Posted 10:15 AM by laura r.
Literature translated for the Nouvelle Revue de Hongrie

Desiré Kosztolanyi, Aventure Bulgare, NRH, XXV (I), 12, (Dec. 1932) pp. 468-475, Traduit du hongrois par P. Rónai

Jean Kodolanyi, Mort de Pauvres, NRH, XXVI (II), 1, (Jan 1933), pp. 73-79, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Gyula Torok, Une bonne blague, vraiment!, NRH, XXVI (II), 2, (Feb 1933), pp. 162-169, Traduit du hongrois par Maxime Piha et Paul Rónai


Cecile Tormay, La mort de Jean-Hubert, extrait du roman: La Vieille Maison, NRH, XXVI (II), 3, (March 1933), pp. 276-284, Traduit du hongrois par Francois Gachot et Paul Rónai


Joseph Babay, Mon père sourit..., NRH, XXVI (II), 3, (March 1933), pp. 285-288, Traduit du hongrois par Paul Rónai

Victor Cholnoky, L' Île des zeros, NRH, XXVI (II), 4, (April 1933), pp. 392-397, Traduit du hongrois par Francois Gachot et Paul Rónai


Kalman Mikszath, Le forgeron et la cataracte, NRH, XXVI (II), 5, (May 1933), pp. 509-513, Traduit du hongrois par Henri Ancel et Paul Rónai


Deux jeunes poètes (Laurent Szabo, Joseph Erdelyi), NRH, XXVI (II), 7, (July 1933), pp. 727-731, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Joseph Nyiro, Le retour, NRH, XXVI (II), 8, (October 1933), pp. 827-835, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Jean Bokay, Zizette, NRH, XXVI (II), 9, (November 1933), pp. 935-942, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Zoltan Szitnyai, Les sept mineurs de Selmec, NRH, XXVI (II), 10, (December 1933), pp. 1039-1043, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Andre Gelleri, Un sou, NRH, XXVI (II), 10, (December 1933), pp. 1044-1047, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Aaron Tamasi, Comment Abel apprit la mort de sa mère, NRH, XXVII (III), 1, (January 1934), pp. 66-71, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Irene Gulacsy, L'insecte, NRH, XXVII (III), 2, (February 1934), pp. 166-172, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Francois Mora, La boulangère du bon Dieu, NRH, XXVII (III), 3, (March 1934), pp. 289-295, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Desiré Kosztolanyi, L'avocat celeste, NRH, XXVII (III), 4, (April 1934), pp. 385-395, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Eugene Heltai, Le diable a Budapest, NRH, XXVII (III), 5, (May 1934), pp. 498-502, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Coloman Mikszath, Un homme bon, NRH, XXVII (III), 6, (June 1934), pp. 85-98, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Alexandre Makkai, Pourquoi? , NRH, XXVII (III), 7, (July 1934), pp. 167-170, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Louis Bibo, Pas de mots, NRH, XXVII (III), 7, (July 1934), pp. 171-173, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Louis Bibo, Pas de mots, NRH, XXVII (III), 7, (July 1934), pp. 173-176, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Michel Tamas, La rencontre du village, NRH, XXVII (III), 8, (October 1934), pp. 301-304, Traduit du hongrois par Paul Rónai


Marguerite Kaffka, Tante Polixene, NRH, XXVII (III), 9, (November 1934), pp. 408-417, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Maurice Jokai, Aventure de brigands (Les bavardages d'un vieux baron), NRH, XXVII (III), 10, (December 1934), pp. 505-514, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Akos Molnar, La prediction, NRH, XXVIII (IV), 1, (January 1935), pp. 77-84, Traduit du hongrois par Henri Ancel et Paul Rónai


Louis Zilahy, La délegation hongroise traite la paix a Belgrade (Extrait du roman Le deserteur), NRH, XXVIII (IV), 2, (February 1935), pp. 166-172, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Andre Gelleri, Anéantissement, NRH, XXVIII (IV), 3, (March 1935), pp. 275-280, Traduit du hongrois par Paul Rónai


Desiré Kosztolanyi, Du berceau jusqu'au cercueil (l'avant-propos, et trois chapitres), NRH, XXVIII (IV), 4, (April 1935), pp. 396-403, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai



Sigismond Moricz, La confession de Gabriel Bethlen (extrait du roman, Le grand prince, seconde partie de la trilogie, Transylvanie), NRH, XXVIII (IV), 6, (June 1935), pp. 71-81, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Alexandre Marai, Atherstone Terrace, NRH, XXVIII (IV), 7, (July 1935), pp. 206-210, Traduit du hongrois par Paul Rónai


Alexandre Hunyady, L'épouvantail, NRH, XXVIII (IV), 8, (October 1935), pp. 324-327, Traduit du hongrois par Paul Rónai


Louis Biro, Médecins, NRH, XXVIII (IV), 9, (November 1935), pp. 456-460, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Zsolt Harsany, Le premier concert du "petit Liszt" a Paris, NRH, XXVIII (IV), 10, (December 1935), pp. 549-552, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Zoltan Ambrus, Mourants, NRH, XXIX (V), 1, (January 1936), pp. 68-75, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Joseph Nyiro, Le Pater perdu et retrouvé (extrait du Mon Peuple), NRH, XXIX (V), 2, (February 1936), pp. 154-160, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Frederic Karinthy, Scarlatine: souvenir d'enfance, NRH, XXIX (V), 3, (March 1936), pp. 257-262, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Ernest Szep, Le sauvage, NRH, XXIX (V), 4, (April 1936), pp. 354-358, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Nicolas Kisban, Le dix cors a couronne (Un roman chez les cerfs), NRH, XXIX (V), 5, (May 1936), pp. 443-450, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


Nicolas Surany, Le comte Etienne Szechenyi chez Metternich (extrait de Nous voilà seuls), NRH, XXIX (V), 6, (June 1936), pp. 541-545, Traduit du hongrois par Robert Boudet et Paul Rónai


Alexandre Torok, Tutoiement (Confidences), NRH, XXIX (V), 7, (July 1936), pp. 61-64, Traduit du hongrois par Robert Boudet et Paul Rónai


Frederic Karinthy, Qui t'a demandé ton avis?, NRH, XXIX (V), 7, (July 1936), pp. 65-66, Traduit du hongrois par Robert Boudet et Paul Rónai


Aaron Tamasi, Tobie le droit, NRH, XXIX (V), 8, (August 1936), pp. 157-166, Traduit du hongrois par François Gachot et Paul Rónai


From this issue on there continues to be a story in each issue, but the translations are no longer credited. Paulo Rónai appears for the last time (as far as I can tell) in the January 1940 issue, where there is a Rencontre avec Jehan Rictus, un maitre d'Andre Ady (pp. 75-78), followed by Deux contes parisiens par Andre Ady, pp. 79-85.

Posted 12:09 PM by laura r.
Continued from MOSTLY MUSIC
ABT VOGLER
(after he has been extemporizing
upon the musical instrument of his invention)

by Robert Browning


And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was,
Ay, another and yet another, one crowded but with many a crest,
Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass,
Eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest:
For higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire,
When a great illumination surprises a festal night ---
Outlined round and round Rome's dome from space to spire)
Up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight.

In sight? Not half! for it seemed, it was certain, to match man's birth,
Nature in turn conceived, obeying an impulse as I;
And the emulous heaven yearned down, made effort to reach the earth,
As the earth had done her best, in my passion, to scale the sky:
Novel splendours burst forth, grew familiar and dwelt with mine,
Not a point but found and fixed its wandering star;
Meteor-moons, balls of blaze: and they did not pale nor pine,
For earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far.

Nay more; for there wanted not who walked in the glare and glow,
Presences plain in the place; or, fresh from the Protoplast,
Furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow,
Lured now to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last;
Or else the wonderful Dead who have passed through the body and gone,
But were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new:
What never had been, was now; what was, as it shall be anon;
And what is,--- shall I say, matched both? for I was made perfect too.

All through my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul,
All through my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth,
All through music and me! For think, had I painted the whole,
Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder-worth:
Had I written the same, made verse---still, effect proceeds from cause,
Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told;
It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws,
Painter and poet are proud in the artist-list enrolled:---

But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can,
Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are!
And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man,
That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is nought;
It is everywhere in the world---loud, soft, and all is said:
Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought:
And, there! Ye have heard and seen: consider and bow the head!

Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared;
Gone! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow;
For one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he feared,
That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go.
Never to be again! But many more of the kind
As good, nay, better perchance: is this your comfort to me?
To me, who must be saved because I cling with my mind
To the same, same self, same God; ay, what was, shall be.

Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name?
Builder and maker, Thou, of houses not made with hands!
What, have fear of change from Thee who art ever the same?
Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands?
There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before;
The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound;
What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more;
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.

All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist;
Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist
When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.
The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard;
Enough that He heard it once: we shall hear it by-and-by.

And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence
For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonized?
Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence?
Why rushed the discords in but that harmony should be prized?
Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear,
Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe:
But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;
The rest may reason and welcome, 'tis we musicians know.

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign:
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce.
Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again,
Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor,---yes,
And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground,
Surveying a while the heights I rolled from into the deep;
Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found,
The C major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.

Posted 12:06 PM by laura r.
Second Matrimony of my Father - Fanaticism for sacred music for the organ and for
religion (cont.)
I answered my father that at that moment I had not the least desire to take a wife, and if I had shown some inclination for the ladies that had been only a passing fancy.In fact my passion for music was growing daily, and I was encouraged by the progress which I was making on my new instruments and by the approbation which I received because of it, so that I thought no longer about anything else. Moreover I had taken a liking for church music, and the masses, antiphons etc. which I heard there by Seifert, Seidelmann, Abt Vogler, and above all those of Father Arauss, which moved me greatly. There was there a superb organ, and a certain Father Giuseppe played it divinely. He would take a subject from the beginning, the middle or the end of a piece of music which had been performed a moment earlier, and as if he were preluding extempore he would draw from it a delightful fughetta, and so well modulated and put together that it was ravishing.

Posted 12:05 PM by laura r.
Chapter VI. Continuation of Mariaberg - Meals - Hunting. (continued)



At seven in the evening we supped, and supper was, with the exception of the ragu, a repetition of lunch. On thin days we were served even better: a soup of pot-herbs, of barley or oats with butter and fresh scrambled eggs; Canedlen or Klösse, kinds of ravioli; Nudlen, a kind of cooked macheroni with butter, eggs and spices, pastries of every kind, a variety of fresh-water fishes, among which a kind resembling mackerel called Engedeiner Fish, whose flesh is red, salty by nature, and very delicious.
On vacation days or feast days they would give us one, two, or three extra dishes, where were devoured one after the other, as if it was nothing; but the serene air, the crystalline water of that spot, the scrambling and leaping which we did on those rocks would have given an appetite to the listless, and made one able to digest steel.

Posted 12:29 PM by laura r.
Ferrari, Chapter VI
Continuation of Mariaberg - Meals - Hunting.


The responsiblity of Father Mariano was that of instructing his students in German and Latin, and in arithmetic. He presided three times a day at our table, and we were served as follows.
Each day, at seven in the morning, breakfast; on fat days bread soup with gravy broth made with meat of chamois or hart; at midday lunch with the same sort of soup, boiled with the same sort of meat, ragus of coney, rabbit, and of many types of birds, as well as of marmot and joints of bear, which with bittersweet sauce makes the eating more delicate and exquisite. Roasts of every sort of game which were hunted there, ranging from partridge to hart. Poultry was only consumed on great feast-days; likewise vegetables and fruits which were brought from a distance, and at a high price. At seven in the evening we supped, and supper was, with the exception of the ragu, a repetition of lunch. On thin days we were served even better: a soup of pot-herbs, of barley or oats with butter and fresh scrambled eggs; Canedlen or Klösse, kinds of ravioli; Nudlen, a kind of cooked macheroni with butter, eggs and spices, pastries of every kind, a variety of fresh-water fishes, among which a kind resembling mackerel called Engedeiner Fish, whose flesh is red, salty by nature, and very delicious.
On vacation days or feast days they would give us one, two, or three extra dishes, where were devoured one after the other, as if it was nothing; but the serene air, the crystalline water of that spot, the scrambling and leaping which we did on those rocks would have given an appetite to the listless, and made one able to digest steel.
It will perhaps seem strange that they were able to maintain such a school so well, and at such a low price; but the venerable monks were not thinking about money, but only of spending the admission fees and teaching the young people. They were also charitable in the highest degree; they used to travel miles to help someone whom they had learned was in need; they visited the sick, sought to console them, and administered the sacraments to them when it was necessary. At the monastery they never failed to attend to their daily and nightly prayers. Having done their duties they were always friendly and jocular; they would entertain themselves now by making music, now by going walking or hunting, now by playing billiards or keels, and always ending with a healthy lunch or supper, which providence had sent them and which they shared with their friends. In short they were truly religious, neither Trappists or holier-than-thou. They had four expert and robust hunters who hunted primarily the chamois and harts which abounded there, and they hunted in the village in the following way.
The hunters would go out two by two, alternately, each with a pennant in his pocket, and armed with a double-barreled shotgun, with bread, cheese, brandy, and a canteen full of fresh water; and with such provisions they sometimes would stay out in those woods, rocks and mountains, and in the middle of the snow up to three and four days, nor did they ever return without their prey. As soon as they saw from afar a group of harts or chamois they unfurled their pennant in order to know which direction the wind was blowing from, for if it was blowing towards the animals, they smelling the mens' odor would immediately flee to a great distance, and as a consequence the hunters would have to make great circuits to surprise them.
The mountain-men would sleep beneath a tree, or a rock, or in a cave, and when one pair returned the other two would go out, and so on. In the winter they also went hunting for the black bears which were to be found in the higher and more frigid mountains. (It is generally believed that that breed of bear is not carnivorous nor sanguinary, and that they are (except for the females) sustained for three or four months of the winters by their fat, neither moving nor breathing. The hunters, however, used to say that they had seen them several times killing animals, sucking their blood, and that their dens and caverns were full of wild fruit, greens, roots, etc, but so well kept and safe from the bad weather that they seemed to have been put there by the hand of man. -Author's Note) They then go out all four together each supplied with a pair of heavy boots, with iron on the soles for the ice, with the usual shotgun, but with a bayonet, and with a pocket knife whose point is sharply curved, and as keen as a razor. They know already pretty much were the bears are staying, and go there. As soon as they have discovered a den, three of them hide, and the fourth gives his shotgun to his companions, and goes forward with his knife, which he carries in a sheath, in the side-pocket of his trousers. The bear smelling the man, the bear comes out very quietly from the den, and advances with a friendly appearance; but when he is close he rises up on his feet, and embraces him, not to rend him, but only to drink his blood; the hunter lets himself be embraced, but before the bear has bared his claws, or opened his mouth, he is already wounded morally by the fatal knife with which the hunter opens and furtively lacerates his belly; the poor beasts faints and falls backwards; the hidden companions immediately come forth and finish him off before he can notice it or suffer any spasm. Sometimes the timid, or inquiet female bear comes out of cavern, and seeing the father of her children slain, and fearing for her children, she launches a furious assault, but is always the victim of bayonet-strokes or shotgun blasts. Then the hunters go into the den, tie the little bears with ropes, and lead or drag them to the monastery. Once they arrived they start shouting and jumping like maniacs, throwing their green caps in the air, and as happy and content as if they had found a treasure. The steward receives them with rejoicing, and treats them to a meal alla Mariaberg, with excellent wines which they much prefer to brandy.