Theodor Fontane: "The Tragedy of Afghanistan"

Two more US Marines killed in Afghanistan today, bringing the total number of US troop deaths for 2009 to 107.

Theodor Fontane wrote the ballad  Das Trauerspiel von Afghanistan while working as a foreign correspondent in London in 1857.  It is believed that the battle described here is from the first of the three Anglo-Afghan Wars. 

The excellent translation in English below the break is by Gabriele Campbell.

Das Trauerspiel von Afghanistan

Der Schnee leis stäubend vom Himmel fällt,

Ein Reiter vor Dschellalabad hält,
"Wer da!" - "Ein britischer Reitersmann,
Bringe Botschaft aus Afghanistan."

Afghanistan! Er sprach es so matt;
Es umdrängt den Reiter die halbe Stadt,
Sir Robert Sale, der Kommandant,
Hebt ihn vom Rosse mit eigener Hand.

Sie führen ins steinerne Wachthaus ihn,
Sie setzen ihn nieder an den Kamin,
Wie wärmt ihn das Feuer, wie labt ihn das Licht,
Er atmet hoch auf und dankt und spricht:

"Wir waren dreizehntausend Mann,
Von Kabul unser Zug begann,
Soldaten, Führer, Weib und Kind,
Erstarrt, erschlagen, verraten sind.

Zersprengt ist unser ganzes Heer,
Was lebt, irrt draußen in Nacht umher,
Mir hat ein Gott die Rettung gegönnt,
Seht zu, ob den Rest ihr retten könnt."

Sir Robert stieg auf den Festungswall,
Offiziere, Soldaten folgten ihm all',
Sir Robert sprach: "Der Schnee fällt dicht,
Die uns suchen, sie können uns finden nicht.

Sie irren wie Blinde und sind uns so nah,
So lasst sie's hören, dass wir da,
Stimmt an ein Lied von Heimat und Haus,
Trompeter blast in die Nacht hinaus!"

Da huben sie an und sie wurden's nicht müd',
Durch die Nacht hin klang es Lied um Lied,
Erst englische Lieder mit fröhlichem Klang,
Dann Hochlandslieder wie Klagegesang.

Sie bliesen die Nacht und über den Tag,
Laut, wie nur die Liebe rufen mag,
Sie bliesen - es kam die zweite Nacht,
Umsonst, dass ihr ruft, umsonst, dass ihr wacht.

"Die hören sollen, sie hören nicht mehr,
Vernichtet ist das ganze Heer,
Mit dreizehntausend der Zug begann,
Einer kam heim aus Afghanistan."

The Tragedy of Afghanistan

Snow like powder from the sky softly falls,
When before Djelalabad a rider halts.
"Who's there" - "A caval'rist from Britains army
A message from Afghanistan I carry."

Afghanistan. So weakly he'd said.
Half the town around him had met;
The British commander, Sir Robert Sale,
Helped to dismount the man who's face was so pale.

Into a guard-house they guided him
And made him sit at the fire's brim;
How warm was the fire, how bright was its shine,
He takes a deep breath, and begins to explain.

"Thirteen thousand men we had been,
When our outset from Kabul was seen -
Now soldiers, leaders, women and bairn
They are betrayed, and frozen and slain.

"Dispersed is the entire host,
Who is alive, in the darkness is lost.
A God to me salvation has sent -
To save the rest you may make an attempt."

Sir Robert ascends the castle wall,
And soldiers and officers follow him all,
Sir Robert speaks "How dense the snow falls,
How hard they may seek, they'll never see the walls.

"Like blindfold they'll err and yet are so near,
The way to their safety, now let it them hear,
Play songs of old, of the homeland so bright;
Bugler, let thy tune carry far in the night."

And they played and sang, and time passed by,
Song over song through the night they let fly,
The songs of their home so far and so dear,
And old Highland laments so mournful to hear.

They played all night and the following day,
They played like only love made them play;
The songs were still heard, but darkness did fall.
In vain is your watch, in vain is your call.

Those who should hear, they'll hear nevermore,
Destroyed, dispersed is the proud host of yore;
With thirteen thousand their trail they began.
Only one man returned from Afghanistan.

Comments

[Michael Stennecken]

The Tragedy of Afghanistan (by Theodor Fontane, 1819-1898,
translated by Michael Stennecken, 2001)

The snow smart spraying from heaven falls,
A rider before Dschellalabad holds,
"Who there! " - "A British rider's man,
Bring message from Afghanistan."

Afghanistan! He spoke it so lone;
Surrounded the rider by half the town,
Sir Robert Sale, the commandant,
Heaves from the horse him with his own hand.

They lead to the stony watch-house so grace,
They put him down to the fireplace ,
How heats him that fire, how feasts him that light,
He breathes and thanks and speakes out with might:

“We were thirteen of thousand man,
From Kabul there our trek began,
Soldiers, commanders, child and wife,
Numbed, beaten, gave up their life.

Dispersed our whole army that we've count'
What lives, strays out there in night around,
To me God gave salvage, did me the best,
Please care that you can rescue the rest."

Sir Robert climbed the fortress wall,
Officers, soldiers followed him all,
Sir Robert speakes: " The snow makes blind,
They who us search, they cannot us find.

They err as unseeing and are us so near,
So let them hear, that we are there,
Intone a carol of home and house,
Trumpeter blow to the night that out!"

Then they began and did unfatigued long,
In the night it sounded song by song
First English songs with cheerfully sound,
Then highland songs like wailing around.

They blew the night and over day, too,
Loud, as only the love it may do,
They blew - it came the second night,
Vain, that you call, vain, that you watch at light.

They who shall hear, they don't hear anymore,
Destroyed the entire army corps,
With thirteen thousand the trek began,
One came home from Afghanistan.

[Michael Stennecken]

Wurde direkt nach der Intervention in Afghanistan 2001 'auf die Schnelle' übersetzt für meine amerikanischen Freunde. 20 Jahre später haben wir dasselbe nochmal .. [email protected]

[Jörg K.]

Eine, wie ich finde, ebenfalls sehr schöne Übersetzung. Vielen Dank Herr Stennecken.