Read Ebook: Konrad Wallenrod: An Historical Poem by Mickiewicz Adam Biggs Maude Ashurst Translator

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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

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 . 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 Gra?el gewesen. . 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 , 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 w?theten St?rme, Regensg?sse, Wasserfluthen; die Weichsel und die Nogat durchw?hlten ihre D?mme; hingegen w?hlten die gew?sser 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 Erl?uterungen.' 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.

KONRAD WALLENROD

"Dovete adunque sapere come sono due generazioni da combattere... bisogna essere volpe e leone."

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.

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

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.

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.

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, 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.

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, here the unquiet Lach, 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.

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