Page:Three stories by Vítězslav Hálek (1886).pdf/14

 imitated by Halek in his idyllic poems. Once ina scene in a poem called Alfred (1858) and again most elaborately in a poetical historical retrospect, Dedicove bileBílé [sic] hory (1869).

This brings me to mention his volume of Idyllic poems written at different times between 1858 and 1871, some of which I judge to be the most perfect of his works. In the latest of these Idylls Devce z Tater (a maiden of the Carpathians) the splendour of the language and melody of the verse outshine that of any modern poet (Leopardi not excepted). The story is simple and interesting, the sentiment healthy, and the characters life-like; could it be adequately translated English critics would, I think, admit it to be one of the most perfect Idylls in any language. Krasna Lejla and Mejrima and Husejn, Turkish Stories in verse, (1859) and Alfred (a Czech romance) are also readable and highly poetical. Goar and Cerny prapor (the black flag) are the names of two others, A volume of prose stories written between 1857 and 1859 is of less interest.. The stories are diffuse, full of criticisms about art and Wagner’s music, the plot is slight and the characters commonplace. Two volumes of prose stories written at a much later period, a story called “In the cottage and on the estate,” and a volume or two of criticism comprise the rest of Halek’s works. One of these volumes of stories is here presented to the public in an English dress and of their merits the English reading public can therefore form its own opinion. The stories are for the most part translated literally and I must apologize for retaining here and there Bohemian words, sometimes where an English equivalent is wanting, sometimes, in order to give an idea of the character of the original language, which also means the character of the people who speak it. The stories have been twice revised. Once by a learned Bohemian Jew in Prague, to whom I read them aloud and who was kind enough to appreciate them in their English dress. “They are written from the heart to the heart,” he said. And again a second time by an English literary man to whom the sentiment of the stories was so obnoxious that he put his pen through about one third part of them. Most of his excisions I have rejected. In spite of these revisions I cannot hope to have avoided many errors of translation which I hope may be corrected by the critical reader; nor can I expect a wide circle of English readers. The stories appeal to a civilization developing on different lines from our own,