“The Midday Witch” by K. J. Erben
The poem “The Midday Witch” (“Polednice”) was written by Czech folklorist and poet Karel Jaromír Erben in 1834. It was included in his 1853 collection A Bouquet of Folk Legends (Kytice z pověstí národních), also known by the short title Bouquet (Kytice).
In the piece, Erben evokes the legendary Polednice — a noon demon in Slavic mythology, known in English as the Midday Witch, Lady Midday, Noonwraith, Noon Witch, or Noonday Witch. She is usually pictured as a strange, scary woman who roams fields and meadows. She attacks children playing outside at noon or adults working at that hour, causing heatstrokes, madness, or death.
Erben uses this wraith in his poem as a symbol of maternal neglect.
The Midday Witch
By the bench there stands a boy
who is screaming, loud and wild.
“Will you lower your Roma voice?
Just shut up, you bratty child!”
“Now it’s very nearly noon,
but I’m not finished with the meal.
Your dad will be here soon,
so stop your sinful squeals!
“Here’s your wagon, naughty boy,
and a soldier — Go and play!”
With a crash his battered toys
to a corner fly away.
Once again an impish howl,
and the mother’s eyelids twitch.
“Little rascal, hush right now,
or I’ll call the Midday Witch!
“Midday Witch, track his spoor!
Come and take this pest from me!”
Someone standing at the door
then softly turns the key —
She’s small and brown and quite insane,
a roughspun sheet wrapped all about;
Her gnarled fingers grip a cane
as her whirlwind voice comes swirling out!
“Give that child here!” she moans.
The mother begs the Lord in fear,
but Death craves not her bones.
Behold! The Midday Witch is here!
Silent as shadows cast at noon,
the witch towards the table creeps:
The breathless mother starts to swoon —
on her lap the child she firmly keeps.
Twisting round, she dares a glance —
Alas, poor boy, it’s no mere scare.
She creeps and deepens the deadly trance,
closer and closer — till the Witch is there!
She stretches forth her claw to grasp
the child whose mother holds him tight:
“By the passion of the Christ!” she gasps,
before she faints from fright.
Then one — two — three — four —
the bells are tolling noon.
The handle clicks, and through the door
a father steps into the room.
Unconscious sits his wife,
his son clasped to her breast,
The mother he can soon revive,
but their precious boy — is dead.
— Translated by David Bowles
February 1, 2025
Original Czech
Polednice
U lavice dítě stálo,
z plna hrdla křičelo.
„Bodejž jsi jen trochu málo,
ty cikáně, mlčelo!
Poledne v tom okamžení,
táta přijde z roboty:
a mně hasne u vaření
pro tebe, ty zlobo, ty!
Mlč! Hle husar a kočárek –
hrej si! — tu máš kohouta!“ –
Než kohout, vůz i husárek
bouch, bác! letí do kouta.
A zas do hrozného křiku –
„I bodejž tě sršeň sám — !
Že na tebe, nezvedníku,
Polednici zavolám!
Pojď si proň, ty Polednice,
pojď, vem si ho, zlostníka!“ –
A hle, tu kdos u světnice
dvéře zlehka odmyká.
Malá, hnědá, tváři divé
pod plachetkou osoba;
o berličce, hnáty křivé,
hlas — vichřice podoba!
„Dej sem dítě!“ — „Kriste Pane,
odpusť hříchy hříšnici!“
Divže smrt ji neovane,
Ejhle tuť — Polednici!
Ke stolu se plíži tiše
Polednice jako stín:
matka hrůzou sotva dýše,
dítě chopíc na svůj klín.
A vinouc je, zpět pohlíží –
běda, běda dítěti!
Polednice blíž se plíží,
blíž — a již je v zápětí.
Již vztahuje po něm ruku –
matka tisknouc ramena:
„Pro Kristovu drahou muku!“
klesá smyslů zbavená.
Tu slyš: jedna — druhá — třetí –
poledne zvon udeří;
klika cvakla, dvéře letí –
táta vchází do dvéří.
Ve mdlobách tu matka leží,
k ňadrám dítě přimknuté:
matku vzkřísil ještě stěží,
avšak dítě — zalknuté.
