Shadow – A. G. Matos

3 Mar

Short story ‘Shadow’ was written by Antun Gustav Matos (1873-1914), a central figure in Croatian modernism. It’s written in style of Symbolism, and when I read it, it reminded me of Mannucci’s painting, I think the atmosphere is compatible. Also, Matos was occupied by themes of love, death and beauty, his other stories often feature bizarre subjects and characters. It’s interesting to note that he lived in Belgrade, Vienna, Munich, Genova and spent five years in Paris. He was influenced by Baudelaire and E.A. Poe. I stumbled upon his work on wiki.cultured. The page also features art and literature from different cultures, which is very interesting.

1910. Cipriano Mannucci - Verso la luce1910. Cipriano Mannucci – Verso la luce

I love the mournful shadow, the dozing light: light which dreams of the night. I love the shadow, twin sister of the warm sun and of the cold moon. I love the shadow, my eternal adopted sister and companion which slumbers beside me, walks near me, my dark picture and my caricature. Yes, I love the shadow, yellow, grey, black; the shadow, sad and silent as death.

All, all is shadow. The world is a shadow. And the sun is a shadow of a mystical sun. And life is the shadow of a mystical life. The shadow is a cradle. The shadow is a grave. Before my existence I was but a shadow. And, when I cease to be, I shall be a shadow. I am the shadow of that which I was and of that which I shall be: a shadow between two eternities of haze. All is shadow.

The shadow is larger than light, as it is greater at evening than the fields of my grandfather. Wheat and grain spring up in the shadow and die in shadow. Life arises from shadow, wanders in the shadow, and disappears into the shadow.

We are shadows.

O, Shadow, child of the day and the night! Shadowy morning and purple evening! Shadow, child of darkness and light, pale daughter of enigma, opening melancholy silent weary eyes, and through them life peers wonderingly into mysterious death! Last night, my love, you were trembling against my breast with the moist eyes of affection and happiness. I named you beauty, happiness, and woman, but there remained a handful of ashes in place of honey. Love, you also are a shadow.
I am a shadow, and I love the quiet still shadows of the affliction which awaits the new Titans and the new twilights of the gods.

The shade told me, the shade which grew larger and larger behind the old oak beneath the moonlight whilst awaiting the dew and the dark song of the nightingale under the shrubbery of the hawthorn and brier rose, such shady, foggy and grey fables. The shade was whispering to me this morning as well, as it walked under the fleecy cloud across the field of stubble, caressing the larks’ and the quails’ nests, and kissing the quivering tops of the field flowers.

Shadow, thou soft pillow of light: Shadow, thou black bed of life! And when once the planets extinguish, you will remain the empress of life.

I love you, Shadow, pure silent goddess: lift up your soft mantle of fog streaked with golden secrets, and cover my weary eyes, to close them to embrace my shadow.

(Translated by Carolyn Owlett Hunter)

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