s wees, On the lake’s low border, Silver-covered willows stand In their ancient order.
One of them is mystery— An old crooked willow— Gazes into the blue lake Under the ice below.
There’s a saying that a maid In the midnight hour May behold her destined lad By the moonlight’s power.
Midnight has no dread for me, nor the occult science: I shall open with an ax The ice in defiance
And look into the lake’s depth Beckoning there coldly— And shall gaze in my lad’s face With mine eyes, straight, boldly!
III.
Mary and Hana, two names, sweet, faithful, Both like two roses of the spring; Which of the two might be judged more graceful, Such a decision none can bring.
Should a lad catch a word, by one spoken, He might go for her into fire; But should the other bestow a token, He’ll cease the first one to admire.—
Now came the midnight. Like at hapharzard A flock of white stars came out soon, As white sheeps’ flock, ‘round their shepherd gathered— And the good shepherd was the moon.
Now came the midnight, all night’s great mother, The midnight after Christmas Eve; The snow shows steps of one and the other, As the two maids the hamlet leave.
One of them o’er the water is kneeling, The other by her watch does keep: “Hana, dear Hana, what is your feeling? What do you see there in the deep?”
​“I see a cottage—yet ’tis all dusty— Like where Jim lives—but nothing more— ’Tis getting brighter—there’s a man husky, He’s standing right there, in the door!
“He wears a green coat, his cheeks are rosy, His hat to one side—I know him! O my dear God! ’Tis himself, Jim!”
She springs up quickly, her heart is throbbing, The other bends down on her knee. “Good luck, dear Mary, now to your probing! What kind of vision can you see?”
“Ah, I see; I see—everything gloomy, Haze like clouds from some smoking torch— Now red lights flicker in a space roomy— It seems to me like in a church.
“A dark thing seems a white space to enter Ah, I see now as fades the cloud: Those are white maidens, and in their centre— Oh God! a coffin!—a black shroud!”
IV.
A warm zephyr flits and flies O’er green spring crops, waving; Blossoms cover all trees’ crowns, Fields in them are laving: One day the church fills with sweet tones and flowers, And soon a wedding passes from its bowers O’er the beflowered paving.
The young sprightly groom rides home With his guests, delighted; Dark green coat, hat to one side, Thus he now alighted; As she had seen him in that fateful hour He brings home his Hana in a blossom shower With their hands united.
The bright summer’s gone. Cold winds O’er the fields flit by. Death-knells peal, upon a bier A cold corpse does lie: White maidens gather with bright candles glowing: On all sides mourning, sad music and woeing In a profound sigh: Miserere mei!
Whom the coffin with green wreath To his grave does carry? Ah, a maiden lily died— How the times do vary! As by dew watered, she grew to a blossom, Then, fading, she fell into earth’s dark bosom, The poor maiden, Mary!
V.
The winter came, with frost the windows tapping, But the large stove heats the whole room; The hearth is lighted, the old dame is napping, The girls spin flax and work the loom.
“Turn and burr and reel, my dear spinning wheel, For again the Advent makes us feel How ‘near we are to Christmas Eve!
“Ah, thou blessed Christmas Eve! O night, full of wonder! Every time I think of thee, Sadly must I ponder!
“Last year we sat just as now, Solving each her riddle, And before a year rolled by Two have left our middle.
“One is sewing little gowns For a coming fairy, The other, the third month lies In the cemetery, The poor maiden, Mary!
“Last year we sat just as now And we sang and chattered; And before a year rolls by— Where may we be scattered?
“Turn and burr and reel, my dear spinning wheel, The whole world, too, turns like on the heel, And like a dream the life we leave!”
Yet, it is better in darkness to grope And guess in dreams the coming date Than lift the future’s veil in a vain hope And learn too soon a dreadful fate.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.