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

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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.

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, 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 despis?d 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

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.

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