SATIRE III
A Sultan among those who over a language reign,
Who where the flocks are pastured,
there stretches their domain,
Was sleeping on the hillside, his head
laid on his arm,
When came to him a vision that did his
spirit charm :
He saw the moon that nightly across the
heavens ranged
Turn from her wonted journey and to a
maiden changed,
He saw her glide towards him, with
lovely downcast head,
And there was sorrow in her eyes; but
spring bloomed at her tread;
While all the forest trembled, so
wondrous war her grace,
And a thrill of silver ripples ran o
'er the water's face.
A mist like sparkling diamonds that did
the vision daze
Lay on the earth enchanted, a bright
illumined haze,
While the sound of whispered music sang
through that wonderland,
And o 'er the starry heavens a midnight
rainbow spanned...
Her hair in raven tresses about her
shoulders fell,
And taking his hand in hers, she these
grave words did tell:
"Let be our lives united, my pain
let yours enfold
That through your sorrow's sweetness my
sorrow be consoled...
Writ was it through the ages and all
the stars record
That I shall be your mistress, and you
shall be my lord."
Now, as the Sultan marvelled, softly
she withdrew
And he felt as if within him a wondrous
tree upgrew;
A tree that in an instant raised
loftily its head
And to the far horizons its thrusting
branches spread;
A tree of such a stature that even at
midday
The farthest lands and oceans under its
shadow lay.
While at the earth's four corners rose
up against the sky
Atlas, Caucasus, Taurus and the Balkan
mountains high;
The wide Euphrates, Tigris, the Nile,
the Danube old,
All 'neath its boughs protecting their mighty waters rolled.
Asia, Europe, Africa and the desert
stretching far,
The boats that on the lakes and seas
and on the rivers are,
Billowing, boundless cornfields that
tossed emerald locks,
And shores, and ships, and harbours
with castles on the rocks,
All these spread like a carpet his
vision did embrace,
Country next to country set, and race
to race...
All these as in a mist of silver did he
see,
A vast extending kingdom 'neath the
shadow of a tree.
The eagle that aspires the sky does dawdle not
With lazy wings, nor in among the
branches squat ;
And now a wind of conquest the ancient
forest fills
And shouts of Allah ! Allah ! echo
among the hills,
As though a rising tempest does o'er
the ocean roar
The deafening clash of battle, the
thunderous clang of war;
Till loudly does the forest to that
great gale resound
And bow before new Rome its branches to
the ground.
The Sultan then awakened to find the moon again
Her wonted place had taken above
Eskishehr plain,
And sadly to the dwelling of Sheik
Edebali turned
And through the windows bars a girlish
form discerned,
More lithesome than a hazel, a maid who
gravely smiled,
Sweet Malcatun the beautiful, Sheik
Edebali's child.
And then it was he understood his dream
sent by the prophet,
As though a moment he had gained the presence
of Mahomet;
He knew that born of this his love
would there an empire grow
Of which the tides and boundaries only
the sky would know.
Now, as the eagle rises the Sultan's dream came true,
And year by year invincible that
gathering kingdom grew,
And year by year the emerald flame flew
higher in the blast
As generations came and went, and as
each sultan passed;
Nor was there any nation could its
course forbid
Until up to the Danube rode conquering
Bayazid.
From one bank to the other a bridge of boats was cast
And all that host marched over midst
fanfare trumpet blast,
The bodyguard of Allah did over the
Danube ride
Darkening with their numbers the Rovine
countryside,
Swarming tens of thousands spreading
their tents immense;
But on the far horizon stood oaks in
forest dense.
Now came a company of men, in front a white flag borne,
And Bayazid regarding them enquired
with haughty scorn:
"What do you want?"
"We want but peace, and if it be
allowed
Our Sire would like to speak awhile
with you, great Sultan proud."
At a sigh the way was cleared, and came
towards the tent
A man of calm and simple mien, and with
the years bent.
"Is't Mircea ?"
"Yes your Highness !"
"Take heed, for caution warns,
Lest you your crown exchange against a
wreath of thorns."
"That you have come, great
emperor, no heed what be your aim,
While still at peace I hail you, our
greetings that you came;
But, as to your good council, o may the
Lord forgive,
If you do dream to win this land by
force imperative;
Had you not better return home with
calm and peaceful mind
And show in your imperial strength that
you are just and kind...
Be the one or be the other, but little
does it awe,
Gladly shall we take our fare, either
peace or war."
"What, when nations open their
gates before my trump
You think my hosts will stumble against
a rotten stump ?
You do not guess, old dotard, the force
my foes deployed
The West's most noble flower these
soldiers have destroyed.
O'er all the cross does shelter,
emperors and kings,
The crescent moon ascending its silver
shadow flings.
Aye, clad in gleaming armour the
cavaliers of Malta,
The Pope who wears three crowns and
guards the Holy Altar
Lightning against lightning set and
thunder against thunder,
A storm that fraught the sea with fear
and filled the earth with wonder.
I needed but to make a sign, a movement
of my head
And all the nations in my path in wild
disorder fled;
For strong to overthrow the cross did
march a mighty host
O'er sea its rule from land to land, on
land from coast to coast;
Shattering the peace of earth as it did
march along,
Darkening the countryside in tens of
thousand strong.
Our lances stood uncounted like a field
of growing corn,
And tremble did the ocean o'er which
our ships were borne.
At Nicopolis you no doubt saw how many
camps were brought,
As though a shining metal wall of
swords and spears wrought.
But when I saw their number like the
leaves and like the grass,
I swore that I would crush them down
and through their midst would pass;
I swore that I would scatter them as
wild upflings the foam,
And give my charger hay and oats in the
Vatican at Rome...
Yet you before my legions imagine you
can stand,
You ridiculous old dotard, with a bare
staff in your hand ?"
"To that old dotard, Emperor,
aught one courtesy accord
For over all Wallachia 'tis he the
chosen lord.
And wiser you would guard your words,
nor yet too loudly boast,
Lest should the furious Danube flood
engulf your fleeing host.
Along the rolling ages many there were
who came
Since Darius Hystaspis of tall immortal
fame;
Many there were who flung their dream
across the Danube's tide
And set their bridges ship to ship and
over them did ride;
Emperors unnumbered, for their cruelty
renowned,
Who came to us with hungry eyes for
water and for ground;
And though I would not care to brag,
tell you this thing I must:
Little time went by ere they were water
and were dust.
You boast that on your conquering road
no gates for long were closed
Though all the flower of the West your
vanguard's march opposed;
But what the high aspiring cause that
did their hearts endure ?
The vanity of every brave, of every
cavalier;
The pomp of noisy conquest; for they
had set their vow
To tear the pride from out your heart,
the laurels from your brow.
But I defend the poverty and the needs
of a struggling land
And therefore all the rocks and streams
and hills that guardian stand
And all that grows and moves and
breathes to me is ally true,
While every blade of grass and stone is
enemy to you;
We have small hosts, yet love of soil
had ever power to rid
This flowering land of all its foes.
Prepare then Bayazid !"
No sooner had he gone than mighty the commotion !
The forest rang with arms, and rumbled
like the ocean,
Amidst the greenwood thousand heads
with long and plaited hair,
And sev'ral thousands more besides that
did bright helmets wear.
While wave on wave of cavalry over the
plain did flood
Astride high prancing chargers, their
stirrups carved of wood.
Thundering over the battered earth an
avalanche they went,
Lances levelled to the charge and bows
near double bent;
Till like a shower of shivering light
that whistled through the air,
A storm of arrows leapt and sang and
flew from everywhere:
A din of blows on armour dealt like
rattling of hail,
The noise of hoof and sword and lance,
the roar of battle gale.
Unheeded was the Emperor's fury,
lion-like his rage,
For hotter still about his troops the
fight did deadly wage;
Unheeded did the green flame flutter o'er his stricken ranks
For mightily assailed in front,
attacked on both their flanks,
The East's entire battle host was
scattered in the fray
And line on line of infantry mown down
like summer hay.
A steady rain of arrows fell and sword
blows did resound,
While riders dropped on every hand and
dead bestrewed the ground.
Till, onset from all sides at once,
helpless to fight or fly,
It seemed the very earth was doomed and
fallen was the sky...
Mircea himself led on his men midst
storm of battle lust
That came, and came, and came, that
trod all in the dust;
Their cavalry undaunted, a wall of
lances proud
Which through that pagan army streets
of daylight ploughed
And laid to earth their thousands like
sheafs of ripened corn,
High in the van of conquest Wallachia's
banner borne;
As deluge flung from heaven that burst
upon the seas,
Till in an hour the heathen were chaff
before the breeze
And from that hail of iron fast towards
the Danube fled,
While gloriously behind them
th'Romanian army spread.
Now, while the troops are camping, the sun goes slowly down
Decking the lofty summits with
victory's gold crown;
The lightning that from terror had
flown out of the sky
Now flashes forth its splendour along
the mountains high,
While gradually the planets do up the
heaven rear
And o'er the mist-drenched forest the
pallid moon appear,
The queen of night and ocean that
squanders calm and sleep.
Yet of the sons of Mircea does one
still vigil keep,
And on his knee, in musing, beneath the
evening star,
He writes to his beloved of Arges
village far:
"From deep within Rovine vale,
O lady fair, we bid you hail,
Alas, by letter not by speech,
By sundering distance out of reach.
Yet am I fain to beg of thee
To send by messenger to me
What in your valley fairest be:
The forest with its silver glade,
Thy eyes that long, curl'd lashes
shade.
And I in turn will send to you
The proudest thing that here we view:
This mighty host with banner spread,
The forest, branching overhead,
My helmet with its feathery crest,
My eyes that 'neath their lashes rest.
I have both health and resting-place,
Thanks be to Christ and to God's grace,
And now, dear love, I thee
embrace".
.............................................................
.
By such an age as this were chroniclers inspired;
But our good age of mountebanks what
poet's heart has fired...
In annals of past ages heroes are often
found,
But poet with your lute or lyre of
dreaming sound
Have you a single patriot to sing about
today?
Apollo at the sight of these had hid
himself away!
O modern heroes squatting beneath far
glory's wing,
Since you are all the fashion I would
your prowess sing;
While draped in perfect nullity your
praise is writ by those
Who knead the golden ages within the
mud of prose.
Musat and Basarabs rest in your sacred
shade,
Givers of law and justice, men who our
nation made,
Who with the mace and ploughshare
spread out our boundaries wide
From seashore to the mountains, and to
the Danube side.
The "present" is not noble? Calling for heroes we?
Is not our street quite famous for
dealers in jewelry?
Have not in far Sybaris our manners
gained first prize?
From tavern door and alley does glory
not arise?
And have we then no heroes, who wield
rhetoric slings
Amidst the noisy plaudit of hordes of
gutterings?
These pickpockets of honour who on a
tightrope dance,
And wear their fancy costumes with
perfect elegance.
Of "Virtue" and "The
Nation" our liberal prates, till sure
His daily life you'd fancy must be as
crystal pure?
You'd never dream him being a cafe
haunting knave,
Who mocks at his own sermon, so solemn,
and so grave.
O could you see the brigand that no
conscience has nor soul
With his hang-dog expression and heavy,
sullen jaw,
A hunchback, evil-visaged, a spring of
cunning greed,
Who spouts out for his comrades some
poisoned, nonsense creed.
Upon each lip is Virtue, and in each
heart deceit;
A set of wicked monsters and wrong from
head to feet
Who round their patrons standing, as
those who Gods admire,
Will roll protruding frog eyes, bright
with their hearts' aspire.
Such men become our leaders, its laws
our country give,
Men who at best from kindness should in
a madhouse live
Clothed each in madmen's jackets, a
fool's cap on each head.
But no...they teach us wisdom and make
our laws instead.
Patriotism ! Justice !... Such guardians of our State
Despise the laws as nonsense that they
themselves create.
As sly as artful foxes they will the
benches throng
Frenetically applauding our country
game and song ;
Then meeting in the Senate each others
praises speak
This heavy-throated Bulgar, that long
and hook-nosed Greek.
Each claims to be Romanian, whatever
mask he wears,
These Bulgo-Greeks pretending that they
are Trajan's heirs;
This poison froth, this dung-heap, this
foul and filthy brood
Have they indeed inherited our nation's
masterhood !
The scourings of everywhere, the
abortive and the maimed,
All that man rejected and nature has
disclaimed,
These crafty, greedy gluttons, these
grasping Phanariots
To us they all have flooded and pose as
patriots.
Until at last these nothings, this foul
and loathful scum,
These cripple-minded stammerers lords
of our land become.
Are you then Rome's descendants, you eunuchs and no men ?
If you were men in earnest, pity it
were that then
This hungry plague of locusts, these
creatures crazed and lame
Dare part their lips in public and
flatter without shame
Our nation's majesty, and make it
odious stand,
Dare even speak thy name... o miserable
land !
In Paris pleasure houses, there has your congress been;
With jaded, worthless women, in revelry
obscene,
In sloth and vulgar rioting you wasted
and youth;
In you what could develop, that empty
are in sooth ?
And, coming back, for wisdom a perfume flask you brought,
A monocle you flourished, a cane for
sword you bought.
Withered up before your time, yet
childish in your brain,
For scientific knowledge a Bal-Mabil refrain,
And all your father's riches spent on
some harlot's shoe:
O admirable and worthy offspring of
Romans, you !
And now just look with horror on faces
sceptic cold,
What wonder that your falsehoods no
more persuasion hold ?
When those who speak fine phrases and
lofty sermons give
Would simply fill their pockets, that
they may lazy live,
Today the polished discourse does
little credence know,
But others are the reasons, dear Sirs,
is that not so ?
Too much have you made riches and power
your single aim,
Too much have brought our nation to
ridicule and shame,
Too much you mocked the language and
customs of this race,
That now at last your mocking does but
yourselves disgrace,
While self was e'er the craving that in
your spirits stirred,
Genius? A nonsense. Virtue? But a word.
O,
leave in the old chronicles our forefathers to rest;
For they would gaze upon you with irony
at best.
Rise once more, o Tepes! Take and
divide these men
As lunatics and rogues in two big
tribes, and then
In mighty, twin infirmaries by force
both tribes intern,
And with a single faggot prison and
madhouse burn.
English
version by Corneliu M. Popescu
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