Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works

by Adam Mickiewicz

  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!”

  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.