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diff --git a/34050-0.txt b/34050-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7ecd3c --- /dev/null +++ b/34050-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3280 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Konrad Wallenrod by Adam Mickiewicz + + + +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 included with this eBook or +online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license + + + +Title: Konrad Wallenrod + +Author: Adam Mickiewicz + +Release Date: October 9, 2010 [Ebook #34050] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF‐8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KONRAD WALLENROD*** + + + + + + KONRAD WALLENROD. + + An Historical Poem. + + BY + + ADAM MICKIEWICZ. + + _TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH INTO ENGLISH VERSE_ + + BY + + MISS MAUDE ASHURST BIGGS. + + “Dovete adunque sapere come sono due generazioni da combattere... + bisogna essere volpe e leone.” + + MACCHIAVELLI, _Il Principe_. + + LONDON: + + TRÜBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL. + + 1882. + + _[All rights reserved]_ + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +AUTHOR’S PREFACE +TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE +Introduction. +I. The Election. +II. +III. +IV. The Festival. +V. War. +VI. The Parting. +NOTES. + + + + + + + Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. + + _Edinburgh and London_ + + + + + +AUTHOR’S PREFACE + + +THE 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 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. + +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. + +“Was unsterblich im Gesang will leben, +Muss im Leben untergehen.” + + + + + +TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE + + +THE 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 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 _reyses_. The English reader will remember how Chaucer’s +knight had fought “aboven alle nations in Pruce.” + + “In _Lettow had he reysed_ and in Ruce.” + +Henry IV. also, during his banishment, fought in the ranks of the Order. + +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 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. + +The historical circumstances on which the poem of “Konrad Wallenrod” is +founded are thus detailed at length by the author himself, in the +following postscript to the work:— + +“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, ‘Er +war ein Pfaffenkind.’ Concerning the character of this singular man, we +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. ‘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.’ 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 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 Konrad in Marienbourg. Wallenrod died +suddenly in the year 1394; strange events were said to have accompanied +his death. ‘Er starb,’ says the chronicle; ‘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!’ 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, ‘Preussens +Geschichte, Belege und Erläuterungen.’ Hartknoch, in calling Wallenrod +‘unsinnig,’ gives a very short account of him.” + +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 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. + +We cannot pass by the subject without saying a word as to the undercurrent +of political meaning in “Konrad Wallenrod,” 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 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 “Spy;” 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. + +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 +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 +“Wajdelote’s Tale” 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 “Rio Verde,” +and other poems from a like source. Moreover, the original “Alpujara” is +couched in a metre which, though extremely well suited to the Polish +tongue, is difficult of imitation in English; or only to be imitated by +great loss of accuracy in rendering. + +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. + +LONDON, _March_ 1882. + + + + + + KONRAD WALLENROD + + _AN HISTORICAL TALE._ + + (FROM THE ANNALS OF LITHUANIA AND PRUSSIA.) + +“Dovete adunque sapere come sono due generazioni da combattere... bisogna +essere volpe e leone.” + + MACCHIAVELLI, _Il Principe_. + + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +A HUNDRED years have passed since first the Order +Waded in blood of Northern heathenesse; +The Prussian now had bent his neck to chains, +Or, yielding up his heritage, removed +With life alone. The German followed after, +Tracking the fugitive; he captive made +And murdered unto Litwa’s farthest bound. + +Niemen divideth Litwa from the foe; +On one side gleam the sanctuary fanes, +And forests murmur, dwellings of the gods. +Upon the other shore the German ensign, +The cross, implanted on a hill, doth veil +Its forehead in the clouds, and stretches forth +Its threatening arms towards Litwa, as it would +Gather all lands of Palemon together, +Embrace them all, assembled ’neath its rule. + +This side, the multitude of Litwa’s youth, +With _kolpak_ of the lynx-hide and in skins +Clad of the bear, the bow upon their shoulders, +Their hands all filled with darts, they prowl around, +Tracking the German wiles. On the other side, +In mail and helmet armed, the German sits +Upon his charger motionless; while fixed +His eyes upon the entrenchments of the foe, +He loads his arquebuse and counts his beads. + +And these and those alike the passage guard. +The Niemen thus, of hospitable fame, +In ancient days, uniting heritage +Of brother nations, now for them becomes +The threshold of eternity, and none, +But by foregoing liberty or life, +Cross the forbidden waters. Only now +A trailer of the Lithuanian hop, +Drawn by allurement of the Prussian poplar, +Stretches its fearless arms, as formerly, +Leaping the river, with luxuriant wreaths, +Twines with its loved one on a foreign shore. +The nightingales from Kowno’s groves of oak +Still with their brethren of Zapuszczan mount, +Converse, as once, in Lithuanian speech. +Or having on free pinions ’scaped, they fly, +As guests familiar, on the neutral isles. + +And mankind?—War has severed human kind! +The ancient love of nations has departed +Into oblivion. Love by time alone +Uniteth human hearts.—Two hearts I knew. + +O Niemen! soon upon thy fords shall rush +Hosts bearing death and burning, and thy shores, +Sacred till now, the axe shall render bare +Of all their garlands; soon the cannon’s roar +Shall from the gardens fright the nightingales. +Where nature with a golden chain hath bound, +The hatred of the nations shall divide; +It severs all things. But the hearts of lovers +Shall in the Wajdelote’s song unite once more. + + + + + +THE ELECTION. + + +In towers of Marienbourg1 the bells are ringing, +The cannon thunder loud, the drums are beating. +This in the Order is a solemn day. +The Komturs hasten to the capital, +Where, gathered in the chapter’s conclave, they, +The Holy Spirit invoked, take counsel who +Is worthiest to bear the mighty sword,— +Into whose hands may they confide the sword? +One day, and yet another flowed away +In council; many heroes there contend. +And all alike of noble race, and all +Alike deserving in the Order’s cause. +But hitherto the brethren’s general voice +Placed Wallenrod the highest over all + +A stranger he, in Prussia all unknown, +But foreign houses of his fame were full2 +Following the Moors upon Castilian sierras, +The Ottoman through ocean’s troubled waves, +In battle at the front, first on the wall, +To grapple vessels of the infidel +The first; and in the tourney, soon as he +Entered the lists and deigned his visor raise, +None dared with him the strife of keen-edged swords,3 +By one accord the victor’s garland yielding. +But not alone amid Crusading hosts +He with the sword had glorified his youth; +For many Christian graces him adorn, +Poverty, humbleness, of earth disdain. + +But Konrad shone not in the courtly crowd +By polished speech, by well-turned reverence; +Nor e’er his sword for vile advantage sold +To service of disputing barons. He +Had consecrated to the cloister walls +His youthful years; all plaudits he disdained, +And ruler’s place, even higher, sweeter meeds. +Nor minstrel’s hymn, nor beauty’s fair regard +Could speak to his cold spirit. Wallenrod +Listens unmoved to praise, and looks afar +On lovely cheeks, enchanting discourse flies. + +Had Nature made him thus unfeeling, proud? +Or age? For albeit young in years, his locks +Were grey already, withered were his looks, +And sufferings sealed by age.—Twere hard to guess. +He would at times divide the sports of youth, +Or listen, pleased, to sound of female tongues, +To courtiers’ jests reply with other jests; +Or scatter unto ladies courteous words +With chilly smile, as dainties cast to children— +These were rare moments of forgetfulness;— +And speedily some light, unmeaning word, +That had no sense for others, woke in him +Passionate stirrings. These words: Fatherland, +Duty, Beloved,—the mention of Crusades, +And Litwa, all the mirth of Wallenrod +Instantly poisoned. Hearing them, again +He turned away his countenance, again +Became to all around insensible, +And buried him in thoughts mysterious. +Maybe, remembering his holy call, +He would forbid himself the sweets of earth; +The sweets of friendship only did he know, +One only friend had chosen to himself, +A saint by virtue and by holy state. +This was a hoary monk; men called him Halban. +He shared the loneliness of Wallenrod; +He was alike confessor of his soul, +And of his heart the trusted confidant +O blessed friendship! saint is he on earth, +Whom friendship with the holy ones unites. +Thus do the leaders of the Order’s council +Discourse of Konrad’s virtues. But one fault +Was his,—for who may spotless be from faults? +Konrad loved not the riots of the world, +Nor mingled Konrad in the drunken feast. +Though truly, in his secret chamber locked, +When weariness or sorrow tortured him, +He sought for solace in a burning draught; +And then he seemed a new form to indue, +And then his visage pallid and severe +A sickly red adorned, and his large eyes, +Erst heavenly blue, but somewhat now by time +Dulled and extinguished, shot the lightnings forth +Of ancient fires, while sighs of grief escape +From forth his breast, and with the pearly tear +The laden eyelid swells; the hand the lute +Seeks, the lips pour forth songs; the songs are sung +In speech of a strange land, but yet the hearts +Of the hearers understand them. ’Tis enough +To list that grave-like music, ’tis enough +The singer’s form to contemplate, to see +Memory’s inspiration on that face, +To view the lifted brows and sideward looks, +Striving to snatch some object from deep darkness. +What may the hidden thread be of the songs? +He tracketh surely, in this wandering chase, +In thought his youth through deep gulfs of the past. +Where is his soul?—In the land of memories! + +But never did that hand in music’s impulse +Mere joyful tones from out the lute evoke; +And still it seemed his countenance did fear +Innocent smiles, even as deadly sins. +All strings he strikes in turn, one string except— +Except the string of mirth;—the hearer shares +All feelings with him,—one excepted—hope! + +Not seldom him the brethren have surprised, +And marvelled at his unaccustomed change. +Konrad, aroused, did writhe himself and rage, +Had cast away the lute and ceased to sing. +He spoke out loudly impious words; to Halban +Whispered some secret things; called to the host, +Gave forth commands, and uttered dreadful threats, +On whom they knew not. All their hearts were troubled. +Old Halban tranquil sits, and on the face +Of Konrad drowns his glance,—a piercing glance, +Cold and severe, full of some secret speech. +Something he may recall, some counsel give, +Or waken grief in heart of Wallenrod, +Whose cloudy brow at once is calm again, +His eyes forego their fires, his rage is cool. + +Thus when, in public sport, the lionward, +Before assembled lords, and dames, and knights, +Unbars the grating of the iron cage. +The trumpet signal given, the royal beast +Growls from his deep breast, horror falls on all. +Alone his keeper moveth not a step, +Folds tranquilly upon his breast his hands, +And smites with power the lion,—by the eye. +With talisman of an undying soul +Unreasoning strength in bonds he doth control. + + + + + +II. + + +In towers of Marienbourg the bells are ringing; +Now from the hall of council to the chapel +Comes the chief Komtur, then the chiefest rulers, +The chaplain, brothers, and assembled knights. +The chapter listen vesper orisons, +And sing a hymn unto the Holy Spirit + + HYMN. + + Spirit! Thou Holy One, + Thou Dove of Sion’s Hill! +This Christian world, the footstool of Thy throne, + With glory visible + Lighten, that all behold. +Thy wings o’er Sion’s brotherhood unfold, +And let Thy glory shine from underneath + Thy wings, with sunlike rays. +And him, the worthiest of so holy praise, +Circle his temples with Thy golden wreath. +Fall on the visage of that son of man, +Whom shadows o’er Thy wings’ protecting van. + + Thou Saviour Son! +With beckoning of Thy hand almighty, deign + To point of many one, + Worthiest to hold, +And wear the sacred symbol of Thy pain. +To lead with Peter’s sword thy soldiery, + Before the eyes of heathenesse unfold + The standards of Thy heavenly empery. +Then let the sons of earth bow lowly down, +Him on whose breast the cross shall gleam to own. + +Prayers o’er, they parted. The Archkomtur4 ordered +After repose, to seek the choir again; +Again entreat that Heaven would enlighten +Chaplains and brethren, called to such election. + +So went they forth themselves to recreate +With the cool freshness of the night; and some +Sat in the castle porch, and others walk +Through gardens and through groves. The night was still; +It was the fair May season; from afar +Peeped forth the pale uncertain dawn; the moon, +Having the sapphire plains o’ercoursed, with aspect +Changing, with varying lustre in her eye, +Now in a shadowy, now a silvery cloud +Slumbering, now sank her still and tranquil head, +Like to a lover in the wilderness; +Dreaming in thought, life’s circle he o’erruns, +All hopes, all sweetness, and all sufferings. +Now sheds he tears, now joyful is his glance. +At length upon his breast the weary brow +Sinketh, and falls in sense’s lethargy. + +By walking other knights beguile the time, +But the Archkomtur wastes no time in vain. +He quickly summons Halban and the chiefs +Unto himself, and leads them to one side; +That, from the curious crowd afar removed, +They may pursue their counsels and impart +Forewarnings; from the castle go they forth. +They hasten to the plain. Conversing thus, +All heedless of their path, some hours astray +They wandered in the region close beside +The inlets of a tranquil lake. ’Tis morn! +This hour they should regain the capital. +They stop,—a voice,—whence? From the corner tower! +They listen,—’tis the voice of the recluse! +Long time within this tower, ten summers since, +Some unknown pious woman, from afar,5 +Who came to Mary’s town,—Maybe that Heaven +Inspired her blest design, or with the balm +Of penance she would heal the wounds of conscience,— +Did seek the shelter of a lone recluse, +And here she found while living yet a tomb. + +Long time the chaplains would not give consent. +Then, wearied by the constancy of prayers, +They gave her in this tower a shelter lone. +Scarcely the sacred threshold had she crossed, +When o’er the threshold bricks and stones were piled; +The angels only, in the judgment-day +Shall ope the door which parts her from the living. + +Above a little window and a grate, +Whereby the pious folk send nourishment, +And Heaven sends breezes and the rays of day. +Poor sinner! was it hatred of the world +Abused thy young heart to so great extreme +That thou dost fear the sun. and heaven’s fair face? +Scarcely imprisoned in her living grave, +None saw her, through the window of the tower, +Receive upon her lips the wind’s fresh breath, +Nor look upon the heaven in sunshine beauty, +Or the sweet flowerets on the plain of earth, +Or, dearer hundred-fold, her fellow-men. + +’Tis only known that still she is in life; +For when betimes a holy pilgrim wanders +Near her retreat by night, a sweet, low sound +Holds him awhile. Certain it is the sound +Of pious hymns. And when the village children +Together in the oak-grove sport at eve, +Then from the window shines a streak of white, +As ’twere a sunbeam from the rising dawn. +Is it an amber ringlet of her hair, +Or lustre of her slender, snowy hand +Blessing those innocent heads? The chivalry +Hear as they pass the corner tower these words: +“Thou art Konrad! Heaven! Fate is now fulfilled! +Thou shalt be Master, that thou mayest destroy them! +Will they not recognise?—Thou hid’st in vain. +Though like the serpent’s were thy body changed, +Yet of the past would in thy soul remain +Many things still,—truly they cleave to me. +Though after burial thou shouldst return, +Then, even then, would the Crusaders know thee!” +The knights attend,—’tis the recluse’s voice; +They look upon the grate; she bending seems, +Towards the earth she seems her arms to stretch. +To whom? The region is all desert round; +Only from far strikes an uncertain gleam, +In likeness of a steely helmet’s flame, +A shadow on the earth, a knightly cloak;— +Already it has vanished. Certainly +’Twas an illusion of the eyes, most certain +It was the rosy glance of morn that gleamed. +For morning’s clouds now rolled away from earth. + +“Brothers!” spoke Halban, “give we thanks to Heaven, +For certain Heaven’s decree hath led us here; +Trust we to the recluse’s prophet voice. +Heard ye? She made a prophecy of Konrad,— +Konrad, the name of valiant Wallenrod! +Let brother unto brother give the hand, +And knightly word, and in to-morrow’s council +Our Master he!”6—“Agreed,” they cried, “agreed!” + +And shouting went they. Far along the vale +Resounds the voice of triumph and of joy; +“Long Konrad live! long the Grand-Master live! +Long live the Order! perish heathenesse!” + +Halban remained behind, in deep thought plunged; +He on the shouters cast an eye of scorn +He looked towards the tower, and in low tones, +This song he sang, departing from the place:— + + SONG. + +Wilija, thou parent of streams in our land, +Heaven-blue is thy visage and golden thy sand; +But, lovely Litwinka,(1) who drinkest its wave, +Far purer thy heart, and thy beauty more brave. + +Wilija, thou flowest through Kowno’s fair vale, +Amid the gay tulips and narcissus pale. +At the feet of the maiden, the flower of our youth, +Than roses, than tulips, far fairer in sooth. + +The Wilija despiseth the valley of flowers, +She seeks to the Niemen, her lover, to rove; +The Litwinka listens no love-tale of ours, +The youth of the strangers has filled her with love. + +In powerful embrace doth the Niemen enfold, +And beareth o’er rocks and o’er wild deserts lone; +He presses his love to his bosom so cold, +They perish together in sea-depths unknown. + +Thee too, poor Litwinka, the stranger shall call +Away from the joys of that sweet native vale; +Thou deep in Forgetfulness’ billows must fall, +But sadder thy fate, for alone thou must fail. + +For streamlet and heart by no warning are crost, +The maiden will love and the Wilija will run; +And in her loved Niemen the Wilija is lost, +In the dark prison-tower weeps the maiden undone. + + + + + +III. + + +When the Grand-Master had the sacred books +Kissed of the holy laws, and from the Komtur +Received the sword and grand cross, ensigns high +Of power, he raised his haughty brow. Although +A cloud of care weighed on him, with his eye +He scattered fire around him. In his glance +Burns exultation, half with anger mixed,— +And, guest invisible, upon his face +Hovered a faint and transitory smile, +Like lightning which divides the morning cloud, +Boding at once the sunrise and the thunder. + +The Master’s zeal, his threatening countenance, +All hearts with hope and newer courage fills; +Battle before them they behold and plunder, +And pour in thought great floods of pagan blood. +Who shall against such ruler dare to stand? +Who will not fear his sabre or his glance? +Tremble, Litwini! for the time is near, +From Wilna’s ramparts when the cross shall shine. + +Vain are their hopes, for days and weeks flew by; +In peace a whole long year has flowed away, +And Litwa threatens. Wallenrod, ignobly +Himself nor combats, nor goes out to war; +And when he rouses and begins to act, +Reverses the old ruling suddenly. + +He cries, “The Order has o’erstepped its laws, +The brethren violate their plighted vows. +Let us engage in prayer, renounce our treasures, +And seek in virtue and in peace renown.” +To penance he compels them, fasts, and burdens; +Denies all pleasures, comforts innocent; +Each venial sin doth cruelly chastise +With dungeons underground, exile, the sword. + +Meanwhile the Litwin, who long years afar +Had shunned the portals of the Order’s town, +Now burns the villages around each night, +And captive their defenceless people takes. +Beneath the very castle proudly boasts, +He in the Master’s chapel goes to mass. +And children trembled on their parents’ threshold, +To hear the roar of Samogitia’s horn. + +What time were better to begin a war +While Litwa by internal strife is torn? +Here the bold Rusin,(2) here the unquiet Lach,(3) +The Crimean Khans lead on a mighty host; +And Witold, by Jagellon dispossessed, +Has come to seek protection of the Order; +In recompense doth promise gold and land, +But hitherto for help he waits in vain. + +The brothers murmur, council now assembles, +The Master is not seen. Old Halban hastes, +But in the castle, in the chapel finds +Not Konrad. Whither is he? At the tower! +The brotherhood have tracked his steps by night. +’Tis known to all; for at the evening hour, +When all the earth is veiled with thickest mists, +He sallies forth to wander by the lake. +Or on his knees, supported by the wall, +Draped in his mantle, till the white dawn gleams, +He lieth, moveless as a marble form, +And unsubdued by sleep the whole night long. +Oft at the soft voice of the fair recluse +He rises, and returns her low replies. +No ear their import can discern afar; +But from the lustre of the shaking helm, +View of the lifted head, unquiet hands, +’Tis seen some discourse pends of weighty things. + + SONG FROM THE TOWER. + +Ah! who shall number all my tears and sighs? +Have I so long wept through these weary years? +Was such great bitterness in heart and eyes, +That all this grate is rusty with my tears? +Where falls the tear it penetrates the stone, +As in a good man’s heart ’twere sinking down. + +A fire eternal burns in Swentorog’s halls;7 +Its pious priests for ever feed the fire: +From Mendog’s hill a fount eternal falls; +The snows and storm-clouds swell it ever higher. +None feed the torrent of my sighs and tears, +Yet pain for ever heart and eyeballs sears. + +A father’s care, a mother’s tender love, +And a rich castle and a joyous land, +Days without longing, nights no dream might move +Peace like a tranquil angel aye did stand +Near me, abroad, at home, by day and night, +Guarding me close, though viewless to the sight. + +Three lovely daughters from one mother born, +And I the first demanded as a bride; +Happy in youth, happy in joys to be, +Who told me there were other joys beside? +O lovely youth! why didst thou tell me more +Than e’er in Litwa any knew before? + +Of the great God, of angels bright as day, +Of stone-built cities where religion rests, +Where in rich churches all the people pray, +Where princely lords obey their maidens’ hests; +Like to our warriors great in warlike pains, +Tender in love as are our shepherd swains. + +Where man, from covering of clay set free, +A winged soul, flies through a joyful heaven. +I could believe it, for in listening thee +I had a foretaste of those wonders even. +Ah! since that time, in good and evil plight, +I dream of thee and those fair heavens bright. + +The cross upon thy breast rejoiced mine eyes; +The sign of future bliss therein I read. +Alas! when from the cross the thunder flies, +All things around are silenced, perished. +Nought I regret, though bitter tears I pour; +Thou tookest all from me, but hope leftst o’er. + +“Hope!” the low echoes from the shore replied, +The valleys and the forest Konrad woke, +And laughing wildly, answered, “Where am I? +To hear in this place—hope? Wherefore this song? +I do recall thy vanished happiness. +Three lovely daughters from one mother born, +And thou the first demanded as a bride. +Woe unto you, fair flowers! woe to you! +A fearful viper crept into the garden, +And where the reptile’s livid breast has touched +The grass is withered and the roses fade, +And yellow as the reptile’s bosom grow. +Fly from the present in thought; recall the days +Which thou hadst spent in joyousness without— +Thou’rt silent! Raise thy voice again and curse; +Let not the dreadful tear which pierces stones +Perish in vain. My helmet I’ll remove. +Here let it fall; I am prepared to suffer; +Would learn betimes what waiteth me in hell. + + VOICE FROM THE TOWER. + +Pardon, my loved one, pardon! I am guilty! +Late was thy coming, weary ’twas to wait, +And thus, despite myself, some childish song— +Away with it! What have I to regret? +With thee, my love, with thee a passing space +We lived through; but the memory of that time +I would not change with all earth’s habitants, +For tranquil life passed through in weariness. +Thyself didst say to me that common men +Are as those shells deep hidden in the marsh; +Scarce once a year by some tempestuous wave +Cast up, they peep from out the troubled water, +Open their lips, and sigh forth once towards heaven, +And to their burial once more return. +No! I am not created for such bliss. +While yet within my Fatherland I dwelt +A still life, sometimes in my comrades’ midst +A longing seized me, and I sighed in secret, +And felt unquiet throbbings in my heart; +And sometimes fled I from the lower plain, +And standing on the higher hill, I thought, +If but the larks would give me from their wings +One feather only, I would fly with them, +And only from this mountain wish to pluck +One little flower, the flower forget-me-not, +And then afar beyond the clouds to fly +Higher and higher, and to disappear! +And thou didst hear me! Thou, with eagle pinions, +Monarch of birds, didst raise me to thyself. +O now, ye larks, I beg for nought from you, +For whither should she fly, what pleasures seek, +Who has the great God learned to know in heaven, +And loved a great man on this lower world? + + KONRAD. + +Greatness, and greatness yet again, mine angel! +Greatness for which we groan in misery! +A few days still,—let it torment the heart,— +A few days only, fewer already are. +’Tis done! ’Tis vain to grieve for vanished time. +Aye! let us weep, but let our proud foes tremble! +For Konrad wept, but ’twas to murder them! +But wherefore cam’st thou here—wherefore, my love? +Unto God’s service did I vow myself. +Was it not better in His holy walls, +Afar from me to live and die than here, +In the land of lying and of murderous war, +In this tower-grave by long and painful tortures +To expire, and open solitary eyes, +And through the unbroken fetters of this grate +Implore for help, and I be forced to hear, +To look upon the torture of long death, +Standing afar, and curse my very soul, +That harbours relics yet of tenderness? + + VOICE FROM THE TOWER. + +If thou lamentest, hither come no more! +Though thou shouldst come, with burning zeal implore, +Thou shouldst hear nought. My window now I close, +Descend once more into my prison darkness. +Let me in silence drink my bitter tears. +Farewell for aye, farewell, my only one! +And let the memory perish of this hour, +Wherein thou didst no pity for me show. + + KONRAD. + +Then thou have pity! for thou art an angel! +Stay! But if prayer is powerless to restrain, +On the tower’s angle will I strike my head; +I will implore thee by the death of Cain. + + VOICE FROM THE TOWER. + +O let us both have pity on ourselves! +My love, remember, great as is this world, +Two of us only on this mighty earth, +Upon the seas of sand two drops of dew. +Scarce breathes a little wind, from the earthly vale +For aye we vanish—ah! together perish! +I came not here for this, to torture thee. +I would not on me take the holy vows, +Because I dared not pledge my heart to Heaven, +While yet in it an earthly lover reigned. +I in the cloister would remain, and humbly +Devote my days to service of the nuns. +But there without thee, everything around +Was all so new, so wild, so strange to me! +Remembering then that after many years, +Thou shouldst return again to Mary’s town +To seek for vengeance on the enemy, +The cause defending of a hapless folk, +I said unto myself, “Who waits long years +Shortens with thoughts; maybe he now returns, +Maybe is come. Is it not free to ask, +Though living I immure me in the grave, +That once more I may look upon thy face, +That I at least may perish near to thee? +And therefore to the hermit’s narrow house +Upon the road, upon the broken rock, +I will betake me, and enclose myself. +Some knight maybe, in passing by my hut, +May speak aloud by chance my loved one’s name; +Among the foreign helmets I may view +His crest; though changed the fashion of his arms, +Although a strange device adorn his shield, +Although his face be changed, even then my heart +Will recognise my lover from afar. +And when a heavy duty him compels +To shed the blood of all and to destroy, +And all shall curse him, one heart yet alone +Shall dare afar to bless him.” Here I chose +My habitation and my grave apart, +In silence, where the sacrilege of groans +The traveller dare not listen. Thou, I know, +Lovest to walk alone. Within myself +I thought, “Maybe at even he will come, +Having his comrades left behind, to hold +Converse with winds and billows of the lake; +And he will think of me and hear my voice.” +And Heaven did fulfil my innocent wish. +Thou earnest; thou didst understand my song. +I prayed in former times that dreams might bless +Me with thine image, though the form were mute: +To-day, what happiness! To-day, together,— +Together we may weep! + + KONRAD. + + And wherefore weep? +I wept, thou dost remember, when I tore +Myself for ever from thy dear embrace, +And of my free will died from happiness, +That thus I might designs of blood fulfil. +That too long martyrdom at length is crowned. +Now stand I at the summit of desires; +I can revenge me on the enemy. +And thou hast come to tear my victory from me! +Till now, when from the window of thy turret +Thou didst look on me, in the world’s whole circle +Again there seemed no thing to meet my eye, +But the lake only, and the tower and grate. +Around me all with tumult seethes of war. +’Mid trumpet clamour, ’mid the clash of arms, +I seek impatient with a straining ear, +For the angelic sound of thy sweet lips, +And all the day for me is waiting hope. +And when the evening season I have reached, +I wish to lengthen it by memories: +I reckon by its evenings all my life. +Meanwhile the Order murmurs at repose, +Entreat for war, demand their own perdition; +And vengeful Halban will not let me breathe, +But still recalls to me those ancient vows, +The slaughtered hamlets, and the lands destroyed; +Or if I will not listen his reproaches, +He with one sigh, one glance, one beckoning, +Can blow my smouldering vengeance to a flame. +Now seems my destiny to near its end; +Nought the Crusaders can withhold from war. +A messenger from Rome came yesterday. +From the world’s every quarter, clouds unnumbered +A pious zeal hath gathered in the field, +And all call out to me to lead them on +With sword and cross upon the walls of Wilna. +And yet—with shame I must confess—ev’n now, +While destinies of mighty nations pend, +I think of thee, and still invent delays, +That we may pass together one more day. +O youth! how fearful was thy sacrifice! +When young, love, happiness, a very heaven, +I for a nation’s cause could sacrifice +With grief, but courage;—and to-day, grown old,— +To-day despair, my duty, and God’s will +Compel me to the field, and still I dare not +Tear my grey head from these walls’ pedestal, +That I may not forego thy sweet conversing. + +He ceased. Groans only issued from the tower. +Long hours flowed by in silence. Now the night +Reddened, and now the water’s stilly face +Blushed with the ray of dawn. Among the leaves +Of sleeping bushes with a rustling murmur +The morning freshness flew. The birds awoke +With their soft notes, then once again they ceased, +And by long-during silence gave to know +They had too early woken. Konrad rose, +Lifted his eyes unto the tower, and looked +With anguish on the grate. The nightingale +Awoke in song, then Konrad looked around. +’Tis morning! and he let his visor down, +And in his cloak’s wide folds concealed his face. +With beckoning of his hand he signs adieu, +And in the bushes how is lost + Ev’n thus, +A spirit infernal from a hermit’s door +Doth vanish at the sound of matin bell. + + + + + +IV. + + +THE FESTIVAL. + + +IT was the Patron’s day, a solemn feast; +Komturs and brethren to the city ride; +White banners wave upon the castle towers: +Konrad invites the knights to festival. + +A hundred white cloaks wave around the board, +On every mantle is the long black cross,—These +are the brethren, and behind them stand +The young esquires to serve them, in a ring. + +Konrad sat at the top; upon his left +The place was Witold’s,8 with his leaders brave,— +One time their foe, to-day the Order’s guest, +Leagued against Litwa as their firm ally. + +The Master, rising, gives the festal word, +“Rejoice we in the Lord!” The goblets gleamed. +“Rejoice we in the Lord!” cried thousand voices. +The silver shone, the wine poured forth in streams. + +Silent sat Wallenrod, upon his elbow +Leaning, and heard with scorn the unseemly noise. +The uproar ceased; scarcely low-spoken jests +Alternate here and there the cup’s light clash. + +“Let us rejoice,” he says. “How now, my brethren! +Beseems it valiant knights to thus rejoice? +One time a drunken clamour, now low murmurs? +Must we then feast like bandits or like monks? + +“There were far other customs in my time, +When on the battlefield with corpses piled, +On Castile’s mountains or in Finland’s woods, +We drank beside the camp-fire. + + “Those were songs! +Is there no bard, no minstrel in the crowd? +Wine maketh glad indeed the heart of man, +But song it is that forms the spirit’s wine.” + +Then various singers all at once arose; +A fat Italian here, with birdlike tones, +Sings Konrad’s valour and great piety; +And there a troubadour from the Garonne, +The stories of enamoured shepherds sings, +Of maids enchanted and of wandering knights. + +Wallenrod slept;—meanwhile the songs are o’er. +Awakened sudden by the loss of sound, +He to the Italian cast a purse of gold. +“To me alone,” he said, “thou didst sing praise. +Another may not give thee recompense; +Take and depart. Let that young troubadour, +Who serveth youth and beauty, pardon us +That in the knightly throng we have no damsel, +To fasten a vain rosebud to his breast + +The roses here are faded. I would have +Another bard,—the cloister knight desires +Another song; but be it wild and harsh, +Like to the voice of horns, the clash of swords. +And be it gloomy as the cloister walls, +And fiery as a solitary drunkard. + +“Of us, who sanctify and murder men, +Let song of murderous tone proclaim the saintship, +And melt our heart, and rouse to rage,—and weary; +And let it then again affright the weary. +Such is our life, and such our song should be; +Who then will sing it?” + + “I,” replied an old +And venerable man, who near the door +Sat ’mid the squires and pages, by his robe +Prussian or Litwin. Thick his beard, by age +Whitened; the last grey hairs wave on his head; +His brow and eyes are covered by a veil; +Sufferings and years are graven on his face. + +He bore in his right hand a Prussian lute, +But towards the table stretched his left hand forth, +And by this sign entreated audience. +All then were silent. + “I will sing,” he cried. +“Once sang I to the Prussians and to Litwa; +Some now have perished in their land’s defence; +Others will not outlive their country’s loss, +But rather slay themselves upon her corse; +As servants true, in good and evil lot, +Will perish on their benefactor’s pile. +Others more shamefully in forests hide; +Others, like Witold, dwell among you here. + +“But after death?—Germans! ye know full well. +Ask of the wicked traitors to their land +What, they shall do when, in that further world, +Condemned to burning of eternal fires, +They would their ancestors invoke from paradise? +What language shall entreat them for their aid? +If in their German, their barbaric speech, +The forefathers will know their children’s voice. + +“O children! what a foul disgrace for Litwa, +That none of you, aye, none, defended me, +When from the shrine, the hoary Wajdelote,(4) +Away they dragged me into German chains! +Alone in foreign lands have I grown old. +A singer!—alas! to no one can I sing! +On Litwa looking, I wept out mine eyes. +To-day, if I would sigh towards my home, +I know not where that home beloved lies, +If here, or there, or in another place. + +“Here only, in my heart, have I preserved +That in my Fatherland my best possession; +And these poor remnants of my former treasure +You Germans take from me,—take memory from me! + +“As a defeated knight in tournament +Escapes with life though honour has been lost; +And, dragging out despisèd days in scorn, +Returns once more unto his conqueror; +And for the last time straining forth his arm, +Breaketh his sword beneath the victor’s feet,— +So my last failing courage me inspires; +Yet once more to the lute my hand is bold; +Let the last Wajdelote of Litwa sing +Litwa’s last song!” + He ended, and awaited +The Master’s answer. All in silence deep +Await. With mockery and with curious eye +Konrad tracks Witold’s every look and motion. + +They noted all how when the Wajdelote +Of traitors spoke, a change o’er Witold came. +Livid he grew and pale again he blushed, +Alike tormented by his rage and shame. +At last, his sabre casting from his side, +He goes, dividing all the astonished crowd. +He looked upon the old man, stayed his steps; +The clouds of anger hanging o’er his brow +Fell sudden in a rapid flood of tears; +He turned, sat down, with cloak he veiled his face, +And into secret meditation plunged + +The Germans whispered, “Shall we to our feasts +Admit old beggars? Who will hear the song, +And who will understand?” Such voices were +Among the crowd of revellers, and broken +By constant peals of ever-growing laughter. +The pages cry, whistling on nuts, “Behold! +This is the tune of the Litvanian song.” + +Upon that Konrad rose. “Ye valiant knights! +To-day the Order, by a solemn custom, +Receiveth gifts from princes and from towns, +As homage from a conquered country due. +The beggar brings a song as offering +To you: forbid we not the old man’s homage. +Take we the song; ’twill be the widow’s mite. + +“Among us we behold the Litwin prince; +His captains are the Order’s guests: to him +Sweet will it be to list the memory +Of ancient deeds, recalled in native speech. +Who understands not, let him go from hence. +I love betimes to hear the gloomy groans +Of those Litvanian songs, not understood, +Even as I love the noise of warring waves, +Or the soft murmur of the rain in spring;— +Sweetly they charm to sleep. Sing, ancient bard!” + + SONG OF THE WAJDELOTE.9 + +When over Litwa cometh plague and death, +The bard’s prophetic eye beholds, afraid. +If to the Wajdelote’s word be given faith, +On desert plains and churchyards, sayeth fame, +Stands visibly the pestilential maid,10 +In white, upon her brow a wreath of flame,— +Her brow the trees of Bialowiez11 outbraves,— +And in her hand a blood-stained cloth she waves. + +The castle guards in terror veil their eyes, +The peasants’ dogs, deep burrowing in the ground, +Scent death approaching, howl with fearful cries + +The maid’s ill-boding step, o’er all is found; +O’er hamlets, castles, and rich towns she goes. +Oft as she waves the bloody cloth, no less +A palace changes to a wilderness; +Where treads her foot a recent grave up-grows. + +O woeful sight! But yet a heavier doom +Foretold to Litwa from the German side,— +The shining helmet with the ostrich plume, +And the wide mantle with the black cross dyed. + +For where that spectre’s fearful step has passed, +Nought is a hamlet’s ruin or a town, +But a whole country to the grave is cast +O thou to whom is Litwa’s spirit dear! +Come, on the graves of nations sit we down; +We’ll meditate, and sing, and shed the tear. + +O native song! between the elder day, +Ark of the Covenant, and younger times, +Wherein their heroes’ swords the people lay, +Their flowers of thought and web of native rhymes. + +Thou ark! no stroke can break thee or subdue, +While thine own people hold thee not debased. +O native song! thou art as guardian placed, +Defending memories of a nation’s word. +The Archangel’s wings are thine, his voice thine too, +And often wieldest thou Archangel’s sword. + +The flame devoureth story’s pictured words, +And thieves with steel wide scatter treasure hoards. +But scatheless is the song the poet sings. +And should vile spirits still refuse to give +Sorrow and hope, whereby the song may live, +Upward she flieth and to ruins clings, +And thence relateth ancient histories. +The nightingale from burning dwellings flits, +But on the roof, a moment yet she sits; +When falls the roof she to the forest flies, +And from her laden breast o’er dying embers, +Sings a low dirge the passer-by remembers. + +I heard the song! An ancient peasant swain, +When over bones his iron ploughshare rang, +Stood, and on flute of willow played a strain, +Prayers for the dead, or, with a rhymed lament, +Of you, great childless fathers, then he sang. +The echoes answered. I from far did hear, +And sorrow brought the sight and song more near; +In eyes and ears my spirit all was bent. + +As on the judgment-day the dead past all +The Archangel’s trumpet from the tomb shall call, +So from the song the dead bones upward grew +To giant forms, from sleep of death awake, +Pillars and arches from their ruin anew, +And countless oars splashed in the desert lake; +And soon the castle-gates wide open seemed, +And princes’ crowns and warriors’ armour gleamed. +Now sing the bards, the dance the maidens weave; +I dreamed of marvels,—and awoke to grieve. + +Forests and native hills are vanished, +And thought doth fail, on weary pinions fled, +And sinketh in a hidden stillness drear. +The lute is silent in my stiffened hand, +And ’mid the groan of comrades of my land, +The voices of the past I may not hear. +Still something of that youthful fire once mine +Smoulders within me, and at times its light +Wakens the soul and maketh memory bright. +Then memory, like a lamp of crystalline, +The pencil has with painted colours decked, +Although by dust bedimmed, with scars beflecked; +Place but within its heart a little light, +With freshness of its colours eyes are lured, +On palace walls yet gleaming fair and bright, +Lovely, though yet with dusty cloud obscured. + +O could I but this fire of mine impart +To all my hearers’ breasts, the shapes upraise +Of those dead times, and reach the very heart +Of all my brothers with my burning lays! +But haply even in this passing hour, +Now when their native song their hearts can move, +The pulses of those hearts may beat more strong, +Their souls may feel the ancient pride and love; +And live one moment in such noble power, +As lived their forefathers their whole life long. + +But why invoke the ages long gone by, +And for the present’s glory find no voice? +For in your midst a great man liveth nigh— +I sing of him. Ye, Litwini, rejoice! + +Silent the old man was, and hearkened round, +If still the Germans will permit his song. +Around the hall there reigned a silence deep; +This warms all poets to a newer zeal. +Once more he raised his song, but other theme; +O’er freer cadences his voice did range. +More rarely he, and lighter, touched the strings, +Descending from the hymn to simple story. + + THE WAJDELOTE’S TALE. + +Whence come the Litwins? From a nightly sally; +From church and castle they have won rich spoils, +And crowds of German slaves with fettered hands, +Ropes on their necks, follow the victors’ steeds. +They look towards Prussia and dissolve in tears, +On Kowno look, commend their souls to God. +In midst of Kowno stretches Perun’s plain; +The Litwin princes, there returned from conquest, +Do burn the German knights in sacrifice.12 +Two captive knights untroubled ride to Kowno, +One fair and young, the other bowed with years. +They in the battle left the German troops, +Fled to the Litwins. Kiejstut did receive them, +But led them to the castle under guard. +He asks their race, with what intent they come. +“I know not,” said the youth, “my race or name; +In childhood was I made the Germans’ captive. +I recollect alone, somewhere in Litwa, +Amid a great town stood my father’s house. +It was a wooden town on lofty hills, +The house was of red brick. Around the hills +Murmured a wood of fir-trees on the plains; +Among the woods a white lake gleamed afar. +One night a shout aroused us from our sleep; +A fiery day dawned in the window, shook +The window-panes, and whirling wreaths of smoke +Burst forth within the house. We to the door. +Flames curled through all the streets, sparks fell like hail. +A horrid cry arose, ‘To arms! the Germans +Are in the town! to arms!’ My father rushed +Forth with his sword,—rushed forth—returned no more! +The Germans poured into the house. One seized me +And caught me to his saddle. What came further +I know not; but long, long my mother’s shrieks +I heard ’mid clash of swords, ’mid fall of houses. +This cry long followed me, stayed in my ear; +Even now when I view flames and falling houses, +This cry wakes in my soul as echo wakes +In caverns after thunder’s voice. Behold +My memories all of Litwa and my parents. +Sometimes in dreams I view the honoured forms +Of mother, father, brethren; but anew +Some cloud mysterious veils their features o’er, +Thicker and darker growing evermore. +The years of childhood passed away. I lived +A German among Germans, and they gave me +The name of Walter,13 Alf thereto as surname. +German the name, my soul remained Litvanian; +Grief for my parents, for the strangers hatred +Remained. The Master Winrych in his palace +Reared me, himself did hold me to the font, +Loved and caressed me as his very son. +But weary in his palace, from his knees +I fled unto the Wajdelote. That time +Among the Germans was a Litwin bard, +Captive for many years,—interpreter, +He served the army. When he heard of me +That I was orphan and Litvanian, +He told of Litwa, cheered my longing soul +With his caresses, song, and with the sound +Of the Litvanian speech. He often led me +To the grey Niemen’s shores; from thence I joyed +To look upon my country’s well-loved mountains. +And when unto the castle we returned, +He dried my tears to waken no suspicion: +He dried my tears, but kindled in me vengeance +Against the Germans. I remember well +How, when we came again into the castle, +I sharpened secretly a knife, with what +Delight of vengeance cut I Winrych’s carpets, +Or broke his mirrors, on his shining shield +Flung sand, or spit upon it. Later on, +When grown near manhood, from Klajpedo’s port +I sailed with the old man to view the shores +Of Litwa. There I plucked my country’s flowers; +Their magic fragrance woke within my soul +Some ancient, dark remembrance. With the fragrance +Intoxicated, seemed me that a child +Once more I grew, and in my parents’ garden, +Played with my little brothers. The old man +Assisted memory with his words, more lovely +Than herbs and flowers,—painted the happy past, +How sweet in native land ’mid friends and kin +To pass one’s youth, how many Litwin children +Knew not such bliss, in the Order’s fetters weeping. +I heard this on the plains, but on the beach, +Where the white billows break with roaring breasts, +And from their foamy throat cast streams of sand, +‘Thou seest,’ the old man then was used to say, +‘The grassy carpet of this seaboard meadow. +The sand blows over it. These fragrant herbs, +Thou seest, would pierce the deadly covering, +By their brow’s strength. In vain, alas! for now +Another hydra comes of gravel-dust, +Spreads its white fins, subdues the living lands, +Stretching its kingdom of wild desert round. +My son! the gifts of spring are living cast +Into the grave. Behold! they are conquered peoples, +Our brothers the Litwini! Son, this sand +Storm-driven from the sea, it is the Order.’ +My heart did pain me hearing, and I longed +To murder all Crusaders, or to fly +To Litwa; but the old man checked my zeal. +‘To free knights,’ said he, ‘it is free to choose’ +Their weapon, and with equal strength to fight +in open field. Thou art a slave; the only +Weapon that slaves may use is treachery. +Remain awhile and learn the Germans’ war-craft; +Try thou to gain their confidence; we later +Shall see what thing to do.’ I was obedient +Unto the old man’s words—went with the Germans. +But in the first fight, scarce I viewed the standards, +Scarce did I hear my, nation’s songs of war, +I sprang unto our own,—led the old man with me. +As the young falcon, severed from his nest, +And nourished in a cage, although the fowlers +By cruel torments strip him of his reason, +And send him forth to war on brother-falcons; +Soon as he rises ’mid the clouds, soon as +His eyes o’erstretch the far unmeasured plains +Of his blue Fatherland, he breathes free air, +And hears the rustle of his wings.—Return +Unto thy home, O fowler! do not wait +To see the falcon in his narrow cage.” + +The youth made end; with wonder Kiejstut heard, +And listened also Kiejstut’s daughter fair, +Aldona, young and lovely as a goddess. +The autumn passes, therewith evenings lengthen; +And Kiejstut’s daughter, as accustomed, sits +Among her sisters and her comrades’ train, +Weaves at the loom or spins the distaff thread; +But as the needles fly or spindles turn, +Walter stands by and telleth wondrous tales, +About the German countries and his youth. +The damsel seizes all that Walter speaks, +Her soul, insatiable, devours all things; +She knows them all by heart, repeats in dreams. +Walter related of the castle halls, +Great towns beyond the Niemen, what rich dresses, +What splendid pastimes; how in tourney knights +Break lances, and the damsels look upon them +Down from their galleries, and adjudge the prize. +He spoke of the great God who rules beyond +The Niemen, and His Son’s Immaculate Mother, +Whose angel form he showed in wondrous picture. +This picture piously adorned his breast; +The youth now gave it to the fair Litwinka, +The day he brought her to the holy faith, +When he prayed with her;—he would teach her all +He knew himself. Alas! he taught her too +That which as yet he knew not,—taught her love. +And he himself learned much. With what delight +He from her lips the half-forgotten words +Heard of Litvanian speech. New feelings rose +With each new-risen word like sparks from ashes. +Sweet were the names of family, of friendship, +And sweeter yet than all the name of love, +Which no word equals here on earth, but—country. + +“Whence,” Kiejstut thought, “my daughters sudden change? +Where is her former mirth, her childish sports? +On holidays all maidens join in dance; +She sits alone, or converse holds with Walter. +On other days the needle or the loom +Engage the damsels; from her hands the needle +Falls, and the threads are tangled in the loom. +She sees not what she does; all tell me so. +And yesterday, I marked she sewed a rose, +The flowers with green, the leaves with rosy silk. +How could she know this, when her eyes and thoughts +Seek only Walter’s eyes, seek his discourse? +Oft as I ask, ‘Where goes she?’ ‘To the valley.’ +‘Whence comes she?’ ‘From the valley.’ ‘What is there?’ +‘The youth has made in it a garden for her.’ +What! is that garden fairer than my orchards? +(For Kiejstut owned proud orchards full of apples +And pears, allurement of the Kowno damsels.) +’Tis not the garden lures her. I have marked +Her windows in the winter; all the panes +Which look on Niemen clear are as in May; +The frost has not obscured the crystal glass. +Thence Walter comes. She sat beside the window, +And with her burning sighs did melt the ice. +I thought, he teaches her to read and write, +Hearing all princes now instruct their children,— +A good lad, valiant, skilled like priest in books. +Shall I expel him from my house? He is +So needful to our Litwa; he can rank +The troops as can no other; rampart mounds +He best can heap; the thunder-arms direct. +I have one behind my army.—Walter, come, +And be my son-in-law, and fight for Litwa.” + +So Walter wed Aldona. Germans! you +No doubt will think this is the story’s end; +For in your love romances when the knights +Are married, then the minstrel ends his song, +And only adds, “They lived long and were happy.” +Well Walter loved his wife; his noble soul +Yet found no happiness in heart or home, +For in the country was there blessing none. + +The snows scarce vanished, scarce the first lark sung;— +The lark to other lands sings love and joy, +But unto hapless Litwa he proclaims +With every year carnage and fire;—on march +Crusading armies in unnumbered crowds. +Now from the hills beyond the Niemen echo +To Kowno bears a mighty army’s shouts, +The clang of armour and the neigh of steeds. +Like mist the camp descends, o’erflows the plain, +And here and there the leaders’ standards gleam +Like lightning ere the storm. The Germans stood +Upon the shore, threw bridges o’er the Niemen, +And day by day the walls and bastions fall +With shock of battering-ram, and night by night +The storming mines work underground like moles; +Beneath the heavens the bomb in fiery flight +Rises, and swoops upon the city roofs, +As falls the falcon on the lesser fowl. +Kowno is fallen in ruins. Then the Litwin +Retires to Kiejdan; Kiejdan falls in ruin. +Then Litwa makes defence in woods and hills; +The Germans march on farther, robbing, burning; +Kiejstut and Walter first in battle, last +Retreating. Kiejstut was untroubled still, +From childhood used to combat with his foe, +To attack, to conquer, or to fly. He knew +His forefathers warred ever with the Germans; +He, following in their footsteps, ever fought, +And cared not for the future. Other were +The thoughts of Walter. Nurtured ’mid the Germans, +He knew the Order’s power; the Master’s summons, +He knew, could draw forth armies, treasures, swords, +From all of Europe. Prussia made defence; +In former times the Teutons broke the Prussians; +Sooner or later Litwa meets such fate. +He had seen the Prussians’ misery; he trembled +To think of Litwa’s future. “Son,” cries Kiejstut, +“Thou art an evil prophet; thou hast reft +The veil before my eyes, to show the abyss. +While hearing thee, it seemed my hands grew weak, +With victory’s hope all courage left my breast +How shall we with the German power contend?” +“Father,” said Walter, “one sole way I know, +A dreadful way, alas! effectual! +Some day I may reveal it.” Thus did they +Converse, the battle over, ere the trumpet +Did summon to fresh battles and defeats. +Kiejstut grew ever sadder, and how changed +Seemed Walter; never over-merry he. +Even in happy moments some light shade +Of thought o’erhung his brow, but with Aldona +Serene was once his brow and visage tranquil, +Aye welcoming her with smiles, with tender glance +Bidding farewell to her. Now, as it seemed, +He was tormented by some hidden pain. +By morn, before the house, wringing his hands, +He looked upon the smoke of towns and hamlets, +Burning far off; there gazed he with wild eyes. +By night he started out of sleep, and looked +Forth from the window on the blood-red blaze. +“Husband, what ails thee?” asks with tears Aldona. +“What ails me? Shall I peaceful sleep till Germans +Shall give me sleeping, bound, to hangman’s hands?” +“O husband! Heaven forbid! The sentries guard +Full well the trenches.” “True the sentries guard them. +I watch and grasp the sabre in my hand. +But when the sentries die the sword is broken. +List, if I live to old age, wretched age——” +“But Heaven will give us comfort in our children.” +“The Germans will fall on us, slay the wife, +The children tear away, and lead them far, +Teach them to loose the arrow on their father. +Myself my father, brothers, might have slain, +Unless the Wajdelote——” “Dear Walter! go we +Farther in Litwa; hide we from the Germans +In mountains and in forests.” “Aye, we go, +And other mothers, children leave behind. +Thus fled the Prussians; Germans overtook them +In Litwa. If they trace us in the mountains——” +“Let us again go farther.” “Farther? farther? +Unhappy one! shall we go far from Litwa, +Into the Tartar’s or the Rusin’s hands?” +Hushed was Aldona, troubled at this answer, +For hitherto it had to her appeared +Her Fatherland were long as is the world, +Wide without end; and now for the first time +She heard there was no refuge in all Litwa. +Wringing her hands she asked, “What may be done?” + +“One way, Aldona, one remains to Litwa +To break the Order’s power: that way I know; +But ask it not for God’s sake. Hundred times +Be cursed that hour in which, constrained by foes, +I seize these means.” No farther would he say, +Heard not Aldona’s prayers, but only heard +And saw before him Litwa’s misery. +At last the flame of vengeance, nursed in silence, +By sight of suffering and defeat, increased, +And did surround his heart, consumed all feelings— +One feeling even, hitherto life-sweetening,— +Feeling of love. So when the hunters light +A hidden fire ’neath oaks of Bialowiez, +It burns away the inner pith; the monarch +Of the forest loses all his waving leaves, +His branches fly off, even that green crown +That once adorned his brow, the mistletoe, +Dries up and withers. +Long the Litwini +Wandered through castles, mountains, and through woods, +The Germans harrying or by them attacked, +Till fought the dreadful fight on Rudaw’s plains, +Where many thousand Litwin youth lay slaughtered, +Beside as many of the Teuton host +Soon reinforcements from beyond the sea +Came to the Germans. Kiejstut then and Walter +Ascended with a handful to the mountains. +With broken sabres and with dinted shields, +Covered with dust and clotted gore, they went +Gloomy towards home. There Walter neither looked +Upon his wife, nor spoke to her one word; +But in the German tongue held he discourse +With Kiejstut and the Wajdelote. Aldona +Nought understood, but yet her heart forebode +Some dire event When ended was their council, +All three turned sorrowing glances on Aldona. +Walter looked longest, with despair’s mute gaze; +Thick-falling teardrops trickled from his eyes; +He fell before Aldona’s feet and pressed +Her hands unto his heart, and pardon begged +For all the things that she had suffered of him. +“Woe!” cried he, “unto women loving madmen, +Whose hearts domestic happiness contents not. +Great hearts, Aldona, are like hives too large; +Honey can fill them not, and they become +The lizard’s nest. Forgive me, dear Aldona! +To-day I would remain at home, to-day +Forget all things; be we for each to-day +What once we used to be. To-morrow——” But +He could not finish. What joy then Aldona’s! +She thought, unhappy, Walter would be changed, +That he would live in peace and joyousness. +Less thoughtful did she see him, in his eyes +More life; she saw new colour in his cheeks; +And all that evening at Aldona’s feet +Spent Walter. Litwa, Teutons, and the war +He cast awhile into forgetfulness; +Talked of those happy times when first he came +To Litwa, his first converse with Aldona, +The first walk to the valley, and of all +Those childish things, but memorable to the heart, +Of that first love. Wherefore such sweet discourse +Must he break off with that sad word—to-morrow, +And plunge in thought, look long upon his wife? +Tears circle in his eyes. Would he then speak, +But dares not? Did he but invoke the feelings, +The memories of ancient happiness, +Only to bid farewell to them? Shall all +This evening’s converse, all its sweet caresses, +Be but the last, last flickerings of love’s torch? +’Tis vain to ask. Aldona looks and waits, +Uncertain. Passing from the room, she gazed +Still through the crannies. Walter poured out wine, +And emptied many cups, and near him kept +The hoary Wajdelote through all the night. + +Scarce risen had the sun when hoofs were clattering; +Up with the morning mists two riders haste; +The guards all missed them; one eye could not miss. +A lover’s eyes are vigilant. Aldona +Had guessed their flight; she rushed into the valley. +Sad was that meeting. “O my love, return! +Return thou home—return! Thou must be happy, +Blest in embraces of thy family. +Thou art young and fair; comfort will soon be thine. +Forget me. Many princes formerly +Contended for thy hand. And thou art free, +Being as widow left of a great man, +Who for his country’s weal renounced ev’n thee! +Farewell! forget; but weep for me at times; +For Walter loses all; he doth remain +Lone as the lone wind in the wilderness, +And he must wander over all the world, +To plunder, murder, and at last to perish +By shameful death. But after vanished years +The name of Alf again shall sound in Litwa, +And from the Wajdelote’s lips thou shalt again +Hear of his deeds. Then, loved one, think thou then, +This dreadful knight, with cloud of mystery veiled, +Is known to thee alone,—was once thy husband; +And be thy pride thy desolation’s comfort.” +Silent Aldona did assent, although +She heard no word. “Thou goest! thou goest!” she cried, +And her own anguish wrought with her own words. +“Thou goest!” this one word sounded in her ear. +She framed no thought, nothing recalled; her thoughts, +Her memories, her future, tangled all; +But guessed her heart she never could return, +Nor e’er forget. Her eyes all wandering roved, +And many times met Walter’s wildered look, +Wherein she might not find the ancient joy; +She seemed to seek for something new around, +And looked once more. ’Twas forest wilderness. +Beyond the Niemen ’mid the forests gleamed +A turret height; a convent ’twas of nuns, +Sad dwelling of the Christians. On this tower +Rested Aldona’s eyes and thoughts; the dove +Seized by the wind amidst a raging sea, +Thus falls upon an unknown vessel’s mast. +And Walter understood Aldona. Silent +He followed her, and told her his design, +Commanding secrecy before the world. +And at the doors—ah! fearful was that parting! +Alf rode off with the Wajdelote. Till now +Nought has been heard of them. But woe to him +If he fulfil not hitherto his vows, +If, having all his bliss renounced and poisoned +Aldona’s happiness, and sacrificed +So much, he still have sacrificed in vain! +The future shows the rest. I have ended, Germans. + +This is the end?—great murmur in the hall. +“Who is this Walter, and what are his deeds? +Where? vengeance upon whom?” the hearers cried. +The Master only, ’mid the murmuring crowd, +In silence sat with head bent down. He seemed +As deeply moved; each instant snatches cups +Of wine, and to the very bottom drains. +Upon him came a change of somewhat new, +Many emotions break in sudden lightnings, +And circle o’er his burning countenance; +His pale lips quiver, and his wandering eyes +Fly round like swallows in the midst of storm. +At last he cast his mantle off, and sprang +Into the midst. “Where is the story’s end? +Sing me at once the end or give the lute. +Why stand’st thou trembling? Give the lute to me. +Fill up the goblets; I will sing the end +If thou dost fear to sing it. + +“I know ye. Every song the Wajdelote sings +Portendeth woe, as howls of dogs at night. +Murders and burnings ye delight to sing, +Ye leave to us—glory and sorrowing. +Yet in the cradle doth your traitorous song +Circle the infant’s breast in reptile form, +And cruellest poison sheds into the soul, +Foolish desire of praise and patriot love. +“She follows hard the footsteps of a youth +Like shade of slaughtered foe, sometimes reveals +Herself in midst of banquets, mixing blood +In cups of joy. I have heard the song—too well, +Alas! Tis done, ’tis done! I know thee, traitor! +Thou winnest! War! what triumph for a poet! +Give to me wine; now my designs are working. + +“I know the song’s end. No! I’ll sing another. +When on the mountains of Castile I fought, +There the Moors taught me ballads. Old man! play +That melody, that childish melody, +Which in the valley,—’twas a blessed time; +Unto that music did I ever sing. +Return at once, old man, for by all gods, +German or Prussian——” + + The old man must return. +He struck the lute, and with uncertain voice +Followed the savage tones of Konrad, as +A slave may walk behind his angry lord. + +Meanwhile the lights went out upon the table. +The knights had slumbered at the lengthy banquet, +But Konrad sings, and they awake again. +They stand, and, in a narrow circle pressed, +Attentive marked the ballad’s every word. + + BALLAD. + + ALPUJARA. + +Ruined lie the Moorish cities, + Still the Moors upraise the sword; +In the country still resisting, + Reigns the pestilence as lord. + +And the towers of Alpujara + Brave Almanzor still defends: +Floats below the Spaniard’s banner, + Siege to-morrow he intends. + +Roar the guns at sunrise loudly, + Ramparts break, and crumble walls; +From the towers the cross gleams proudly,— + Now the Spaniard owns these halls. + +Sad Almanzor views his warriors + Slain in battle desperate; +Hews his way through swords and lances, + Flieth Spain’s pursuing hate. + +Now the Spaniards in the fortress, + ’Mid the stones and corpses there, +Hold the feast and drain the wine-cup, + And the spoils and captives share. + +Soon the guard.without announces + That a stranger knight doth wait, +Craving for a swift admittance, + Bringing tidings of great weight + +’Twas the vanquished Moor Almanzor. + Swift his mantle off was thrown; +To the Spaniards he surrenders, + And he craves for life alone. + +“I am come, ye Christian warriors, + To submit me to your power; +I will serve the God of Christians, + Own your prophet from this hour, + +“Let the blast of fame, world-filling, + Say, the Arab chief o’erthrown +Would be brother to his victors, + Vassal of a stranger’s crown.” + +Well the Spaniard prizes valour. + So the great Almanzor knowing, +They embraced him, circled round him, + As their true companion showing. + +Each one then Almanzor greeted, + And their captain close embraced: +Hung upon his neck, and kissed him; + Such true love their friendship graced. + +All at once his strength grew feebler, + And he fell upon the ground; +But he drew the Spaniard with him, + To his feet the turban bound. + +All with wonder looked upon him, + And his livid visage scan; +Horrid smiles deformed his features, + And with blood his eyes o’erran. + +“Christian dogs,” he cries, “look on me, + If you understand this thing; +I deceived you, from Granada + Come I, and the plague I bring. + +“For my kiss breathed venom in ye, + And the plague shall lay you low; +Come and look upon my tortures— + Ye such death must undergo.” + +Wide he cast his eyes around him, + As he would eternally +Chain all Spaniards to his bosom; + And a horrid laugh laughed he. + +Laughed, and died; his eyes yet open, + Open yet his lips remained: +In that hellish smile for ever + Those cold features still were strained. + +Fled the Spaniards from the city. + But the plague their steps pursuing, +Ere they left doomed Alpujara, + Was that gallant host’s undoing. + +“Thus years ago the Moors avenged themselves; +Would you the vengeance of the Litwin know? +What if some day it issue forth in words, +And come to mingle poison in the wine? +But no! ah, no! to-day are other customs, +Prince Witold; for to-day the Litwin lords +Come to deliver us their native land, +And seek for vengeance on their harassed people. + +“But yet, indeed, not all—oh! no, by Perun! +There are in Litwa yet—I’ll sing yet to you! +Away from me that lute—a string is broken. +No song will be—but I do trust indeed +One time there will be. This day, o’er filled cups,— +I have drunk too much—rejoice yourselves and play! +And thou Al—manzor, leave my sight, old man! +Away with Halban—leave me here alone.” + +He said, and turning by uncertain way, +He found his place, and sank into his chair. +Still threatening somewhat, stamping with his foot, +O’erturned the table with the wine and cups. +At last grown weaker, he inclined his head +Upon the chair-arm; soon his glance was quenched; +His quivering lips were covered o’er with foam. +He slept. + +The knights awhile in fixed amazement stood: +They knew full well Konrad’s unhappy custom; +How, when inflamed unto excess with wine, +Into wild transports and forgetfulness +He falls; but at a banquet, public shame! +Before the strangers, in such unheard rage! +Who thus inflamed him? Where that Wajdelote? +He vanished privately, none know of him. + +Stories there were that Halban thus disguised +To Konrad that Litvanian song had sung, +To kindle by this means the zeal of Christians +To battle against heathenesse; but whence +A change so sudden in the Master? Wherefore +Did Witold show such angry wrath? What means +The Master’s strange, wild ballad? With conjectures, +Each vainly tries to track the hidden secret. + + + + + +V. + + +WAR.14 + + +War now. For Konrad may no longer curb +The people’s zeal, the council’s fierce insistance: +The whole land calls for vengeance long delayed, +For Litwa’s inroad, and for Witold’s treason. + +Witold, once suitor for the Order’s grace, +To aid recovery of his capital, +After the banquet, on this new report +That the Crusading hosts will take the field, +Changed measures—traitor to his recent friendship, +And led his knights in secrecy away. + +And in the Teuton castles on the road +He entered, by the Master’s forged commands; +And then disarming all the garrison, +Annihilated all with fire and sword. +The Order, roused with burning rage and shame, +Against the heathens stirred up fierce Crusade; +The Pope sends forth a bull,—seas, land, o’erflow +At once with swarms of warriors numberless, +Princes with mighty following of vassals; +The Red Cross decks their armour. Each his life +Devotes to christen pagans,—or to die. + +They went towards Litwa. What their actions there? +If thou wouldst know, gaze from the ramparts’ heights, +Look towards Litwa, as the day declines. +Thou see’st a fiery blaze; the vault of heaven +O’er-deluged with a stream of bloody flame; +Behold the annals of invading war. +Few words relate their carnage, plunder, fire, +And blaze, which may rejoice the foolish crowd, +But in it wise men do with fear confess, +A voice that crieth for revenge to Heaven. + +The winds blew on that dreadful fire apace, +The knights marched further to the heart of Litwa. +Report says Kowno, Wilna, are besieged. +Then ceased report, and couriers came no more. +No longer in the region flames were seen, +But further off the heaven’s ruddy blaze. +In vain the Prussians look with eager hope, +For spoils and prisoners of the conquered land; +In vain despatch swift couriers for the news, +The couriers hasten—and return no more. +As each this cruel doubt interpreteth, +He willingly would know despair itself. + +The autumn passed away. The winter’s snows +Revelled upon the mountains, block the ways. +Once more upon the distant heaven shine— +Midnight auroras? or the fires of war? +And ever nearer comes the light of flames, +And nearer yet the heaven’s ruddy blaze. + +From Marienbourg the folk look on the road; +They see afar—grovelling through deepest snows, +Some travellers!—Konrad! And our generals! +How welcome them? Victors? or fugitive? +Where are the others? Konrad raised his hand, +And pointed further off a scattered crowd, +Alas! their very aspect told the secret! +They rush in disarray, plunge in the snowdrifts; +Roll each on each, down treading like vile insects, +Within a narrow vessel perishing; +They push o’er corpses, ever newer crowds, +Hurl those new risen down again to earth. +Some drag still onward chilled and stiffened limbs, +Some on the march have frozen to the road; +But with raised hands the corpses standing point +Straight to the town, like pillars on the way. + +The townsfolk, terror-stricken, curious ran, +Fearing to guess the truth they dared not ask; +For all the story of that luckless war +They in the warriors’ eyes and faces read +For o’er their eyes hung death in frosty shape, +And Famine’s harpy hollowed out their cheeks. +Now are the trumpets of the Litwin heard, +Now rolls the storm, snow whirlwinds o’er the plain; +Far off a multitude of gaunt dogs howls, +And overhead the ravens hover round. + +All perished! Konrad has destroyed them all! +He, that once reaped such glory with the sword, +He, for his prudence formerly renowned, +Timid and careless in this latter war, +Marked not the cunning snares that Witold laid; +Deceived and blinded by the wish of vengeance, +Driving his army on the Litwin steppes, +Wilna thus long in sluggard guise besieged. +When plunder and provisions were consumed, +When hunger came upon the German camp, +And scattered all around, the enemy +Destroyed the auxiliars, cut off all supplies, +Each day a myriad Germans died from need. +Now time approached to end by storm the war, +Or else bethink them of a swift return. +Then Wallenrod, in peace and confidence, +Rode to the chase, or, closed within his tent, +Forged secret treaties, and denied his captains +Admission to the councils of the war. + +And thus in warlike fervour grew he cold, +That by his people’s tears untouched, unmoved, +He deigned not raise the sword in their defence; +All day with folded arms upon his breast, +In thought remaining, or discourse with Halban. +Meanwhile the winter piled its heaps of snow, +And Witold, with his fresh recruited bands, +Besieged the army, fell upon the camp. +Oh! shame in annals of the valiant Order! +The Master first did fly the battle-field! +In place of laurels, and abundant spoil, +He brought the news of Litwa’s victories! +Did ye but mark, when from that thunder stroke +He led this host of spectres to their homes, +What gloomy sadness darkened o’er his brow? +The worm of pain unwound him from his cheek, +And Konrad suffered; but look on his eyes! +That large half-open eye, bright shining throws +Its darts aslant, like comet threatening war; +Each moment changing, like the gleams of night, +Whereby the wily demon travellers lures. +Uniting joy and rabid rage in one, +It shone as with a right Satanic glance. + +Trembled the folk and murmured. Konrad care not. +He called to council the unwilling knights, +Looked on them, spoke, and beckoned. O disgrace! +They hear attentive, and believe his words. +They view Heaven’s judgments in the faults of man; +For whom of humankind persuades not—anguish. + +Tarry, proud ruler! Judgment waits even thee! +In Malborg is a dungeon underground. +There, when the night in darkness wraps the town, +The secret tribunal descends to council.15 +One single lamp upon the high-arched roof, +And day and night it burns mysteriously. +Twelve chairs, in circle placed around a throne,— +Upon the throne the secret book of laws. +Twelve judges each in sable armour clad; +The visages of all inlocked by masks, +In dungeons hide them from the common crowd; +But each thus masked enshrouds him from his fellows. + +All sworn, of their own will, with one accord, +Crimes of their potent rulers to chastise, +Too heinous, or unknown before the world. +And soon as falls on him the last decree, +Not even a brother’s trespass to condone; +Each must by violent or by treasonous ways, +On him condemned fulfil the spoken doom; +Dagger in hand, and rapier at their side. + +One of the maskers now approached the throne, +And standing with drawn sword before the book, + Spoke thus: “Tremendous judges! +Proof now our long suspicion has confirmed. +That man who calls him Konrad Wallenrod, + He is not Wallenrod. +Who is he? ’Tis unknown. Twelve years ago, +From unknown parts he to the Rhine-land came. +When passed Count Wallenrod to Palestine, +He in the count’s train wore an esquire’s dress. +But soon Count Wallenrod, unknown, did perish. +And then his squire, suspected of his death, + Departed secretly from Palestine; + Then did he land upon the Spanish shore; +In battles with the Moors gave proof of valour, +And in the tourneys prizes rich obtained, +And everywhere gained fame as Wallenrod. + He took on him at length the Order’s vows, + Was chosen Master, to the Order’s loss. +How ruled he, all ye know. This latter winter +When we with frost, famine, and Litwa fought, +Konrad in woods and oak-groves rode alone; +And there in secret held discourse with Witold. +Long time my spies have traced his every deed; +Hidden at evening by the corner tower, +They understood not the discourse which Konrad +Did hold with the recluse;—but, dreadful judges, +He spoke, they said, in the Litvanian tongue. +And weighing duly what the messengers +Of our tribunal of this man reported, +And that intelligence my spy late brought, +And fame reporteth, scarcely secretly; +Tremendous judges! I accuse the Master +Of falsehood, murder, heresy, and treason.” + +Here the accuser knelt before the book, +And laid his hand upon the crucifix; +And with an oath confirmed his story’s truth, +By God, and by the Saviour’s agony. +He ceased. The judges arbitrate the cause, +But not by open voice or still discourse; +Scarce by a glance of eye, or sign of hand, +Their deep and dreadful thought communicate. +Each in his turn approached him to the throne, +And with the dagger’s point o’erturned the leaves, +Of the Order’s book, and silent read the law, +Inquiring sentence of his conscience only. +And having judged, his hand lays on his heart, +And all in concord raised the cry of “Woe!” +With threefold echo then the walls repeated, +“Woe!”—In that word alone, that single word, +A sentence lies! The arraigners understood. +Twelve swords were raised aloft; one aim was theirs— +Destined to Konrad’s heart. Then all departed +In gloomy silence, and the walls behind, +Repeated with a fearful echo: “Woe!” + + + + + +VI + + +THE PARTING. + + +A WINTRY dawn, with stormy wind and snow; +Through storm and snow-clouds hastens Wallenrod. +Scarce stands he on the borders of the lake, +He calls aloud, striking the tower with sword. +“Aldona,” cries he, “let us live, Aldona! +Thy lover comes; his vows are all fulfilled, +The foes have perished, all is now fulfilled.” + + THE RECLUSE. + +“Alf! ’tis his voice indeed! My Alf, my love! +What! peace already! thou returnest safe? +Thou goest not forth again?” + + KONRAD. + + “For love of God, +Ask thou no tidings!—Listen, my beloved! +Listen, and weigh with carefulness each word, +The foes have perished. Dost thou see these fires? +Thou see’st? ’Tis Litwa’s havoc with the Germans. +A hundred years heal not the Order’s wounds, +I smote the hundred-headed monster’s heart. +Their treasures wasted, well-springs of their power, +Their towns in flames, a sea of blood has flowed,— +I caused all this! I have fulfilled my vows! +More fearful vengeance hell might not conceive. +I will no more of it—I am a man! +I spent my youth in foul hypocrisy, +In bloody, murders. Now, bent down with age, +Wearied of treasons, I am unfit for war. +Enough of vengeance. Germans, too, are men! +God has enlightened me. I come from Litwa, +And I have seen those places, seen thy castle, +The Kowno castle,—now it lies in ruin. +I turned away, urged thence my rapid course; +And hurried to that valley, our own valley. +All was as formerly! Those woods, those flowers! +All as it was upon that very eve, +When to the valley breathed we long farewell. +Alas! it seems to me but yesterday! +That stone—rememberest thou that high-raised stone +Once of our rambles limit made and end? +It standeth now, though overgrown with moss; +Scarce might I view it, hidden thus in green. +I tore the herb off, watered it with tears. +That grassy seat, where, through the summer noon, +Thou didst among the maples love to rest; +That spring, whose waters then I sought for thee— +I found them all, looked on them, passed around. +And even thy little arbour still remains, +As with dry willow-twigs I fenced it in; +And those dry twigs, a wonder, my Aldona, +That once I planted in the barren sand, +To-day thou wouldst not know them—lovely trees, +And the light leaves of spring upon them wave, +And on them grows the youthful catkin’s down. +Oh! seeing these, a blessing all unknown, +Foreshadowing of joy, revived my heart; +The trees embracing, on my knees I fell +O God! I cried, grant all may be fulfilled! +Oh! may we, to our Fatherland restored, +When dwelling in our Litwa’s native fields, +Again revive to life; may leaves of hope +Again o’erdeck with green our destiny. +Let us return! consent! I rule the Order; +I will bid open. But what need commands? +For were this door a thousand times more hard +Than steel, I’d beat it down—I’d pluck it up; +And thee, O my beloved, to our valley, +There will I lead thee, raise thee with my hand. +Or go we further still? Litwa has deserts; +There lie deep shades in woods of Bialowiez, +Where never rings the clang of foreign swords, +Nor sounds the haughty victor’s signal-word— +No, nor the groanings of our vanquished brothers. +There, in the midst of silent, pastoral joy, +And in thine arms, and on thy bosom, let me +Forget that there are nations in the world; +Or any worlds; we for ourselves will live— +Return, oh! speak, consent!” + Aldona spoke not; +And Konrad, silent, waited yet reply: +Meanwhile the blood-red dawn shone forth in heaven. + +“O God! Aldona, morning is before us, +And men will wake: the guard arrest us here. +Aldona!”—called he, trembling with despair. +No voice was his; beseeching with his eyes, +He lifted to the tower his claspèd hands, +Fell on his knees, and pity to entreat, +Embraced and kissed the walls of that cold tower. + + THE RECLUSE. + +“No, no! the time is past,” her sad voice spoke; +“But be thou tranquil, Heaven will give me strength, +The Lord will shield me from that heaviest stroke. +When here I came, I on the threshold swore +Never to leave this tower, but for the grave. +I wrestled with myself, and thou, my love, +Thou, even thou, against the Lord wouldst aid me. +Wouldst give back to the world a wretched phantom? +Oh think! oh think! if madly I should give +Myself to be persuaded, leave this cave +And fall with rapture into thine embrace; +But thou wouldst know not, neither welcome me, +Avert thine eyes, and ask, with horror struck, +‘What, is this fearful spectre fair Aldona?’ +And thou wouldst seek in this extinguished eye, +And in this visage her—the thought is death! +No, never let the poor recluse’s woe +Offend the beauty of the bright Aldona! + +“Myself, I will confess, forgive me, love! +Oft as the moon with brighter lustre gleams, +Hearing thy voice, I hide behind these walls, +Unwishing, loved one, to behold thee near! +For thou, maybe, art not the same to-day +Which once thou wert, in those sweet years gone by, +When with our hosts didst to our castle ride. +But thou retainest, hidden in my breast, +Those self-same eyes, that posture, form, and dress. +So the fair moth, within the amber drowned, +Retains its primal form eternally. +O Alf! ’twere better far that we remain +That which we were in former days, and as +We shall unite again,—but not on earth. + +“Leave we the beauteous valleys to the happy, +I love the stony stillness of my cell; +For me ’tis bliss enough to see thee living, +And in the evening thy loved voice to hear. +And in this silence, Alf, beloved, we may +Heal every suffering, sweeten every pang, +All treasons, murders, burnings, cast aside, +Strive thou to come but earlier and more frequent. + +“If thou shouldst—listen, on these very plains, +Like to that arbour plant another bower, +And hither bring those willows that thou lovest, +And flowers, and even that stone from out the valley; +There let the children from the hamlet near, +Play joyously beneath their native trees, +And into garlands weave their native plants; +Let them repeat the Lithuanian songs, +For native song doth meditation aid, +And brings me dreams of Litwa and of thee. +And later, later, when my life is o’er, +Here let them sing, and on the grave of Alf.” + +Alf heard no longer; he, on that wild shore, +Wandered on aimless, without thought or will; +A mountain there of ice, a forest there +Allured him; savage sights and hasty course +Afforded him relief in weariness. +His breast was heavy in the winter rain, +He cast aside his mantle, coat-of-mail, +He tore his garments, from his breast threw off +All—all but sorrow! + +Now morning lighted on the city ramparts. +He saw an unknown shadow, stopped, and gazed— +The shadow further moved; with silent steps +It glided o’er the snow, and disappeared +Within the trenches, but a voice was heard +Three times that voice repeated: “Woe, woe, woe!” + +Alf at this voice awoke, and stood in thought +He thought awhile,—and understood the whole. +He drew his sword, and looked to every side; +He turned him round, searched with unquiet eye— +’Twas waste around; only the winter snow +Flew in a whirlwind, and the north wind roared +He looked upon the shore, he stood in grief. +At length with rapid stride, though tottering, +He came again beneath Aldona’s tower. + +Far off he saw her, at the window still. +“Good day!” he cried; “so many, many years, +We saw each other only in the night. +And now good day! what happy augury! +The first good day after so many years! +And canst thou guess, wherefore I come so soon?” + + ALDONA. + +“I will not guess. Farewell, belovèd friend! +The light has risen too brightly—if they knew thee— +Cease to importune me. Farewell till evening. +I cannot come forth—will not” + + ALF. + + “Tis too late. +Know’st thou for what I pray thee? Throw some twig; +No, no, thou hast no flowers. From thy garments +A thread, or from thy tresses cast a lock; +Or throw a pebble from thy prison walls. +To-day I wish—all may not see to-morrow. +I would to-day have some remembrance of thee, +That lay this very morn upon thy breast, +And which a tear shall glow on, lately shed, +For I would lay it on my heart in death, +And bid the gift farewell with my last breath. +I must die shortly, swiftly, suddenly! +Well die together! Dost thou see that shot-hole? +There will I dwell. Each morning for a sign, +I’ll hang a black cloth on the balcony, +And at the grate each evening place a lamp. +There gaze thou steadfast. Throw I down the cloth, +Or if the lamp expires before its time, +Close thou thy window. I maybe return not. +Farewell, beloved!” + He vanished. Still Aldona +Gazed, bending downward from the window grate. +The morn had passed away, the sun had set, +But her white garments, dallying in the wind, +And arms stretched down to earth were long beheld. + +“The sun has set at last,” spoke Alf to Halban, +And pointed from his shot-hole to the sun. +Within the turret, from the early morn +He sat, and looked upon Aldona’s window, +“Give me my cloak and sword. Farewell, true friend; +I go unto the tower. Farewell for long, +Maybe for ever!—Listen to me, Halban. +If, when to-morrow day begins to gleam, +I come not back, leave thou this dwelling-place. +I will, I would give something to thy charge. +How lone am I! either in earth or heaven, +To no one, nowhere, have I aught to say +In my death-hour, except to her and thee! +Farewell unto thee, Halban; she will know it. +Throw down the kerchief if to-morrow morn— +But what is that? Dost hear? There comes a knocking.” +“Who goeth there?” three times the sentry cried. +“Woe!” answered many voices wild and strange. +Resistance none the sentry might oppose; +The door could not withstand the heavy shocks. +The invaders passed the lower galleries through, +And mounted up the winding iron stair +That led to Wallenrod’s last dwelling-place. +Alf with the iron bolt secured the door, +His sabre drew, a cup raised from the board, +Drew near the window. “It is done!” he cried. +He filled, and drank. “Old man, ’tis in thy hands.” + +Halban grew pale. With motion of his hand +He thought to spill the draught—he stopt in thought. +The sounds aye nearer through the doors were heard, +His hand relaxed. “’Tis they, the foes are come!” +“Old man, thou knowest what this uproar means? +What are thy thoughts? Thou hast the goblet full— +I have drunk my portion. In thy hands, old man.” + +Halban gazed on in silence of despair. +“No, no, I will survive even thee, my son! +I would as yet remain to close thine eyes, +And live, so that the glory of thy deed, +I to the world may tell, to ages show. +I’ll traverse Litwa’s castles, hamlets, towns; +And where I pass not, there my song shall fly. +The bard shall sing them unto knights in war, +And women sing them for their babes at home. +Aye! they shall sing them, and in future days +Some venger shall arise from out our bones.”(5) + +Alf fell upon the window-sill with tears, +And long, long time upon the tower he gazed, +As though he yet his gaze would satiate +With those dear sights he shortly must forego. +He hung on Halban’s neck; they mixed their sighs, +In that embrace of long and last farewell. +But at the bolts they heard a steely rattle, +And armèd men came in, and called Alf s name. + +“Traitor, thy head must fall beneath the sword; +Repent thee of thy sins, prepare for death! +Behold this old man, chaplain of the Order, +Cleanse thou thy soul and make a fitting end!” +Alf stood with drawn sword ready for their coming; +But paler aye he grew, he bowed, and tottered, +Leaned on the sill; casting a haughty glance, +His mantle tore off, flung the Master’s badge +On earth, and trampled scornful under foot. + +“Behold the sins committed in my life. +Ready am I to die; what will ye more? +The annals of my ruling will ye hear? +Look on these many thousands hurled to death, +On towns in ruins, and domains in flames. +Hear ye the storm-winds? clouds of snow drive on; +Thither your army’s remnants freeze in ice. +Hear ye? The hungry packs of dogs do howl, +They tear each other for the banquet’s remnant. + +“I caused all this, and I am great and proud, +So many hydras’ heads one blow has felled; +As Samson, by once shaking of the column, +To o’er throw the temple, dying in its ruin.” + +He spoke, looked on the window, and he fell. +But ere he fell, he cast the lamp to earth. +It three times glimmered with a circling blaze, +That rested latterly on Konrad’s brow; +And in its scattered flow the fire’s rust gleamed, +But ever deeper into darkness sank. +At length, as though it gave the sign of death, +One last great ring of light shot forth its blaze; +And in this blaze were seen the eyes of Alf, +All white in death, and now the light was dark. + +And at this moment through the tower walls pierced +A sudden cry,16 strong, lengthened, broken off— +From whose breast came it? Surely ye can guess +But he who heard it readily might tell, +That from the breast whence such a cry escaped, +Now never more should any voice come forth. +For this voice a whole life spoke aloud. + +Thus lute strings, shuddering from a heavy stroke, +Vibrate and burst; in their confusèd sounds +They seem to voice the first notes of a song, +But of such song let none expect the end. + +Such be my singing of Aldona’s fate. +Let music’s angel sing it through in heaven, +And thou, O tender reader, in thy soul. + + + + + +NOTES. + + +(1) _“__In towers of Marienbourg the bells are ringing.__”_ + +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. + +(2) _“__But foreign houses of his fame were full.__”_ + +Houses—so were called the convents, or rather castles, scattered through +various parts of Europe. + +(3) _“__The strife of keen-edged swords__”__ = combattre à outrance._ + +(4) _The Archkomtur._ + +The Grosskomthur was the chief officer after the Grand-Master. + +(5) _“__Some unknown pious woman from afar.__”_ + +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. + +(6) _“__Our master he.__”_ + +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: “Vinrice, ordo laborat.” + +(7) _“__A fire eternal burns in Swentorog’s halls.__”_ + +The castle of Wilna, where formerly was maintained the Znicz; that is, an +ever-burning fire. + +(8) _“__The place was Witold’s.__”_ + +[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.] + +(9) _Song of the Wajdelote._ + +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, 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. + +(10) _“__Stands visibly the pestilential maid.__”_ + +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: —“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.” 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. + +(11) _“__The trees of Bialowiez.__”_ + +[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.] + +(12) _“__Do burn the German knights in sacrifice.__”_ + +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: “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.” + +(13) _“__They gave me the name of Walter.__”_ + +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. + +(14) _War._ + +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.] + +(15) _“__The secret tribunal descends to council.__”_ + +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—_Weh!_ (woe!) This word, three times repeated, was a warning that he +who heard it should prepare for death, which he must infallibly and +unexpectedly receive from an unknown hand. The secret court was called the +_fehm_ 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 “Anne of Geierstein” of the court and +procedure of the Vehmgericht will be instantly suggested.] + +(16) _“__A sudden cry.__”_ + + _—__“__What cleaves the silent air,_ +_So madly shrill, so passing wild?_ +_It was a woman’s shriek, and ne’er_ +_In madlier ascents rose despair;_ +_And they who heard it as it passed,_ +_In mercy wished it were the last.__”_—PARISINA. + +[The coincidence, or borrowing of ideas, is manifest, but the image has +been amplified and beautified in the Polish poem.] + +_N.B._—In all the Polish words retained in the text, _j_ is pronounced +like _y_, and _w_ like _v_. + + PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. + + EDINBURGH AND LONDON. + + + + + + 1 Lithuanian woman. + + 2 Inhabitant of Rus (White Russia, Little Russia, also Red Russia, or + Galicia). + + 3 Pole. The native name of _Polska_ is derived from _pole_=field, and + _Lachy_=plain of the Lachs. + + 4 Bard. + + 5 “Exoriare aliquis ex ossibus nostris ultor.” + + —Æneid, B. iv. l. 625. + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KONRAD WALLENROD*** + + + +CREDITS + + +October 9, 2010 + + Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1 + Produced by Jimmy O’Regan. 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