Narrative Ballads

There is a group among Hungarian folk ballads which bears the marks of great antiquity, and both the construction and conclusion of these is fable-like in character. In the technical literature this ballad is designated with the name “Miraculous Dead” or Ilona Görög (Helen Greek in English translation) and was found primarily in Transylvania and the north-western linguistic region:

“O indeed I die for,

Mother dear, my mother,

Helen Greek, my fair one,

Waist of hers so lithesome,

Ruddy cheeks so wholesome,

Lips of hers so playsome,

Buttocks round and buxom,

Eyes of hers like flax bloom,

Helen Greek, my fair one.”

And between them will be,

Magic mill a-seeing,

Helen Greek your true love.“

“Dearest, sweetest mother,

Give me leave to go for

Magic mill a-seeing.“

“Do not go, my daughter,

Helen Greek, my fair one,

’Tis a net they’re casting

For the fish to catch in.”

“O indeed I die for,

Mother dear, my mother,

Helen Greek, my fair one,

Waist of hers so lithesome,

Ruddy cheeks so wholesome,

Lips of hers so playsome,

Buttocks round and buxom,

Eyes of hers like flax bloom,

Helen Greek, my fair one.”

{523.} “Do not die, my dear son,

László Zetelaki!

1 shall have all made you

Wondrous magic tower,

Breadthwise river Danube

With its walls will touch it,

Heightwise will it reach up

Heaven’s highest summit.

Maidens, comely virgins

Sure they must come there for

Magic tower seeing,

And between them will be

Magic tower seeing,

Helen Greek your true love.”

“Sweetest, dearest mother,

Give me leave to go for

Magic tower seeing.”

“Do not go, my daughter,

Helen Greek, my fair one,

’Tis a net they’re casting

Barbel for to catch in.”

“O indeed I die for,

Mother dear, my mother,

Helen Greek, my fair one,

Waist of hers so lithesome,

Ruddy cheeks so wholesome,

Lips of hers so playsome,

Buttocks round and buxom,

Eyes of hers like flax bloom

Helen Greek, my loved one.”

“Do not die, my dear son,

László Zetelaki!

I shall have all made you

Such a magic hand-mill

As the first mill-stone will

Cast forth pearls the purest,

Second of the mill-stones

Cast forth silver farthings,

And the third will cast forth

Swishing fine silk fabric.

“Go and die, my son dear,

László Zetelaki!

Sure they must come there for,

Famous, fairest maidens,

Magic dead a-seeing,

’Mong the women will be,

Magic dead a-seeing,

Helen Greek, your true love.”

“O my dearest mother,

Give me leave to go for

Magic dead a-seeing,

Magic dead to see who

Gave for me his ghost up.”

“Do not go, my daughter,

Magic dead a-seeing,

’Tis a net they’re casting

Barbel for to catch in,

Helen Greek, the fair one,

From her mother snatching.“

But she would not heed her,

Hies she to her chamber,

There she goes to dress up,

Slips her blue silk gown on,

Puts a pair of red and

Iron-studded boots on;

On her head she ties a

Scarlet silken head-cloth,

Down the front she ties a

Clean and snow-white apron.

“Rise, my son, rise now,

László Zetelaki!

For the one you died for

There she comes the road up;

Rise my son, arise now,

László Zetelaki!

For the one you died for

There she comes the door in.“

I have seen some dead men,

Never once like this one!

One whose feet should rise up

Ready for a-jumping,

One whose arms should stretch out

Ready for a-hugging,

One whose lips should open

Ready for a-kissing,

And who should right wake up

Soon as I have kissed him!

Fig. 209. One of the melodies of the ballad “The Wife of Mason Kelemen”.
Korond, former Udvarhely County. 1955

{524.} It is a theme widespread in European ballad literature that the young man entices his beloved by pretending he is dead. The variations, however, are very different. The Hungarian versions indicate northern connections (e.g. miraculous mill). From the point of view of their form, on the other hand, they can be classified into the newer ballads, which reflect the message and attitude of the folk tale, from ballads of romance character. The condensed method of performance, the administering of justice, the good humoured strength and finesse of the folk tale are asserted in these ballads.

The ballad of Kőműves Kelemenné (The Wife of Mason Kelemen) belongs to the same group, but it no longer sounds the happy, victorious voice of the tales, but rather that of inevitable tragedy (although in the Hungarian material of this group we know of tale-like prosaic endings, built on the elements of tales). In it the tragic conflict is built simultaneously on the motif of inhuman exploitation and greed and on an ancient belief, the belief of the building sacrifice (cf. pp. 158–9), data supporting this belief have been recovered at excavations of the city of Ur, from the fifth millennium B. C.

Once twelve master masons put their heads together,

Déva’s lofty castle that they would erect there.

They would erect it for two full pecks of silver,

Two full pecks of silver, two full pecks of guilder.

Thereupon they set out, Déva town they went to,

Déva’s lofty castle building they did set to.

What they built by midday, down it fell by evening,

What they built by evening, down it fell by morning.

Once more they took counsel, all twelve master masons,

How to stop walls crumbling, how the building hasten;

Till at last agreed they, came to this solution,

All between themselves they made a resolution:

“Any of our wives who be the first arriver,

Gently we should take her, throw her in the fire,

Mix with lime her ashes, tender ashes softly

For to strengthen with it Déva’s castle lofty.”

{525.} “Coachman mine, coachman mine, eldest of my servants,

Hark my hest which is to go and see my husband,”

Spoke and said the wife of Kelemen the mason,

“Hitch the horses quickly, harness them, come, hasten,

Hitch the horses quickly, bring them up the drive-way,

Let’s set out for Déva, take we to the highway.“

When that they were gone but half the journey forward,

Came there such foul weather, fast it rained and showered.

“Mistress mine, my starlet, let us stop, go backward:

Yesternight I had a bad sign in my sleeping,

In my sleep at night I such a dream was dreaming,

Kelemen the mason’s courtyard I was treading,

Why his yard was all round covered in black mourning,

Right there in the middle stood a deep well yawning,

And his little son was dead in it all drownded;

Now this dream today might prove itself well-founded.

Mistress mine, my starlet, let us stop and turn back!”

“Coachman mine, coachman mine, never shall we turn back,

Nor the horses yours are, nor the carriage yours is,

On you drive the coach and crack whip on the horses.“

Towards Déva’s castle as they went advancing,

Kelemen the mason saw them at a glancing;

Sore afraid became he, uttered loud this prayer:

“O my God and Lord, please, take them away from here!

May the legs be broken of my chestnut steeds four,

May the spokes be shattered of my coach’s wheels all,

May the Lord Almighty’s thunderbolt come strike down,

May my horses snort and turn the carriage right home!”

Towards Déva’s castle on the coach advances,

Neither horse nor coach did meet with no mischances.

“Good morrow, good morrow, all twelve master masons,

Good morrow to you, Kelemen the mason,”

So the woman hailed them and her husband answered:

“Good morrow, my wife, to you too,” he at once said,

“Why did you come here to meet your death so dire,

Gently we should take you, throw you in the fire.

We the twelve stonemasons came to this agreement:

If a wife should come here, this should be her treatment:

We should take her gently, throw her in the fire,

Mix with lime her ashes taken from the pyre,

Déva’s lofty castle make thereby well strengthened,

Only that way can we gain the hard-won payment.“

Mistress Kelemen no sooner saw the meaning

Than a woeful heart with thus began a-moaning:

“Pray wait you, pray wait you, twelve who mean to murder

Till I take my farewell, wait you till no further,

{526.} Till I take my farewell women-friends of mine from,

From my women-friends and bonny little son from;

For the dead they’re ringing, three times rings the church-bell,

But my lonely soul for none will toll the dead-knell.”

With that Kelemen’s wife home she went departing

For to say her farewells and take her final parting,

Take her final farewell women-friends of hers from,

From her women-friends and bonny little son from.

Mistress Kelemen then back she went a-hieing,

Towards Déva’s castle all the way a-crying;

There they took her gently, throwed her in the fire,

Mixed with lime her ashes taken from the pyre,

Only thus could build they Déva’s castle higher,

And the full tall price win which they did require.

Kelemen the mason when he went his gate in,

Saw his little son come running for to greet him:

“Welcome home, my father, dear beloved father!

Where is she, where is she, mother, dear my mother?”

Then his father answered, thus began a-speaking:

“Never you mind, dear son, she’ll be home by evening.”

“Lackaday, welladay, evening’s come and sun set,

Still my mother dear she failed to come back home yet!

O my father, father, tell me, tell me truly

Where’s my mother gone to, where my mother could be.”

“Go you, son, you go to Déva’s castle lofty,

There your mother’s walled in, midst the stones lies coldly.”

Up and went his son then, set out tears a-falling,

Set out for to find her Déva’s castle tall in;

Three times did he shout on Déva’s castle lofty:

“Mother, mother, speak up, speak to me once softly!”

“Son, I cannot speak up, for the stone wall presses,

Heavy stones lie o’er me, body, limbs and tresses.“

There her heart did break and under her the ground, too,

And her little son he fell the chasm into.

This ballad is one of the most frightening symbols of the feudal, land-tied, completely exploited fate of the peasants. It tells of the dreadful inhumanity of class society, where not only the sweat and blood of the worker must be built into the fortress under erection, but if needs be, he must wall into it his own wife alive, or mix her gentle ashes into the lime in order for the wall to remain standing. And what is so tragic in this ballad, and in the belief itself, is that the peasantry looked upon the sacrifice as a matter of course; although presentiment, the anxious prayer of her husband and the force of nature all attempted to stop her, the order satisfying the pleasures of the lords must be carried out–the woman {527.} must sacrifice her life. What is so shocking is that for the peasantry, this story had great “epical authenticity”.

The foundation of these ballads of belief is that at the raising of buildings there is a need to make a sacrifice. In ancient times this may have been human sacrifices, but later they tried to assist the structure to bind together by sacrificing only the blood or hair of men. Animal sacrifices (e.g. a rooster) were customary until the most recent times: this they placed mostly under the threshold or built into the wall. Remnants of these sacrifices often turn up even today from pulled down buildings. The belief in building sacrifice and the ballads expressing it are best known in Eastern Europe, especially in the Balkans.