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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:00:44 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:00:44 -0700 |
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diff --git a/34050-tei/34050-tei.tei b/34050-tei/34050-tei.tei new file mode 100644 index 0000000..be9ae0f --- /dev/null +++ b/34050-tei/34050-tei.tei @@ -0,0 +1,3372 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?> +<!DOCTYPE TEI.2 SYSTEM "http://www.gutenberg.org/tei/marcello/0.4/dtd/pgtei.dtd" [ + <!ENTITY u5 "http://www.tei-c.org/Lite/"> +]> + +<TEI.2 lang="en"> +<teiHeader> + <fileDesc> + <titleStmt> + <title>Konrad Wallenrod</title> + <title type='sub'>An Historial Poem.</title> + <author><name reg="Mickiewicz, Adam">Adam Mickiewicz</name></author> + <editor role='translator'><name reg="Biggs, Maude Ashurst">Maude Ashurst Biggs</name></editor> + </titleStmt> + <editionStmt> + <edition n="1">Edition 1</edition> + </editionStmt> + <publicationStmt> + <publisher>Project Gutenberg</publisher> + <date value="2010-10-0p">October 9, 2010</date> + <idno type="etext-no">34050</idno> + <availability> + <p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and + with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it + away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg + License online at www.gutenberg.org/license</p> + </availability> + </publicationStmt> + <sourceDesc> + <bibl> + Created electronically. + </bibl> + </sourceDesc> + </fileDesc> + <encodingDesc> + </encodingDesc> + <profileDesc> + <langUsage> + <language id="en"></language> + <language id="la"></language> + <language id="pl"></language> + <language id="de"></language> + </langUsage> + </profileDesc> + <revisionDesc> + <change> + <date value="2010-10-09">October 9, 2010</date> + <respStmt> + <name> + Produced by Jimmy O’Regan. + (Produced from images generously made available by + <xref url='http://archive.org/'>the Internet Archive</xref>) + </name> + </respStmt> + <item>Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1</item> + </change> + </revisionDesc> +</teiHeader> + +<pgExtensions> + <pgStyleSheet> + .boxed { x-class: boxed } + .shaded { x-class: shaded } + .rules { x-class: rules; rules: all } + .indent { margin-left: 2 } + .bold { font-weight: bold } + .italic { font-style: italic } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + .spaced { letter-spacing: 0.2em } + .superscript { vertical-align: super } + </pgStyleSheet> + + <pgCharMap formats="txt.iso-8859-1"> + <char id="U0x2014"> + <charName>mdash</charName> + <desc>EM DASH</desc> + <mapping>--</mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2003"> + <charName>emsp</charName> + <desc>EM SPACE</desc> + <mapping> </mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2026"> + <charName>hellip</charName> + <desc>HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS</desc> + <mapping>...</mapping> + </char> + </pgCharMap> +</pgExtensions> + +<!-- +There's some suckage here... +because TEI is XML-based, quotes(<q></q>) +could not be entered properly; left and right +quotes have been entered, because the processing +software had trouble with them, and the +milestones had to be removed or changed, again, +because of software troubles. +--> +<text lang="en"> + <front> + <div> + <divGen type="pgheader" /> + </div> + <div> + <divGen type="encodingDesc" /> + </div> + +<div rend="page-break-before: always"> +<pb n='1'/> +<p rend="font-size: xx-large; text-align: center">KONRAD WALLENROD.</p> +<p rend="font-size: x-large; text-align: center">An Historical Poem.</p> +<p rend="text-align: center">BY</p> +<p rend="font-size: x-large; text-align: center">ADAM MICKIEWICZ.</p> +<p rend="text-align: center; font-style: italic">TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH INTO ENGLISH VERSE</p> +<p rend="text-align: center">BY</p> +<p rend="font-size: large; text-align: center">MISS MAUDE ASHURST BIGGS.</p> + +<p rend='margin-left: 4'><q>Dovete adunque sapere come sono due generazioni da combattere... +bisogna essere volpe e leone.</q></p> + +<p rend='text-align: right'><hi rend='smallcaps'>Macchiavelli</hi>, <hi rend='italic'>Il Principe</hi>.</p> + +<p rend="font-size: large; text-align: center">LONDON:</p> +<p rend="font-size: large; text-align: center">TRÜBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL.</p> +<p rend="text-align: center">1882.</p> +<p rend="text-align: center; font-style: italic">[All rights reserved]</p> + +</div> +<div rend="page-break-before: right"> + <index index="pdf" /> + <head>Contents</head> + <divGen type="toc" /> +</div> +</front> + +<body> +<div> +<pb n='ii'/> + +<p rend="text-align: center">Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.</p> +<p rend="text-align: center; font-style: italic">Edinburgh and London</p> +</div> +<div rend="page-break-before: always"> +<pb n='iii'/> +<index index='toc'/> +<index index='pdf'/> +<head>AUTHOR'S PREFACE</head> +<p> +<hi rend='smallcaps'>The</hi> Lithuanian nation, formed out of the tribes of +the Litwini, Prussians and Leti, not very numerous, +settled in an inextensive country, not very fertile, +long unknown to Europe, was called, about the +thirteenth century, by the incursions of its neighbours, +to a more active part. When the Prussians +submitted to the swords of the Teutonic knights, the +Lithuanians, issuing from their forests and marshes, +annihilated with sword and fire the neighbouring +empires, and soon became terrible in the north. +History has not as yet satisfactorily explained by +what means a nation so weak, and so long tributary +to foreigners, was able all at once to oppose and +threaten all its enemies—on one side, carrying on +a constant and murderous war with the Teutonic +Order; on the other, plundering Poland, exacting +tribute from Great Novgorod, and pushing itself as +far as the borders of the Wolga and the Crimean +peninsula. The brightest period of Lithuanian +<pb n='iv'/> +history occurs in the time of Olgierd and Witold, +whose rule extended from the Baltic to the Black +Sea. But this monstrous empire, having sprung +up too quickly, could not create in itself internal +strength, to unite and invigorate its differing portions. +The Lithuanian nationality, spread over too +large a surface of territory, lost its proper character. +The Litwini subjugated many Russian tribes, +and entered into political relations with Poland. +The Slavs, long since Christians, stood in a higher +degree of civilisation, and although conquered, or +threatened by Lithuania, gained by gradual influence +a moral preponderance over their strong, +but barbarous tyrants, and absorbed them, as the +Chinese their Tartar invaders. The Jagellons, and +their more powerful vassals, became Poles; many +Lithuanian princes adopted the Russian religion, +language, and nationality. By these means the +Grand Duchy of Lithuania ceased to be Lithuanian; +the nation proper found itself within its former +boundaries, its speech ceased to be the language +of the court and nobility, and was only preserved +among the common people. Litwa presents the +singular spectacle of a people which disappeared in +the immensity of its conquests, as a brook sinks +after an excessive overflow, and flows in a narrower +bed than before. +</p> +<pb n='v'/> +<p> +The circumstances here mentioned are covered +by some centuries. Both Lithuania, and her +cruellest enemy, the Teutonic Order, have disappeared +from the scene of political life; the relations +between neighbouring nations are entirely changed; +the interests and passions which kindled the wars +of that time are now expired; even popular song +has not preserved their memory. Litwa is now +entirely in the past: her history presents from this +circumstance a happy theme for poetry; so that a +poet, in singing of the events of that time, objects +only of historic interest, must occupy himself with +searching into, and with artfully rendering the subject, +without summoning to his aid the interests, +passions, or fashions of his readers. For such +subjects Schiller recommended poets to seek. +</p> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Was unsterblich im Gesang will leben,</q></l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Muss im Leben untergehen.</q></l> +</lg> +</div> +<div rend="page-break-before: always"> +<pb n='vii'/> +<index index='toc'/> +<index index='pdf'/> +<head>TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE</head> +<p> +<hi rend='smallcaps'>The</hi> Teutonic Order, originally, like the Knights +Hospitallers, established in the Holy Land about +1199, settled, after the cessation of the Crusades, +in the country bordering upon the Baltic Sea, at +the mouth of the Vistula, in the year 1225. The +possession of the Baltic shores, and of such lands +as the Order should conquer from the pagan +Prussians and Litwini, was assured to them by +Konrad, Duke of Masowsze, brother to Leszek +the White of Poland. The fatal error thus committed, +in abandoning a hold on the sea-coast, had +afterwards a disastrous effect on the history of +Poland. The Order speedily made themselves +masters of the whole country of Prussia, and +were engaged in ceaseless war with the pagans +of Lithuania, under pretext of their conversion; +more frequently, it is however to be feared, for +purposes of raid and plunder. It is, in fact, upon +record that a certain Lithuanian prince, who had +<pb n='viii'/> +offered to embrace Christianity for the purpose of +recovering part of his territory conquered by the +Order, upon finding that his conversion would +produce no better disposition in them towards +himself, declared his intention of abiding in +paganism, with the remark that he saw it was +no question of his faith, but of his possessions. +The plundering expeditions of the Teutonic +knights up country, in which many of the chivalry +of all Europe frequently bore a part, were +termed <hi rend='italic'>reyses</hi>. The English reader will remember +how Chaucer’s knight had fought <q>aboven alle +nations in Pruce.</q> +</p> +<p rend='text-align: center'> +<q>In <hi rend='italic'>Lettow had he reysed</hi> and in Ruce.</q> +</p> +<p> +Henry IV. also, during his banishment, fought in +the ranks of the Order. +</p> +<p> +After the conversion of Lithuania, and the union +of that country with Poland, the Teutonic knights +were frequently engaged in hostilities with both +powers combined, sustaining in the year 1410 a +terrible defeat at Tannenberg in E. Prussia, from +the forces of Jagellon. In this battle it is worthy +of note that the famous John Ziska was engaged. +In 1466 Casimir Jagellon inflicted heavy losses on +the Order. After its secularisation in 1521, when +the Grand-Master Albert embraced the reformed +<pb n='ix'/> +faith, the domains of E. Prussia were held as a +fief from Poland. In 1657 Prussia became an +independent state under Frederick William, the +great Elector. It is curious to observe how the +name of Prussia, originally that of a conquered, +non-Germanic people, has become in our time +that of the first German power in the world. +</p> +<p> +The historical circumstances on which the poem +of <q>Konrad Wallenrod</q> is founded are thus detailed +at length by the author himself, in the following +postscript to the work:— +</p> +<p> +<q>We have called our story historical, for the +characters of the actors, and all the more important +circumstances mentioned therein, are sketched according +to history. The contemporary chronicles, +in fragmentary and broken portions, must be filled +out sometimes only by guesses and conjectures, in +order to create some historic entirety from them. +Although I have permitted myself conjectures in the +history of Wallenrod, I hope to justify them by their +likeness to truth. According to the chronicle, Konrad +Wallenrod was not descended from the family +of Wallenrod renowned in Germany, though he gave +himself out as a member of it. He was said to +have been born of some illicit connection. The +royal chronicle says, <q>Er war ein Pfaffenkind.</q> +Concerning the character of this singular man, we +<pb n='x'/> +read many and contradictory traditions. The +greater number of the chroniclers reproach him +with pride, cruelty, drunkenness, severity towards +his subordinates, little zeal for religion, and even +with hatred for ecclesiastics. <q><foreign lang='de'>Er war ein rechter +Leuteschinder (library of Wallenrod). Nach Krieg, +Zank, und Hader hat sein Herz immer gestanden; +und ob er gleich ein Gott ergebener Mensch von +wegen seines Ordens sein wollte, doch ist er allen +frommen geistlichen Menschen Graüel gewesen. +(David Lucas). Er regierte nicht lange, denn Gott +plagte ihn inwendig mit dem laufenden Feuer.</foreign></q> +On the other hand, contemporary writers ascribe to +him greatness of intellect, courage, nobility, and +force of character; since without rare qualities he +could not have maintained his empire amid universal +hatred and the disasters which he brought upon +the Order. Let us now consider the proceedings +of Wallenrod. When he assumed the rule of the +Order, the season appeared favourable for war with +Lithuania, for Witold had promised himself to lead +the Germans to Wilna, and liberally repay them for +their assistance. Wallenrod, however, delayed to +go to war; and, what was worse, offended Witold, +and reposed such careless confidence in him, that +this prince, having secretly become reconciled to +Jagellon, not only departed from Prussia, but on +<pb n='xi'/> +the road, entering the German castles, burnt them +as an enemy, and slaughtered the garrisons. In +such an unimagined change of circumstances, it +was needful to neglect the war, or undertake it +with great prudence. The Grand-Master proclaimed +a crusade, wasted the treasures of the +Order in preparation—5,000,000 marks—a sum +at that time immeasurable, and marched towards +Lithuania. He could have captured Wilna, if he +had not wasted time in banquets and waiting for +auxiliaries. Autumn came; Wallenrod, leaving the +camp without provisions, retired in the greatest +disorder to Prussia. The chroniclers and later +historians were not able to imagine the cause of +this sudden departure, not finding in contemporary +circumstances any cause therefor. Some have +assigned the flight of Wallenrod to derangement +of intellect. All the contradictions mentioned in +the character and conduct of our hero may be reconciled +with each other, if we suppose that he +was a Lithuanian, and that he had entered the +Order to take vengeance on it; especially since +his rule gave the severest shock to the power of +the Order. We suppose that Wallenrod was Walter +Stadion (see note), shortening only by some years +the time which passed between the departure of +Walter from Lithuania, and the appearance of +<pb n='xii'/> +Konrad in Marienbourg. Wallenrod died suddenly +in the year 1394; strange events were said to +have accompanied his death. <q>Er starb,</q> says +the chronicle; <q><foreign lang='de'>in Raserei ohne letzte Oehlung, +ohne Priestersegen, kurz vor seinem Tode +wütheten Stürme, Regensgüsse, Wasserfluthen; +die Weichsel und die Nogat durchwühlten ihre +Dämme; hingegen wühlten die gewässer sich eine +neue Tiefe da, wo jetzt Pilau steht!</foreign></q> Halban, or, +as the chroniclers call him, Doctor Leander von +Albanus, a monk, the solitary and inseparable +companion of Wallenrod, though he assumed the +appearance of piety, was according to the chroniclers +a heretic, a pagan, and perhaps a wizard. Concerning +Halban’s death, there are no certain accounts. +Some write that he was drowned, others +that he disappeared secretly, or was carried away +by demons. I have drawn the chronicles chiefly +from the works of Kotzebue, <q><foreign lang='de'>Preussens Geschichte, +Belege und Erläuterungen.</foreign></q> Hartknoch, in calling +Wallenrod <q>unsinnig,</q> gives a very short account of +him.</q> +</p> +<p> +As to the conditions under which the poem was +written, it is perhaps needful to state that it was +composed by Mickiewicz, during the term of his +banishment into Russia, and was first published at +St. Petersburg in the year 1828. In the character of +<pb n='xiii'/> +the hero of the story, and in various circumstances +of the poem, it is impossible not to recognise the +influence of Lord Byron’s poetry, which obtained +so powerful an ascendency over the works and +imaginations of the Continental romanticists, and +had thus an influence over foreign literature not +conceded in the poet’s own country. The Byronic +character, however, presents a far nobler aspect in +the hands of the present author than in those of +its original creator; for, instead of being the outcome +of a mere morbid self-concentration, and +brooding over personal wrongs, it is the result of +a noble indignation for the sufferings of others, and +is conjoined with a high purpose for good, even +though such good be worked out by means in +themselves doubtful or questionable. +</p> +<p> +We cannot pass by the subject without saying a +word as to the undercurrent of political meaning +in <q>Konrad Wallenrod,</q> which fortunately escaped +the rigid censorship of the Russian press. Lithuania, +conquered and oppressed by the Teutonic +Order, is Poland, subjugated by Russia; and the +numerous expressions of hatred for oppressors and +love of an unhappy country woven into the substance +of the narrative must be read as the utterances +of a Pole against Russian tyranny. The +underhand machinations of the concealed enemy +<pb n='xiv'/> +against the state in which he is a powerful leader, +may be held to figure that intricate web of intrigue +and conspiracy which Russian liberalism is gradually +weaving throughout the whole political system, +and which is daily gaining influence and power. +The character of Wallenrod is essentially the same +as that of Cooper’s <q>Spy;</q> but we cannot suppose +that the author intended to hold up trickery and +deceit as praiseworthy and honourable, even though +it is the sad necessity of slaves to use treachery as +their only weapon; or that the Macchiavellian +precept with which the story is headed is at all +intended as one to be generally followed by seekers +of political liberty against despotism. The end and +aim of this, as of all the works of Mickiewicz, is to +show us a great and noble soul, noble in spite of +many errors and vices, striving to work out a high +ideal, and the fulfilment of a noble purpose; and +to exhibit the heroism of renunciation of personal +ease and enjoyment for the sake of the world’s or +a nation’s good. +</p> +<p> +In regard to the method used in the English +version, it is only necessary to add that as far as +possible verbal accuracy in rendering has been +endeavoured after; and an attempt, at least conscientious—whether +or not partially successful +must be left to the sentence of those qualified to +<pb n='xv'/> +form an opinion—has been made to reproduce as +nearly as may be something of the original spirit +In translating the main body of the narrative +blank verse has been the medium employed, not +as at all representing the beautiful and harmonious +interchange of rhymes and play of rhythm so +conspicuous in the Polish lines; but as securing, +by reason of freedom from the necessity for +rhymes, a truer verbal rendering, and as being the +measure par excellence best suited to English +narrative verse. The <q>Wajdelote’s Tale</q> has for +similar reasons been rendered into the same form, +instead of being reproduced in the original hexameter +stanza, as strange to the Polish as to the +English tongue, wherein, despite the works of +Longfellow and Clough, it can hardly be said to +have yet become thoroughly naturalised. Most +of the lyrics are translated into the same metres +as the originals, with the sole exception of the +ballad of Alpujara. This, as being upon a Spanish +or Moorish subject, it was judged best to render +into a form nearly resembling that of the ancient +Spanish ballad, and employed by Bishop Percy in +translation of the <q>Rio Verde,</q> and other poems +from a like source. Moreover, the original <q>Alpujara</q> +is couched in a metre which, though extremely +well suited to the Polish tongue, is difficult +<pb n='xvi'/> +of imitation in English; or only to be imitated by +great loss of accuracy in rendering. +</p> +<p> +In concluding, the translator begs to express a +hope that this humble effort to present, however +feebly, to the reading public of Great Britain an +image of the work of the greatest of Polish poets, +may, not be wholly unacceptable. Any defects +which the critical eye may note, must undoubtedly +be laid rather to the charge of the copyist, than to +the original of the great master. I dare, however, +to trust, that the shadow of so great a name, and +the sincere wish to contribute this slender homage +to the memory of one of Europe’s most illustrious +writers, may serve as an excuse for over-presumption. +</p> +<p> +<hi rend='smallcaps'>London</hi>, <hi rend='italic'>March</hi> 1882. +</p> +</div> + +<div rend="page-break-before: always"> +<pb n='1'/> +<p rend='font-size: x-large; text-align: center'>KONRAD WALLENROD</p> +<p rend='font-size: large; text-align: center; font-style: italic'>AN HISTORICAL TALE.</p> +<p rend='font-size: large; text-align: center'>(FROM THE ANNALS OF LITHUANIA AND PRUSSIA.)</p> + +<q>Dovete adunque sapere come sono due generazioni da combattere... +bisogna essere volpe e leone.</q> + +<p rend='text-align: right'><hi rend='smallcaps'>Macchiavelli</hi>, <hi rend='italic'>Il Principe</hi>.</p> +</div> + +<div> +<index index='toc'/> +<index index='pdf'/> +<head>Introduction.</head> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='smallcaps'>A hundred</hi> years have passed since first the Order</l> +<l>Waded in blood of Northern heathenesse;</l> +<l>The Prussian now had bent his neck to chains,</l> +<l>Or, yielding up his heritage, removed</l> +<l>With life alone. The German followed after,</l> +<l>Tracking the fugitive; he captive made</l> +<l>And murdered unto Litwa’s farthest bound.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Niemen divideth Litwa from the foe;</l> +<l>On one side gleam the sanctuary fanes,</l> +<l>And forests murmur, dwellings of the gods.</l> +<pb n="2"/> +<l>Upon the other shore the German ensign,</l> +<l>The cross, implanted on a hill, doth veil</l> +<l>Its forehead in the clouds, and stretches forth</l> +<l>Its threatening arms towards Litwa, as it would</l> +<l>Gather all lands of Palemon together,</l> +<l>Embrace them all, assembled ’neath its rule.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>This side, the multitude of Litwa’s youth,</l> +<l>With <hi rend='italic'>kolpak</hi> of the lynx-hide and in skins</l> +<l>Clad of the bear, the bow upon their shoulders,</l> +<l>Their hands all filled with darts, they prowl around,</l> +<l>Tracking the German wiles. On the other side,</l> +<l>In mail and helmet armed, the German sits</l> +<l>Upon his charger motionless; while fixed</l> +<l>His eyes upon the entrenchments of the foe,</l> +<l>He loads his arquebuse and counts his beads.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And these and those alike the passage guard.</l> +<l>The Niemen thus, of hospitable fame,</l> +<l>In ancient days, uniting heritage</l> +<l>Of brother nations, now for them becomes</l> +<l>The threshold of eternity, and none,</l> +<l>But by foregoing liberty or life,</l> +<l>Cross the forbidden waters. Only now</l> +<l>A trailer of the Lithuanian hop,</l> +<pb n="3"/> +<l>Drawn by allurement of the Prussian poplar,</l> +<l>Stretches its fearless arms, as formerly,</l> +<l>Leaping the river, with luxuriant wreaths,</l> +<l>Twines with its loved one on a foreign shore.</l> +<l>The nightingales from Kowno’s groves of oak</l> +<l>Still with their brethren of Zapuszczan mount,</l> +<l>Converse, as once, in Lithuanian speech.</l> +<l>Or having on free pinions ’scaped, they fly,</l> +<l>As guests familiar, on the neutral isles.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And mankind?—War has severed human kind!</l> +<l>The ancient love of nations has departed</l> +<l>Into oblivion. Love by time alone</l> +<l>Uniteth human hearts.—Two hearts I knew.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>O Niemen! soon upon thy fords shall rush</l> +<l>Hosts bearing death and burning, and thy shores,</l> +<l>Sacred till now, the axe shall render bare</l> +<l>Of all their garlands; soon the cannon’s roar</l> +<l>Shall from the gardens fright the nightingales.</l> +<l>Where nature with a golden chain hath bound,</l> +<l>The hatred of the nations shall divide;</l> +<l>It severs all things. But the hearts of lovers</l> +<l>Shall in the Wajdelote’s song unite once more.</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<div rend="page-break-before: right"> +<pb n="4"/> +<index index='toc' level1='I. The Election.'/> +<index index='pdf' level1='I. The Election.'/> +<head>The Election.</head> +<lg> +<l id='n_1'>In towers of Marienbourg<ref target='note_1' rend='superscript'>1</ref> the bells are ringing,</l> +<l>The cannon thunder loud, the drums are beating.</l> +<l>This in the Order is a solemn day.</l> +<l>The Komturs hasten to the capital,</l> +<l>Where, gathered in the chapter’s conclave, they,</l> +<l>The Holy Spirit invoked, take counsel who</l> +<l>Is worthiest to bear the mighty sword,—</l> +<l>Into whose hands may they confide the sword?</l> +<l>One day, and yet another flowed away</l> +<l>In council; many heroes there contend.</l> +<l>And all alike of noble race, and all</l> +<l>Alike deserving in the Order’s cause.</l> +<l>But hitherto the brethren’s general voice</l> +<l>Placed Wallenrod the highest over all</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>A stranger he, in Prussia all unknown,</l> +<l id='n_2'>But foreign houses of his fame were full<ref target='note_2' rend='superscript'>2</ref></l> +<l>Following the Moors upon Castilian sierras,</l> +<l>The Ottoman through ocean’s troubled waves,</l> +<l>In battle at the front, first on the wall,</l> +<l>To grapple vessels of the infidel</l> +<l>The first; and in the tourney, soon as he</l> +<l>Entered the lists and deigned his visor raise,</l> +<pb n="5"/> +<l id='n_3'>None dared with him the strife of keen-edged +swords,<ref target='note_3' rend='superscript'>3</ref></l> +<l>By one accord the victor’s garland yielding.</l> +<l>But not alone amid Crusading hosts</l> +<l>He with the sword had glorified his youth;</l> +<l>For many Christian graces him adorn,</l> +<l>Poverty, humbleness, of earth disdain.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>But Konrad shone not in the courtly crowd</l> +<l>By polished speech, by well-turned reverence;</l> +<l>Nor e’er his sword for vile advantage sold</l> +<l>To service of disputing barons. He</l> +<l>Had consecrated to the cloister walls</l> +<l>His youthful years; all plaudits he disdained,</l> +<l>And ruler’s place, even higher, sweeter meeds.</l> +<l>Nor minstrel’s hymn, nor beauty’s fair regard</l> +<l>Could speak to his cold spirit. Wallenrod</l> +<l>Listens unmoved to praise, and looks afar</l> +<l>On lovely cheeks, enchanting discourse flies.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Had Nature made him thus unfeeling, proud?</l> +<l>Or age? For albeit young in years, his locks</l> +<l>Were grey already, withered were his looks,</l> +<l>And sufferings sealed by age.—Twere hard to guess.</l> +<l>He would at times divide the sports of youth,</l> +<pb n="6"/> +<l>Or listen, pleased, to sound of female tongues,</l> +<l>To courtiers’ jests reply with other jests;</l> +<l>Or scatter unto ladies courteous words</l> +<l>With chilly smile, as dainties cast to children—</l> +<l>These were rare moments of forgetfulness;—</l> +<l>And speedily some light, unmeaning word,</l> +<l>That had no sense for others, woke in him</l> +<l>Passionate stirrings. These words: Fatherland,</l> +<l>Duty, Beloved,—the mention of Crusades,</l> +<l>And Litwa, all the mirth of Wallenrod</l> +<l>Instantly poisoned. Hearing them, again</l> +<l>He turned away his countenance, again</l> +<l>Became to all around insensible,</l> +<l>And buried him in thoughts mysterious.</l> +<l>Maybe, remembering his holy call,</l> +<l>He would forbid himself the sweets of earth;</l> +<l>The sweets of friendship only did he know,</l> +<l>One only friend had chosen to himself,</l> +<l>A saint by virtue and by holy state.</l> +<l>This was a hoary monk; men called him Halban.</l> +<l>He shared the loneliness of Wallenrod;</l> +<l>He was alike confessor of his soul,</l> +<l>And of his heart the trusted confidant</l> +<l>O blessed friendship! saint is he on earth,</l> +<l>Whom friendship with the holy ones unites.</l> +<pb n="7"/> +<l>Thus do the leaders of the Order’s council</l> +<l>Discourse of Konrad’s virtues. But one fault</l> +<l>Was his,—for who may spotless be from faults?</l> +<l>Konrad loved not the riots of the world,</l> +<l>Nor mingled Konrad in the drunken feast.</l> +<l>Though truly, in his secret chamber locked,</l> +<l>When weariness or sorrow tortured him,</l> +<l>He sought for solace in a burning draught;</l> +<l>And then he seemed a new form to indue,</l> +<l>And then his visage pallid and severe</l> +<l>A sickly red adorned, and his large eyes,</l> +<l>Erst heavenly blue, but somewhat now by time</l> +<l>Dulled and extinguished, shot the lightnings forth</l> +<l>Of ancient fires, while sighs of grief escape</l> +<l>From forth his breast, and with the pearly tear</l> +<l>The laden eyelid swells; the hand the lute</l> +<l>Seeks, the lips pour forth songs; the songs are sung</l> +<l>In speech of a strange land, but yet the hearts</l> +<l>Of the hearers understand them. ’Tis enough</l> +<l>To list that grave-like music, ’tis enough</l> +<l>The singer’s form to contemplate, to see</l> +<l>Memory’s inspiration on that face,</l> +<l>To view the lifted brows and sideward looks,</l> +<l>Striving to snatch some object from deep darkness.</l> +<l>What may the hidden thread be of the songs?</l> +<pb n="8"/> +<l>He tracketh surely, in this wandering chase,</l> +<l>In thought his youth through deep gulfs of the past.</l> +<l>Where is his soul?—In the land of memories!</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>But never did that hand in music’s impulse</l> +<l>Mere joyful tones from out the lute evoke;</l> +<l>And still it seemed his countenance did fear</l> +<l>Innocent smiles, even as deadly sins.</l> +<l>All strings he strikes in turn, one string except—</l> +<l>Except the string of mirth;—the hearer shares</l> +<l>All feelings with him,—one excepted—hope!</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Not seldom him the brethren have surprised,</l> +<l>And marvelled at his unaccustomed change.</l> +<l>Konrad, aroused, did writhe himself and rage,</l> +<l>Had cast away the lute and ceased to sing.</l> +<l>He spoke out loudly impious words; to Halban</l> +<l>Whispered some secret things; called to the host,</l> +<l>Gave forth commands, and uttered dreadful threats,</l> +<l>On whom they knew not. All their hearts were +troubled.</l> +<l>Old Halban tranquil sits, and on the face</l> +<l>Of Konrad drowns his glance,—a piercing glance,</l> +<l>Cold and severe, full of some secret speech.</l> +<pb n="9"/> +<l>Something he may recall, some counsel give,</l> +<l>Or waken grief in heart of Wallenrod,</l> +<l>Whose cloudy brow at once is calm again,</l> +<l>His eyes forego their fires, his rage is cool.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Thus when, in public sport, the lionward,</l> +<l>Before assembled lords, and dames, and knights,</l> +<l>Unbars the grating of the iron cage.</l> +<l>The trumpet signal given, the royal beast</l> +<l>Growls from his deep breast, horror falls on all.</l> +<l>Alone his keeper moveth not a step,</l> +<l>Folds tranquilly upon his breast his hands,</l> +<l>And smites with power the lion,—by the eye.</l> +<l>With talisman of an undying soul</l> +<l>Unreasoning strength in bonds he doth control.</l> +</lg> +</div> +<div> +<pb n="10"/> +<index index='toc'/> +<index index='pdf'/> +<head>II.</head> +<lg> +<l>In towers of Marienbourg the bells are ringing;</l> +<l>Now from the hall of council to the chapel</l> +<l>Comes the chief Komtur, then the chiefest rulers,</l> +<l>The chaplain, brothers, and assembled knights.</l> +<l>The chapter listen vesper orisons,</l> +<l>And sing a hymn unto the Holy Spirit</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Hymn.</p> +<lg> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">Spirit! Thou Holy One,</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">Thou Dove of Sion’s Hill!</l> +<l>This Christian world, the footstool of Thy throne,</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">With glory visible</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">Lighten, that all behold.</l> +<l>Thy wings o’er Sion’s brotherhood unfold,</l> +<l>And let Thy glory shine from underneath</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 3">Thy wings, with sunlike rays.</l> +<pb n="11"/> +<l>And him, the worthiest of so holy praise,</l> +<l>Circle his temples with Thy golden wreath.</l> +<l>Fall on the visage of that son of man,</l> +<l>Whom shadows o’er Thy wings’ protecting van.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">Thou Saviour Son!</l> +<l>With beckoning of Thy hand almighty, deign</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">To point of many one,</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 4">Worthiest to hold,</l> +<l>And wear the sacred symbol of Thy pain.</l> +<l>To lead with Peter’s sword thy soldiery,</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 2">Before the eyes of heathenesse unfold</l> +<l rend="margin-left: 2">The standards of Thy heavenly empery.</l> +<l>Then let the sons of earth bow lowly down,</l> +<l>Him on whose breast the cross shall gleam to own.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l id='n_4'>Prayers o’er, they parted. The Archkomtur<ref target='note_4' rend='superscript'>4</ref> ordered</l> +<l>After repose, to seek the choir again;</l> +<l>Again entreat that Heaven would enlighten</l> +<l>Chaplains and brethren, called to such election.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>So went they forth themselves to recreate</l> +<l>With the cool freshness of the night; and some</l> +<l>Sat in the castle porch, and others walk</l> +<pb n="12"/> +<l>Through gardens and through groves. The night +was still;</l> +<l>It was the fair May season; from afar</l> +<l>Peeped forth the pale uncertain dawn; the moon,</l> +<l>Having the sapphire plains o’ercoursed, with aspect</l> +<l>Changing, with varying lustre in her eye,</l> +<l>Now in a shadowy, now a silvery cloud</l> +<l>Slumbering, now sank her still and tranquil head,</l> +<l>Like to a lover in the wilderness;</l> +<l>Dreaming in thought, life’s circle he o’erruns,</l> +<l>All hopes, all sweetness, and all sufferings.</l> +<l>Now sheds he tears, now joyful is his glance.</l> +<l>At length upon his breast the weary brow</l> +<l>Sinketh, and falls in sense’s lethargy.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>By walking other knights beguile the time,</l> +<l>But the Archkomtur wastes no time in vain.</l> +<l>He quickly summons Halban and the chiefs</l> +<l>Unto himself, and leads them to one side;</l> +<l>That, from the curious crowd afar removed,</l> +<l>They may pursue their counsels and impart</l> +<l>Forewarnings; from the castle go they forth.</l> +<l>They hasten to the plain. Conversing thus,</l> +<l>All heedless of their path, some hours astray</l> +<l>They wandered in the region close beside</l> +<pb n="13"/> +<l>The inlets of a tranquil lake. ’Tis morn!</l> +<l>This hour they should regain the capital.</l> +<l>They stop,—a voice,—whence? From the corner +tower!</l> +<l>They listen,—’tis the voice of the recluse!</l> +<l>Long time within this tower, ten summers since,</l> +<l id='n_5'>Some unknown pious woman, from afar,<ref target='note_5' rend='superscript'>5</ref></l> +<l>Who came to Mary’s town,—Maybe that Heaven</l> +<l>Inspired her blest design, or with the balm</l> +<l>Of penance she would heal the wounds of conscience,—</l> +<l>Did seek the shelter of a lone recluse,</l> +<l>And here she found while living yet a tomb.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Long time the chaplains would not give consent.</l> +<l>Then, wearied by the constancy of prayers,</l> +<l>They gave her in this tower a shelter lone.</l> +<l>Scarcely the sacred threshold had she crossed,</l> +<l>When o’er the threshold bricks and stones were +piled;</l> +<l>The angels only, in the judgment-day</l> +<l>Shall ope the door which parts her from the living.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Above a little window and a grate,</l> +<l>Whereby the pious folk send nourishment,</l> +<pb n="14"/> +<l>And Heaven sends breezes and the rays of day.</l> +<l>Poor sinner! was it hatred of the world</l> +<l>Abused thy young heart to so great extreme</l> +<l>That thou dost fear the sun. and heaven’s fair face?</l> +<l>Scarcely imprisoned in her living grave,</l> +<l>None saw her, through the window of the tower,</l> +<l>Receive upon her lips the wind’s fresh breath,</l> +<l>Nor look upon the heaven in sunshine beauty,</l> +<l>Or the sweet flowerets on the plain of earth,</l> +<l>Or, dearer hundred-fold, her fellow-men.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>’Tis only known that still she is in life;</l> +<l>For when betimes a holy pilgrim wanders</l> +<l>Near her retreat by night, a sweet, low sound</l> +<l>Holds him awhile. Certain it is the sound</l> +<l>Of pious hymns. And when the village children</l> +<l>Together in the oak-grove sport at eve,</l> +<l>Then from the window shines a streak of white,</l> +<l>As ’twere a sunbeam from the rising dawn.</l> +<l>Is it an amber ringlet of her hair,</l> +<l>Or lustre of her slender, snowy hand</l> +<l>Blessing those innocent heads? The chivalry</l> +<l>Hear as they pass the corner tower these words:</l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Thou art Konrad! Heaven! Fate is now fulfilled!</q></l> +<pb n="15"/> +<l>Thou shalt be Master, that thou mayest destroy +them!</l> +<l>Will they not recognise?—Thou hid’st in vain.</l> +<l>Though like the serpent’s were thy body changed,</l> +<l>Yet of the past would in thy soul remain</l> +<l>Many things still,—truly they cleave to me.</l> +<l>Though after burial thou shouldst return,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Then, even then, would the Crusaders know +thee!</q></l> +<l>The knights attend,—’tis the recluse’s voice;</l> +<l>They look upon the grate; she bending seems,</l> +<l>Towards the earth she seems her arms to stretch.</l> +<l>To whom? The region is all desert round;</l> +<l>Only from far strikes an uncertain gleam,</l> +<l>In likeness of a steely helmet’s flame,</l> +<l>A shadow on the earth, a knightly cloak;—</l> +<l>Already it has vanished. Certainly</l> +<l>’Twas an illusion of the eyes, most certain</l> +<l>It was the rosy glance of morn that gleamed.</l> +<l>For morning’s clouds now rolled away from earth.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q>Brothers!</q> spoke Halban, <q rend='post: none'>give we thanks to +Heaven,</q></l> +<l>For certain Heaven’s decree hath led us here;</l> +<l>Trust we to the recluse’s prophet voice.</l> +<pb n="16"/> +<l>Heard ye? She made a prophecy of Konrad,—</l> +<l>Konrad, the name of valiant Wallenrod!</l> +<l>Let brother unto brother give the hand,</l> +<l>And knightly word, and in to-morrow’s council</l> +<l id='n_6'><q rend='pre: none'>Our Master he!</q><ref target='note_6' rend='superscript'>6</ref>—<q>Agreed,</q> they cried, <q>agreed!</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And shouting went they. Far along the vale</l> +<l>Resounds the voice of triumph and of joy;</l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Long Konrad live! long the Grand-Master live!</q></l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Long live the Order! perish heathenesse!</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Halban remained behind, in deep thought plunged;</l> +<l>He on the shouters cast an eye of scorn</l> +<l>He looked towards the tower, and in low tones,</l> +<l>This song he sang, departing from the place:—</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Song.</p> +<lg> +<l>Wilija, thou parent of streams in our land,</l> +<l>Heaven-blue is thy visage and golden thy sand;</l> +<l>But, lovely Litwinka,<note place='foot'><p>Lithuanian woman.</p></note> who drinkest its wave,</l> +<l>Far purer thy heart, and thy beauty more brave.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Wilija, thou flowest through Kowno’s fair vale,</l> +<l>Amid the gay tulips and narcissus pale.</l> +<pb n="17"/> +<l>At the feet of the maiden, the flower of our youth,</l> +<l>Than roses, than tulips, far fairer in sooth.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The Wilija despiseth the valley of flowers,</l> +<l>She seeks to the Niemen, her lover, to rove;</l> +<l>The Litwinka listens no love-tale of ours,</l> +<l>The youth of the strangers has filled her with love.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>In powerful embrace doth the Niemen enfold,</l> +<l>And beareth o’er rocks and o’er wild deserts lone;</l> +<l>He presses his love to his bosom so cold,</l> +<l>They perish together in sea-depths unknown.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Thee too, poor Litwinka, the stranger shall call</l> +<l>Away from the joys of that sweet native vale;</l> +<l>Thou deep in Forgetfulness’ billows must fall,</l> +<l>But sadder thy fate, for alone thou must fail.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>For streamlet and heart by no warning are crost,</l> +<l>The maiden will love and the Wilija will run;</l> +<l>And in her loved Niemen the Wilija is lost,</l> +<l>In the dark prison-tower weeps the maiden undone.</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<div> +<pb n="18"/> +<index index='toc'/> +<index index='pdf'/> +<head>III.</head> +<lg> +<l>When the Grand-Master had the sacred books</l> +<l>Kissed of the holy laws, and from the Komtur</l> +<l>Received the sword and grand cross, ensigns high</l> +<l>Of power, he raised his haughty brow. Although</l> +<l>A cloud of care weighed on him, with his eye</l> +<l>He scattered fire around him. In his glance</l> +<l>Burns exultation, half with anger mixed,—</l> +<l>And, guest invisible, upon his face</l> +<l>Hovered a faint and transitory smile,</l> +<l>Like lightning which divides the morning cloud,</l> +<l>Boding at once the sunrise and the thunder.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The Master’s zeal, his threatening countenance,</l> +<l>All hearts with hope and newer courage fills;</l> +<l>Battle before them they behold and plunder,</l> +<l>And pour in thought great floods of pagan blood.</l> +<l>Who shall against such ruler dare to stand?</l> +<l>Who will not fear his sabre or his glance?</l> +<pb n="19"/> +<l>Tremble, Litwini! for the time is near,</l> +<l>From Wilna’s ramparts when the cross shall shine.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Vain are their hopes, for days and weeks flew by;</l> +<l>In peace a whole long year has flowed away,</l> +<l>And Litwa threatens. Wallenrod, ignobly</l> +<l>Himself nor combats, nor goes out to war;</l> +<l>And when he rouses and begins to act,</l> +<l>Reverses the old ruling suddenly.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>He cries, <q rend='post: none'>The Order has o’erstepped its laws,</q></l> +<l>The brethren violate their plighted vows.</l> +<l>Let us engage in prayer, renounce our treasures,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>And seek in virtue and in peace renown.</q></l> +<l>To penance he compels them, fasts, and burdens;</l> +<l>Denies all pleasures, comforts innocent;</l> +<l>Each venial sin doth cruelly chastise</l> +<l>With dungeons underground, exile, the sword.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Meanwhile the Litwin, who long years afar</l> +<l>Had shunned the portals of the Order’s town,</l> +<l>Now burns the villages around each night,</l> +<l>And captive their defenceless people takes.</l> +<l>Beneath the very castle proudly boasts,</l> +<l>He in the Master’s chapel goes to mass.</l> +<pb n="20"/> +<l>And children trembled on their parents’ threshold,</l> +<l>To hear the roar of Samogitia’s horn.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>What time were better to begin a war</l> +<l>While Litwa by internal strife is torn?</l> +<l>Here the bold Rusin,<note place='foot'> +<p>Inhabitant of Rus (White Russia, Little Russia, also +Red Russia, or Galicia). +</p></note> here the unquiet Lach,<note place='foot'><p> +Pole. The native name of <hi rend='italic'>Polska</hi> is derived from <hi rend='italic'>pole</hi>=field, +and <hi rend='italic'>Lachy</hi>=plain of the Lachs. +</p></note></l> +<l>The Crimean Khans lead on a mighty host;</l> +<l>And Witold, by Jagellon dispossessed,</l> +<l>Has come to seek protection of the Order;</l> +<l>In recompense doth promise gold and land,</l> +<l>But hitherto for help he waits in vain.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The brothers murmur, council now assembles,</l> +<l>The Master is not seen. Old Halban hastes,</l> +<l>But in the castle, in the chapel finds</l> +<l>Not Konrad. Whither is he? At the tower!</l> +<l>The brotherhood have tracked his steps by night.</l> +<l>’Tis known to all; for at the evening hour,</l> +<l>When all the earth is veiled with thickest mists,</l> +<l>He sallies forth to wander by the lake.</l> +<l>Or on his knees, supported by the wall,</l> +<pb n="21"/> +<l>Draped in his mantle, till the white dawn gleams,</l> +<l>He lieth, moveless as a marble form,</l> +<l>And unsubdued by sleep the whole night long.</l> +<l>Oft at the soft voice of the fair recluse</l> +<l>He rises, and returns her low replies.</l> +<l>No ear their import can discern afar;</l> +<l>But from the lustre of the shaking helm,</l> +<l>View of the lifted head, unquiet hands,</l> +<l>’Tis seen some discourse pends of weighty things.</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Song from the Tower.</p> +<lg> +<l>Ah! who shall number all my tears and sighs?</l> +<l>Have I so long wept through these weary years?</l> +<l>Was such great bitterness in heart and eyes,</l> +<l>That all this grate is rusty with my tears?</l> +<l>Where falls the tear it penetrates the stone,</l> +<l>As in a good man’s heart ’twere sinking down.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l id='n_7'>A fire eternal burns in Swentorog’s halls;<ref target='note_7' rend='superscript'>7</ref></l> +<l>Its pious priests for ever feed the fire:</l> +<l>From Mendog’s hill a fount eternal falls;</l> +<l>The snows and storm-clouds swell it ever higher.</l> +<l>None feed the torrent of my sighs and tears,</l> +<l>Yet pain for ever heart and eyeballs sears.</l> +</lg> +<pb n="22"/> +<lg> +<l>A father’s care, a mother’s tender love,</l> +<l>And a rich castle and a joyous land,</l> +<l>Days without longing, nights no dream might move</l> +<l>Peace like a tranquil angel aye did stand</l> +<l>Near me, abroad, at home, by day and night,</l> +<l>Guarding me close, though viewless to the sight.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Three lovely daughters from one mother born,</l> +<l>And I the first demanded as a bride;</l> +<l>Happy in youth, happy in joys to be,</l> +<l>Who told me there were other joys beside?</l> +<l>O lovely youth! why didst thou tell me more</l> +<l>Than e’er in Litwa any knew before?</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Of the great God, of angels bright as day,</l> +<l>Of stone-built cities where religion rests,</l> +<l>Where in rich churches all the people pray,</l> +<l>Where princely lords obey their maidens’ hests;</l> +<l>Like to our warriors great in warlike pains,</l> +<l>Tender in love as are our shepherd swains.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Where man, from covering of clay set free,</l> +<l>A winged soul, flies through a joyful heaven.</l> +<l>I could believe it, for in listening thee</l> +<l>I had a foretaste of those wonders even.</l> +<pb n="23"/> +<l>Ah! since that time, in good and evil plight,</l> +<l>I dream of thee and those fair heavens bright.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The cross upon thy breast rejoiced mine eyes;</l> +<l>The sign of future bliss therein I read.</l> +<l>Alas! when from the cross the thunder flies,</l> +<l>All things around are silenced, perished.</l> +<l>Nought I regret, though bitter tears I pour;</l> +<l>Thou tookest all from me, but hope leftst o’er.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q>Hope!</q> the low echoes from the shore replied,</l> +<l>The valleys and the forest Konrad woke,</l> +<l>And laughing wildly, answered, <q rend='post: none'>Where am I?</q></l> +<l>To hear in this place—hope? Wherefore this +song?</l> +<l>I do recall thy vanished happiness.</l> +<l>Three lovely daughters from one mother born,</l> +<l>And thou the first demanded as a bride.</l> +<l>Woe unto you, fair flowers! woe to you!</l> +<l>A fearful viper crept into the garden,</l> +<l>And where the reptile’s livid breast has touched</l> +<l>The grass is withered and the roses fade,</l> +<l>And yellow as the reptile’s bosom grow.</l> +<l>Fly from the present in thought; recall the days</l> +<l>Which thou hadst spent in joyousness without—</l> +<pb n="24"/> +<l>Thou’rt silent! Raise thy voice again and curse;</l> +<l>Let not the dreadful tear which pierces stones</l> +<l>Perish in vain. My helmet I’ll remove.</l> +<l>Here let it fall; I am prepared to suffer;</l> +<l>Would learn betimes what waiteth me in hell.</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Voice from the Tower.</p> +<lg> +<l>Pardon, my loved one, pardon! I am guilty!</l> +<l>Late was thy coming, weary ’twas to wait,</l> +<l>And thus, despite myself, some childish song—</l> +<l>Away with it! What have I to regret?</l> +<l>With thee, my love, with thee a passing space</l> +<l>We lived through; but the memory of that time</l> +<l>I would not change with all earth’s habitants,</l> +<l>For tranquil life passed through in weariness.</l> +<l>Thyself didst say to me that common men</l> +<l>Are as those shells deep hidden in the marsh;</l> +<l>Scarce once a year by some tempestuous wave</l> +<l>Cast up, they peep from out the troubled water,</l> +<l>Open their lips, and sigh forth once towards +heaven,</l> +<l>And to their burial once more return.</l> +<l>No! I am not created for such bliss.</l> +<l>While yet within my Fatherland I dwelt</l> +<pb n="25"/> +<l>A still life, sometimes in my comrades’ midst</l> +<l>A longing seized me, and I sighed in secret,</l> +<l>And felt unquiet throbbings in my heart;</l> +<l>And sometimes fled I from the lower plain,</l> +<l>And standing on the higher hill, I thought,</l> +<l>If but the larks would give me from their wings</l> +<l>One feather only, I would fly with them,</l> +<l>And only from this mountain wish to pluck</l> +<l>One little flower, the flower forget-me-not,</l> +<l>And then afar beyond the clouds to fly</l> +<l>Higher and higher, and to disappear!</l> +<l>And thou didst hear me! Thou, with eagle +pinions,</l> +<l>Monarch of birds, didst raise me to thyself.</l> +<l>O now, ye larks, I beg for nought from you,</l> +<l>For whither should she fly, what pleasures seek,</l> +<l>Who has the great God learned to know in heaven,</l> +<l>And loved a great man on this lower world?</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Konrad.</p> +<lg> +<l>Greatness, and greatness yet again, mine angel!</l> +<l>Greatness for which we groan in misery!</l> +<l>A few days still,—let it torment the heart,—</l> +<l>A few days only, fewer already are.</l> +<pb n="26"/> +<l>’Tis done! ’Tis vain to grieve for vanished time.</l> +<l>Aye! let us weep, but let our proud foes tremble!</l> +<l>For Konrad wept, but ’twas to murder them!</l> +<l>But wherefore cam’st thou here—wherefore, my +love?</l> +<l>Unto God’s service did I vow myself.</l> +<l>Was it not better in His holy walls,</l> +<l>Afar from me to live and die than here,</l> +<l>In the land of lying and of murderous war,</l> +<l>In this tower-grave by long and painful tortures</l> +<l>To expire, and open solitary eyes,</l> +<l>And through the unbroken fetters of this grate</l> +<l>Implore for help, and I be forced to hear,</l> +<l>To look upon the torture of long death,</l> +<l>Standing afar, and curse my very soul,</l> +<l>That harbours relics yet of tenderness?</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Voice from the Tower.</p> +<lg> +<l>If thou lamentest, hither come no more!</l> +<l>Though thou shouldst come, with burning zeal +implore,</l> +<l>Thou shouldst hear nought. My window now I +close,</l> +<l>Descend once more into my prison darkness.</l> +<pb n="27"/> +<l>Let me in silence drink my bitter tears.</l> +<l>Farewell for aye, farewell, my only one!</l> +<l>And let the memory perish of this hour,</l> +<l>Wherein thou didst no pity for me show.</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Konrad.</p> +<lg> +<l>Then thou have pity! for thou art an angel!</l> +<l>Stay! But if prayer is powerless to restrain,</l> +<l>On the tower’s angle will I strike my head;</l> +<l>I will implore thee by the death of Cain.</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Voice from the Tower.</p> +<lg> +<l>O let us both have pity on ourselves!</l> +<l>My love, remember, great as is this world,</l> +<l>Two of us only on this mighty earth,</l> +<l>Upon the seas of sand two drops of dew.</l> +<l>Scarce breathes a little wind, from the earthly vale</l> +<l>For aye we vanish—ah! together perish!</l> +<l>I came not here for this, to torture thee.</l> +<l>I would not on me take the holy vows,</l> +<l>Because I dared not pledge my heart to Heaven,</l> +<l>While yet in it an earthly lover reigned.</l> +<l>I in the cloister would remain, and humbly</l> +<l>Devote my days to service of the nuns.</l> +<pb n="28"/> +<l>But there without thee, everything around</l> +<l>Was all so new, so wild, so strange to me!</l> +<l>Remembering then that after many years,</l> +<l>Thou shouldst return again to Mary’s town</l> +<l>To seek for vengeance on the enemy,</l> +<l>The cause defending of a hapless folk,</l> +<l>I said unto myself, <q rend='post: none'>Who waits long years</q></l> +<l>Shortens with thoughts; maybe he now returns,</l> +<l>Maybe is come. Is it not free to ask,</l> +<l>Though living I immure me in the grave,</l> +<l>That once more I may look upon thy face,</l> +<l>That I at least may perish near to thee?</l> +<l>And therefore to the hermit’s narrow house</l> +<l>Upon the road, upon the broken rock,</l> +<l>I will betake me, and enclose myself.</l> +<l>Some knight maybe, in passing by my hut,</l> +<l>May speak aloud by chance my loved one’s name;</l> +<l>Among the foreign helmets I may view</l> +<l>His crest; though changed the fashion of his arms,</l> +<l>Although a strange device adorn his shield,</l> +<l>Although his face be changed, even then my +heart</l> +<l>Will recognise my lover from afar.</l> +<l>And when a heavy duty him compels</l> +<l>To shed the blood of all and to destroy,</l> +<pb n="29"/> +<l>And all shall curse him, one heart yet alone</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Shall dare afar to bless him.</q> Here I chose</l> +<l>My habitation and my grave apart,</l> +<l>In silence, where the sacrilege of groans</l> +<l>The traveller dare not listen. Thou, I know,</l> +<l>Lovest to walk alone. Within myself</l> +<l>I thought, <q rend='post: none'>Maybe at even he will come,</q></l> +<l>Having his comrades left behind, to hold</l> +<l>Converse with winds and billows of the lake;</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>And he will think of me and hear my voice.</q></l> +<l>And Heaven did fulfil my innocent wish.</l> +<l>Thou earnest; thou didst understand my song.</l> +<l>I prayed in former times that dreams might bless</l> +<l>Me with thine image, though the form were mute:</l> +<l>To-day, what happiness! To-day, together,—</l> +<l>Together we may weep!</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Konrad.</p> +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left: 8'>And wherefore weep?</l> +<l>I wept, thou dost remember, when I tore</l> +<l>Myself for ever from thy dear embrace,</l> +<l>And of my free will died from happiness,</l> +<l>That thus I might designs of blood fulfil.</l> +<l>That too long martyrdom at length is crowned.</l> +<pb n="30"/> +<l>Now stand I at the summit of desires;</l> +<l>I can revenge me on the enemy.</l> +<l>And thou hast come to tear my victory from me!</l> +<l>Till now, when from the window of thy turret</l> +<l>Thou didst look on me, in the world’s whole circle</l> +<l>Again there seemed no thing to meet my eye,</l> +<l>But the lake only, and the tower and grate.</l> +<l>Around me all with tumult seethes of war.</l> +<l>’Mid trumpet clamour, ’mid the clash of arms,</l> +<l>I seek impatient with a straining ear,</l> +<l>For the angelic sound of thy sweet lips,</l> +<l>And all the day for me is waiting hope.</l> +<l>And when the evening season I have reached,</l> +<l>I wish to lengthen it by memories:</l> +<l>I reckon by its evenings all my life.</l> +<l>Meanwhile the Order murmurs at repose,</l> +<l>Entreat for war, demand their own perdition;</l> +<l>And vengeful Halban will not let me breathe,</l> +<l>But still recalls to me those ancient vows,</l> +<l>The slaughtered hamlets, and the lands destroyed;</l> +<l>Or if I will not listen his reproaches,</l> +<l>He with one sigh, one glance, one beckoning,</l> +<l>Can blow my smouldering vengeance to a flame.</l> +<l>Now seems my destiny to near its end;</l> +<l>Nought the Crusaders can withhold from war.</l> +<pb n="31"/> +<l>A messenger from Rome came yesterday.</l> +<l>From the world’s every quarter, clouds unnumbered</l> +<l>A pious zeal hath gathered in the field,</l> +<l>And all call out to me to lead them on</l> +<l>With sword and cross upon the walls of Wilna.</l> +<l>And yet—with shame I must confess—ev’n now,</l> +<l>While destinies of mighty nations pend,</l> +<l>I think of thee, and still invent delays,</l> +<l>That we may pass together one more day.</l> +<l>O youth! how fearful was thy sacrifice!</l> +<l>When young, love, happiness, a very heaven,</l> +<l>I for a nation’s cause could sacrifice</l> +<l>With grief, but courage;—and to-day, grown old,—</l> +<l>To-day despair, my duty, and God’s will</l> +<l>Compel me to the field, and still I dare not</l> +<l>Tear my grey head from these walls’ pedestal,</l> +<l>That I may not forego thy sweet conversing.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>He ceased. Groans only issued from the tower.</l> +<l>Long hours flowed by in silence. Now the night</l> +<l>Reddened, and now the water’s stilly face</l> +<l>Blushed with the ray of dawn. Among the leaves</l> +<l>Of sleeping bushes with a rustling murmur</l> +<l>The morning freshness flew. The birds awoke</l> +<pb n="32"/> +<l>With their soft notes, then once again they ceased,</l> +<l>And by long-during silence gave to know</l> +<l>They had too early woken. Konrad rose,</l> +<l>Lifted his eyes unto the tower, and looked</l> +<l>With anguish on the grate. The nightingale</l> +<l>Awoke in song, then Konrad looked around.</l> +<l>’Tis morning! and he let his visor down,</l> +<l>And in his cloak’s wide folds concealed his face.</l> +<l>With beckoning of his hand he signs adieu,</l> +<l>And in the bushes how is lost</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 10'>Ev’n thus,</l> +<l>A spirit infernal from a hermit’s door</l> +<l>Doth vanish at the sound of matin bell.</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<div> +<pb n="33"/> +<index index='toc' level1='IV. The Festival.'/> +<index index='pdf' level1='IV. The Festival.'/> +<head>IV.</head> + +<head>The festival.</head> + +<lg> +<l><hi rend='smallcaps'>It</hi> was the Patron’s day, a solemn feast;</l> +<l>Komturs and brethren to the city ride;</l> +<l>White banners wave upon the castle towers:</l> +<l>Konrad invites the knights to festival.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>A hundred white cloaks wave around the board,</l> +<l>On every mantle is the long black cross,—These</l> +<l>are the brethren, and behind them stand</l> +<l>The young esquires to serve them, in a ring.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Konrad sat at the top; upon his left</l> +<l id='n_8'>The place was Witold’s,<ref target='note_8' rend='superscript'>8</ref> with his leaders brave,—</l> +<l>One time their foe, to-day the Order’s guest,</l> +<l>Leagued against Litwa as their firm ally.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The Master, rising, gives the festal word,</l> +<l><q>Rejoice we in the Lord!</q> The goblets gleamed.</l> +<pb n="34"/> +<l><q>Rejoice we in the Lord!</q> cried thousand voices.</l> +<l>The silver shone, the wine poured forth in streams.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Silent sat Wallenrod, upon his elbow</l> +<l>Leaning, and heard with scorn the unseemly +noise.</l> +<l>The uproar ceased; scarcely low-spoken jests</l> +<l>Alternate here and there the cup’s light clash.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q>Let us rejoice,</q> he says. <q rend='post: none'>How now, my +brethren!</q></l> +<l>Beseems it valiant knights to thus rejoice?</l> +<l>One time a drunken clamour, now low murmurs?</l> +<l>Must we then feast like bandits or like monks?</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>There were far other customs in my time,</q></l> +<l>When on the battlefield with corpses piled,</l> +<l>On Castile’s mountains or in Finland’s woods,</l> +<l>We drank beside the camp-fire.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left: 8'><q rend='post: none'>Those were songs!</q></l> +<l>Is there no bard, no minstrel in the crowd?</l> +<l>Wine maketh glad indeed the heart of man,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>But song it is that forms the spirit’s wine.</q></l> +</lg> +<pb n="35"/> +<lg> +<l>Then various singers all at once arose;</l> +<l>A fat Italian here, with birdlike tones,</l> +<l>Sings Konrad’s valour and great piety;</l> +<l>And there a troubadour from the Garonne,</l> +<l>The stories of enamoured shepherds sings,</l> +<l>Of maids enchanted and of wandering knights.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Wallenrod slept;—meanwhile the songs are o’er.</l> +<l>Awakened sudden by the loss of sound,</l> +<l>He to the Italian cast a purse of gold.</l> +<l><q>To me alone,</q> he said, <q rend='post: none'>thou didst sing praise.</q></l> +<l>Another may not give thee recompense;</l> +<l>Take and depart. Let that young troubadour,</l> +<l>Who serveth youth and beauty, pardon us</l> +<l>That in the knightly throng we have no damsel,</l> +<l>To fasten a vain rosebud to his breast</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The roses here are faded. I would have</l> +<l>Another bard,—the cloister knight desires</l> +<l>Another song; but be it wild and harsh,</l> +<l>Like to the voice of horns, the clash of swords.</l> +<l>And be it gloomy as the cloister walls,</l> +<l>And fiery as a solitary drunkard.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Of us, who sanctify and murder men,</q></l> +<l>Let song of murderous tone proclaim the saintship,</l> +<pb n="36"/> +<l>And melt our heart, and rouse to rage,—and +weary;</l> +<l>And let it then again affright the weary.</l> +<l>Such is our life, and such our song should be;</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Who then will sing it?</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left:8'><q>I,</q> replied an old</l> +<l>And venerable man, who near the door</l> +<l>Sat ’mid the squires and pages, by his robe</l> +<l>Prussian or Litwin. Thick his beard, by age</l> +<l>Whitened; the last grey hairs wave on his head;</l> +<l>His brow and eyes are covered by a veil;</l> +<l>Sufferings and years are graven on his face.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>He bore in his right hand a Prussian lute,</l> +<l>But towards the table stretched his left hand +forth,</l> +<l>And by this sign entreated audience.</l> +<l>All then were silent.</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 6'><q>I will sing,</q> he cried.</l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Once sang I to the Prussians and to Litwa;</q></l> +<l>Some now have perished in their land’s defence;</l> +<l>Others will not outlive their country’s loss,</l> +<l>But rather slay themselves upon her corse;</l> +<l>As servants true, in good and evil lot,</l> +<l>Will perish on their benefactor’s pile.</l> +<pb n="37"/> +<l>Others more shamefully in forests hide;</l> +<l>Others, like Witold, dwell among you here.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>But after death?—Germans! ye know full well.</q></l> +<l>Ask of the wicked traitors to their land</l> +<l>What, they shall do when, in that further world,</l> +<l>Condemned to burning of eternal fires,</l> +<l>They would their ancestors invoke from paradise?</l> +<l>What language shall entreat them for their aid?</l> +<l>If in their German, their barbaric speech,</l> +<l>The forefathers will know their children’s voice.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>O children! what a foul disgrace for Litwa,</q></l> +<l>That none of you, aye, none, defended me,</l> +<l>When from the shrine, the hoary Wajdelote,<note place='foot'><p>Bard.</p></note></l> +<l>Away they dragged me into German chains!</l> +<l>Alone in foreign lands have I grown old.</l> +<l>A singer!—alas! to no one can I sing!</l> +<l>On Litwa looking, I wept out mine eyes.</l> +<l>To-day, if I would sigh towards my home,</l> +<l>I know not where that home beloved lies,</l> +<l>If here, or there, or in another place.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Here only, in my heart, have I preserved</q></l> +<l>That in my Fatherland my best possession;</l> +<pb n="38"/> +<l>And these poor remnants of my former treasure</l> +<l>You Germans take from me,—take memory from +me!</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>As a defeated knight in tournament</q></l> +<l>Escapes with life though honour has been lost;</l> +<l>And, dragging out despisèd days in scorn,</l> +<l>Returns once more unto his conqueror;</l> +<l>And for the last time straining forth his arm,</l> +<l>Breaketh his sword beneath the victor’s feet,—</l> +<l>So my last failing courage me inspires;</l> +<l>Yet once more to the lute my hand is bold;</l> +<l>Let the last Wajdelote of Litwa sing</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Litwa’s last song!</q></l> +<l rend='margin-left: 8'>He ended, and awaited</l> +<l>The Master’s answer. All in silence deep</l> +<l>Await. With mockery and with curious eye</l> +<l>Konrad tracks Witold’s every look and motion.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>They noted all how when the Wajdelote</l> +<l>Of traitors spoke, a change o’er Witold came.</l> +<l>Livid he grew and pale again he blushed,</l> +<l>Alike tormented by his rage and shame.</l> +<l>At last, his sabre casting from his side,</l> +<l>He goes, dividing all the astonished crowd.</l> +<pb n="39"/> +<l>He looked upon the old man, stayed his steps;</l> +<l>The clouds of anger hanging o’er his brow</l> +<l>Fell sudden in a rapid flood of tears;</l> +<l>He turned, sat down, with cloak he veiled his face,</l> +<l>And into secret meditation plunged</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The Germans whispered, <q rend='post: none'>Shall we to our feasts</q></l> +<l>Admit old beggars? Who will hear the song,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>And who will understand?</q> Such voices were</l> +<l>Among the crowd of revellers, and broken</l> +<l>By constant peals of ever-growing laughter.</l> +<l>The pages cry, whistling on nuts, <q rend='post: none'>Behold!</q></l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>This is the tune of the Litvanian song.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Upon that Konrad rose. <q rend='post: none'>Ye valiant knights!</q></l> +<l>To-day the Order, by a solemn custom,</l> +<l>Receiveth gifts from princes and from towns,</l> +<l>As homage from a conquered country due.</l> +<l>The beggar brings a song as offering</l> +<l>To you: forbid we not the old man’s homage.</l> +<l>Take we the song; ’twill be the widow’s mite.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Among us we behold the Litwin prince;</q></l> +<l>His captains are the Order’s guests: to him</l> +<l>Sweet will it be to list the memory</l> +<pb n="40"/> +<l>Of ancient deeds, recalled in native speech.</l> +<l>Who understands not, let him go from hence.</l> +<l>I love betimes to hear the gloomy groans</l> +<l>Of those Litvanian songs, not understood,</l> +<l>Even as I love the noise of warring waves,</l> +<l>Or the soft murmur of the rain in spring;—</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Sweetly they charm to sleep. Sing, ancient bard!</q></l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps' id='n_9'>Song of the Wajdelote.<ref target='note_9' rend='superscript'>9</ref></p> +<lg> +<l>When over Litwa cometh plague and death,</l> +<l>The bard’s prophetic eye beholds, afraid.</l> +<l>If to the Wajdelote’s word be given faith,</l> +<l>On desert plains and churchyards, sayeth fame,</l> +<l id='n_10'>Stands visibly the pestilential maid,<ref target='note_10' rend='superscript'>10</ref></l> +<l>In white, upon her brow a wreath of flame,—</l> +<l id='n_11'>Her brow the trees of Bialowiez<ref target='note_11' rend='superscript'>11</ref> outbraves,—</l> +<l>And in her hand a blood-stained cloth she waves.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The castle guards in terror veil their eyes,</l> +<l>The peasants’ dogs, deep burrowing in the ground,</l> +<l>Scent death approaching, howl with fearful cries</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The maid’s ill-boding step, o’er all is found;</l> +<l>O’er hamlets, castles, and rich towns she goes.</l> +<pb n="41"/> +<l>Oft as she waves the bloody cloth, no less</l> +<l>A palace changes to a wilderness;</l> +<l>Where treads her foot a recent grave up-grows.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>O <corr sic='woful'>woeful</corr> sight! But yet a heavier doom</l> +<l>Foretold to Litwa from the German side,—</l> +<l>The shining helmet with the ostrich plume,</l> +<l>And the wide mantle with the black cross dyed.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>For where that spectre’s fearful step has passed,</l> +<l>Nought is a hamlet’s ruin or a town,</l> +<l>But a whole country to the grave is cast</l> +<l>O thou to whom is Litwa’s spirit dear!</l> +<l>Come, on the graves of nations sit we down;</l> +<l>We’ll meditate, and sing, and shed the tear.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>O native song! between the elder day,</l> +<l>Ark of the Covenant, and younger times,</l> +<l>Wherein their heroes’ swords the people lay,</l> +<l>Their flowers of thought and web of native rhymes.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Thou ark! no stroke can break thee or subdue,</l> +<l>While thine own people hold thee not debased.</l> +<l>O native song! thou art as guardian placed,</l> +<pb n="42"/> +<l>Defending memories of a nation’s word.</l> +<l>The Archangel’s wings are thine, his voice thine too,</l> +<l>And often wieldest thou Archangel’s sword.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The flame devoureth story’s pictured words,</l> +<l>And thieves with steel wide scatter treasure +hoards.</l> +<l>But scatheless is the song the poet sings.</l> +<l>And should vile spirits still refuse to give</l> +<l>Sorrow and hope, whereby the song may live,</l> +<l>Upward she flieth and to ruins clings,</l> +<l>And thence relateth ancient histories.</l> +<l>The nightingale from burning dwellings flits,</l> +<l>But on the roof, a moment yet she sits;</l> +<l>When falls the roof she to the forest flies,</l> +<l>And from her laden breast o’er dying embers,</l> +<l>Sings a low dirge the passer-by remembers.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>I heard the song! An ancient peasant swain,</l> +<l>When over bones his iron ploughshare rang,</l> +<l>Stood, and on flute of willow played a strain,</l> +<l>Prayers for the dead, or, with a rhymed lament,</l> +<l>Of you, great childless fathers, then he sang.</l> +<l>The echoes answered. I from far did hear,</l> +<pb n="43"/> +<l>And sorrow brought the sight and song more near;</l> +<l>In eyes and ears my spirit all was bent.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>As on the judgment-day the dead past all</l> +<l>The Archangel’s trumpet from the tomb shall call,</l> +<l>So from the song the dead bones upward grew</l> +<l>To giant forms, from sleep of death awake,</l> +<l>Pillars and arches from their ruin anew,</l> +<l>And countless oars splashed in the desert lake;</l> +<l>And soon the castle-gates wide open seemed,</l> +<l>And princes’ crowns and warriors’ armour gleamed.</l> +<l>Now sing the bards, the dance the maidens weave;</l> +<l>I dreamed of marvels,—and awoke to grieve.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Forests and native hills are vanished,</l> +<l>And thought doth fail, on weary pinions fled,</l> +<l>And sinketh in a hidden stillness drear.</l> +<l>The lute is silent in my stiffened hand,</l> +<l>And ’mid the groan of comrades of my land,</l> +<l>The voices of the past I may not hear.</l> +<l>Still something of that youthful fire once mine</l> +<l>Smoulders within me, and at times its light</l> +<l>Wakens the soul and maketh memory bright.</l> +<l>Then memory, like a lamp of crystalline,</l> +<l>The pencil has with painted colours decked,</l> +<pb n="44"/> +<l>Although by dust bedimmed, with scars beflecked;</l> +<l>Place but within its heart a little light,</l> +<l>With freshness of its colours eyes are lured,</l> +<l>On palace walls yet gleaming fair and bright,</l> +<l>Lovely, though yet with dusty cloud obscured.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>O could I but this fire of mine impart</l> +<l>To all my hearers’ breasts, the shapes upraise</l> +<l>Of those dead times, and reach the very heart</l> +<l>Of all my brothers with my burning lays!</l> +<l>But haply even in this passing hour,</l> +<l>Now when their native song their hearts can move,</l> +<l>The pulses of those hearts may beat more strong,</l> +<l>Their souls may feel the ancient pride and love;</l> +<l>And live one moment in such noble power,</l> +<l>As lived their forefathers their whole life long.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>But why invoke the ages long gone by,</l> +<l>And for the present’s glory find no voice?</l> +<l>For in your midst a great man liveth nigh—</l> +<l>I sing of him. Ye, Litwini, rejoice!</l> +</lg> +<!--<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 10%'/>--> +<lg> +<l>Silent the old man was, and hearkened round,</l> +<l>If still the Germans will permit his song.</l> +<l>Around the hall there reigned a silence deep;</l> +<pb n="45"/> +<l>This warms all poets to a newer zeal.</l> +<l>Once more he raised his song, but other theme;</l> +<l>O’er freer cadences his voice did range.</l> +<l>More rarely he, and lighter, touched the strings,</l> +<l>Descending from the hymn to simple story.</l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>The Wajdelote’s Tale.</p> +<lg> +<l>Whence come the Litwins? From a nightly sally;</l> +<l>From church and castle they have won rich spoils,</l> +<l>And crowds of German slaves with fettered hands,</l> +<l>Ropes on their necks, follow the victors’ steeds.</l> +<l>They look towards Prussia and dissolve in tears,</l> +<l>On Kowno look, commend their souls to God.</l> +<l>In midst of Kowno stretches Perun’s plain;</l> +<l>The Litwin princes, there returned from conquest,</l> +<l id='n_12'>Do burn the German knights in sacrifice.<ref target='note_12' rend='superscript'>12</ref></l> +<l>Two captive knights untroubled ride to Kowno,</l> +<l>One fair and young, the other bowed with years.</l> +<l>They in the battle left the German troops,</l> +<l>Fled to the Litwins. Kiejstut did receive them,</l> +<l>But led them to the castle under guard.</l> +<l>He asks their race, with what intent they come.</l> +<l><q>I know not,</q> said the youth, <q rend='post: none'>my race or name;</q></l> +<l>In childhood was I made the Germans’ captive.</l> +<pb n="46"/> +<l>I recollect alone, somewhere in Litwa,</l> +<l>Amid a great town stood my father’s house.</l> +<l>It was a wooden town on lofty hills,</l> +<l>The house was of red brick. Around the hills</l> +<l>Murmured a wood of fir-trees on the plains;</l> +<l>Among the woods a white lake gleamed afar.</l> +<l>One night a shout aroused us from our sleep;</l> +<l>A fiery day dawned in the window, shook</l> +<l>The window-panes, and whirling wreaths of smoke</l> +<l>Burst forth within the house. We to the door.</l> +<l>Flames curled through all the streets, sparks fell +like hail.</l> +<l>A horrid cry arose, ‘To arms! the Germans</l> +<l>Are in the town! to arms!’ My father rushed</l> +<l>Forth with his sword,—rushed forth—returned no +more!</l> +<l>The Germans poured into the house. One seized +me</l> +<l>And caught me to his saddle. What came further</l> +<l>I know not; but long, long my mother’s shrieks</l> +<l>I heard ’mid clash of swords, ’mid fall of houses.</l> +<l>This cry long followed me, stayed in my ear;</l> +<l>Even now when I view flames and falling houses,</l> +<l>This cry wakes in my soul as echo wakes</l> +<l>In caverns after thunder’s voice. Behold</l> +<pb n="47"/> +<l>My memories all of Litwa and my parents.</l> +<l>Sometimes in dreams I view the honoured forms</l> +<l>Of mother, father, brethren; but anew</l> +<l>Some cloud mysterious veils their features o’er,</l> +<l>Thicker and darker growing evermore.</l> +<l>The years of childhood passed away. I lived</l> +<l>A German among Germans, and they gave me</l> +<l id='n_13'>The name of Walter,<ref target='note_13' rend='superscript'>13</ref> Alf thereto as surname.</l> +<l>German the name, my soul remained Litvanian;</l> +<l>Grief for my parents, for the strangers hatred</l> +<l>Remained. The Master Winrych in his palace</l> +<l>Reared me, himself did hold me to the font,</l> +<l>Loved and caressed me as his very son.</l> +<l>But weary in his palace, from his knees</l> +<l>I fled unto the Wajdelote. That time</l> +<l>Among the Germans was a Litwin bard,</l> +<l>Captive for many years,—interpreter,</l> +<l>He served the army. When he heard of me</l> +<l>That I was orphan and Litvanian,</l> +<l>He told of Litwa, cheered my longing soul</l> +<l>With his caresses, song, and with the sound</l> +<l>Of the Litvanian speech. He often led me</l> +<l>To the grey Niemen’s shores; from thence I +joyed</l> +<l>To look upon my country’s well-loved mountains.</l> +<pb n="48"/> +<l>And when unto the castle we returned,</l> +<l>He dried my tears to waken no suspicion:</l> +<l>He dried my tears, but kindled in me vengeance</l> +<l>Against the Germans. I remember well</l> +<l>How, when we came again into the castle,</l> +<l>I sharpened secretly a knife, with what</l> +<l>Delight of vengeance cut I Winrych’s carpets,</l> +<l>Or broke his mirrors, on his shining shield</l> +<l>Flung sand, or spit upon it. Later on,</l> +<l>When grown near manhood, from Klajpedo’s port</l> +<l>I sailed with the old man to view the shores</l> +<l>Of Litwa. There I plucked my country’s flowers;</l> +<l>Their magic fragrance woke within my soul</l> +<l>Some ancient, dark remembrance. With the fragrance</l> +<l>Intoxicated, seemed me that a child</l> +<l>Once more I grew, and in my parents’ garden,</l> +<l>Played with my little brothers. The old man</l> +<l>Assisted memory with his words, more lovely</l> +<l>Than herbs and flowers,—painted the happy past,</l> +<l>How sweet in native land ’mid friends and kin</l> +<l>To pass one’s youth, how many Litwin children</l> +<l>Knew not such bliss, in the Order’s fetters weeping.</l> +<l>I heard this on the plains, but on the beach,</l> +<l>Where the white billows break with roaring breasts,</l> +<pb n="49"/> +<l>And from their foamy throat cast streams of sand,</l> +<l>‘Thou seest,’ the old man then was used to say,</l> +<l>‘The grassy carpet of this seaboard meadow.</l> +<l>The sand blows over it. These fragrant herbs,</l> +<l>Thou seest, would pierce the deadly covering,</l> +<l>By their brow’s strength. In vain, alas! for now</l> +<l>Another hydra comes of gravel-dust,</l> +<l>Spreads its white fins, subdues the living lands,</l> +<l>Stretching its kingdom of wild desert round.</l> +<l>My son! the gifts of spring are living cast</l> +<l>Into the grave. Behold! they are conquered +peoples,</l> +<l>Our brothers the Litwini! Son, this sand</l> +<l>Storm-driven from the sea, it is the Order.’</l> +<l>My heart did pain me hearing, and I longed</l> +<l>To murder all Crusaders, or to fly</l> +<l>To Litwa; but the old man checked my zeal.</l> +<l>‘To free knights,’ said he, ‘it is free to choose’</l> +<l>Their weapon, and with equal strength to fight</l> +<l>in open field. Thou art a slave; the only</l> +<l>Weapon that slaves may use is treachery.</l> +<l>Remain awhile and learn the Germans’ war-craft;</l> +<l>Try thou to gain their confidence; we later</l> +<l>Shall see what thing to do.’ I was obedient</l> +<l>Unto the old man’s words—went with the Germans.</l> +<pb n="50"/> +<l>But in the first fight, scarce I viewed the standards,</l> +<l>Scarce did I hear my, nation’s songs of war,</l> +<l>I sprang unto our own,—led the old man with me.</l> +<l>As the young falcon, severed from his nest,</l> +<l>And nourished in a cage, although the fowlers</l> +<l>By cruel torments strip him of his reason,</l> +<l>And send him forth to war on brother-falcons;</l> +<l>Soon as he rises ’mid the clouds, soon as</l> +<l>His eyes o’erstretch the far unmeasured plains</l> +<l>Of his blue Fatherland, he breathes free air,</l> +<l>And hears the rustle of his wings.—Return</l> +<l>Unto thy home, O fowler! do not wait</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">To see the falcon in his narrow cage.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The youth made end; with wonder Kiejstut heard,</l> +<l>And listened also Kiejstut’s daughter fair,</l> +<l>Aldona, young and lovely as a goddess.</l> +<l>The autumn passes, therewith evenings lengthen;</l> +<l>And Kiejstut’s daughter, as accustomed, sits</l> +<l>Among her sisters and her comrades’ train,</l> +<l>Weaves at the loom or spins the distaff thread;</l> +<l>But as the needles fly or spindles turn,</l> +<l>Walter stands by and telleth wondrous tales,</l> +<l>About the German countries and his youth.</l> +<l>The damsel seizes all that Walter speaks,</l> +<l>Her soul, insatiable, devours all things;</l> +<pb n="51"/> +<l>She knows them all by heart, repeats in dreams.</l> +<l>Walter related of the castle halls,</l> +<l>Great towns beyond the Niemen, what rich dresses,</l> +<l>What splendid pastimes; how in tourney knights</l> +<l>Break lances, and the damsels look upon them</l> +<l>Down from their galleries, and adjudge the prize.</l> +<l>He spoke of the great God who rules beyond</l> +<l>The Niemen, and His Son’s Immaculate Mother,</l> +<l>Whose angel form he showed in wondrous picture.</l> +<l>This picture piously adorned his breast;</l> +<l>The youth now gave it to the fair Litwinka,</l> +<l>The day he brought her to the holy faith,</l> +<l>When he prayed with her;—he would teach her all</l> +<l>He knew himself. Alas! he taught her too</l> +<l>That which as yet he knew not,—taught her love.</l> +<l>And he himself learned much. With what delight</l> +<l>He from her lips the half-forgotten words</l> +<l>Heard of Litvanian speech. New feelings rose</l> +<l>With each new-risen word like sparks from ashes.</l> +<l>Sweet were the names of family, of friendship,</l> +<l>And sweeter yet than all the name of love,</l> +<l>Which no word equals here on earth, but—country.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q>Whence,</q> Kiejstut thought, <q rend="post: none">my daughters +sudden change?</q></l> +<pb n="52"/> +<l>Where is her former mirth, her childish sports?</l> +<l>On holidays all maidens join in dance;</l> +<l>She sits alone, or converse holds with Walter.</l> +<l>On other days the needle or the loom</l> +<l>Engage the damsels; from her hands the needle</l> +<l>Falls, and the threads are tangled in the loom.</l> +<l>She sees not what she does; all tell me so.</l> +<l>And yesterday, I marked she sewed a rose,</l> +<l>The flowers with green, the leaves with rosy silk.</l> +<l>How could she know this, when her eyes and +thoughts</l> +<l>Seek only Walter’s eyes, seek his discourse?</l> +<l>Oft as I ask, ‘Where goes she?’ ‘To the valley.’</l> +<l>‘Whence comes she?’ ‘From the valley.’ +‘What is there?’</l> +<l>‘The youth has made in it a garden for her.’</l> +<l>What! is that garden fairer than my orchards?</l> +<l>(For Kiejstut owned proud orchards full of apples</l> +<l>And pears, allurement of the Kowno damsels.)</l> +<l>’Tis not the garden lures her. I have marked</l> +<l>Her windows in the winter; all the panes</l> +<l>Which look on Niemen clear are as in May;</l> +<l>The frost has not obscured the crystal glass.</l> +<l>Thence Walter comes. She sat beside the window,</l> +<l>And with her burning sighs did melt the ice.</l> +<pb n="53"/> +<l>I thought, he teaches her to read and write,</l> +<l>Hearing all princes now instruct their children,—</l> +<l>A good lad, valiant, skilled like priest in books.</l> +<l>Shall I expel him from my house? He is</l> +<l>So needful to our Litwa; he can rank</l> +<l>The troops as can no other; rampart mounds</l> +<l>He best can heap; the thunder-arms direct.</l> +<l>I have one behind my army.—Walter, come,</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">And be my son-in-law, and fight for Litwa.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>So Walter wed Aldona. Germans! you</l> +<l>No doubt will think this is the story’s end;</l> +<l>For in your love romances when the knights</l> +<l>Are married, then the minstrel ends his song,</l> +<l>And only adds, <q>They lived long and were happy.</q></l> +<l>Well Walter loved his wife; his noble soul</l> +<l>Yet found no happiness in heart or home,</l> +<l>For in the country was there blessing none.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The snows scarce vanished, scarce the first lark +sung;—</l> +<l>The lark to other lands sings love and joy,</l> +<l>But unto hapless Litwa he proclaims</l> +<l>With every year carnage and fire;—on march</l> +<l>Crusading armies in unnumbered crowds.</l> +<l>Now from the hills beyond the Niemen echo</l> +<pb n="54"/> +<l>To Kowno bears a mighty army’s shouts,</l> +<l>The clang of armour and the neigh of steeds.</l> +<l>Like mist the camp descends, o’erflows the plain,</l> +<l>And here and there the leaders’ standards gleam</l> +<l>Like lightning ere the storm. The Germans stood</l> +<l>Upon the shore, threw bridges o’er the Niemen,</l> +<l>And day by day the walls and bastions fall</l> +<l>With shock of battering-ram, and night by night</l> +<l>The storming mines work underground like moles;</l> +<l>Beneath the heavens the bomb in fiery flight</l> +<l>Rises, and swoops upon the city roofs,</l> +<l>As falls the falcon on the lesser fowl.</l> +<l>Kowno is fallen in ruins. Then the Litwin</l> +<l>Retires to Kiejdan; Kiejdan falls in ruin.</l> +<l>Then Litwa makes defence in woods and hills;</l> +<l>The Germans march on farther, robbing, burning;</l> +<l>Kiejstut and Walter first in battle, last</l> +<l>Retreating. Kiejstut was untroubled still,</l> +<l>From childhood used to combat with his foe,</l> +<l>To attack, to conquer, or to fly. He knew</l> +<l>His forefathers warred ever with the Germans;</l> +<l>He, following in their footsteps, ever fought,</l> +<l>And cared not for the future. Other were</l> +<l>The thoughts of Walter. Nurtured ’mid the Germans,</l> +<pb n="55"/> +<l>He knew the Order’s power; the Master’s summons,</l> +<l>He knew, could draw forth armies, treasures, swords,</l> +<l>From all of Europe. Prussia made defence;</l> +<l>In former times the Teutons broke the Prussians;</l> +<l>Sooner or later Litwa meets such fate.</l> +<l>He had seen the Prussians’ misery; he trembled</l> +<l>To think of Litwa’s future. <q>Son,</q> cries Kiejstut,</l> +<l><q rend="post: none">Thou art an evil prophet; thou hast reft</q></l> +<l>The veil before my eyes, to show the abyss.</l> +<l>While hearing thee, it seemed my hands grew weak,</l> +<l>With victory’s hope all courage left my breast</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">How shall we with the German power contend?</q></l> +<l><q>Father,</q> said Walter, <q rend="post: none">one sole way I know,</q></l> +<l>A dreadful way, alas! effectual!</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Some day I may reveal it.</q> Thus did they</l> +<l>Converse, the battle over, ere the trumpet</l> +<l>Did summon to fresh battles and defeats.</l> +<l>Kiejstut grew ever sadder, and how changed</l> +<l>Seemed Walter; never over-merry he.</l> +<l>Even in happy moments some light shade</l> +<l>Of thought o’erhung his brow, but with Aldona</l> +<l>Serene was once his brow and visage tranquil,</l> +<l>Aye welcoming her with smiles, with tender glance</l> +<l>Bidding farewell to her. Now, as it seemed,</l> +<l>He was tormented by some hidden pain.</l> +<pb n="56"/> +<l>By morn, before the house, wringing his hands,</l> +<l>He looked upon the smoke of towns and hamlets,</l> +<l>Burning far off; there gazed he with wild eyes.</l> +<l>By night he started out of sleep, and looked</l> +<l>Forth from the window on the blood-red blaze.</l> +<l><q>Husband, what ails thee?</q> asks with tears Aldona.</l> +<l><q rend="post: none">What ails me? Shall I peaceful sleep till Germans</q></l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Shall give me sleeping, bound, to hangman’s +hands?</q></l> +<l><q rend="post: none">O husband! Heaven forbid! The sentries guard</q></l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Full well the trenches.</q> <q rend="post: none">True the sentries guard +them.</q></l> +<l>I watch and grasp the sabre in my hand.</l> +<l>But when the sentries die the sword is broken.</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">List, if I live to old age, wretched age&qdash;</q></l> +<l><q>But Heaven will give us comfort in our children.</q></l> +<l><q rend="post: none">The Germans will fall on us, slay the wife,</q></l> +<l>The children tear away, and lead them far,</l> +<l>Teach them to loose the arrow on their father.</l> +<l>Myself my father, brothers, might have slain,</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Unless the Wajdelote&qdash;</q> <q rend="post: none">Dear Walter! go we</q></l> +<l>Farther in Litwa; hide we from the Germans</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">In mountains and in forests.</q> <q rend="post: none">Aye, we go,</q></l> +<l>And other mothers, children leave behind.</l> +<l>Thus fled the Prussians; Germans overtook them</l> +<pb n="57"/> +<l><q rend="pre: none">In Litwa. If they trace us in the mountains&qdash;</q></l> +<l><q>Let us again go farther.</q> <q rend="post: none">Farther? farther?</q></l> +<l>Unhappy one! shall we go far from Litwa,</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Into the Tartar’s or the Rusin’s hands?</q></l> +<l>Hushed was Aldona, troubled at this answer,</l> +<l>For hitherto it had to her appeared</l> +<l>Her Fatherland were long as is the world,</l> +<l>Wide without end; and now for the first time</l> +<l>She heard there was no refuge in all Litwa.</l> +<l>Wringing her hands she asked, <q>What may be +done?</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">One way, Aldona, one remains to Litwa</q></l> +<l>To break the Order’s power: that way I know;</l> +<l>But ask it not for God’s sake. Hundred times</l> +<l>Be cursed that hour in which, constrained by foes,</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">I seize these means.</q> No farther would he say,</l> +<l>Heard not Aldona’s prayers, but only heard</l> +<l>And saw before him Litwa’s misery.</l> +<l>At last the flame of vengeance, nursed in silence,</l> +<l>By sight of suffering and defeat, increased,</l> +<l>And did surround his heart, consumed all feelings—</l> +<l>One feeling even, hitherto life-sweetening,—</l> +<l>Feeling of love. So when the hunters light</l> +<l>A hidden fire ’neath oaks of Bialowiez,</l> +<l>It burns away the inner pith; the monarch</l> +<pb n="58"/> +<l>Of the forest loses all his waving leaves,</l> +<l>His branches fly off, even that green crown</l> +<l>That once adorned his brow, the mistletoe,</l> +<l>Dries up and withers.</l> +<l rend='left-margin: 10'>Long the Litwini</l> +<l>Wandered through castles, mountains, and through +woods,</l> +<l>The Germans harrying or by them attacked,</l> +<l>Till fought the dreadful fight on Rudaw’s plains,</l> +<l>Where many thousand Litwin youth lay slaughtered,</l> +<l>Beside as many of the Teuton host</l> +<l>Soon reinforcements from beyond the sea</l> +<l>Came to the Germans. Kiejstut then and Walter</l> +<l>Ascended with a handful to the mountains.</l> +<l>With broken sabres and with dinted shields,</l> +<l>Covered with dust and clotted gore, they went</l> +<l>Gloomy towards home. There Walter neither +looked</l> +<l>Upon his wife, nor spoke to her one word;</l> +<l>But in the German tongue held he discourse</l> +<l>With Kiejstut and the Wajdelote. Aldona</l> +<l>Nought understood, but yet her heart forebode</l> +<l>Some dire event When ended was their council,</l> +<l>All three turned sorrowing glances on Aldona.</l> +<l>Walter looked longest, with despair’s mute gaze;</l> +<pb n="59"/> +<l>Thick-falling teardrops trickled from his eyes;</l> +<l>He fell before Aldona’s feet and pressed</l> +<l>Her hands unto his heart, and pardon begged</l> +<l>For all the things that she had suffered of him.</l> +<l><q>Woe!</q> cried he, <q rend="post: none">unto women loving madmen,</q></l> +<l>Whose hearts domestic happiness contents not.</l> +<l>Great hearts, Aldona, are like hives too large;</l> +<l>Honey can fill them not, and they become</l> +<l>The lizard’s nest. Forgive me, dear Aldona!</l> +<l>To-day I would remain at home, to-day</l> +<l>Forget all things; be we for each to-day</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">What once we used to be. To-morrow&qdash;</q> But</l> +<l>He could not finish. What joy then Aldona’s!</l> +<l>She thought, unhappy, Walter would be changed,</l> +<l>That he would live in peace and joyousness.</l> +<l>Less thoughtful did she see him, in his eyes</l> +<l>More life; she saw new colour in his cheeks;</l> +<l>And all that evening at Aldona’s feet</l> +<l>Spent Walter. Litwa, Teutons, and the war</l> +<l>He cast awhile into forgetfulness;</l> +<l>Talked of those happy times when first he came</l> +<l>To Litwa, his first converse with Aldona,</l> +<l>The first walk to the valley, and of all</l> +<l>Those childish things, but memorable to the heart,</l> +<l>Of that first love. Wherefore such sweet discourse</l> +<pb n="60"/> +<l>Must he break off with that sad word—to-morrow,</l> +<l>And plunge in thought, look long upon his wife?</l> +<l>Tears circle in his eyes. Would he then speak,</l> +<l>But dares not? Did he but invoke the feelings,</l> +<l>The memories of ancient happiness,</l> +<l>Only to bid farewell to them? Shall all</l> +<l>This evening’s converse, all its sweet caresses,</l> +<l>Be but the last, last flickerings of love’s torch?</l> +<l>’Tis vain to ask. Aldona looks and waits,</l> +<l>Uncertain. Passing from the room, she gazed</l> +<l>Still through the crannies. Walter poured out wine,</l> +<l>And emptied many cups, and near him kept</l> +<l>The hoary Wajdelote through all the night.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Scarce risen had the sun when hoofs were clattering;</l> +<l>Up with the morning mists two riders haste;</l> +<l>The guards all missed them; one eye could not miss.</l> +<l>A lover’s eyes are vigilant. Aldona</l> +<l>Had guessed their flight; she rushed into the valley.</l> +<l>Sad was that meeting. <q rend="post: none">O my love, return!</q></l> +<l>Return thou home—return! Thou must be happy,</l> +<l>Blest in embraces of thy family.</l> +<l>Thou art young and fair; comfort will soon be thine.</l> +<l>Forget me. Many princes formerly</l> +<pb n="61"/> +<l>Contended for thy hand. And thou art free,</l> +<l>Being as widow left of a great man,</l> +<l>Who for his country’s weal renounced ev’n thee!</l> +<l>Farewell! forget; but weep for me at times;</l> +<l>For Walter loses all; he doth remain</l> +<l>Lone as the lone wind in the wilderness,</l> +<l>And he must wander over all the world,</l> +<l>To plunder, murder, and at last to perish</l> +<l>By shameful death. But after vanished years</l> +<l>The name of Alf again shall sound in Litwa,</l> +<l>And from the Wajdelote’s lips thou shalt again</l> +<l>Hear of his deeds. Then, loved one, think thou +then,</l> +<l>This dreadful knight, with cloud of mystery veiled,</l> +<l>Is known to thee alone,—was once thy husband;</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">And be thy pride thy desolation’s comfort.</q></l> +<l>Silent Aldona did assent, although</l> +<l>She heard no word. <q>Thou goest! thou goest!</q> +she cried,</l> +<l>And her own anguish wrought with her own words.</l> +<l><q>Thou goest!</q> this one word sounded in her ear.</l> +<l>She framed no thought, nothing recalled; her +thoughts,</l> +<l>Her memories, her future, tangled all;</l> +<l>But guessed her heart she never could return,</l> +<pb n="62"/> +<l>Nor e’er forget. Her eyes all wandering roved,</l> +<l>And many times met Walter’s wildered look,</l> +<l>Wherein she might not find the ancient joy;</l> +<l>She seemed to seek for something new around,</l> +<l>And looked once more. ’Twas forest wilderness.</l> +<l>Beyond the Niemen ’mid the forests gleamed</l> +<l>A turret height; a convent ’twas of nuns,</l> +<l>Sad dwelling of the Christians. On this tower</l> +<l>Rested Aldona’s eyes and thoughts; the dove</l> +<l>Seized by the wind amidst a raging sea,</l> +<l>Thus falls upon an unknown vessel’s mast.</l> +<l>And Walter understood Aldona. Silent</l> +<l>He followed her, and told her his design,</l> +<l>Commanding secrecy before the world.</l> +<l>And at the doors—ah! fearful was that parting!</l> +<l>Alf rode off with the Wajdelote. Till now</l> +<l>Nought has been heard of them. But woe to him</l> +<l>If he fulfil not hitherto his vows,</l> +<l>If, having all his bliss renounced and poisoned</l> +<l>Aldona’s happiness, and sacrificed</l> +<l>So much, he still have sacrificed in vain!</l> +<l>The future shows the rest. I have ended, Germans.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>This is the end?—great murmur in the hall.</l> +<l><q rend="post: none">Who is this Walter, and what are his deeds?</q></l> +<pb n="63"/> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Where? vengeance upon whom?</q> the hearers cried.</l> +<l>The Master only, ’mid the murmuring crowd,</l> +<l>In silence sat with head bent down. He seemed</l> +<l>As deeply moved; each instant snatches cups</l> +<l>Of wine, and to the very bottom drains.</l> +<l>Upon him came a change of somewhat new,</l> +<l>Many emotions break in sudden lightnings,</l> +<l>And circle o’er his burning countenance;</l> +<l>His pale lips quiver, and his wandering eyes</l> +<l>Fly round like swallows in the midst of storm.</l> +<l>At last he cast his mantle off, and sprang</l> +<l>Into the midst. <q rend="post: none">Where is the story’s end?</q></l> +<l>Sing me at once the end or give the lute.</l> +<l>Why stand’st thou trembling? Give the lute to me.</l> +<l>Fill up the goblets; I will sing the end</l> +<l>If thou dost fear to sing it.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">I know ye. Every song the Wajdelote sings</q></l> +<l>Portendeth woe, as howls of dogs at night.</l> +<l>Murders and burnings ye delight to sing,</l> +<l>Ye leave to us—glory and sorrowing.</l> +<l>Yet in the cradle doth your traitorous song</l> +<l>Circle the infant’s breast in reptile form,</l> +<l>And cruellest poison sheds into the soul,</l> +<l>Foolish desire of praise and patriot love.</l> +<pb n="64"/> +<l><q rend="post: none">She follows hard the footsteps of a youth</q></l> +<l>Like shade of slaughtered foe, sometimes reveals</l> +<l>Herself in midst of banquets, mixing blood</l> +<l>In cups of joy. I have heard the song—too well,</l> +<l>Alas! Tis done, ’tis done! I know thee, traitor!</l> +<l>Thou winnest! War! what triumph for a poet!</l> +<l>Give to me wine; now my designs are working.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">I know the song’s end. No! I’ll sing another.</q></l> +<l>When on the mountains of Castile I fought,</l> +<l>There the Moors taught me ballads. Old man! play</l> +<l>That melody, that childish melody,</l> +<l>Which in the valley,—’twas a blessed time;</l> +<l>Unto that music did I ever sing.</l> +<l>Return at once, old man, for by all gods,</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">German or Prussian&qdash;</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left: 8'>The old man must return.</l> +<l>He struck the lute, and with uncertain voice</l> +<l>Followed the savage tones of Konrad, as</l> +<l>A slave may walk behind his angry lord.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Meanwhile the lights went out upon the table.</l> +<l>The knights had slumbered at the lengthy banquet,</l> +<l>But Konrad sings, and they awake again.</l> +<l>They stand, and, in a narrow circle pressed,</l> +<l>Attentive marked the ballad’s every word.</l> +</lg> +<pb n="65"/> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-size: large'>BALLAD.</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'>ALPUJARA.</p> + +<lg> +<l>Ruined lie the Moorish cities,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Still the Moors upraise the sword;</l> +<l>In the country still resisting,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Reigns the pestilence as lord.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And the towers of Alpujara</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Brave Almanzor still defends:</l> +<l>Floats below the Spaniard’s banner,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Siege to-morrow he intends.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Roar the guns at sunrise loudly,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Ramparts break, and crumble walls;</l> +<l>From the towers the cross gleams proudly,—</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Now the Spaniard owns these halls.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Sad Almanzor views his warriors</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Slain in battle desperate;</l> +<l>Hews his way through swords and lances,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Flieth Spain’s pursuing hate.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Now the Spaniards in the fortress,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>’Mid the stones and corpses there,</l> +<l>Hold the feast and drain the wine-cup,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And the spoils and captives share.</l> +</lg> +<pb n="66"/> +<lg> +<l>Soon the guard.without announces</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>That a stranger knight doth wait,</l> +<l>Craving for a swift admittance,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Bringing tidings of great weight</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>’Twas the vanquished Moor Almanzor.</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Swift his mantle off was thrown;</l> +<l>To the Spaniards he surrenders,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And he craves for life alone.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">I am come, ye Christian warriors,</q></l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>To submit me to your power;</l> +<l>I will serve the God of Christians,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Own your prophet from this hour,</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">Let the blast of fame, world-filling,</q></l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Say, the Arab chief o’erthrown</l> +<l>Would be brother to his victors,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'><q rend="pre: none">Vassal of a stranger’s crown.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Well the Spaniard prizes valour.</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>So the great Almanzor knowing,</l> +<l>They embraced him, circled round him,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>As their true companion showing.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Each one then Almanzor greeted,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And their captain close embraced:</l> +<pb n="67"/> +<l>Hung upon his neck, and kissed him;</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Such true love their friendship graced.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>All at once his strength grew feebler,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And he fell upon the ground;</l> +<l>But he drew the Spaniard with him,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>To his feet the turban bound.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>All with wonder looked upon him,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And his livid visage scan;</l> +<l>Horrid smiles deformed his features,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And with blood his eyes o’erran.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q>Christian dogs,</q> he cries, <q rend="post: none">look on me,</q></l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>If you understand this thing;</l> +<l>I deceived you, from Granada</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Come I, and the plague I bring.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">For my kiss breathed venom in ye,</q></l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And the plague shall lay you low;</l> +<l>Come and look upon my tortures—</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'><q rend="pre: none">Ye such death must undergo.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Wide he cast his eyes around him,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>As he would eternally</l> +<l>Chain all Spaniards to his bosom;</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>And a horrid laugh laughed he.</l> +</lg> +<pb n="68"/> +<lg> +<l>Laughed, and died; his eyes yet open,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Open yet his lips remained:</l> +<l>In that hellish smile for ever</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Those cold features still were strained.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Fled the Spaniards from the city.</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>But the plague their steps pursuing,</l> +<l>Ere they left doomed Alpujara,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 1'>Was that gallant host’s undoing.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">Thus years ago the Moors avenged themselves;</q></l> +<l>Would you the vengeance of the Litwin know?</l> +<l>What if some day it issue forth in words,</l> +<l>And come to mingle poison in the wine?</l> +<l>But no! ah, no! to-day are other customs,</l> +<l>Prince Witold; for to-day the Litwin lords</l> +<l>Come to deliver us their native land,</l> +<l>And seek for vengeance on their harassed people.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">But yet, indeed, not all—oh! no, by Perun!</q></l> +<l>There are in Litwa yet—I’ll sing yet to you!</l> +<l>Away from me that lute—a string is broken.</l> +<l>No song will be—but I do trust indeed</l> +<l>One time there will be. This day, o’er filled cups,—</l> +<pb n="69"/> +<l>I have drunk too much—rejoice yourselves and +play!</l> +<l>And thou Al—manzor, leave my sight, old man!</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Away with Halban—leave me here alone.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>He said, and turning by uncertain way,</l> +<l>He found his place, and sank into his chair.</l> +<l>Still threatening somewhat, stamping with his foot,</l> +<l>O’erturned the table with the wine and cups.</l> +<l>At last grown weaker, he inclined his head</l> +<l>Upon the chair-arm; soon his glance was quenched;</l> +<l>His quivering lips were covered o’er with foam.</l> +<l>He slept.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The knights awhile in fixed amazement stood:</l> +<l>They knew full well Konrad’s unhappy custom;</l> +<l>How, when inflamed unto excess with wine,</l> +<l>Into wild transports and forgetfulness</l> +<l>He falls; but at a banquet, public shame!</l> +<l>Before the strangers, in such unheard rage!</l> +<l>Who thus inflamed him? Where that Wajdelote?</l> +<l>He vanished privately, none know of him.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Stories there were that Halban thus disguised</l> +<l>To Konrad that Litvanian song had sung,</l> +<pb n="70"/> +<l>To kindle by this means the zeal of Christians</l> +<l>To battle against heathenesse; but whence</l> +<l>A change so sudden in the Master? Wherefore</l> +<l>Did Witold show such angry wrath? What means</l> +<l>The Master’s strange, wild ballad? With conjectures,</l> +<l>Each vainly tries to track the hidden secret.</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<div rend="page-break-before: always"> +<pb n="71"/> +<index index='toc' level1='V. War.'/> +<index index='pdf' level1='V. War.'/> +<head>V.</head> +<head id='n_14'>War.<ref target='note_14' rend='superscript'>14</ref></head> +<lg> +<l>War now. For Konrad may no longer curb</l> +<l>The people’s zeal, the council’s fierce insistance:</l> +<l>The whole land calls for vengeance long delayed,</l> +<l>For Litwa’s inroad, and for Witold’s treason.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Witold, once suitor for the Order’s grace,</l> +<l>To aid recovery of his capital,</l> +<l>After the banquet, on this new report</l> +<l>That the Crusading hosts will take the field,</l> +<l>Changed measures—traitor to his recent friendship,</l> +<l>And led his knights in secrecy away.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And in the Teuton castles on the road</l> +<l>He entered, by the Master’s forged commands;</l> +<l>And then disarming all the garrison,</l> +<l>Annihilated all with fire and sword.</l> +<l>The Order, roused with burning rage and shame,</l> +<l>Against the heathens stirred up fierce Crusade;</l> +<l>The Pope sends forth a bull,—seas, land, o’erflow</l> +<pb n="72"/> +<l>At once with swarms of warriors numberless,</l> +<l>Princes with mighty following of vassals;</l> +<l>The Red Cross decks their armour. Each his life</l> +<l>Devotes to christen pagans,—or to die.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>They went towards Litwa. What their actions +there?</l> +<l>If thou wouldst know, gaze from the ramparts' +heights,</l> +<l>Look towards Litwa, as the day declines.</l> +<l>Thou see’st a fiery blaze; the vault of heaven</l> +<l>O’er-deluged with a stream of bloody flame;</l> +<l>Behold the annals of invading war.</l> +<l>Few words relate their carnage, plunder, fire,</l> +<l>And blaze, which may rejoice the foolish crowd,</l> +<l>But in it wise men do with fear confess,</l> +<l>A voice that crieth for revenge to Heaven.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The winds blew on that dreadful fire apace,</l> +<l>The knights marched further to the heart of Litwa.</l> +<l>Report says Kowno, Wilna, are besieged.</l> +<l>Then ceased report, and couriers came no more.</l> +<l>No longer in the region flames were seen,</l> +<l>But further off the heaven’s ruddy blaze.</l> +<l>In vain the Prussians look with eager hope,</l> +<pb n="73"/> +<l>For spoils and prisoners of the conquered land;</l> +<l>In vain despatch swift couriers for the news,</l> +<l>The couriers hasten—and return no more.</l> +<l>As each this cruel doubt interpreteth,</l> +<l>He willingly would know despair itself.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The autumn passed away. The winter’s snows</l> +<l>Revelled upon the mountains, block the ways.</l> +<l>Once more upon the distant heaven shine—</l> +<l>Midnight auroras? or the fires of war?</l> +<l>And ever nearer comes the light of flames,</l> +<l>And nearer yet the heaven’s ruddy blaze.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>From Marienbourg the folk look on the road;</l> +<l>They see afar—grovelling through deepest snows,</l> +<l>Some travellers!—Konrad! And our generals!</l> +<l>How welcome them? Victors? or fugitive?</l> +<l>Where are the others? Konrad raised his hand,</l> +<l>And pointed further off a scattered crowd,</l> +<l>Alas! their very aspect told the secret!</l> +<l>They rush in disarray, plunge in the snowdrifts;</l> +<l>Roll each on each, down treading like vile insects,</l> +<l>Within a narrow vessel perishing;</l> +<l>They push o’er corpses, ever newer crowds,</l> +<l>Hurl those new risen down again to earth.</l> +<pb n="74"/> +<l>Some drag still onward chilled and stiffened limbs,</l> +<l>Some on the march have frozen to the road;</l> +<l>But with raised hands the corpses standing point</l> +<l>Straight to the town, like pillars on the way.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>The townsfolk, terror-stricken, curious ran,</l> +<l>Fearing to guess the truth they dared not ask;</l> +<l>For all the story of that luckless war</l> +<l>They in the warriors’ eyes and faces read</l> +<l>For o’er their eyes hung death in frosty shape,</l> +<l>And Famine’s harpy hollowed out their cheeks.</l> +<l>Now are the trumpets of the Litwin heard,</l> +<l>Now rolls the storm, snow whirlwinds o’er the +plain;</l> +<l>Far off a multitude of gaunt dogs howls,</l> +<l>And overhead the ravens hover round.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>All perished! Konrad has destroyed them all!</l> +<l>He, that once reaped such glory with the sword,</l> +<l>He, for his prudence formerly renowned,</l> +<l>Timid and careless in this latter war,</l> +<l>Marked not the cunning snares that Witold laid;</l> +<l>Deceived and blinded by the wish of vengeance,</l> +<l>Driving his army on the Litwin steppes,</l> +<l>Wilna thus long in sluggard guise besieged.</l> +<pb n="75"/> +<l>When plunder and provisions were consumed,</l> +<l>When hunger came upon the German camp,</l> +<l>And scattered all around, the enemy</l> +<l>Destroyed the auxiliars, cut off all supplies,</l> +<l>Each day a myriad Germans died from need.</l> +<l>Now time approached to end by storm the war,</l> +<l>Or else bethink them of a swift return.</l> +<l>Then Wallenrod, in peace and confidence,</l> +<l>Rode to the chase, or, closed within his tent,</l> +<l>Forged secret treaties, and denied his captains</l> +<l>Admission to the councils of the war.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And thus in warlike fervour grew he cold,</l> +<l>That by his people’s tears untouched, unmoved,</l> +<l>He deigned not raise the sword in their defence;</l> +<l>All day with folded arms upon his breast,</l> +<l>In thought remaining, or discourse with Halban.</l> +<l>Meanwhile the winter piled its heaps of snow,</l> +<l>And Witold, with his fresh recruited bands,</l> +<l>Besieged the army, fell upon the camp.</l> +<l>Oh! shame in annals of the valiant Order!</l> +<l>The Master first did fly the battle-field!</l> +<l>In place of laurels, and abundant spoil,</l> +<l>He brought the news of Litwa’s victories!</l> +<pb n="76"/> +<l>Did ye but mark, when from that thunder stroke</l> +<l>He led this host of spectres to their homes,</l> +<l>What gloomy sadness darkened o’er his brow?</l> +<l>The worm of pain unwound him from his cheek,</l> +<l>And Konrad suffered; but look on his eyes!</l> +<l>That large half-open eye, bright shining throws</l> +<l>Its darts aslant, like comet threatening war;</l> +<l>Each moment changing, like the gleams of night,</l> +<l>Whereby the wily demon travellers lures.</l> +<l>Uniting joy and rabid rage in one,</l> +<l>It shone as with a right Satanic glance.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Trembled the folk and murmured. Konrad care +not.</l> +<l>He called to council the unwilling knights,</l> +<l>Looked on them, spoke, and beckoned. O disgrace!</l> +<l>They hear attentive, and believe his words.</l> +<l>They view Heaven’s judgments in the faults of man;</l> +<l>For whom of humankind persuades not—anguish.</l> +</lg> +<!--<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 10%'/>--> +<lg> +<l>Tarry, proud ruler! Judgment waits even thee!</l> +<l>In Malborg is a dungeon underground.</l> +<l>There, when the night in darkness wraps the town,</l> +<l id='n_15'>The secret tribunal descends to council.<ref target='note_15'>15</ref></l> +<pb n="77"/> +<l>One single lamp upon the high-arched roof,</l> +<l>And day and night it burns mysteriously.</l> +<l>Twelve chairs, in circle placed around a throne,—</l> +<l>Upon the throne the secret book of laws.</l> +<l>Twelve judges each in sable armour clad;</l> +<l>The visages of all inlocked by masks,</l> +<l>In dungeons hide them from the common crowd;</l> +<l>But each thus masked enshrouds him from his +fellows.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>All sworn, of their own will, with one accord,</l> +<l>Crimes of their potent rulers to chastise,</l> +<l>Too heinous, or unknown before the world.</l> +<l>And soon as falls on him the last decree,</l> +<l>Not even a brother’s trespass to condone;</l> +<l>Each must by violent or by treasonous ways,</l> +<l>On him condemned fulfil the spoken doom;</l> +<l>Dagger in hand, and rapier at their side.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>One of the maskers now approached the throne,</l> +<l>And standing with drawn sword before the book,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'>Spoke thus: <q rend="post: none">Tremendous judges!</q></l> +<l>Proof now our long suspicion has confirmed.</l> +<l>That man who calls him Konrad Wallenrod,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'>He is not Wallenrod.</l> +<pb n="78"/> +<l>Who is he? ’Tis unknown. Twelve years ago,</l> +<l>From unknown parts he to the Rhine-land came.</l> +<l>When passed Count Wallenrod to Palestine,</l> +<l>He in the count’s train wore an esquire’s dress.</l> +<l>But soon Count Wallenrod, unknown, did perish.</l> +<l>And then his squire, suspected of his death,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'>Departed secretly from Palestine;</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'>Then did he land upon the Spanish shore;</l> +<l>In battles with the Moors gave proof of valour,</l> +<l>And in the tourneys prizes rich obtained,</l> +<l>And everywhere gained fame as Wallenrod.</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'>He took on him at length the Order’s vows,</l> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'>Was chosen Master, to the Order’s loss.</l> +<l>How ruled he, all ye know. This latter winter</l> +<l>When we with frost, famine, and Litwa fought,</l> +<l>Konrad in woods and oak-groves rode alone;</l> +<l>And there in secret held discourse with Witold.</l> +<l>Long time my spies have traced his every deed;</l> +<l>Hidden at evening by the corner tower,</l> +<l>They understood not the discourse which Konrad</l> +<l>Did hold with the recluse;—but, dreadful judges,</l> +<l>He spoke, they said, in the Litvanian tongue.</l> +<l>And weighing duly what the messengers</l> +<l>Of our tribunal of this man reported,</l> +<l>And that intelligence my spy late brought,</l> +<pb n="79"/> +<l>And fame reporteth, scarcely secretly;</l> +<l>Tremendous judges! I accuse the Master</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Of falsehood, murder, heresy, and treason.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Here the accuser knelt before the book,</l> +<l>And laid his hand upon the crucifix;</l> +<l>And with an oath confirmed his story’s truth,</l> +<l>By God, and by the Saviour’s agony.</l> +<l>He ceased. The judges arbitrate the cause,</l> +<l>But not by open voice or still discourse;</l> +<l>Scarce by a glance of eye, or sign of hand,</l> +<l>Their deep and dreadful thought communicate.</l> +<l>Each in his turn approached him to the throne,</l> +<l>And with the dagger’s point o’erturned the leaves,</l> +<l>Of the Order’s book, and silent read the law,</l> +<l>Inquiring sentence of his conscience only.</l> +<l>And having judged, his hand lays on his heart,</l> +<l>And all in concord raised the cry of <q>Woe!</q></l> +<l>With threefold echo then the walls repeated,</l> +<l><q>Woe!</q>—In that word alone, that single word,</l> +<l>A sentence lies! The arraigners understood.</l> +<l>Twelve swords were raised aloft; one aim was +theirs—</l> +<l>Destined to Konrad’s heart. Then all departed</l> +<l>In gloomy silence, and the walls behind,</l> +<l>Repeated with a fearful echo: <q>Woe!</q></l> +</lg> +</div> +<div> +<pb n="80"/> +<index index='toc' level1='VI. The Parting.'/> +<index index='pdf' level1='VI. The Parting.'/> +<head>VI</head> +<head>The Parting.</head> +<lg> +<l><hi rend='smallcaps'>A wintry</hi> dawn, with stormy wind and snow;</l> +<l>Through storm and snow-clouds hastens Wallenrod.</l> +<l>Scarce stands he on the borders of the lake,</l> +<l>He calls aloud, striking the tower with sword.</l> +<l><q>Aldona,</q> cries he, <q rend="post: none">let us live, Aldona!</q></l> +<l>Thy lover comes; his vows are all fulfilled,</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">The foes have perished, all is now fulfilled.</q></l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>The Recluse.</p> +<lg> +<l><q rend="post: none">Alf! ’tis his voice indeed! My Alf, my love!</q></l> +<l>What! peace already! thou returnest safe?</l> +<l><q rend="pre: none">Thou goest not forth again?</q></l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Konrad.</p> +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left: 8'><q rend="post: none">For love of God,</q></l> +<l>Ask thou no tidings!—Listen, my beloved!</l> +<l>Listen, and weigh with carefulness each word,</l> +<pb n="81"/> +<l>The foes have perished. Dost thou see these fires?</l> +<l>Thou see’st? ’Tis Litwa’s havoc with the Germans.</l> +<l>A hundred years heal not the Order’s wounds,</l> +<l>I smote the hundred-headed monster’s heart.</l> +<l>Their treasures wasted, well-springs of their power,</l> +<l>Their towns in flames, a sea of blood has flowed,—</l> +<l>I caused all this! I have fulfilled my vows!</l> +<l>More fearful vengeance hell might not conceive.</l> +<l>I will no more of it—I am a man!</l> +<l>I spent my youth in foul hypocrisy,</l> +<l>In bloody, murders. Now, bent down with age,</l> +<l>Wearied of treasons, I am unfit for war.</l> +<l>Enough of vengeance. Germans, too, are men!</l> +<l>God has enlightened me. I come from Litwa,</l> +<l>And I have seen those places, seen thy castle,</l> +<l>The Kowno castle,—now it lies in ruin.</l> +<l>I turned away, urged thence my rapid course;</l> +<l>And hurried to that valley, our own valley.</l> +<l>All was as formerly! Those woods, those flowers!</l> +<l>All as it was upon that very eve,</l> +<l>When to the valley breathed we long farewell.</l> +<l>Alas! it seems to me but yesterday!</l> +<l>That stone—rememberest thou that high-raised +stone</l> +<l>Once of our rambles limit made and end?</l> +<pb n="82"/> +<l>It standeth now, though overgrown with moss;</l> +<l>Scarce might I view it, hidden thus in green.</l> +<l>I tore the herb off, watered it with tears.</l> +<l>That grassy seat, where, through the summer noon,</l> +<l>Thou didst among the maples love to rest;</l> +<l>That spring, whose waters then I sought for thee—</l> +<l>I found them all, looked on them, passed around.</l> +<l>And even thy little arbour still remains,</l> +<l>As with dry willow-twigs I fenced it in;</l> +<l>And those dry twigs, a wonder, my Aldona,</l> +<l>That once I planted in the barren sand,</l> +<l>To-day thou wouldst not know them—lovely trees,</l> +<l>And the light leaves of spring upon them wave,</l> +<l>And on them grows the youthful catkin’s down.</l> +<l>Oh! seeing these, a blessing all unknown,</l> +<l>Foreshadowing of joy, revived my heart;</l> +<l>The trees embracing, on my knees I fell</l> +<l>O God! I cried, grant all may be fulfilled!</l> +<l>Oh! may we, to our Fatherland restored,</l> +<l>When dwelling in our Litwa’s native fields,</l> +<l>Again revive to life; may leaves of hope</l> +<l>Again o’erdeck with green our destiny.</l> +<l>Let us return! consent! I rule the Order;</l> +<l>I will bid open. But what need commands?</l> +<l>For were this door a thousand times more hard</l> +<pb n="83"/> +<l>Than steel, I’d beat it down—I’d pluck it up;</l> +<l>And thee, O my beloved, to our valley,</l> +<l>There will I lead thee, raise thee with my hand.</l> +<l>Or go we further still? Litwa has deserts;</l> +<l>There lie deep shades in woods of Bialowiez,</l> +<l>Where never rings the clang of foreign swords,</l> +<l>Nor sounds the haughty victor’s signal-word—</l> +<l>No, nor the groanings of our vanquished brothers.</l> +<l>There, in the midst of silent, pastoral joy,</l> +<l>And in thine arms, and on thy bosom, let me</l> +<l>Forget that there are nations in the world;</l> +<l>Or any worlds; we for ourselves will live—</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Return, oh! speak, consent!</q></l> +<l rend='margin-left: 8'>Aldona spoke not;</l> +<l>And Konrad, silent, waited yet reply:</l> +<l>Meanwhile the blood-red dawn shone forth in +heaven.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>O God! Aldona, morning is before us,</q></l> +<l>And men will wake: the guard arrest us here.</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Aldona!</q>—called he, trembling with despair.</l> +<l>No voice was his; beseeching with his eyes,</l> +<l>He lifted to the tower his claspèd hands,</l> +<l>Fell on his knees, and pity to entreat,</l> +<l>Embraced and kissed the walls of that cold tower.</l> +</lg> +<pb n="84"/> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>The Recluse.</p> +<lg> +<l><q>No, no! the time is past,</q> her sad voice spoke;</l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>But be thou tranquil, Heaven will give me strength,</q></l> +<l>The Lord will shield me from that heaviest stroke.</l> +<l>When here I came, I on the threshold swore</l> +<l>Never to leave this tower, but for the grave.</l> +<l>I wrestled with myself, and thou, my love,</l> +<l>Thou, even thou, against the Lord wouldst aid me.</l> +<l>Wouldst give back to the world a wretched +phantom?</l> +<l>Oh think! oh think! if madly I should give</l> +<l>Myself to be persuaded, leave this cave</l> +<l>And fall with rapture into thine embrace;</l> +<l>But thou wouldst know not, neither welcome me,</l> +<l>Avert thine eyes, and ask, with horror struck,</l> +<l>‘What, is this fearful spectre fair Aldona?’</l> +<l>And thou wouldst seek in this extinguished eye,</l> +<l>And in this visage her—the thought is death!</l> +<l>No, never let the poor recluse’s woe</l> +<l>Offend the beauty of the bright Aldona!</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Myself, I will confess, forgive me, love!</q></l> +<l>Oft as the moon with brighter lustre gleams,</l> +<l>Hearing thy voice, I hide behind these walls,</l> +<pb n="85"/> +<l>Unwishing, loved one, to behold thee near!</l> +<l>For thou, maybe, art not the same to-day</l> +<l>Which once thou wert, in those sweet years gone +by,</l> +<l>When with our hosts didst to our castle ride.</l> +<l>But thou retainest, hidden in my breast,</l> +<l>Those self-same eyes, that posture, form, and dress.</l> +<l>So the fair moth, within the amber drowned,</l> +<l>Retains its primal form eternally.</l> +<l>O Alf! ’twere better far that we remain</l> +<l>That which we were in former days, and as</l> +<l>We shall unite again,—but not on earth.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Leave we the beauteous valleys to the happy,</q></l> +<l>I love the stony stillness of my cell;</l> +<l>For me ’tis bliss enough to see thee living,</l> +<l>And in the evening thy loved voice to hear.</l> +<l>And in this silence, Alf, beloved, we may</l> +<l>Heal every suffering, sweeten every pang,</l> +<l>All treasons, murders, burnings, cast aside,</l> +<l>Strive thou to come but earlier and more frequent.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>If thou shouldst—listen, on these very plains,</q></l> +<l>Like to that arbour plant another bower,</l> +<l>And hither bring those willows that thou lovest,</l> +<pb n="86"/> +<l>And flowers, and even that stone from out the +valley;</l> +<l>There let the children from the hamlet near,</l> +<l>Play joyously beneath their native trees,</l> +<l>And into garlands weave their native plants;</l> +<l>Let them repeat the Lithuanian songs,</l> +<l>For native song doth meditation aid,</l> +<l>And brings me dreams of Litwa and of thee.</l> +<l>And later, later, when my life is o’er,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Here let them sing, and on the grave of Alf.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Alf heard no longer; he, on that wild shore,</l> +<l>Wandered on aimless, without thought or will;</l> +<l>A mountain there of ice, a forest there</l> +<l>Allured him; savage sights and hasty course</l> +<l>Afforded him relief in weariness.</l> +<l>His breast was heavy in the winter rain,</l> +<l>He cast aside his mantle, coat-of-mail,</l> +<l>He tore his garments, from his breast threw off</l> +<l>All—all but sorrow!</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Now morning lighted on the city ramparts.</l> +<l>He saw an unknown shadow, stopped, and gazed—</l> +<l>The shadow further moved; with silent steps</l> +<l>It glided o’er the snow, and disappeared</l> +<pb n="87"/> +<l>Within the trenches, but a voice was heard</l> +<l>Three times that voice repeated: <q>Woe, woe, +woe!</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Alf at this voice awoke, and stood in thought</l> +<l>He thought awhile,—and understood the whole.</l> +<l>He drew his sword, and looked to every side;</l> +<l>He turned him round, searched with unquiet eye—</l> +<l>’Twas waste around; only the winter snow</l> +<l>Flew in a whirlwind, and the north wind roared</l> +<l>He looked upon the shore, he stood in grief.</l> +<l>At length with rapid stride, though tottering,</l> +<l>He came again beneath Aldona’s tower.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Far off he saw her, at the window still.</l> +<l><q>Good day!</q> he cried; <q rend='post: none'>so many, many years,</q></l> +<l>We saw each other only in the night.</l> +<l>And now good day! what happy augury!</l> +<l>The first good day after so many years!</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>And canst thou guess, wherefore I come so soon?</q></l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Aldona.</p> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>I will not guess. Farewell, belovèd friend!</q></l> +<l>The light has risen too brightly—if they knew +thee—</l> +<pb n="88"/> +<l>Cease to importune me. Farewell till evening.</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>I cannot come forth—will not</q></l> +</lg> +<p rend='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps'>Alf.</p> +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left: 10'><q rend='post: none'>Tis too late.</q></l> +<l>Know’st thou for what I pray thee? Throw some +twig;</l> +<l>No, no, thou hast no flowers. From thy garments</l> +<l>A thread, or from thy tresses cast a lock;</l> +<l>Or throw a pebble from thy prison walls.</l> +<l>To-day I wish—all may not see to-morrow.</l> +<l>I would to-day have some remembrance of thee,</l> +<l>That lay this very morn upon thy breast,</l> +<l>And which a tear shall glow on, lately shed,</l> +<l>For I would lay it on my heart in death,</l> +<l>And bid the gift farewell with my last breath.</l> +<l>I must die shortly, swiftly, suddenly!</l> +<l>Well die together! Dost thou see that shot-hole?</l> +<l>There will I dwell. Each morning for a sign,</l> +<l>I’ll hang a black cloth on the balcony,</l> +<l>And at the grate each evening place a lamp.</l> +<l>There gaze thou steadfast. Throw I down the cloth,</l> +<l>Or if the lamp expires before its time,</l> +<l>Close thou thy window. I maybe return not.</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Farewell, beloved!</q></l> +<pb n="89"/> +<l rend='margin-left: 6'>He vanished. Still Aldona</l> +<l>Gazed, bending downward from the window grate.</l> +<l>The morn had passed away, the sun had set,</l> +<l>But her white garments, dallying in the wind,</l> +<l>And arms stretched down to earth were long +beheld.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q>The sun has set at last,</q> spoke Alf to Halban,</l> +<l>And pointed from his shot-hole to the sun.</l> +<l>Within the turret, from the early morn</l> +<l>He sat, and looked upon Aldona’s window,</l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Give me my cloak and sword. Farewell, true +friend;</q></l> +<l>I go unto the tower. Farewell for long,</l> +<l>Maybe for ever!—Listen to me, Halban.</l> +<l>If, when to-morrow day begins to gleam,</l> +<l>I come not back, leave thou this dwelling-place.</l> +<l>I will, I would give something to thy charge.</l> +<l>How lone am I! either in earth or heaven,</l> +<l>To no one, nowhere, have I aught to say</l> +<l>In my death-hour, except to her and thee!</l> +<l>Farewell unto thee, Halban; she will know it.</l> +<l>Throw down the kerchief if to-morrow morn—</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>But what is that? Dost hear? There comes a +knocking.</q></l> +<pb n="90"/> +<l><q>Who goeth there?</q> three times the sentry cried.</l> +<l><q>Woe!</q> answered many voices wild and strange.</l> +<l>Resistance none the sentry might oppose;</l> +<l>The door could not withstand the heavy shocks.</l> +<l>The invaders passed the lower galleries through,</l> +<l>And mounted up the winding iron stair</l> +<l>That led to Wallenrod’s last dwelling-place.</l> +<l>Alf with the iron bolt secured the door,</l> +<l>His sabre drew, a cup raised from the board,</l> +<l>Drew near the window. <q>It is done!</q> he cried.</l> +<l>He filled, and drank. <q>Old man, ’tis in thy hands.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Halban grew pale. With motion of his hand</l> +<l>He thought to spill the draught—he stopt in +thought.</l> +<l>The sounds aye nearer through the doors were +heard,</l> +<l>His hand relaxed. <q>’Tis they, the foes are come!</q></l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Old man, thou knowest what this uproar means?</q></l> +<l>What are thy thoughts? Thou hast the goblet full—</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>I have drunk my portion. In thy hands, old man.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Halban gazed on in silence of despair.</l> +<l><q rend='post: none'>No, no, I will survive even thee, my son!</q></l> +<pb n="91"/> +<l>I would as yet remain to close thine eyes,</l> +<l>And live, so that the glory of thy deed,</l> +<l>I to the world may tell, to ages show.</l> +<l>I’ll traverse Litwa’s castles, hamlets, towns;</l> +<l>And where I pass not, there my song shall fly.</l> +<l>The bard shall sing them unto knights in war,</l> +<l>And women sing them for their babes at home.</l> +<l>Aye! they shall sing them, and in future days</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Some venger shall arise from out our bones.</q><note place='foot'> +<p><q><foreign lang='la'>Exoriare aliquis ex ossibus nostris ultor.</foreign></q></p> +<p rend='text-align: right'>—Æneid, B. iv. l. 625.</p> +</note></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Alf fell upon the window-sill with tears,</l> +<l>And long, long time upon the tower he gazed,</l> +<l>As though he yet his gaze would satiate</l> +<l>With those dear sights he shortly must forego.</l> +<l>He hung on Halban’s neck; they mixed their +sighs,</l> +<l>In that embrace of long and last farewell.</l> +<l>But at the bolts they heard a steely rattle,</l> +<l>And armèd men came in, and called Alf s name.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Traitor, thy head must fall beneath the sword;</q></l> +<l>Repent thee of thy sins, prepare for death!</l> +<l>Behold this old man, chaplain of the Order,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>Cleanse thou thy soul and make a fitting end!</q></l> +<pb n="92"/> +<l>Alf stood with drawn sword ready for their coming;</l> +<l>But paler aye he grew, he bowed, and tottered,</l> +<l>Leaned on the sill; casting a haughty glance,</l> +<l>His mantle tore off, flung the Master’s badge</l> +<l>On earth, and trampled scornful under foot.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>Behold the sins committed in my life.</q></l> +<l>Ready am I to die; what will ye more?</l> +<l>The annals of my ruling will ye hear?</l> +<l>Look on these many thousands hurled to death,</l> +<l>On towns in ruins, and domains in flames.</l> +<l>Hear ye the storm-winds? clouds of snow drive on;</l> +<l>Thither your army’s remnants freeze in ice.</l> +<l>Hear ye? The hungry packs of dogs do howl,</l> +<l>They tear each other for the banquet’s remnant.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l><q rend='post: none'>I caused all this, and I am great and proud,</q></l> +<l>So many hydras’ heads one blow has felled;</l> +<l>As Samson, by once shaking of the column,</l> +<l><q rend='pre: none'>To o’er throw the temple, dying in its ruin.</q></l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>He spoke, looked on the window, and he fell.</l> +<l>But ere he fell, he cast the lamp to earth.</l> +<l>It three times glimmered with a circling blaze,</l> +<l>That rested latterly on Konrad’s brow;</l> +<pb n="93"/> +<l>And in its scattered flow the fire’s rust gleamed,</l> +<l>But ever deeper into darkness sank.</l> +<l>At length, as though it gave the sign of death,</l> +<l>One last great ring of light shot forth its blaze;</l> +<l>And in this blaze were seen the eyes of Alf,</l> +<l>All white in death, and now the light was dark.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>And at this moment through the tower walls +pierced</l> +<l id='n_16'>A sudden cry,<ref target='note_16'>16</ref> strong, lengthened, broken off—</l> +<l>From whose breast came it? Surely ye can guess</l> +<l>But he who heard it readily might tell,</l> +<l>That from the breast whence such a cry escaped,</l> +<l>Now never more should any voice come forth.</l> +<l>For this voice a whole life spoke aloud.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Thus lute strings, shuddering from a heavy stroke,</l> +<l>Vibrate and burst; in their confusèd sounds</l> +<l>They seem to voice the first notes of a song,</l> +<l>But of such song let none expect the end.</l> +</lg> +<lg> +<l>Such be my singing of Aldona’s fate.</l> +<l>Let music’s angel sing it through in heaven,</l> +<l>And thou, O tender reader, in thy soul.</l> +</lg> +</div> + +<div rend="page-break-before: always"> +<pb n='95'/> +<index index='toc'/> +<index index='pdf'/> +<head> +NOTES. +</head> + +<p id='note_1'><ref target='n_1'> +(1) <hi rend='italic'><q>In towers of Marienbourg the bells are ringing.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +Marienbourg, in Polish Malborg, a fortified town, formerly the +capital of the Teutonic Order, under Kazimir Jagellon (1444-1492) +united to the Polish Republic; later on, given as a pledge +to the Margraves of Brandenburgh. It came at last into the +possession of the Kings of Prussia. In the vaults of the castle +were the graves of the Grand-Masters, some of which are still +preserved. +</p> + +<p id ='note_2'><ref target='n_2'> +(2) <hi rend='italic'><q>But foreign houses of his fame were full.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +Houses—so were called the convents, or rather castles, scattered +through various parts of Europe. +</p> + +<p id='note_3'><ref target='n_3'> +(3) <hi rend='italic'><q>The strife of keen-edged swords</q> = combattre à +outrance.</hi> +</ref></p> + +<p id='note_4'><ref target='n_4'> +(4) <hi rend='italic'>The Archkomtur.</hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The Grosskomthur was the chief officer after the Grand-Master. +</p> + +<p id='note_5'><ref target='n_5'> +(5) <hi rend='italic'><q>Some unknown pious woman from afar.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The chronicles of that time speak of a country girl, who, +having come to Marienbourg, asked to be walled up in a +solitary cell, and there ended her life. Her grave was famous +for miracles. +</p> + +<p id='note_6'><ref target='n_6'> +(6) <hi rend='italic'><q>Our master he.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +In time of election, if opinions were divided or uncertain, +similar occurrences were often taken as omens, and influenced +the decisions of the chapter. Thus Winrych Kniprode gained +all the voices, because some of the brothers heard, as though +from the tombs of the Grand-Masters, a three-fold calling: +<q>Vinrice, ordo laborat.</q> +</p> + +<p id='note_7'><ref target='n_7'> +(7) <hi rend='italic'><q>A fire eternal burns in Swentorog’s halls.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The castle of Wilna, where formerly was maintained the +Znicz; that is, an ever-burning fire. +</p> + +<p id='note_8'><ref target='n_8'> +(8) <hi rend='italic'><q>The place was Witold’s.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +[Witold, the son of Kiejstut, after rising over the heads of the +other Lithuanian princes to the sovereignty of the whole country, +was ultimately dispossessed by his cousin Jagellon, founder of +the Jagellon dynasty, which reigned over Poland and Lithuania +from 1386 to 1572.] +</p> + +<p id='note_9'><ref target='n_9'> +(9) <hi rend='italic'>Song of the Wajdelote.</hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The Wajdelotes, Sigonoci, Lingustoni were priests whose office +was to relate or sing to the people the acts of their forefathers at +all festivals. That the old Lithuanians and Prussians loved and +cultivated poetry is proved by the enormous number of ancient +songs, still remaining among the common people, and by the +testimony of chroniclers. We read that during a grand festival +on the occasion of the election of the Grand-Master Winrych von +Kniprode, a German Minnesinger, being honoured with applause +and a gold cup, a Prussian named Rizelus, was so encouraged +by this good reception of a poet, that he entreated for permission +to sing in his native Lithuanian tongue, and celebrated the deeds +of the first king of the Litwini, Wajdewut. The Grand-Master +and the knights, not understanding and disliking the Lithuanian +speech, ridiculed the poet, and gave him a present of a plate +of empty nutshells. In Prussia the Crusaders forbade officials +and all who approached the court to use the Lithuanian tongue, +under penalty of death; they banished from the country, together +with the Jews and gipsies, the Wajdelotes, or Lithuanian +bards, who alone knew and could relate the national annals. +Again in Lithuania, after the introduction of the Christian faith +and the Polish language, the ancient priests and the native speech +fell into disrepute, and were forgotten; thence the common +people, changed to serfs, and attached to the soil, having abandoned +the sword, also forgot those chivalric songs. Still something +has remained of their ancient annals and heroic verse, long +joined with superstition, communicated in secret to the people. +Simon Grunau, in the sixteenth century, came by accident on the +Prussians at a solemnity, and with difficulty saved his life, on promising +the peasants, that he never would reveal to any one what +he should see or hear; then, after performing sacrifice, an old Wajdelote +began to sing the deeds of the ancient Lithuanian heroes, +mingling therewith prayers and moral instructions. Grunau, +<pb n='97'/> +who well understood Lithuanian, confesses that he never expected +to hear anything similar from the lips of a Lithuanian, +such was the beauty of the theme and the phraseology. +</p> + +<p id='note_10'><ref target='n_10'> +(10) <hi rend='italic'><q>Stands visibly the pestilential maid.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The common people in Lithuania figure pestilential air under +the form of a maiden, whose appearance, here described according +to the popular song, precedes a terrible sickness. I +quote, in substance at least, a ballad I once heard in Lithuania: +—<q>In a village appeared the maiden of the pestilence; and, after +her custom, thrusting her hand through door or window, and +waving a red cloth, scattered death through the houses. The +inhabitants shut themselves up in a state of siege, but hunger +and other necessities soon obliged them to neglect such means +of safety; all therefore awaited death. A certain gentleman, +although well provided with victuals, and able to maintain a long +while this strange siege, yet resolved to sacrifice himself for the +good of his neighbours, took a sabre of the time of the Sigismonds, +on which was the name of Jesus and the name of Mary, +and thus armed, opened the window of the house. The gentleman, +with one stroke, cut off the spectre’s hand, and got possession +of the handkerchief. It is true he died, and all his family +died; but from that time the disease was never known in the +village.</q> This handkerchief was said to be preserved in the +church, I do not recollect of what village. In the East, before +the appearance of the plague, a phantom with bats’ wings is +said to appear, and to point with its fingers at those condemned +to die. It appears as though popular imagination wished to +present, by such images, that mysterious foreboding and strange +anxiety which usually precedes great misfortune or destruction, +and which often is shared, not by individuals only, but by whole +nations. Thus in Greece were forebodings of the long duration +and terrible results of the Peloponnesian war; in the Roman +Empire of the fall of monarchy; in America of the coming of +the Spaniards. +</p> + +<p id='note_11'><ref target='n_11'> +(11) <hi rend='italic'><q>The trees of Bialowiez.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +[The trees here referred to are of an immense age and extra-ordinary +height, challenging comparison with the giant trees of +California. Many of them were venerated as divinities by the +pagans of Lithuania, in whose religion tree and serpent worship +formed a prominent feature. Oracles were supposed to be +given from a peculiar species of oak, called Baublis, ever green +both summer and winter. In the trunk of one of these, cut +down about the year 1845, there were counted 1417 rings.] +</p> + +<pb n='98'/> +<p id='note_12'><ref target='n_12'> +(12) <hi rend='italic'><q>Do burn the German knights in sacrifice.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The Lithuanians used to burn prisoners of war, especially +Germans, as offerings to the gods. For this purpose was set +aside the leader, or the most distinguished of the knights for +high descent and bravery; if several had become prisoners, the +unfortunate victim was chosen by lot. For example, after the +victory of the Lithuanians over the Crusaders, in the year 1315, +Stryjkowski says: <q>And Litwa and Zmudz (Samogitia) after +this victory, and after taking abundant spoil from their conquered +and thunder-stricken foes, when they had paid to their gods +sacrifices and the accustomed prayers, burnt alive a distinguished +Crusader of the name of Gerard Rudde, the chief of the prisoners, +with the horse on which he made war, and with the armour which +he had worn, on a lofty pile of wood; and with the smoke they +sent his soul to heaven, and scattered his body to the winds with +the ashes.</q> +</p> + + +<p id='note_13'><ref target='n_13'> +(13) <hi rend='italic'><q>They gave me the name of Walter.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +Walter von Stadion, a German knight, taken prisoner by the +Lithuanians, married the daughter of Kiejstut, and with her +secretly departed from Lithuania. It frequently occurred that +Prussians and Lithuanians, carried off as children, and educated +in Germany, returned to their country, and became the bitterest +foes of the Germans. Thus the Prussian Herkus Monte was +remarkable in the annals of the Order. +</p> + +<p id='note_14'><ref target='n_14'> +(14) <hi rend='italic'>War.</hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +The picture of this war is drawn from history. [The circumstances +of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow, no doubt largely +furnished the painful and realistic details in the text.] +</p> + +<p id='note_15'><ref target='n_15'> +(15) <hi rend='italic'><q>The secret tribunal descends to council.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<p> +In the Middle Ages, when powerful dukes and barons frequently +permitted themselves great crimes, when the power of +ordinary tribunals was too weak to humble them, secret brotherhoods +were formed, whose members, unknown to one another, +bound themselves by oath to punish the guilty, not pardoning +even their own friends or relatives. As soon as the secret judges +had pronounced the decree of death, the condemned man was +made aware of it, by a voice calling under his windows, or +somewhere in his presence, the word—<hi rend='italic'>Weh!</hi> (woe!) This +word, three times repeated, was a warning that he who heard +<pb n='99'/> +it should prepare for death, which he must infallibly and unexpectedly +receive from an unknown hand. The secret court +was called the <hi rend='italic'>fehm</hi> tribunal (Vehmgericht) or Westphalian. It +is difficult to determine its origin; according to some writers +it was instituted by Charlemagne. At first necessary, it gave +opportunity for many abuses later on, and governments were +forced to exercise severity occasionally against the judges themselves, +before this institution was completely overthrown. +[Scott’s graphic description in <q>Anne of Geierstein</q> of the +court and procedure of the Vehmgericht will be instantly +suggested.] +</p> + +<p id='note_16'><ref target='n_16'> +(16) <hi rend='italic'><q>A sudden cry.</q></hi> +</ref></p> + +<lg> +<l rend='margin-left: 4'><hi rend='italic'>—<q rend='post: none'>What cleaves the silent air,</q></hi></l> +<l><hi rend='italic'>So madly shrill, so passing wild?</hi></l> +<!--<milestone unit='tb' rend='dots: 5'/>--> +<l><hi rend='italic'>It was a woman’s shriek, and ne’er</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='italic'>In madlier ascents rose despair;</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='italic'>And they who heard it as it passed,</hi></l> +<l><hi rend='italic'><q rend='pre: none'>In mercy wished it were the last.</q></hi>—<hi rend='smallcaps'>Parisina</hi>.</l> +</lg> +<p> +[The coincidence, or borrowing of ideas, is manifest, but the +image has been amplified and beautified in the Polish poem.] +</p> + +<p> +<hi rend='italic'>N.B.</hi>—In all the Polish words retained in the text, <hi rend='italic'>j</hi> is pronounced +like <hi rend='italic'>y</hi>, and <hi rend='italic'>w</hi> like <hi rend='italic'>v</hi>. +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'>PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.</p> +<p rend='text-align: center'>EDINBURGH AND LONDON.</p> +</div> + + +<div> +<pgIf output="html"> + <then> + <div> + <divGen type="footnotes" /> + </div> + </then> +</pgIf> +<pgIf output="txt"> + <then> + <div> + <divGen type="footnotes" /> + </div> + </then> +</pgIf> +</div> + +<div rend="page-break-before: right"> + <divGen type="pgfooter"/> +</div> + + </body> + <back> + </back> + </text> +</TEI.2> |