Part 5

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.