Published in Sievietes Pasaule, No. 2, 15 January 1935. English translation prepared from the Latvian magazine scan; the original Latvian source text is preserved below for reference and TranslatePress review.
My First Great Friend
By Lūcija Garūta
For a long time I waited for him, my first great friend. At the time I did not yet know what kind of friends we would become; but every day I sat by the window hoping that, when Father came home, he would bring him too – my cherished dream. Days came and went; every day I saw Father coming home through the gate, without him. But one day, after Father came home, he said that today it would happen. And then strong men carried him up to the fifth floor, and slowly – it seemed endlessly long to me – freed him from the tarpaulin cover. And now he stood in our room: the black piano!
What a happy day it was! My long-awaited one was infinitely warm-hearted toward me: on the very first evening he showed me what wonderful sounds are born when certain notes are struck together. We became friends. Indescribable were the moonlit evenings in the company of my new friend. At that time I did not yet know the learned words chord, tonic, dominant. Every evening my black wooden friend, with his resonant soul, guided my fingers over the keys with a wonderful power. I listened for hours to the lovely sounds. When Mother said it was time to go to bed, I parted from my friend with sorrow, stroked him, kissed him, and said: “Until tomorrow.”
Who knows, perhaps my friend mourned on the day when two of my little tickets disappeared. Soon other girls came with tickets and sat in my place, while I sat beside them and counted “one, two, three” and spoke about half notes and quarter notes.
But my friend still remained faithful to me. When we were alone, he listened to me in joy and, above all, saved me in moments of sorrow and despair. Yet I was no longer faithful to him. The pain and happiness that had become songs were no longer heard by him alone. They began to sound in concerts, and in those moments I myself sat at a large black grand piano. And there my great unfaithfulness was born. I felt the difference between a Steinway grand and my old, worn piano, whose many keys no longer sounded; and the thought dawned on me: to have such a Steinway grand at home. Cherishing this dream, I did not feel what I was doing to my old friend and to myself.
Then came a moment whose senselessness I had not foreseen. A strange man came in, examined my friend from every side, struck a few keys harshly with one finger, and pronounced his judgment in a sharp voice. At that moment something in me ached; I felt the insult that had been spoken against my friend. Wounded to the depths of my heart, I sat down and showed how gentle the sounds were that my piano could still give.
“Well, yes, when it is played like that,” the stranger said at length. And then: “All right.” He counted out on the table the unpleasant green banknotes – thirty-three thousand rubles; at that time there were no lats. Something in my heart gnawed unbearably, but I held to the thought: “Nothing can be changed; there is no other way. This money is needed for the down payment on the expensive grand piano.”
Then the telephone rang. The strange man announced that he would send the carriers for the instrument at once. At that moment it became clear to me what I had done: for thirty pieces of silver I had sold my childhood, my life until then – myself. As in the happy days of early childhood, so now in despair, I stroked my friend, and then fled to a nearby house so that I would not be present at the terrible moment. But fate wanted me to hear that moment. To find out where the missing piano key had been placed, someone telephoned me.
I shall never forget that terrible sound in the telephone receiver. The door to the stairs must already have been open, because the heavy tramp of boots and the low voices of strange men echoed with peculiar force. Cold and icy, like pallbearers carrying a beloved person out of the house, they spread a cover over him and carried away my faithful friend – the friend who had never disappointed me, the happiness of my long years.
Where are you now, great friend of my old days? The wonderful Steinway grand with three pedals did not soothe my longing for you. I searched a long time for your trail, and when I found it – forgive me – I did not come. Once again I lacked the treacherous thirty pieces of silver to bring you honorably back into my home. And what could I have said to you, meeting you for a moment in a strange house, surrounded by curious eyes – you, with whom I was used to speaking alone? I do not know where you are, or whether you grieve. Even now, remembering you is endlessly hard for me.
To the Nation
Nation, your fate was wrapped in darkness,
Now your dream has been fulfilled:
Freedom is yours, Latvia is yours,
Foreign powers rule over you no more!
Nation, the morning of freedom has dawned for you;
Do not think: “Now all is fulfilled.”
Keep the past always in your mind,
Then you will feel this bright day more deeply.
Guard the land that you yourself have taken,
Love the land that you yourself have taken,
Let your noblest sons lead it,
Tear evil weeds out by the roots!
Sons who guide the homeland’s fate,
Set Latvia higher than yourselves!
Hold sacred above all, above all,
The traces of heroes laid in sandy earth!
Written in 1932.
Latvian Source Text
The Latvian text below follows the provided scan and keeps the period spelling where it is legible. It can be used as the Latvian version in TranslatePress once the site has a translation bridge or after manual review in the WordPress editor.
Open Latvian source text
Lūcija Garūta.
Mans pirmais lielais draugs.
Ilgi es viņu gaidīju, savu pirmo lielo draugu. Toreiz es gan vēl nenojautu, kādi draugi būsim; bet sēdēju ikdienas uz loga tai cerībā, ka tētiņam mājās nākot būs līdz arī viņš – mans lolotais sapnis. Dienas nāca un gāja; ikdienas redzēju tēvu caur sētu mājās nākot – bez viņa! Bet reiz mājās pārnācis tēvs teica, ka šodien – būšot! Un tad – lieli spēcīgi vīri viņu uznesa piektajā stāvā, un lēni – man šķita bezgala ilgi – atsvabināja viņu no brezenta segas, – un nu viņš stāvēja mūsu istabā – melnais pianīno!
Kas tā bija par laimīgu dienu! Mans sengaidītais bija bezgala sirsnīgs pret mani: pirmajā vakarā viņš man rādīja, kādas brīnišķas skaņas rodas, ja zināmas skaņas reizē piesit. Mēs kļuvām draugi. Neaprakstāmi bija mēnešnīcas vakari mana jaunā drauga sabiedrībā. (Toreiz es nezināju gudros vārdus – akords, tonika, dominante). Ikvakaru mans melnais koka draugs ar skanošo dvēseli vadīja ar brīnišķīgu varu manus pirkstus pa taustiņiem. Es klausījos stundām ilgi jaukajās skaņās. Kad māmiņa teica, ka laiks pie miera doties, ar žēlumu šķīros no sava drauga, noglāstīju, noskūpstīju viņu ar vārdiem: “līdz rītam”.
Kas zin, varbūt, mans draugs sēroja tai dienā, kad man nozuda divas biļītes. Jo drīzi nāca citas meitenītes ar biļītēm, sēdās manā vietā, bet es sēdēju blakus un skaitīju: “viens, divi, trīs” un stāstīju par pus- un ceturtdaļnotīm.
Bet mans draugs bija vēl arvienu man uzticīgs. Kad bijām divatā, viņš uzklausīja mani priekos un, galvenais, glāba bēdu un izmisuma brīžos. Bet es nebiju vairs uzticīga viņam. Par dziesmām kļuvušās sāpes un laimi nedzirdēja viņš vien. Tās sāka skanēt koncertos, un es pati tais brīžos sēdēju pie liela, melna flīģeļa. Un lūk, šeit dzima mana lielā neuzticība. Es jutu, kāda starpība ir starp Steinway-flīģeli un manu veco, nolietoto pianīno, kuram daudzi taustiņi vairs neskanēja; un man uzausa doma – dabūt tādu Steinway-flīģeli mājās! Šo sapni lolojot nejutu, ko nodaru savam vecajam draugam un sev pašai.
Tad pienāca brīdis, kura nejēdzīgumu es nebiju iepriekš paredzējusi. Ienāca svešs vīrs, apskatīja manu draugu no visām pusēm, uzsita cieti ar vienu pirkstu uz pāris taustiņiem un noteica asā skaņā. Tai brīdī mani kas iesāpējās; es sajutu to apvainojumu, kas tika izteikts manam draugam. Līdz sirds dziļumiem aizvainota, piesēdos un rādīju, cik maigas skaņas mans pianīno vēl spēj dot.
“Nu jā, kad tā spēlē,” svešais gari noteica. Un tad – “nu labi!” Un noskaitīja uz galda nepatīkamās zaļās papīra zīmes – 33 tūkstošu rubļu (toreiz latu nebija). Kautkas sirdī neizsakāmi kremta, bet es turējos pie domas: “Nevar nekā grozīt, citas izejas nav, šī nauda vajadzīga dārgā flīģeļa iemaksai.”
Tad atskanēja telefona zvans – svešais vīrs ziņoja, ka tūlīt sūtīs nesējus pēc instrumenta. Šai brīdī man kļuva skaidrs, ko esmu izdarījuse, ka par 30 sudraba grašiem esmu pārdevusi savu bērnību, savu līdzšinējo dzīvi – sevi pašu! Kā senās bērnības dienās laimē, tā tagad izmisumā noglāstīju savu draugu un tad aizbēgu uz kādām tuvējām mājām, lai nebūtu klāt briesmīgajā brīdī. Bet liktens gribēja, lai es dzirdu šo brīdi. Lai noskaidrotu, kur atrodas nozudusi klavieru atslēga, man piezvanīja.
Nekad neaizmirsīšu šo šausmīgo skaņu telefona trubiņā. Laikam durvis uz trepēm bija jau atvērtas, jo tā savādi stipri atskanēja smago zābaku klaudzieni un zemās svešu vīru balsis. Ledaini, auksti, kā līķu nesēji iznes iz mājām mīļu cilvēku, tur uzsedza segu un nesa ārā manu uzticīgo draugu – draugu, kas nekad nebija sagādājis vilšanos, – manu ilgu gadu laimi…
Kur esi tagad, mans seno dienu lielais draugs? Brīnišķais Steinway-flīģelis ar 3 pedāļiem neremdēja manas skumjas pēc tevis. Es ilgi dzēnāju tavas pēdas un kad sadzenāju – piedod – neaizgāju! Man trūka atkal nodevīgo 30 sudraba grašu, lai tevi cienīgi savās mājās atvestu! Un ko gan es būtu teikusi tev uz brīdi tiekoties svešās mājās, kur apkārt ziņkārīgas acis, tev – ar kuru biju radusi runāt divatā! Nezinu, kur esi, vai skumsti. Man tevi atceroties vēl arvienu ir bezgala grūti.
Lūcija Garūta.
Tautai.
Tauta, tavs liktens bij tumsā tīts, Tagad tavs sapnis ir piepildīts, - Brīve ir tava, Latvija tava, Svešas varas pār tevi vairs nava! Tauta, tev uzausis brīves rīts; Nedomā: “viss nu ir piepildīts.” Pagātni paturi prātā arvienu, Vairāk tad jutīsi gaišu šo dienu. Sargi to zemi, ko pate sev ņēmi, Mīli to zemi, ko pate sev ņēmi, Dēliem viscēlajiem vadīt to ļauji, Nezāles ļaunas iz saknēm rauji! Dēli, kas dzimtenes likteņus vadat, Augstāk par sevi Latviju stādat! Smiltainē guldīto varoņu pēdas Turat pār visu, pār visu svētas!
Rakstīts 1932. g.