TRANSLATION AND COMMENTARY BY MARTINA JURIČKOVÁ
A translated newspaper article from the journal Slovák, written by Jozef Petro.[1]
Christmas…
Lovely, happy, merry Christmas, the loveliest holidays of them all, the feast of the family, when everyone is home, the whole family: dad who had been working in France came home, sister who studies in Bratislava[2] will come home, even brother who is doing his military service in Piešťany[3] is home…
Christmas…
How much sweet beauty and how many beautiful secrets are hidden in this feast… Do you remember how you used to look forward to Christmas as a little boy?—Back then, Christmas used to start long, long before the actual holiday, by the beginning of December, when you wrote a letter to Jesus about how you had been a good child the whole year, how you obeyed your mommy, and so you requested him to bring you the toy horse you had seen in the toy shop window… And when you sent the letter, you were anxiously awaiting the arrival of the response letter, and every evening, before you fell asleep, you asked your mom about it… And in the meantime, the Christmas was coming ever closer… Daddy and mommy whispered to each other in the evenings something you weren’t supposed to hear… In addition, one morning you spotted your mother through the window as she was carrying the pine tree to hide it in the storeroom, so that you wouldn’t discover it before Christmas… Then you baked the Christmas waffles, cakes, pies; just another proof that the Christmas was coming… Eventually, the Christmas Eve dawned… In the morning, mom sent you to the neighbours’ house, saying: “Go, Joey, to the neighbours’, go play with their Frankie. I’ve got a lot of work, you would only get in my way here.”… Oh, you knew very well then what kind of work she had in mind: she was going to decorate the tree but didn’t want you to know about it, because she worried you would no longer believe afterwards that the tree was brought in by baby Jesus…
Eventually, the evening came.
You put on your special feast attire and you waited, waited for baby Jesus. But somehow he wasn’t coming. So daddy took you out to the street to look for him and see if he was coming already. Of course, you didn’t see him there either, but you heard instead that somebody rang a jingle bell in the front room of your house, and then mom’s voice called: “Come on, quickly, quickly, Jesus has come.” But when you managed to get to the room, Jesus wasn’t there anymore. Surely he must have had a lot of work, so he rushed on to other people’s houses. But he left here a decorated tree and Lo! just the same toy horse you had been dreaming of! Look, even the harness is the very same. And how beautiful the Christmas tree is, decorated with lots of candies, nuts, and apples… Then you kneeled down and prayed to Jesus to thank him for the gifts.
Now you sat to the table and had a feast dinner….
Then your uncles came, you played games like hide and seek, and in no time at all it was eleven o’clock and the church bells were calling people to the midnight mass… You dress up and go… Above your heads, thousands of stars twinkle, and under your feet the frosty snow crunches… Somewhere at the other end of the village shepherds are singing, carolling.
The church is really full, no more spots left even though the church bells hadn’t rang for the second time yet… Old and young, everyone is here, dressed in feast clothes and Christmas mood… And the God’s temple rings with a song, a Christmas song, the most beautiful of them all: “Christ is born, let us make merry…”[4]
***
At the edge of the village, there is an old, shabby shed. There lives a widow with her three children.
Christmas is here too…
A little Christmas tree standing in the corner is decorated with paper ornaments and upon closer look, you can even spot some nuts or candies here and there.
The three children are sitting at the table—the oldest child is eight, the youngest four and a half. They are having a feat dinner tonight: lentil soup, noodles with poppy seeds, and everyone gets an apple after the dinner. They even have some pies—there are still some good people in the village who had sent them in.
Here there are no secrets about the Christmas tree: the children themselves helped the mother to decorate it; it wasn’t brough in by Jesus in the evening, nor did he ring a jingle bell. The mother just opened the cupboard and said: “So, children, this is what Jesus is sending you.”—and she handed out warm socks, clothes, and shoes she had been saving for the whole year. Yet it still wasn’t enough, so she had to borrow some money from her neighbour. But the children are happy and very appreciative, trying the clothes and shoes on right away to see if they fit and how they look in them.
Then they, along with their mother, kneel under the tree and pray to Jesus, adding in an extra “Our Father” for their own father who died gnawed under a falling tree in the forest the previous year…
Abd while the children are dreaming a wonderful dream about a Christmas tree that would reach up to the ceiling, full of candies and ornament, about pretty dresses and lovely dolls, just like the richer kids get, the worried mother sitting at the table wonders how she’s ever going to repay the 20 bucks to her neighbour that she had borrowed to buy her children shoes and clothes…
Many have such a Christmas.
Remember them!
***
There is another kind of Christmas.
Far from home, far from family, you are spending the Christmas Eve alone in a small, humble room, that good people let you, a refugee from a war zone, in for free.
On the table, you have a small, humble Christmas tree to remind you of the feast. But it’s not decorated with any candies. There’s only a picture of your mom, resting now somewhere in a Slovak cemetery, and the pictures of your dad and sister, who are now far away from you, somewhere in foreign lands.
Sad, unhappy Christmas…
Jesus won’t come visit you, he won’t ring the jingle bell for you, like he used to a long, long time ago. Nor would he put presents under the Christmas tree. No, no one will come, you’re here all alone… You’re sitting at the window, watching the starry night sky. You see light in other windows and families inside, who are sitting around their Christmas trees, talking, merrymaking. They are all happy because it’s Christmas, Jesus is born… Little children are playing with the toy horses and dolls Jesus has brough them…
You’re looking, and looking, and your mind goes to your faraway home that has been taken from you and barred with new borders. What are your folk doing at home now? Do they have a Christmas tree—and do they remember you? Oh, yes. They do. They surely remember you. After all, they have sent you a Christmas card. Your own father himself wrote message for you, with his heavy, old hand full of calluses: “My dear son! I wish you a merry Christmas and happy holidays… Ours will be very sad this year… You know—your mother is in the cemetery and we are alone here… If only you could come here, for life is difficult this way and…”—and you can’t read on because your eyes fill with tears… Dad, dear dad, who could have thought last Christmas that the next one will be so sad…
Even this is Christmas.
The Christmas of one of the many refugees.
Historical Note
__________________________________________________________
On 23 November 1938, Slovakia, up to then a part of the Czechoslovak Republic, gained autonomy, following the Munich Agreement. However, this came at the cost of losing a great part of its southern regions which were annexed to Hungary based on the Vienna Arbitration (2 November 1938). As a result, many Slovak families living in the south of the country were torn apart as people, who until then were residents of Czechoslovakia, suddenly became inhabitants of Hungarian land. And since Hungary wanted these lands to be inhabited by Hungarian people, these Slovaks were forced to abandon their homes and emigrate “back” to other parts of Slovakia where there were considered refugees then. In addition, due to Slovakia getting administrative and political autonomy from Czechia, Slovak politicians decided to replace all the Czech administrative workers operating on Slovak land with local people, and these thus had to emigrate back to the Czech lands. Oftentimes, it were people who had already been working in their positions for many years, putting down roots in Slovak land, so they effectively became refugees too. And finally, by autumn 1938, the leading political party in Slovakia started disowning Jewish residents and forcing them to move to the lands now annexed by Hungary, as Slovakia was now under the influence of Nazi Germany and this was just another aftermath of the Vienna Arbitration. This article thus reflects what life in Slovakia was like at that time. I discovered it at an exhibition held by the diocese library in Nitra.
Knowing all the historical circumstances now, the other pieces on the page (a song, a poem, and an agitative editorial targeted at the youth) seem kind of hypocritical in their celebration of Slovak autonomy, ignoring all that Slovakia had to give to gain it. Look at my loose translation below.
________________________________________________________________
Christmas song 1938, author Ladislav Hohoš, music M. Nitranský
1. A sparkly star has come up to light up the road toward new history. A spring time has arrived for the Slovak folks. National thanks and joy today is raising up to the sky. Thanks be to God, the Lord, who gives us peace.
2. In Betlehem, Jesus sweetly sleep in the manger. Even though your body lies in earth, Hlinka[5], your spirit lives on. National thanks and joy today is raising up to the sky. Thanks be to God, the Lord, who gives us life.
3. From the East, the three wise men came to Jesus. You, my countrymen, give him the gift of hearts and mind. National thanks and joy today is raising up to the sky. Thanks be to God, the Lord, who gives us everything.
The best gift…
Author: Nora Preusová
In the manger, the Son of God brough us freedom,
he wrapped it in gold, tied with eternity,
to protect it for ever—to give a life for it
in heroic deed he ordered us.
Beautiful Christmas Slovakia got,
free looks in the smell of pine needles,
the most beautiful prayer will fill our souls,
the most beautiful prayer sang for thanks.
In the manger, the Son of God brough us freedom,
the ling awaited Messiah gives richly,
over hill—over valleys, the wind blows in vain.
A Slovak man is content, a Slovak man rejoices!!!
To Slovak Youth
Author: Dr. Frič
After long and hard fight, after a lot of sacrifices, Slovakia is reborn!
A thought has been freed and now flies like an eagle over the Tatra mountains.
A word has been freed and now thunders like the honourable anthem of freedom.[6]
A print has been freed and now calls urbi et orbi that we haven’t disappeared from the Earth, that we are here and will revive.
Slovak youth! Slovak intelligentsia!
You have the most right to rejoice at the crib of our New Slovakia about our new Christmas.
For you—not for anybody else—the road of life is open.
For you Slovak fields bloom, for you Slovak mountains hum the fast march songs of the guardsmen. You are called by the modern music of factory machines, the apotheosis of work. For you the doors of high schools and universities open up.
Every American is proud that his son could become the president of the big, free America just because he’s been born on the Yankee land. Similarly, every Slovak can be proud that even his son can now reach the highest function in the Slovak land. He is so authorised by the magna carta of Žilina and a Slovak birth certificate.
Slovak youth! Slovak intelligentsia!
You also get the biggest tasks in the revived Slovak country.
We expect that it will be someone from amongst you who will become the new prophets foretelling happiness to every Slovak family.
We are expecting the arrival of a big nationalist, who will develop the riches of Slovak land; the arrival of big engineers, famed professors, politicians with sharp and attractive personality, anointed poets and literati. Finally, we are expecting the arrival of holy priests, whose prayers for the Slovak people will reach straight out to heaven, like the flames of holy sacrifices.
Big times contract you, Slovak youth, to big deeds, to inhuman work in the hereditary fields of the nation.
To do these deeds, you have to be giants, mythological titans, who carry the whole world on their shoulders.
And you will be giants, you will be the winners, because you are the heirs of the giant and winner, Andrej Hlinka.
The Andrej Hlinka… whose memory is sacred for us.
Footnotes
[1] Editor: See Slovák no. 293, page 17.
[2] Bratislava is the capital of Slovakia.
[3] A bath town in Slovakia.
[4] A loose translation of the first line of a traditional Slovak carol.
[5] Andrej Hlinka was a pries and a politician, the leader of the Slovak nationalist movement fighting for Slovak autonomy and independence from Czechia. He died in august 1938, and in his honour, his political party took up his name. This party became the leading party in the autonomous Slovakia. However, given all I said above, Hlinka was quite a controversial figure as he (had to) subdue to Hitler’s decisions in the Vienna Arbitration and Munich Agreement.
[6] Both the Tatra mountains and thunderstorms over them are sung about in the Slovak national anthem.
Fellowship & Fairydust 