The Works of Lord Byron Volume IV Part 37

Such was Mazeppa, a man destined to pa.s.s through the crowded scenes of history, and to take his stand among the greater heroes of romance. His deeds of daring, his intrigues and his treachery, have been and still are sung by the wandering minstrels of the Ukraine. His story has pa.s.sed into literature. His ride forms the subject of an _Orientale_ (1829) by Victor Hugo, who treats Byron's theme symbolically; and the romance of his old age, his love for his G.o.d-daughter Matrena, with its tragical issue, the judicial murder of Kotchubey and Iskra, are celebrated by the "Russian Byron" Pushkin, in his poem _Poltava_. He forms the subject of a novel, _Iwan Wizigin_, by Bulgarin, 1830, and of tragedies by I.

Slowacki, 1840, and Rudolph von Gottschall. From literature Mazeppa has pa.s.sed into art in the "symphonic poem" of Franz Lizt (1857); and, yet again, _pour comble de gloire_, _Mazeppa, or The Wild Horse of Tartary_, is the t.i.tle of a "romantic drama," first played at the Royal Amphitheatre, Westminster Bridge, on Easter Monday, 1831; and revived at Astley's Theatre, when Adah Isaacs Menken appeared as "Mazeppa," October 3, 1864. (_Peter the Great_, by Eugene Schuyler, 1884, ii. 115, _seq_.; _Le Fils de Pierre Le Grand, Mazeppa, etc_., by Viscount E. Melchior de Vogue, Paris, 1884; _Peter the Great_, by Oscar Browning, 1899, pp.

219-229.)

Of the composition of Mazeppa we know nothing, except that on September 24, 1818, "it was still to finish" (_Letters_, 1900, iv. 264). It was published together with an _Ode_ (_Venice: An Ode_) and _A Fragment_ (see _Letters_, 1899, iii. Appendix IV. pp. 446-453), June 28, 1819.

Notices of _Mazeppa_ appeared in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, July, 1819, vol. v. p. 429 (for _John Gilpin_ and _Mazeppa_, by William Maginn, _vide ibid_., pp. 434-439); the _Monthly Review_, July, 1819, vol. 89, pp. 309-321; and the _Eclectic Review_, August, 1819, vol. xii.

pp. 147-156.

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.

"Celui qui remplissait alors cette place etait un gentilhomme Polonais, nomine Mazeppa, ne dans le palatinat de Podolie: il avait ete eleve page de Jean Casimir, et avait pris a sa cour quelque teinture des belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais ayant ete decouverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet etat. Le cheval, qui etait du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent: il resta longtems parmi eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La superiorite de ses lumieres lui donna une grande consideration parmi les Cosaques: sa reputation s'augmentant de jour en jour, obligea le Czar a le faire Prince de l'Ukraine."--Voltaire, _Hist.

de Charles XII_., 1772, p. 205.

"Le roi, fuyant et poursuivi, eut son cheval tue sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blesse, et perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois a cheval, dans la fuite,[br] ce conquerant qui n'avait pu y monter pendant la bataille."--p. 222.

"Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavaliers. Le carrosse, ou il etait, rompit dans la marche; on le remit a cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il s'egara pendant la nuit dans un bois; la, son courage ne pouvant plus suppleer, a ses forces epuisees, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables par la fatigue, son cheval etant tombe de la.s.situde, il se coucha quelques heures au pied d'un arbre, en danger d'etre surpris a tout moment par les vainqueurs, qui le cherchaient de tous cotes."--p. 224.

MAZEPPA

I.

'Twas after dread Pultowa's day,[248]

When Fortune left the royal Swede-- Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to combat and to bleed.

The power and glory of the war, Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had pa.s.sed to the triumphant Czar, And Moscow's walls were safe again-- Until a day more dark and drear,[249]

And a more memorable year, 10 Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name; A greater wreck, a deeper fall, A shock to one--a thunderbolt to all.

II.

Such was the hazard of the die; The wounded Charles was taught to fly[250]

By day and night through field and flood, Stained with his own and subjects' blood; For thousands fell that flight to aid: And not a voice was heard to upbraid 20 Ambition in his humbled hour, When Truth had nought to dread from Power.

His horse was slain, and Gieta gave His own--and died the Russians' slave.

This, too, sinks after many a league Of well-sustained, but vain fatigue; And in the depth of forests darkling, The watch-fires in the distance sparkling-- The beacons of surrounding foes-- A King must lay his limbs at length. 30 Are these the laurels and repose For which the nations strain their strength?

They laid him by a savage tree,[251]

In outworn Nature's agony; His wounds were stiff, his limbs were stark; The heavy hour was chill and dark; The fever in his blood forbade A transient slumber's fitful aid: And thus it was; but yet through all, Kinglike the monarch bore his fall, 40 And made, in this extreme of ill, His pangs the va.s.sals of his will: All silent and subdued were they.

As once the nations round him lay.

III.

A band of chiefs!--alas! how few, Since but the fleeting of a day Had thinned it; but this wreck was true And chivalrous: upon the clay Each sate him down, all sad and mute, Beside his monarch and his steed; 50 For danger levels man and brute, And all are fellows in their need.

Among the rest, Mazeppa made[252]

His pillow in an old oak's shade-- Himself as rough, and scarce less old, The Ukraine's Hetman, calm and bold; But first, outspent with this long course, The Cossack prince rubbed down his horse, And made for him a leafy bed, And smoothed his fetlocks and his mane, 60 And slacked his girth, and stripped his rein, And joyed to see how well he fed; For until now he had the dread His wearied courser might refuse To browse beneath the midnight dews: But he was hardy as his lord, And little cared for bed and board; But spirited and docile too, Whate'er was to be done, would do.

s.h.a.ggy and swift, and strong of limb, 70 All Tartar-like he carried him; Obeyed his voice, and came to call, And knew him in the midst of all: Though thousands were around,--and Night, Without a star, pursued her flight,-- That steed from sunset until dawn His chief would follow like a fawn.

IV.

This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, And laid his lance beneath his oak, Felt if his arms in order good 80 The long day's march had well withstood-- If still the powder filled the pan, And flints unloosened kept their lock-- His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt, And whether they had chafed his belt; And next the venerable man, From out his havresack and can, Prepared and spread his slender stock; And to the Monarch and his men The whole or portion offered then 90 With far less of inquietude Than courtiers at a banquet would.

And Charles of this his slender share With smiles partook a moment there, To force of cheer a greater show, And seem above both wounds and woe;-- And then he said--"Of all our band, Though firm of heart and strong of hand, In skirmish, march, or forage, none Can less have said or more have done 100 Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth So fit a pair had never birth, Since Alexander's days till now, As thy Bucephalus and thou: All Scythia's fame to thine should yield For p.r.i.c.king on o'er flood and field."

Mazeppa answered--"Ill betide The school wherein I learned to ride!"

Quoth Charles--"Old Hetman, wherefore so, Since thou hast learned the art so well?" 110 Mazeppa said--"'Twere long to tell; And we have many a league to go, With every now and then a blow, And ten to one at least the foe, Before our steeds may graze at ease, Beyond the swift Borysthenes:[253]

And, Sire, your limbs have need of rest, And I will be the sentinel Of this your troop."--"But I request,"

Said Sweden's monarch, "thou wilt tell 120 This tale of thine, and I may reap, Perchance, from this the boon of sleep; For at this moment from my eyes The hope of present slumber flies."

"Well, Sire, with such a hope, I'll track My seventy years of memory back: I think 'twas in my twentieth spring,-- Aye 'twas,--when Casimir was king[254]-- John Casimir,--I was his page Six summers, in my earlier age:[255] 130 A learned monarch, faith! was he, And most unlike your Majesty; He made no wars, and did not gain New realms to lose them back again; And (save debates in Warsaw's diet) He reigned in most unseemly quiet; Not that he had no cares to vex; He loved the Muses and the s.e.x;[256]

And sometimes these so froward are, They made him wish himself at war; 140 But soon his wrath being o'er, he took Another mistress--or new book: And then he gave prodigious fetes-- All Warsaw gathered round his gates To gaze upon his splendid court, And dames, and chiefs, of princely port.

He was the Polish Solomon, So sung his poets, all but one, Who, being unpensioned, made a satire, And boasted that he could not flatter. 150 It was a court of jousts and mimes, Where every courtier tried at rhymes; Even I for once produced some verses, And signed my odes 'Despairing Thyrsis.'

There was a certain Palatine,[257]

A Count of far and high descent, Rich as a salt or silver mine;[258]

And he was proud, ye may divine, As if from Heaven he had been sent; He had such wealth in blood and ore 160 As few could match beneath the throne; And he would gaze upon his store, And o'er his pedigree would pore, Until by some confusion led, Which almost looked like want of head, He thought their merits were his own.

His wife was not of this opinion; His junior she by thirty years, Grew daily tired of his dominion; And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, 170 To Virtue a few farewell tears, A restless dream or two--some glances At Warsaw's youth--some songs, and dances, Awaited but the usual chances, Those happy accidents which render The coldest dames so very tender, To deck her Count with t.i.tles given, 'Tis said, as pa.s.sports into Heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast Of these, who have deserved them most. 180

V.

"I was a goodly stripling then; At seventy years I so may say, That there were few, or boys or men, Who, in my dawning time of day, Of va.s.sal or of knight's degree, Could vie in vanities with me; For I had strength--youth--gaiety, A port, not like to this ye see, But smooth, as all is rugged now; For Time, and Care, and War, have ploughed 190 My very soul from out my brow; And thus I should be disavowed By all my kind and kin, could they Compare my day and yesterday; This change was wrought, too, long ere age Had ta'en my features for his page: With years, ye know, have not declined My strength--my courage--or my mind, Or at this hour I should not be Telling old tales beneath a tree, 200 With starless skies my canopy.

But let me on: Theresa's[259] form-- Methinks it glides before me now, Between me and yon chestnut's bough, The memory is so quick and warm; And yet I find no words to tell The shape of her I loved so well: She had the Asiatic eye, Such as our Turkish neighbourhood Hath mingled with our Polish blood, 210 Dark as above us is the sky; But through it stole a tender light, Like the first moonrise of midnight; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, Which seemed to melt to its own beam; All love, half languor, and half fire, Like saints that at the stake expire, And lift their raptured looks on high, As though it were a joy to die.[bs]

A brow like a midsummer lake, 220 Transparent with the sun therein, When waves no murmur dare to make, And heaven beholds her face within.

A cheek and lip--but why proceed?

I loved her then, I love her still; And such as I am, love indeed In fierce extremes--in good and ill.

But still we love even in our rage, And haunted to our very age With the vain shadow of the past,-- 230 As is Mazeppa to the last.

VI.

"We met--we gazed--I saw, and sighed; She did not speak, and yet replied; There are ten thousand tones and signs We hear and see, but none defines-- Involuntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought, And form a strange intelligence, Alike mysterious and intense, Which link the burning chain that binds, 240 Without their will, young hearts and minds; Conveying, as the electric[260] wire, We know not how, the absorbing fire.

I saw, and sighed--in silence wept, And still reluctant distance kept, Until I was made known to her, And we might then and there confer Without suspicion--then, even then, I longed, and was resolved to speak; But on my lips they died again, 250 The accents tremulous and weak, Until one hour.--There is a game, A frivolous and foolish play, Wherewith we while away the day; It is--I have forgot the name-- And we to this, it seems, were set, By some strange chance, which I forget: I recked not if I won or lost, It was enough for me to be So near to hear, and oh! to see 260 The being whom I loved the most.

I watched her as a sentinel, (May ours this dark night watch as well!) Until I saw, and thus it was, That she was pensive, nor perceived Her occupation, nor was grieved Nor glad to lose or gain; but still Played on for hours, as if her will Yet bound her to the place, though not That hers might be the winning lot[bt]. 270 Then through my brain the thought did pa.s.s, Even as a flash of lightning there, That there was something in her air Which would not doom me to despair; And on the thought my words broke forth, All incoherent as they were; Their eloquence was little worth, But yet she listened--'tis enough-- Who listens once will listen twice; Her heart, be sure, is not of ice-- 280 And one refusal no rebuff.

VII.

"I loved, and was beloved again-- They tell me, Sire, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true, I shorten all my joy or pain; To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; But all men are not born to reign, Or o'er their pa.s.sions, or as you Thus o'er themselves and nations too.

I am--or rather _was_--a Prince, 290 A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on where each would foremost bleed; But could not o'er myself evince The like control--But to resume: I loved, and was beloved again; In sooth, it is a happy doom, But yet where happiest ends in pain.-- We met in secret, and the hour Which led me to that lady's bower Was fiery Expectation's dower. 300 My days and nights were nothing--all Except that hour which doth recall, In the long lapse from youth to age, No other like itself: I'd give The Ukraine back again to live It o'er once more, and be a page, The happy page, who was the lord Of one soft heart, and his own sword, And had no other gem nor wealth, Save Nature's gift of Youth and Health. 310 We met in secret--doubly sweet[261], Some say, they find it so to meet; I know not that--I would have given My life but to have called her mine In the full view of Earth and Heaven; For I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth.

VIII.

"For lovers there are many eyes, And such there were on us; the Devil On such occasions should be civil-- 320 The Devil!--I'm loth to do him wrong, It might be some untoward saint, Who would not be at rest too long, But to his pious bile gave vent-- But one fair night, some lurking spies Surprised and seized us both.

The Count was something more than wroth-- I was unarmed; but if in steel, All cap-a-pie from head to heel, What 'gainst their numbers could I do? 330 'Twas near his castle, far away From city or from succour near, And almost on the break of day; I did not think to see another, My moments seemed reduced to few; And with one prayer to Mary Mother, And, it may be, a saint or two, As I resigned me to my fate, They led me to the castle gate: Theresa's doom I never knew, 340 Our lot was henceforth separate.

An angry man, ye may opine, Was he, the proud Count Palatine; And he had reason good to be, But he was most enraged lest such An accident should chance to touch Upon his future pedigree; Nor less amazed, that such a blot His n.o.ble 'scutcheon should have got, While he was highest of his line; 350 Because unto himself he seemed The first of men, nor less he deemed In others' eyes, and most in mine.

'Sdeath! with a _page_--perchance a king Had reconciled him to the thing; But with a stripling of a page-- I felt--but cannot paint his rage.

IX.

"'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought!

In truth, he was a n.o.ble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, 360 Who looked as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild, Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, With spur and bridle undefiled-- 'Twas but a day he had been caught; And snorting, with erected mane, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led: They bound me on, that menial throng, Upon his back with many a thong; 370 They loosed him with a sudden lash-- Away!--away!--and on we dash!-- Torrents less rapid and less rash.