Part 4

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!