Erik Johan Stagnelius
14 Oct. 1793 - 3 April 1823
Erik Johan Stagnelius was born in Gärdslösa parish which is situated on Öland,
Sweden. Stagnelius and his family lived there until 1810 when his father became
bishop in Kalmar. The family moved to Kalmar, but Erik Johan Stagnelius always
returned to his childhoods climes, both in reality and in his imagination.
It´s said that Erik wasn´t like other children, that he already in young year
was a dreamer. He learned to read very early and that became one of his favorite
occupation. He prefered the solitude and spent much time to read books from the
city library.
Erik was studied in Lund 1811, but the year after he moved to Uppsala to study
and 1814 he graduated as assistant. 1815 he got an unpaid job in Stockholm as
copyist, but he didn´t work much there. He suffered of a heart disease and the
place as copyist wasn´t inspiring. The tradition says that he became addicted
to opium to get rid of the pain that the heart disease caused. He died in his
home in Stockholm only 29 years old.
Eriks poetical works is often coloured by thoughts that all the things human
experience in our material world isn´t complete, but in the world of ideas
exists the eternal and perfect things.
Näcken
by
Erik Johan Stagnelius'
Kvällens gullmoln fästet kransa
Älvorna på ängen dansa,
Och den bladbekrönta Näcken
Gigan rör i silverbäcken
Liten pilt bland strandens pilar
I violens ånga vilar,
Klangen hör från källans vatten,
Ropar i den stilla natten:
"Arma Gubbe! varför spela?
Kan det smärtorna fördela?
Fritt du skog och mark må liva,
Skall Guds barn dock aldrig bliva!
Paradisets månskensnätter,
Edens blomsterkrönta slätter,
Ljusets Änglar i det höga -
Aldrig skådar dem ditt öga."
Tårar Gubbens anlet skölja,
Ned han dyker i sin bölja.
Gigan tystnar. Aldrig Näcken
Spelar mer i silverbäcken.
An English translation:
The evening is festooned with golden clouds
the fairies dance in the meadow
and the leaf-crowned Näcken
plays his fiddle in the silvery brook.
Little boy in the brush on the bank
resting in the violet vapor
hears the noise from the chilly water
calls out in the still night.
"Poor old fellow, why do you play?
will it take the pain away?
you bring the woods and the fields to life
but you'll never be a child of God.
Paradise's moonlit nights
eden's flower-crowned plains
angels of the light on high--
never to be beheld by your eye."
Tears stream down the old man's face
down he dives into the rapids
the fiddle silences. And the Näcken will never
play again in the silvery brook .