WANDA.
❦
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WANDA.
A DRAMATIC POEM.
BY COLONEL J. PRZYIEMSKI,
AUTHOR OF “SKETCHES OF THE POLISH MIND.”
“Noch köstlicheren Samen bergen
Wir, trauernd, in der Erde Schoos,
Und hoffen, dass er aus den Särgen
Erblühen soll zu schönerm Loos.”
SCHILLER.
TRANSLATED BY A. M. M.
PRIVATELY PRINTED.
1863.
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INTRODUCTION.
As the early history of Poland is almost unknown in England, it may be
necessary to state that this little poem is merely a poetical version of
a real event, the memory of which is dear to every Polish heart. Wanda
(the daughter of the great founder of Cracow), having really devoted
herself to death for the sake of her country, under the circumstances
and from the motives which are here assigned.
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DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
WANDA, _Queen of Poland_.
LESJA, }
HALINA, } _her Maidens_.
RZEWNA, }
LESZEK, _a Polish Officer_.
A BARD.
HERMANN, _Ambassador to_ Rüdiger, _Prince of Germany_.
A FISHERMAN.
_Choruses of Maidens, Warriors, People, Goblins, and Water Spirits._
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PROLOGUE.
BARD.
_On the banks of the Vistula opposite the Wawelberg[1] (Cracow)._
Bless Poland, bless the poet and his lay!
Look not upon the smallness of his gift,
But as the widow’s mite that gift receive;
Too well thou knowest whose the robber band
That on our treasures ruthlessly hath seized;
Alas! this nameless vampyre long hath quench’d,
In choicest life-blood, and in burning tears,
The lightning kindled fire of sacred song!
A hundred years with muffled tread have pass’d,
Since, by a threefold fetter firmly bound,
The tuneful harp hath ceased its thrilling voice,--
Since, by a threefold spell, the poet-soul
From home and country hath been exiled far.
Yet good and evil wage their wonted war
Here, as elsewhere, with varying success,
Though rarely may the good victorious rise,
And as the spirit of the age appear,
While the proud powers of darkness vanquish’d bow.
Then, and then only, glows one sudden gleam,--
Then, and then only, sounds one thrilling tone
From that charm’d cavern of oblivion’s shore
Where burn the poet’s harp and heart unseen;
Unseen as yet, but from those raging flames
Their seeming prey immortal yet shall rise,--
Rise, Phœnix-like, above the hostile blaze,
And win a wond’ring world’s admiring gaze.
-----
Footnote 1:
As it is at the present day, fortified by the Austrians _against_
Cracow.
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WANDA.
ACT I.
CRACOW, AS IN LEGENDARY TIMES.
SCENE I.
GOBLINS, WATER SPIRITS.
CHORUS OF GOBLINS.
Sing on, thou weird old salamander,
In magic fiery mazes wander,
Thy burning song may hurt thyself,
But cannot warm one shivering elf;
’Twill disenchant thy mind deluded,
And yet our power is not illuded,
In baleful spells we keep thee bound,
And firmly are the fetters wound.
List to that magic spell, and say
If thou canst exorcise its sway,
But for a time,
By foamy froth of hollow hope,
Or reminiscences raised up
Of Poland’s prime!--
Hither, ye demons dire,
Of rapine, and murder, and spite,
Perjury, falsehood, conspire,
All in one compact unite;
Reach out the hand,
A chosen band
Of mortals shall greet you,
And lovingly treat you,
As brothers in arms;
Who sneer down as vain
Each national claim,
And of right
Make light,
Though pray’d for in common humanity’s name.
What, tremble ye, cowards! delay not, draw near,
If God be a fiction, what is there to fear?
By your gorgon-like aspect, congeal’d into stone,
All helpless and heedless the nations look on.
In the name of all things holy
Desecration shall be bless’d,
Sin itself be canonized,
At the triple crown’s behest.
Hither spirits, powers of evil!
Soon your mighty chief, the Devil,
Gives that watchword to your ring
Which no minstrel can out-sing.
Write then, weak poet, on the changing sand
Which skirts the boasted river of thy land;
Write thy dull song of Poland’s daughters rare,
And all the heroic virtues of the fair;
Oblivion’s waves shall soon engulf thy rhymes,
Siberia’s snows be wafted o’er the lines,
Ashes of Polish bones that moulder’d down,
Where Spielberg and Spandau portentous frown,
Shall closely hide them with a spectral pall,
And from the shuddering eye shall cover all.
Sing, if thou wilt, of patriotic queens,
Of sacrifice of self, and all such themes;
Foreign oppressors soon, short-sighted fool,
Triumphantly shall reign with iron rule,
Though fearing, hating you with deadly hate,
And kindling you to hatred all too late:
When ye shall see the Vistula, beside
Her hundred sisters, with your life-blood dyed,
And when the Polish Wawel’s cannon shows
A front ’gainst Poland, not ’gainst Poland’s foes.
Then to your poets, into exile driven
Will time and leisure bounteously be given
To groan in cadence drear a worthless song,
To wail those foreign hills and groves among;
There, where a happy ignorance of grief
Forbids e’en sympathy to lend relief,
Where echo only answers with a groan,
The language and the woe alike unknown.
CHORUS OF WATER SPIRITS _from the Vistula_.
Away, ye dark spirits, in vain are your cries,
Who mock at misfortune, and virtue despise.
Ye symbols of hard and material prose,
Of poetry _living_ or _rhyming_ the foes;
Away! for the poet’s vocation sublime
To you is a problem unsolved for all time;
Heaven’s bolts lifeless fall when they reach the morass,
And thus the ideal with minds of your class.
Look up then, and know that your reign’s at an end;
From the Wawel see Wanda’s fair maidens descend;
At the aspect of innocence, beauty and love,
Quail, quail, ye dark demons! and shrinking remove;
Haste ere your weak vision be quench’d by the light,
Ye birds of ill-omen, ye owls of the night! [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
A BARD (_lost in meditation_); LESJA, _at the head of a train of
Maidens_; WANDA _soon after_; RZEWNA _later_.
LESJA.
Hail to thee, Bard, thou favour’d of the gods!
Their very language not unknown to thee,
Through whom the aspirations of mankind,
Formless and voiceless, dreaming i’ the dark,
Instinctive upward, shape immortal find,
And, dumb no longer, blossom into song.
We seek thee, Wanda seeks thee, she, our queen,
Would fain from thy experience counsel draw,
And in the labyrinth where she walks perplext,
Sighs for the clue of wisdom; as I speak,
See she approaches with enquiring face.
WANDA.
Friend of my father, servant of our gods!
Thou knowest well the answer I have given
To all the messengers by princes sent,
Who thirst for power, not love, who thinly veil
’Neath flattering smiles ambition’s anxious eye,
Seeking not Wanda’s heart, but Poland’s throne.
Yet may I always distance suitors thus,
And can I, ’mid the gaudy counterfeits
Round me, sincerity’s fair form discern,
And know to whom through very love for ME,
My _dearer_ self, my people, will be dear?
Say, on what altars shall I incense burn?
What oracle consult? I stand in doubt,
In me the maiden and the queen contend.
Fain to the gods would I be consecrate
In vestal purity, as priestess dwell,
Tending the sacred fire; yet can it be?
Say, minstrel, may such blissful lot be mine?
BARD.
Nay, nay, my queen, th’ eternal law of love,
In earth and heaven the same, such choice forbids;
Blessing and fruitfulness are e’er twin terms;
Society is usefulness and pleasure;
Queens have a high vocation, to uphold--
Pure morals, fervent zeal for public good,
And glad obedience to their country’s laws,
By eloquent example; ’tis the soul
Of precept, words must cold and lifeless fall,
When contradicted by the life, my queen.
Thy blessed mother with myself, her friend,
Have taught thee both to shun hypocrisy,
And own the faith sincere and true of love,
Obeying thus the dread celestial powers.
Unfruitfulness is their most dreadful curse
To mother earth, and to her earthly daughters;
Look round where’er thy eye, thy thoughts can bear thee,
Where do the gods command to loneliness?
Where rather do they not with blessing join
Their ancient edict, “Love and multiply?”
The grain of sand beside the Vistula,
The vast Carpathians round our land that rise,
The lowly worm that creeps unnoticed by,
The lordly eagle soaring to the sun,
All things in earth and air, and in the seas,
Obey alike the great primeval law.
Let but the will of gods be reverenced,
And sin to nature wears a stranger’s face.
_Free-will_, our highest gift, confuse thou not
With self-will, which is sin, and learn to know,
“In union there is strength.” The marriage bond,
By Heaven appointed, is a sacred tie;
Contempt of it, a devilish invention.
Heart-chills and conscience-stings seek solitude,
And immorality her cloak assumes;
Despite the many sanctimonious names
’Neath which cold-heartedness and egotism,
The weak, the timid, or the bad, invite,
To seek withdrawal from our human claims:
Celibacy is still and _must_ be sin!
[_Confused voices are heard outside,
and presently_ RZEWNA _enters_.
RZEWNA.
My queen!
Rüdiger’s messenger is here, the same
Who ten days since sued for your sovereign hand;
Fiercely he storms, demanding to be heard.
The sacred rules of hospitality
Alone deter the offended sentinels
From striking down the swearing ruffian;
The tumult grows, they wait their queen’s commands.
WANDA.
Let him come in, though a bird of omen ill,
Yet bread and salt should never be denied.
[_Exeunt_ RZEWNA, LESJA, _and the_ MAIDENS.
SCENE III.
WANDA, THE BARD, _later_ HERMANN.
WANDA (_with emotion_).
Minstrel! thou seest, not causelessly I seek thee;
Now, from the store experience provides,
Give me a crumb of counsel; youth so proud
In knowledge, yet in wisdom is but poor.
Oh! of thy inspiration let one beam
Illume a mind oppress’d by fogs of doubt.
BARD.
Be thy own heart thy guide, thence issues forth
The fount of inspiration, and there holds
Conscience her awful oracle, and there
Honour to duty hath an altar rear’d.
Our best adviser is our conscience still,
Though often to her voice our ears are deaf,
To honied flattery list’ning ’stead of truth.
Bad counsellors are poisoners of our bliss,
And dig the grave of honour; this concerns
Princes yet more than peoples.
[HERMANN _enters_.
HERMANN.
No greetings, queen, for courtesies have ceased
Between my lord and you; he, Rüdiger,
The mighty Prince of Germany, brooks not
From you the insult of a daring “No!”
But on the frontier of your Poland stands--
Soon, soon to be its frontier no more--
To quench with trusty steel his vengeance thirst,
To tame your pride down into lack of will,
Through utter helplessness of slavery, yet still
Pitying, he lingers, graciously declares
Yet once again, if you will now receive
His proffer’d hand, the gathering cloud shall clear,
And ’twixt the rival hosts no blood shall flow.
But if your bold defiance you repeat,
Woe to you then, rash woman, and false queen.
The German armies, ranged in dread array,
Uplift the sword already, which will teach
That right is to the strongest.
WANDA (_with dignity, and in a tone of proud contempt_).
“As is the master, so the servant,” thus
Our proverb says, and truly, if I judge
Your lord from you, your people from you both,
I needs must deem, as neighbours you are bad,
As men unpolish’d, and as warriors!--
Why that’s to prove!--we’ll test your skill in arms.
Conquest and spoil we seek not, Poland’s sons
Take no fierce pleasure in the clang of war,
And know too well what love of country means
To stretch with greedy grip toward other lands.
The plough, the pruning hook, the poet’s dream,
The minstrel’s harp, and sweet domestic joys,
These are their dear delight; but dearer yet,
Dearer than life itself, is liberty!
And when their peaceful industry is marr’d,
And hostile voices thunder, duty’s call
Presses the sword in the reluctant grasp,
And rings our watchword, “Trust th’ immortal gods!”
Threats and the threat’ner alike we scorn!
HERMANN.
What! scorn to Rüdiger?
WANDA.
Peace! servant of a master who would fain
Subdue a feeble woman through her fears;
Know that our virtue to weakmindedness
Degenerates not, nor to the coward soul;
And if the guest insults the ancient rules,
Which form the code of hospitality,
From all its duties is the host set free.
In you I see the unblushing messenger
Of jarring words, uncourteous and harsh;
One moment, and you cease to be my guest,
And of my neighbour, the ambassador.
Say to your prince, my _no_ still no remains;
_With us_ a word once given is never changed.
[_Exit_ HERMANN.
SCENE IV.
WANDA, LESZEK.
_The clang of arms is heard in the distance._
LESZEK (_entering hurriedly_.)
My queen! I bring this strange intelligence:
The German army, with a vast array,
Have cross’d the weakly guarded frontier;
Havoc and sacrilege their march attend.
WANDA.
Let all the dukes their varied corps assemble,
Wanda herself will lead them to the field;
The bravest people that the world can boast,
Shall never murmur at their timid queen,
But rather say, she burns to be our guide;
To combat for our country, and our gods;
Dread powers! be this, our rightful cause, your care,
’Tis yours to award us victory, or death!
[_Exeunt omnes._
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ACT II.
_The scene changes to the bank of the Vistula, opposite the tomb of
Krakus, at Cracow. Divisions of cavalry and infantry march with music
and flying banners towards Cracow. The last division of infantry
draws up in line of battle._
SCENE I.
WARRIORS, MAIDENS, _later_, WANDA.
CHORUS OF WARRIORS.
Great were the numbers of the foe,
Their haughtiness as great,
Soon, soon they thought to lay us low,
In boastful scorn elate;
Yet still floats Poland’s banner
Triumphant to the wind;
The snow-white eagle soars unscathed,
And leaves the field behind;
The field where insolence gave way
To valour true and bold,
And love of country held her sway
O’er lust of power and gold.
Praise, praise the great celestial powers,
Th’ almighty gods adore,
For the foe that long hath threaten’d us,
Shall threaten us no more.
Wanda has proved herself a Pole,
A hero in the fight,
Though a modest maiden in her home,
Where gentleness is might.
All through his life mourn’d Krakus,
And in his dying hour,
That, when the oak should fall, there lived
But the wreathing fragile flower;
That no young chieftain of his name
Might wear his father’s crown;
That to a tender maiden’s hand
The sceptre must go down:
But as reflected sunbeams
Within the planet shine,
Thus, thus within thy daughter’s soul,
Oh, Krakus! dwelleth thine.
Thank’d be the gods, bless’d be the gods,
All hail, immortal powers!
The foe must hide his vanquish’d head,
And Poland yet is ours.
CHORUS OF MAIDENS (_approaching mounted_).
Alone rode forth Wanda, and left us behind her,
Stern foe to all fetters, yet duty can bind her;
“But deem not that battle is woman’s vocation,
Oh ye! to whom gods grant a happier station,
The duties of queens ever form an exception,
Retirement quit ne’er, save at Heaven’s direction.”
Thus saying, she mounted; her fair figure tracing
We watch’d, till it met th’ horizon’s embracing,
Noon melting the clouds away, fold after fold,
Enwrapt her in raiment of azure and gold.
The tumult of battle she hid from our sight,
But we saw her when vict’ry succeeded to fight,
With hands upward raised and with knees lowly bending,
’Twixt enemies flying and warriors home wending;
She follows us now, while in praise we unite,
The last on the field, and the first in the fight.
Thank, thank the great gods! we are free as the air,
See Cracow once more, and the Vistula hear--
The silver-voiced Vistula--gliding along,
The pride of our land, of our minstrels the song.
The sun’s parting beams on old Wawel’s head play,
Their gold-wreath is hiding his time-honour’d grey,
Glad symbol inviting our thoughts to ascend,
For light is eternal, though time hath an end.
Yet as the muttering thunder-clouds
Deep silence follow,
Thus to peaceful joy succeed
Sharp thrills of sorrow;
And the rapture of the present,
Too glad for earth,
Tells, since gods are even-handed,
Of coming dearth.
Ever must life’s cup be mingled,
Pain is our due,
Purest nectar we have tasted,
Now for the rue!
Dark foreboding pales the glowing
Of parting day,
In those creeping mists embodied
Dun and grey.
WANDA (_dismounting_).
Dismount, my sisters, give your steeds the rein,
And let us kiss our country’s precious soil;
Hail to thee, Wawel! hail, fair Vistula!
Ye are our parents, reverence and love
Rise in our hearts whene’er we gaze on you;
For you the Pole girds on his sword; for you
Each Polish mother, from its very birth,
Teaches her child that to renounce oneself
From love of country is the loftiest aim:
With patriotic songs the infant ear
Is soothed to slumber, and again they thrill
When morning sun-beams scatter happy dreams,
His laughing eyes unsealing; woe to those
Who, chill’d in heart by numbing selfishness,
In private interests wrap their meagre souls,
With eyes averted from the public weal!
Embitter’d are their lives by conscience-stings,
And general contempt: when death arrests,
And bears them trembling to the viewless world,
The gods avert their faces; unrestrain’d,
Darkness and chaos claim their lawful prey,
For selfishness is hateful to the gods.
Ah! dying words from dear paternal lips!
Though twelve long weary months have drifted by,
Since they were utter’d, yet I hear them still
In yon broad river’s eager rushing tide,
Re-echoing as a glorious welcome back;
The winds repeat them as they hurry past,
Borne from Carpathian summits; and methought
The deep-mouth’d trumpets thrill’d them in mine ear,
When raged the conflict. Dearest father, hear!
Soul of my soul! ’tis with thy heart I love
My country, worthily to serve her cause.
This is my only wish-- [_After a pause._
Yet no aspiring _wish_, but iron _will_
Has won the day; thy long embattled hosts,
Who know defeat in theory alone,
Have quell’d the boasting voice of insolence
In thunderings of valour, teaching thus
Big words not always mate with lofty deeds.
Though by a woman led, the Poles are free!
Not through _my_ virtue; _thy_ remembrance fired
Each warrior breast with superhuman zeal;
Krakus, though viewless, was their leader still.
Yet oh, these battles! they may bring us fame,
Yet are the curse of nations, for renown
May dim our love of peace, as golden lures
May chill the peasant toward his humble cot
I’the rural valley, industry must droop,
The car of triumph override the plough;
War tears the husband from his wife and child,
The lord of home becomes a stranger there.
Woe, woe to those with whom the thirst for fame
Exceeds the love of country! yet, alas!
’Tis through this wretched wrangling for my hand
That clang of arms and tramp of hosts are heard:
This feeble hand the sceptre cannot wield.
Sharp are the winds round mountain peaks that blow;--
The isolated splendour of a throne
Is dreary for a woman; not for her
The glory and the pomp, but modest shade,
Far otherwise her lot by Heaven decreed,
To watch o’er children, nestling to her side;
To smooth care-furrows from her husband’s brow,
Wafting around the perfume sweet of love,
And meekness, as the wilding clematis
Clasps the dark fir-tree with caressing wreath.
Wanda can never be her country’s shield:
Her weakness still new discords will awake,
Midst cowards round her, clam’rous for her crown.
Alas! that heroes should have grown so rare
Among our neighbours! Oh, the weariness
Of ruling! Poland needs a worthy head,
And yet no chieftain will her sons elect,
While lives the daughter of their darling prince.
Though yearning for a king, they long to see
The snow-white banner by his grandson rear’d.
My sorrows and my orphan-hood alone
Deter the generous people from complaint
Of Wanda’s hesitation to adopt
The holy marriage vow. Immortal gods!
Be witness that ’tis not cold-heartedness
That bids me still delay, but rather fear
Lest through ill-choice I mar my country’s weal.
Forbid it, Heaven, that, through a fatal error,
Wanda should set a tyrant o’er her land.
Yet who, alas! to Krakus can succeed
Nor seem unworthy? To the brilliant sun,
The brightest star gives but a glow-worm’s light.
HALINA (_earnestly and affectionately_).
My lovely foster-sister, and my queen,
Why of thyself and thine these dreary doubts
On such a day of glorious victory?
In whose clear brilliancy the golden bond
’Twixt queen and people shines with added glow.
Say, have the Poles less bravely fought to-day
Than is their wont, or was thy leadership
Inferior to a sterner chieftain’s? No!
The timid harebell, and the modest fern,
Seek the same spot that rests the ardent wing
Of sunward soaring bird in upward flight;
Thus grace and valour, maid and warrior, meet
In thee, thou gifted darling of the gods.
Death for their fatherland is sweet to those
Who to thy rule a glad obedience yield;
And danger with her trumpet-call shall rouse
But to a firmer union, kindling all
The singly-scatter’d fires of ardent souls
To _one_ bright flame of power invincible.
The shrouding silence of the solemn past
Thrills into echo at the voice of fame,
Which, roused to memory of thy ancestors,
By deeds of thine, attesting thy descent,
Recounts their glory, bids them live again
In thee embodied; in the midnight heaven,
We hail a newly-risen star with praise,
And for our Wanda thank the immortal gods.
To them we yield the keeping of our land,
Secure and trusting, though their choice elect
Not the proud eagle, but the brooding dove.
And, rather than the eyrie, choose the nest
To guard from desecration; fear thou not,
No sable feathers of ill-omen’d birds
That croak around thee, shall contrast with thine
In hated union, while grey Wawel stands
To blunt the feeble lances of our foes,
And cool their rashness in the rolling flood.
[_Exeunt omnes._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACT III.
SCENE I.
_The Castle on the Wawel._ WANDA _surrounded by her Maidens_. LESZEK
_enters_.
LESZEK.
All hail! accept my reverence, gracious queen!
Behold me from the field return’d, where all
The nation, minstrels, priests, and warriors,
In concourse vast assembled, offer’d praise
And thanks most heartfelt for the vict’ry won.
Your queenly message faithfully I bore,
Commanding to elect a worthy king,
And grant you from the cares of power release.
Vain the command; a murmur low replied,
That swiftly grew to tumult: “Choose a king!
It shall not, cannot be! For though, in truth,
Our Wanda’s lightest wish should be obey’d
With eager loyalty, _this_ wish we hold
To militate against the country’s weal,
She loves beyond her life.” Then rose the Bard,
First of our minstrel sages, and declared,
“The daughter’s wish must to the father’s will
Yield filial obedience, and that will
Bade on her choice depend her country’s fate.”
He ceased; loud rose the general applause,
And each and all in this response unite:
“Whatever prince by Wanda’s queenly hand
Shall be ennobled, him we hail our king;
If none be worthy found, it matters not,
Our maiden queen remains our honour’d chief.
While yet her father lived, his word was law
To every Pole, shall it be less so _now_,
Stamp’d with the impress of eternity?
In the dark night of loss, each single word,
Before but slightly heeded, gem-like shines.
While Wanda lives, no meaner prince shall rule;
Thus swears the nation: is it falsely said,
The voice of peoples is the voice of gods?”
WANDA (_turning away_).
Enough! I must submit; and yet ’tis strange,
That voice makes discord with the whisper’d tones
Of conscience, which unceasingly repeat
My people’s love is fatal to their weal.
The very name of such a king as once
Held sway o’er Poland, would restrain our foes;
While Wanda’s name allures to bloody war,
Where greedy tyrants wrangle for the prize.
Return, good Leszek, but accept my thanks;
’Tis good to break a hope whose agonies,
Stretch’d on the rack of terrible suspense,
Crave from despair the death-stroke. Leave me now;
The gods be with thee. [_Exit_ LESZEK.