Marx Engels Correspondence 1860
Source: Marx Engels On Literature and Art, Moscow 1976;
Written in German and Danish;
Transcribed: by Andy Blunden.
By pure chance, the old Danish Kj�mpe-Viser fell into my hands. Some very nice things here and there among a lot of rubbish. Here is one, translated by Uhland.
Her Oluf hand rider saa vide,
Alt til sit br�llup at byde,
Men dandsen den gaar saa let gennem lunden.
Der dandse fire, og der dandse fem:
Elle kongens daater rekker haanden frem.
“Velkommen, Her Oluf, lad fare din fig:
Bi lidet, og tr�d her i dandsen med mig.”
“leg ikke t�r, jeg ikke maa: I morgen skal mit br�llup staa.”
“H�r du, Her Oluf, tr�d dandsen med mig:
To bukkeskinds st�vle saa giver jeg dig.
To bukkeskinds st�vle, sider vel om been:
ForgyIdene spore derom spend.
H�r du, Her Ole, tr�d dandsen med mig:
En silke-skiorte giver jeg dig.
En silke-skiorte saa hivid og fiin:
Den blegte min moder veg maane skin.”
“Jeg ikke t�r, jeg ikke maa etc.”
“H�r du, Her Oluf, tr�d dandsen med mig:
Et hoved af guld saa giver jeg dig.”
“Et hoved af guld kand jeg vel faa:
Men dandse med dig t�r jeg ej saa.”
“Og vil du ikke dandse med mig,
Sot og sygdom skal f�lge dig.”
Hun slog hannem mellem sine h�rde:
Aldrig var hand slagen verre.
Hun l�fte, Her Oluf paa ganger r�d:
“Og rid nu hiem til din festem�.”
Der hand kom til borgeled:
Der staar hands moder og hviler ved.
“H�r du, Her Oluf, kier s�nnen min:
Hvi baer du nu saa bleg en kind?”
Og jeg maa vel b�re kinden bleg,
For jeg bar v�ret i Ellekonens leg.”
“H�r du, Her Ole, min s�n saa prud:
Hvad skal jeg svare din unge brud?”
‘I skal sige, jeg er udi lunde,
At pr�ve min hest og saa mine hunde.”
Aarle om morgen, dag det var:
Da kom den brud med brudeskar.
De skenkte mi�d, de skenkte viin:
“Hvor er, Her Ole, brudgom min?”
“Her Oluf hand reed sig hen i lunde:
Hand pr�ved sin hest og saa sine hunde.”
Hun tog op det skarlagen r�d:
Der laa Her Oluf og var d�d.
I like this much better than the very smooth Uhland version. Another, “Her Jon,” is even nicer.
Herr Oluf fares both far and wide,
To fetch the wedding-guests he doth ride.
The elves dance on the green land,
The Elf King’s daughter gives him her hand.
“Welcome, Herr Oluf, why wouldst thou flee?
Step into the ring and dance with me.”
But dance I neither will nor may,
Tomorrow dawns my wedding day.’
“oh list, Herr Oluf, come dance with me,
Two golden spurs I'll give to thee.
“A shirt all shining white so fine:
My mother shall bleach it with pale moonshine.”
“But dance I neither will nor may,
Tomorrow dawns my wedding day.”
“Oh list, Herr Oluf, come dance with me,
A pile of gold I'll give to thee.”
“Gladly I'd take your gold away,
But dance I neither dare nor may.”
“An thou, Herr Oluf, dance not with me,
Sickness and plague shall follow thee.”
And then she touched him on the chest.
Never such pain had clutched his breast.
She helps him, half-swooning, his mount to bestride:
“Now get thee hence to thy fair bride.”
As to his own door he drew near,
His mother was trembling there with fear.
“Tell me quickly, oh quickly, my son,
Why are thy looks so pale and wan?”
“How should they not be pale and wan?
’tis from the Elf King’s realm I come!’
“Oh list, dear son I love so well,
What to your bride am I to tell?”
“Say to the forest I am bound,
To exercise my horse and hound!’
Next morning, when it was scarcely day,
There came the bride with her company.
They poured the mead, they poured the wine.
“Where is Herr Oluf, bridegroom of mine?”
“He’s ridden hence, for the forest bound,
To exercise his horse and hound!’
The bride uplifted the scarlet red.
There lay Herr Oluf, and he was dead.
(Translated by Alex Miller)