Recently I happened upon an online collection of Las Cien Mejores Poesías de la Lengua Castellana, as selected by the Spanish scholar Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo (1856–1912). Among these 100-best, the following poem by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (1836–1870, pictured at right), one of the most important (and most read) of Spanish writers, best known for his Rimas y leyendas. (Another, yet more famous of his poems appears as an addendum to Oh some poets. . . Oh, certains poètes… ¡Ay, algunos poetas!).

I have here translated Béquer’s “Rima VII” into English et français. Y a estas traducciones les sigue el poema original en español. At the very bottom there are also Notes, in English mainly, though with some français y español. At the very end of a previous post (We might let some light in . . . ) may be found the final stanza of Béquer’s “Rima XXX.”

How much music

Translation of “Rima VII” by Gustavo A. Bécquer

In the dark corner of a room,

It seemed by its owner forgotten,

A golden harp lay silenced,

Covered in dust.

How much music, like a bird

On a branch, slept on those strings,

Awaiting the snow-white hand

That knew to play!

And so I thought how often genius

Sleeps in the depths of our souls,

And all the voices awaiting like Lazarus

The word: “Arise!”

Français

Combien de notes

Traduction de « Rima VII » de Gustavo A. Bécquer

Dans le coin sombre du salon,

Oubliée par son propriétaire ?

Silencieuse et de poussière couverte,

La harpe se voyait.

Combien de notes y dormaient,

Comme un oiseau su sa branche,

En attendant la main douce et innocente

Qui savait les libérer ?

Hélas ! pensai-je ; combien de fois le génie

Dort ainsi au fond de l’âme,

Et la voix attend, comme Lazare,

Qu’on lui dise de se lever.

Texto original en español

Rima VII

de Gustavo A. Bécquer

Del salón en el ángulo oscuro.

de su dueño tal vez olvidada,

silenciosa y cubierta de polvo

veíase el arpa.

¡Cuánta nota dormía en sus cuerdas,

como el pájaro duerme en la rama,

esperando la mano de nieve

que sabe arrancarla!

¡Ay! pensé; ¡cuántas veces el genio

así duerme en el fondo del alma,

y una voz, como Lázaro, espera

que le diga: «¡Levántate y anda!»

Notes

I have been helped in my reading of Béquer’s rimas by the commentary of Francisco López Estrada y Teresa López García-Berdoy. That said, I am intrigued by their preference for these last two lines of the very short Rima XXII. The first two lines are:

¿Cómo vive esa rosa que has prendido

junto a tu corazón?

How does that rose you’ve pinned to your heart live?

So then, traditionally, the second set of lines is (with the repetition of “junto” neatly pairing el corazón y el volcán):

Nunca hasta ahora contemplé en el mundo

junto al volcán la flor.

Literally: Never until now have I beheld in the world / with a volcano a flower.

Apparently, an amendment to this line was later proposed:

Sobre un volcán hasta encontrarla ahora

nunca he visto una flor.

On a volcano until finding it (or her) now / I have never seen a flower.

There’s something to said for that amendment, no?

Secondly, as regards the last line of Béquer’s “Rima VII” and of the translations, I note that the New Testament, John: 11-43, reads in Greek: Λάζαρε, deuro exō. These words are commonly translated into English: “Lazarus, come forth.” Bécquer’s Spanish is «Levántate y anda»: Arise and walk.

En français on trouve : « Lazare, viens dehors ! » Ou bien : « Lazare, sors de là ! » (Lazarus, come out!)

I cannot refrain from noting that the King James Version of John 11:39 offers perhaps the only gag line in the whole Bible: “Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.” (My boldface.)

The New International Version (apparently the currently most popular of the translations into English), spoils the fun, reducing Martha’s words to: “But, Lord, by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

Thirdly, I note that Lazarus makes at least one another appearance in Señor Menéndez y Pelayo’s collection, in the conclusion of Tristezas de Gaspar Núñez de Arce (1834–1903):

Si en esta confusión honda y sombría

es, Señor, todavía

raudal de vida tu palabra santa,

di a nuestra fe desalentada y yerta:

—¡Anímate y despierta!

Como dijiste a Lázaro: —¡Levanta!—

If, in this deep and gloomy confusion,

Your holy word, Lord,

Still ​overflows with life,

Say to our discouraged and lifeless faith:

“Take heart and wake up!”

Just as you said to Lazarus: “Arise!”

Si, au milieu de cette profonde et sombre confusion,

Ta parole sainte, Seigneur,

Regorge toujours de vie,

Dis à notre foi découragée et apathique :

« Prends courage et réveille-toi ! »

Ou comme tu l’as dit à Lazare : « Lève-toi ! »

A message for our times? Or wishful thinking, too simplistic?

— Translations by William Eaton. The image is of a portrait of Gustavo Adolfo Becquer by his brother Valeriano, 1862.