Yes, I
believed
that having endured till death.
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
» Before the Romans began to assume an intermeddling and aggress-
ive part in the affairs of Greece, one of their ambassadors declared
openly before the inhabitants of the different cities then assembled from
all parts to attend the Isthmian games, that, after due consideration, the
Roman Senate and People held the demands of the Macedonian king to
be utterly unjust ; that they deemed the maintenance of Greece in her
rights would be useful and noble, and promised to aid her with all their
power against the attacks of Macedonia.
3 The last expression of the Greek school of Platonism was found in
Stoicism, in the dying'hours of antiquity. The idealism of the ancients
was realized in the Stoics, as their materialism was in the Epicureans.
The virtue of the Stoics was great, but harsh and inexorable. They knew
how to die, but not how to live. They held themselves aloof from other
men, gazed sadly upon the dying world, but made no efforts to save it.
Shut up in themselves, bowing only before the decrees of their own pride,
which they, indeed, called conscience, they were moral egotists, filled with
self-love, not even associating closely with each other; never kindled into
life by the love of humanity, nor warmed by the social relations and
friendships generated in society. Their thoughts and precepts circled
continually round an ideal world, and were never suited for the actual;
hence we have accounts of famous deaths among them rather than of
famous lives. The precepts of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius breathe
their highest and purest spirit. His maxims for a considerable time
served in some measure to console the world, which was daily falling
into the corruption of death, but they were unable to generate anything
truly great or living. The system of the Stoics might well be called a
"testament," in which the dying left nothing to the heirs but some
melancholy remarks on life. The Stoics first brought into the world the
malady known as the spleen, the last crisis of which is suicide.
4 Nothing could be less ideal, or more thoroughly real and practical,
than the policy uniformly pursued by Rome. Its Senate . "ihrank from no
treachery to defeat an enemy, or to deceive a friend and ally. Fortitude
and stern endurance in misfortune, a faith that Rome must stand because
it must, with a daring shamelessncss tliat stopped at nothing to achieve a
purpose, made the greatness of the Eternal City.
THE LAST.
Translated from the French transtation of the original made by
M. Constantine Gaszyiiski.
THE LAST.
From the summits of the mountains whither they had dragged their
heavy crosses, they saw afar off the Promised Land. They saw the
celestial splendor toward which the men of their race below were ap-
proaching; but they were not able to reach those heavenly regions. Ah!
they may never sit at the banquet of life; and perhaps even the memory
of their sacrifice will be forgotten !
"Anonyme. "
Nearly the whole of my sad life has passed
Under a dungeon's vault, a prison's bolts and bars,
In darkness, silence, sickness, misery.
My memory is fading day by day
Out of the helots of my compatriots;
The love of those who loved me once, grows cold;
Perhaps even now they have forgotten me !
A child of light, buried 'neath these dark vaults,
I suffer here because I dared to sing
To m_y_torn country, hymns of faith and love ;
To plant the word within men's sinJcing hearts.
To bloom in inspiration like my own !
I have been proud ! Proud only with the -haughty ;
Worst nature for success in this low world !
467
468 THE LAST.
Strike those already down, thou mayst find profit:
But if thou brav'st the arrogant oppressors,
If with a man's free eye thou look'st upon them
Simply as droves of brutes and not as men ;
A dreadful vengeance from those brutes awaits thee;
And thou, a man, will be enchained by them !
Ill,
Like skiffs that skim still lakes, or eagles cleaving space,
The first years of my life fled rapidly away.
Unfortunate ! I did not then foresee
Where these swift waves were bearing me ! As yet
The sun shone brilliantly above my head ;
Each moment of the day bloomed like a flower;
My fellow-beings were my Brothers, Sisters;
And this world, now so deaf to my complaints.
Was my yo\ith's Paradise !
IV.
Where is the angel who, after the pangs
Of martyrdom have ceased, the death-hour o'er,
Comes the third day marked for the Resurrection,
And lifts the stone pressing the tomb? Alas !
He comes alone for Heavenly Powers, not men!
Where is the second messenger from Heaven,
Wrenching the bolts from the Mamertine doors,
Who came at night, and bore the saints of the Lord,
In triumph from their executioners?
But I am no Elect — and these are other times!
Our Enemy has sterner arms than death ;
He, while hot life is throbbing in thy veins.
Will seize, will wrap and hold thee in a shroud,
Whence thine intelligence will never rise again !
For, shut within the walls of darkened cell.
Thy spirit, winged guest of the infinite.
Which used to dream of heavenly destinies.
Will feel itself so orphaned, so alone.
That thou wilt take a sjiider to thy heart.
And supplicate thy jailer for a word
THE LAST. 469
To hear again the sound of the human voice !
And when days, months, and years on years elapse,
And no hope ever comes to visit thee, —
The spirit sinks in deep abyss of nothingness !
VI.
How often have I tried by force of will,
To rouse my thoughts which fast were dying out,
Thus to escape the threatened death of soul !
But when despair has conquered, won its way,
And pierced the deep recesses of the brain,
'Tis horrible to see how fast the blood
Will pour itself along the deadly bolt,
How atrophy will feed upon the mind,
And how decay will paralyze the heart.
Which does not break, but hardens hour by hour,
Until no longer love beats in its throb : —
And of all bitter woes, this is the worst !
VII.
I struggled like a Titan 'gainst the void
Of nothingness, the death of life.
To bolts and bars I cried : " Tell me the news.
And what is passing where the living dwell! "
I took into my livid hands my lamp.
And one by one counted the calcined threads
Which made its wick, to generate a thought
To stimulate my torpid agony !
But nothing solaced me ; nothing aroused ;
A heavy fog drifted from day to day
Increasing, o'er my soul, darkening my faculties
Until the internal world went out within me !
All inspiration fled \ ideas died ;
I was alone ; alive — but in a grave;
Forever welded to this chain whose rings.
Set in my bones, are fastened to the clamp
Fixed in my dungeon walls.
viii.
Oh, oft in earlier years old men were wont to tell me :
"Young madman, cease ! or thy melodious harp
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THE LAST.
Will plunge thee in an abyss of misery ;
Thy songs will die with thee 'neath bars and bolts !
To-day men care not for the hymns of liberty ;
They seek but peace, propitious to their commerce !
Vainly thou seek'st to stigmatize corruption ;
Such prophets noAv are stoned ! He who would bring
To earth the news from Heaven, must perish wretchedly ! '
I would not hear them ; doubted all they said.
I wished to live, not stagnate in this world;
Therefore while living, I am sternly doomed
To rot beneath the surface of the earth.
The light which shines for all, is torn from me.
Degraded from my dignity as man,
I've fallen so low, while God remains so high
In Heaven, that even His eye of mercy can
No more perceive me !
IX,
Yes, I am chained in subterranean cell.
Above me prisons more commodious rise,
Where light may enter; they are ever kept
For prisoners less unfortunate than I,
And treated by the Czar with less severity;
They only having killed a father, mother,
Brother, — and hence their doom less stern than mine !
Ah 1 they may freely gaze across their bars
Into blue space, and track the flying clouds,
And breathe fresh air, and see the happy sunshine,
And know when spring comes back again to warm
These dreary wastes of snow !
All is permitted them : nothing to me !
I am more guilty than those murderers,
Because I am a man, a Pole, a rebel
'Gainst foul injustice ; whence I'm surely deemed
A Satan in this Empire of all virtue !
X.
^eSiit_is_truej_I. soughl. to_ Vake4he Past,
And by my solemn chants to rouse again,
In souls unstrung by cowardice, a faith
More vivid in the future. . . . Yes, 'tis true.
THE LAST.
471
I have been proud, and hoped wliere hope was none.
I was not born to live in this, our age, —
Age of transition given up to evil, —
Which those who care not for the will of God —
Industrial Chiefs and Princes of the earth, —
Would fain perpetuate to coin in gold !
Like Solomon's Temple, ere Christ drove away
The money-changers, rose the structure of
The world I knew, approaching fast its fall,
Full of iniquity, and void of faith !
Within, the speculators circulated.
Striving the one to overreach the other,
Urged on by keen avidity of lucre;
Only arrested by the fear of war.
The world entire was but a mighty Bourse,
From which they had driven God ! . . .
Above this den of wily gain and fraud
Already loomed from icy northern clime
(Like Satan in the garb of an archangel)
A monstrous shadow, growing every hour,
Thrown by the Giant who has chained me here !
They all, instead of joining to repulse this foe,
Strike him with fire and iron, only used
The fire to forge the h-on into roads ;
And based their hopes on steam; while they feared war
Far more than they feared God or infamy.
Thus were the traders, manufi. icturers.
Contented with their lot.
<K XI.
Thus have they ever rested peaceably
Within their cities, near their shops and banks,
Crowning their markets with triumphal arches;
And I ? . . . Oh, I have miserably perished !
The foe, with arm as swift as sudden death,
Seized me by stealth. I was allowed to breathe
No parting wish in any human ear,
Nor bid farewell to any whom I loved.
Leaving no trace by which I might be found.
At dead of night they hurried me away
472
THE LAST.
In a kibitka :* secretly, in silence !
Only the stars of my own native sky
Were the mute witnesses of what was done,
And looked on my mysterious, rapid course.
XII.
Before an infamous court they summoned me ;
Tried and condemned me. The judges scoffed because
I, a weak Pole, for a moment could forget
The power of that Government, which holds
The keys of Life and Death, and said that I,
Having offended the Czar-god, deserved
Stern sentence for my crimes ! Then they decreed
That I should go on foot to the world's confines.
The land of ice ! I, son of a great nation,
Should go with convicts, welded to their chain !
XIII.
And I walked on forever through sad lands,
Chained with a drove of felons, Moscovites !
Our hangman led a horse before the convoy,
But never mounted it : a Holy Thing
Was to its saddle constantly appended ;
The KNOUT with thongs of leather, iron hooks
To gather the torn flesh back to its place
That the poor victim might still seem a man.
As mutilation, death, swept over him !
The executioner who led this horse
Forever with his finger pointed to it.
Crying: "Behold ! the organ of the Czar! "
He ordered men to kneel and bow before it
With reverence, as if it were the cross
Of sacrifice which from the saddle rose !
Thus did this emblem of the soul of Russia,
The Czar's omnipotence, still lead me on
Through never-ending steppes of desolation.
Toward the North Pole, bound in eternal ice.
* Kibitka, a Russian wagon in which condemned political prisoners
start on their journey to Siberia.
THE LAST. 473
XIV.
My traveling companions, robbers, thieves,
Forgers, assassins, had a hai)i)ier fate !
They loosed their chains, and left them on the route
At various places to form colonies,
And populate those wastes. * I, only I,
Was forced to drag on ever wearily
Behind that hangman, horse, and knout accursed !
And when my rings, welded on hands, on feet,
Had worn away the flesh and rubbed into the bones,
And I was suffering utmost agony,
And begged the rufhan for a moment's rest
Upon the horse ; the Moscovite replied :
" Die, cursed Pole, rather than thus pollute
With touch of thine, with stain of rebel hands,
The symbol of the justice of the Czar ! "f
Happy are they who may expire upon
The very threshold of their martyrdom !
Such death were but deliverance from worse ills !
Wait thou until the hour of victory,
Then wilt thou die 1 — but if thy life be naught
But misery, — that life shall be prolonged!
XV.
Where are thy smiling plains, my native land?
Fields gay with flowers, or rich with golden grain?
•■•■ The punishment of death in Russia is only inflicted on those guilty of
political crimes. The most dreadful criminals in common law are sent
to Siberia to work in the mines and fortresses; sometimes only in the
view of peopling the desert country.
f This episode may appear trivial to foreign readers, but our author
has inserted it in his poem as an historic remembrance. Prince Roman
Sanguszko, who was taken prisoner in the war of 1831, was condemned
to be sent to Siberia. The mother of the Prince hastened to St. Peters-
burg, and addressed a petition to the Emperor Nicholas, to obtain the
pardon of her son. The wtvr//>c/ Czar, however, augmented the punish-
ment by writing with his pencil at the foot of the petition of the sick-
hearted mother : " He shall go on foot. " The sentence was put into exe-
cution ; he went on foot ; and many, many years afterwards, when Prince
Roman Sanguszko had been pardoned and had returned to Poland, he
would often relate to his friends the above history of the e. Kecutioner, the
horse, and the knout.
474
THE LAST.
Where are the forests where the pine-trees wave
When the wind stirs their branches, murmuring
Mysterious tones, solemn and sweet as prayers ?
Where is the aerial warbling of the lark?
Where the old church where sleep my ancestors ?
Where are the Catholic litanies of my people,
People who call the Virgin Mary, Queen?
XVI.
Oh, what has passed? . . . Where am I, O my God?
Is there still left a corner in my soul
Where memory's lamp is not as yet quite out?
Does any human trait still live in me?
They say already twenty years have passed, —
I cannot tell, — but thou must know, my God,
Since I fell prostrate on this bed of death !
All consciousness of Present, Past, or Future
Then died in utter, sudden void and darkness!
But with a flash the black clouds sweep away ;
My Guardian Angel comes again to*-nie !
Tears tremble in my eyes, steal through my lids, —
'Tis long since I have wept ! Oh, very long
Since I could love, or dream of memory, hope !
My Angel, give me back love, memory,
In which each mortal claims his blessed share !
I supplicate thee. Angel, let me find
My soul again, if only for a moment,
Oh, let me feel it ! make it visible !
XVII.
My wandering thoughts, can you as yet remember
What ])resages were kindling in men's minds
When you were dizzied and obliterated ?
Were there not marvelous presentiments
Quivering in human souls in that wild hour
In which your agony began? . . .
Did not a voice rising from whence none knew.
But which reverberated everywhere.
Then prophesy what should befi\ll on earth ?
Peoples and kings condemned fell on their knees;
The uncreated Word made Itself heard
THE LAST.
475
In human souls, by strengthening Faith, Hope, Love !
The ruins of the crumbling centuries past,
With germs of future ages, — wholly freed
From their black clouds, — the Holy Spirit mingled
In the soft azure of the same horizon.
Lighted by but one sun : — for He will come
At last, the Saviour of all human races,
Restorer of all mutilated countries,
The avenger of all crimes against Humanity !
Into the Politics of this vexed world
He will bring Justice, — and His coming opens
A new — the third — last era of our Planet !
Factitious States no longer will exist,
Which for their profit, or their idle glory,
Have torn apart the body of a nation,
And stifled souls under the stones of graves.
And, by the will of God upon His earth,
The bodies and the souls of nations shall
Remain no longer sundered ! . . .
Yes, I remember now ! Such was the news ;
Such the presentiments which stirred the world,
Then given up to violence and woe.
And we, the Poles, knew well the Messenger, —
The Angel of the si)here of politics, —
Who from the stormy waves of earth's events
Was destined to bring peace, and reunite
The nationalities, could only be
Our holy Poland ; for that martyr's cross
'Had borne such woe, been bathed in such pure blood,
As might redeem this upper, earthly Hell.
Yes, I believed that having endured till death.
My People would unfurl their wings, and seize
The sword of miracle, thus to achieve
The works of life.
XVIII.
How many times Alas ! perhaps too soon,
I've seen in dreams the God of Resurrection !
No wounds, no blood upon His body now!
The form might seem another Christ, and yet
'Tis the same Christ in His eternal glory.
476
THE LAST.
His Face shines like the sun ; whiter than snow
His robe floats round Him in his heavenly course;
And in the dawn of worlds new-born to life
He bathes His unnailed Hands, transfigured now 1
XIX.
Behind the Man-God, slowly, very slowly,
In dazzling beauty, with no trace of death,
My Poland, my beloved Poland, moves !
She stops upon the threshold of the Sion
Promised to all the Peoples upon earth,
And from the sacred heights her voice resounds
So far the assembled nations clearly hear.
Or high, or low, or in the depths of space:
"To me ! to me, fraternal races, come !
Finished the latest fight of the final strife;
The snares of treason, webs of woven lies,
Are all destroyed, and hate is buried with them ;
Come, mount with me into the realm of Peace ! "
The chorus of all nations then responds :
" Glory and Benediction be to thee,
Poland ! for though truly all have suffered, .
Thy tortures were far fiercer than our own 1
Through deep enormity of that injustice
Ever accumulating on thy head,
Tiiou hast held constantly the enemy
Under the lightnings of the living God !
During the anguish of thy martyrdom,
Thou drew'st into thy heart a stronger life
Than that of thine oppressors, and thy sacrifice
Hath saved us all ! To thee'be Benediction ! Glory
XX.
Oh, often during dark autumnal nights
My mother's voice, perhaps some ancestor's,
Will break the grave, and come to me to speak
Of the unknown, the future upon earth;
And with the mystic tones strange visions throng !
The chant of triumph from the manly breasts
Of myriads of men then peals through space ;
1 see the victors pass in countless ranks ;
THE LAST.
477
I see the figures, white and luminous,
Of sisters, brothers, freed from slavery ;
A dazzling star glitters upon each brow :
The star of immortality !
Though without wings.
They float through air as if full-winged they were ;
Though without crowns, they sparkle as full-crowned !
And I move onward in the midst of them,
Feeling myself within an unknown Heaven, —
Unknown, and yet foreseen, anticipated !
XXI.
Ah ! who can tell? Perhaps the prophecies,
Given me in dreams, are all accomplished now
O'er Poland's grave, and I alone, the corpse,
May still be missing 'midst her risen sons?
Ah ! through these bars, these walls which shut me in,
Closely as coffin-planks close round the dead,
My spirit finds the light, and darts afor.
Traversing Time and Space ! I see, not dream !
There ! there are myriads of stars and flowers !
The world regenerated celebrates
Its holy marriage with young liberty !
Over the summits of the clustering Alps,
Along the ridges of Carpathian crests.
The same Aurora kindles all the heavens !
And all the Peoples surging tranquilly.
Mingling and blending waves innumerable.
Form but one mighty ocean over which
Breathes once again the si)irit of our God !
XXII.
Electric shivers shudder through my breast ;
Each nerve is trembling, tingling every vein.
As harps vibrate when touched by master-hands !
Each drop of blood grows resonant within me ;
I feel so light, as if I had no body;
These ponderous chains no longer weigh me down ;
A beatific air envelops me,
And fills my being. 1 elude the grasp
41
478 THE LAST.
Of my dread foe,' return to life immortal.
My very dungeon walls become transparent !
XXIII.
Clairvoyant vision has been. givenjTi. e !
Clearly I see the country which surrounds me;
My second sight each moment penetrates
Farther and wider, deeper into depths.
As waves still rise behind the nearer waves,
Spaces unveil beyond the nearer space ;
Horizons spread, unroll, and disappear !
And far beyond this snow, these gloomy clouds,
Behold the Blue, — the azure vault of Heaven !
The spring is blooming in the west ; beyond
This Moscovy, this hell of snow and ice,
I see the verdure of my native soil !
Thousands of flags unfurled are floating wide
Above a crowd of limitless extent !
It is a Diet as in days of old,
Assembled in the open alFof Heaven!
On that great Plain how happy are my Brothers !
How brilliant in the sun's warm golden light !
I see, I feel them with my eager looks ;
Should I advance a step, I'd touch them with my hands !
Nothing again can ever make me suffer !
Oh, let me look at them ! again ! again !
Gaze on them till my heart is satisfied !
XXIV.
The Diet opens, — they deliberate !
That living ])lain, covered with human heads.
Is by a single impulse tossed and swayed.
Like grain-fields when the wind breathes over them.
Above the sea of heads rise everywhere
Innumerable rows of arms, which point
All towards the North — as if in mute command.
A glorious troop of horsemen now detach
Them from the throng, and journey toward the North.
My brothers they, of Lithuania, Poland !
The assembly of the nation disappears,
Left far behind ; and I can only sec
THE LAST. 479
The troop of horsemen cleaving boundless space !
How rapid is their course ! Like lightning, they \.
Cross hills and valleys, flying toward the North !
Angels of my release, my heart salutes you !
Our national colors, scarlet, white, adorn
Your vestments ; sabres glitter in your hands
Like battle lightnings ! Proudly ye cleave the air,
Eagles of God. Triumphantly ye pass
These frozen steppes of cruel Moscovy,
Where nor the Czar, nor any other Satan
Can e'er again against your might prevail !
My Brothers seek me ! My white eagles fly !
XXV.
On these vast plains, what temples numberless
And infamous, rise for the Czar-god's worship !
What forts of stone, with human blood cemented !
What gloomy prisons meet you on your way !
I see you pause at every grated door,
Dismount, and, by some supernatural power,
Compel the jailers to descend with you
To subterranean cells below all light !
My God ! I hear the joyous cry of life
Re-echoing through the sepulchres of death,
While shadowy ghosts, victims of Moscovy,
Return to light of day, rescued by you !
The Breath of God urges you on anew \
On, Brothers, on ! . . .
XXVI.
During the light of day, the gloom of night.
My eye pursues your ceaseless, rapid course !
What rapture ! Brothers ! You have already passed
Through the Black lands ; enter my boundless plains
Of snow ! Does not earth wear another face?
This is the realm of cold, of ice, of frost,
Of exiled misery, of eternal death !
O Heaven ! Our scarlet banner warms the very snow !
The rays which scatter from your dazzling brows
Clothe this ice-desert in resplendent light !
Haste ! Haste ! My Brothers ! faster fly to me !
4So THE LAST.
They urge their steeds, — they gallop proudly on !
How beautiful — robed in our national hues!
Aid me, my Lord ! or else my heart will burst !
XXVII.
They come ! They see this fortress Moscovite !
Yes, yes, they see ! They turn their horses' heads !
They rush along the trench — like lightning leap it !
Soon they will come to break these bolts and bars !
A moment more, — the twinkling of an eye, —
Poland will enter in my cell to give
Me back the life I offered, lost for her !
Be praised, O God, that even evil ends I
I shall not die alone and in despair !
Be glorified, my God !
XXVIII.
What is it, O my Brothers? Why thus rein
Your steeds so suddenly? Ah ! you have met
A tribe nomadic,* stop to question it.
Oh, come to me ! you've but a step to make !
Waste not your time with those poor savages !
They only seek for moss beneath the snow ;
'Tis all they know ; they have no higher care !
Sometimes a Moscovite may join their ranks;
But trust him not; he is more brute than they,
For they at least are simple, frank of heart.
Why do you stop and talk with that wild horde?
My Brothers ! O my Brothers !
XXIX.
The air is calm and still ; I hear each word.
My Brothers ask : " Within these gloomy walls,
Are any Poles condemned to punishment
Because their conscience would not let them kneel
To worship the God-Czar? "
I hear the answer one among them makes :
** Here only suffers crime ! Robbers and thieves,
* There are still in Siberia remnants of the indigenous tribes, such as
the Toungouses, the Ostiaks, the Samoyedes, etc.
THE LAST. 481
Assassins, parricides, fill all these cells. "
O lie ! O lie ! believe it not, clear Brothers !
Again the voices of my countrymen
Resound across these desolate wastes of snow :
" Not for such victims came we here to search
Your prisons. Poland holy is, she seeks
Alone the martyrs in her sacred cause !
Let vile assassins rot in Russian dungeons !
God only can absolve them in the sky ;
On this earth Poland has no pardon for them. "
XXX.
God ! . . . My Brothers 1 . . . Wait ! one moment
wait 1
Turn not in haste your bridles to avoid
This place accursed ! , Alas ! for centuries
I've waited for you here! This hope alpiie
Has given strength to bear protracted torments !
And now the power of the Moscovites
Is broken ; they are forced to ope our cells ;
The ages of our torture are all o'er;
And you at last are here 1 What rapturous joy !
Why do you pause? . . . You are so very near me;
Can you not hear me, Brothers, when I cry ?
1 am no murderer ! No parricide !
I have not killed my father, nor my mother !
I'm no assassin, but the constant foe
Of him who is the assassin of us all !
Look ! this way look ! I stretch my arms toward you !
Great God ! in pity turn their eyes on me !
To me ! To me ! Here ! Here ! this is my cell !
I strive to reach you, — this chain holds me back 1
Oh, wait one moment ! Let me try again !
With my thin hands I strive to wrench my fetters !
Strain every nerve to break them if I can !
Blood covers them ! Alas ! they do not yield !
Do you not hear my shrieks of harrowing anguish?
Stop in tlie name of God 1 One moment stay 1 . . .
I'll try again to break away this chain !
O grant me but one single second more 1
******
41*
482 THE LAST.
O hour of bliss!
