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KONRAD WALLENROD.

An Historical Poem.

BY

ADAM MICKIEWICZ.

TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH INTO ENGLISH VERSE

BY

MISS MAUDE ASHURST BIGGS.

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

Macchiavelli, Il Principe.

LONDON:

TRÜBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL.

1882.

[All rights reserved]

Contents

[pg ii]

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.

Edinburgh and London

[pg iii]

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

The Lithuanian nation, formed out of the tribes of the Litwini, Prussians and Leti, not very numerous, settled in an inextensive country, not very fertile, long unknown to Europe, was called, about the thirteenth century, by the incursions of its neighbours, to a more active part. When the Prussians submitted to the swords of the Teutonic knights, the Lithuanians, issuing from their forests and marshes, annihilated with sword and fire the neighbouring empires, and soon became terrible in the north. History has not as yet satisfactorily explained by what means a nation so weak, and so long tributary to foreigners, was able all at once to oppose and threaten all its enemies—on one side, carrying on a constant and murderous war with the Teutonic Order; on the other, plundering Poland, exacting tribute from Great Novgorod, and pushing itself as far as the borders of the Wolga and the Crimean peninsula. The brightest period of Lithuanian [pg iv] history occurs in the time of Olgierd and Witold, whose rule extended from the Baltic to the Black Sea. But this monstrous empire, having sprung up too quickly, could not create in itself internal strength, to unite and invigorate its differing portions. The Lithuanian nationality, spread over too large a surface of territory, lost its proper character. The Litwini subjugated many Russian tribes, and entered into political relations with Poland. The Slavs, long since Christians, stood in a higher degree of civilisation, and although conquered, or threatened by Lithuania, gained by gradual influence a moral preponderance over their strong, but barbarous tyrants, and absorbed them, as the Chinese their Tartar invaders. The Jagellons, and their more powerful vassals, became Poles; many Lithuanian princes adopted the Russian religion, language, and nationality. By these means the Grand Duchy of Lithuania ceased to be Lithuanian; the nation proper found itself within its former boundaries, its speech ceased to be the language of the court and nobility, and was only preserved among the common people. Litwa presents the singular spectacle of a people which disappeared in the immensity of its conquests, as a brook sinks after an excessive overflow, and flows in a narrower bed than before.

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.”

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TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The Teutonic Order, originally, like the Knights Hospitallers, established in the Holy Land about 1199, settled, after the cessation of the Crusades, in the country bordering upon the Baltic Sea, at the mouth of the Vistula, in the year 1225. The possession of the Baltic shores, and of such lands as the Order should conquer from the pagan Prussians and Litwini, was assured to them by Konrad, Duke of Masowsze, brother to Leszek the White of Poland. The fatal error thus committed, in abandoning a hold on the sea-coast, had afterwards a disastrous effect on the history of Poland. The Order speedily made themselves masters of the whole country of Prussia, and were engaged in ceaseless war with the pagans of Lithuania, under pretext of their conversion; more frequently, it is however to be feared, for purposes of raid and plunder. It is, in fact, upon record that a certain Lithuanian prince, who had [pg viii] offered to embrace Christianity for the purpose of recovering part of his territory conquered by the Order, upon finding that his conversion would produce no better disposition in them towards himself, declared his intention of abiding in paganism, with the remark that he saw it was no question of his faith, but of his possessions. The plundering expeditions of the Teutonic knights up country, in which many of the chivalry of all Europe frequently bore a part, were termed reyses. The English reader will remember how Chaucer’s knight had fought “aboven alle nations in Pruce.”

“In Lettow had he reysed and in Ruce.”

Henry IV. also, during his banishment, fought in the ranks of the Order.

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 [pg ix] 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 [pg x] 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 (library of Wallenrod). 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 Graüel gewesen. (David Lucas). 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 [pg xi] 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 (see note), shortening only by some years the time which passed between the departure of Walter from Lithuania, and the appearance of [pg xii] 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 wütheten Stürme, Regensgüsse, Wasserfluthen; die Weichsel und die Nogat durchwühlten ihre Dämme; hingegen wühlten die gewässer 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 Erläuterungen.’ 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 [pg xiii] 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 [pg xiv] 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 [pg xv] 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 [pg xvi] 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.

London, March 1882.

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KONRAD WALLENROD

AN HISTORICAL TALE.

(FROM THE ANNALS OF LITHUANIA AND PRUSSIA.)

Macchiavelli, Il Principe.

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.

This side, the multitude of Litwa’s youth,

With kolpak of the lynx-hide and in skins

Clad of the bear, the bow upon their shoulders,

Their hands all filled with darts, they prowl around,

Tracking the German wiles. On the other side,

In mail and helmet armed, the German sits

Upon his charger motionless; while fixed

His eyes upon the entrenchments of the foe,

He loads his arquebuse and counts his beads.

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.

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The Election.

In towers of Marienbourg[1] 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

A stranger he, in Prussia all unknown,

But foreign houses of his fame were full[2]

Following the Moors upon Castilian sierras,

The Ottoman through ocean’s troubled waves,

In battle at the front, first on the wall,

To grapple vessels of the infidel

The first; and in the tourney, soon as he

Entered the lists and deigned his visor raise,

None dared with him the strife of keen-edged swords,[3]

By one accord the victor’s garland yielding.

But not alone amid Crusading hosts

He with the sword had glorified his youth;

For many Christian graces him adorn,

Poverty, humbleness, of earth disdain.

But Konrad shone not in the courtly crowd

By polished speech, by well-turned reverence;

Nor e’er his sword for vile advantage sold

To service of disputing barons. He

Had consecrated to the cloister walls

His youthful years; all plaudits he disdained,

And ruler’s place, even higher, sweeter meeds.

Nor minstrel’s hymn, nor beauty’s fair regard

Could speak to his cold spirit. Wallenrod

Listens unmoved to praise, and looks afar

On lovely cheeks, enchanting discourse flies.

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.

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II.

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 Archkomtur[4] 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.

By walking other knights beguile the time,

But the Archkomtur wastes no time in vain.

He quickly summons Halban and the chiefs

Unto himself, and leads them to one side;

That, from the curious crowd afar removed,

They may pursue their counsels and impart

Forewarnings; from the castle go they forth.

They hasten to the plain. Conversing thus,

All heedless of their path, some hours astray

They wandered in the region close beside

The inlets of a tranquil lake. ’Tis morn!