Narsųjį
Kestutį ir jo sūnų Vytautą Jogaila apgaulingai
suėmė ir Krėvos pilies urvuose
uždarė…………….
English
Translation by Gloria O’Brien
Valiant Grand Duke Kestutis
and his son Vytautas, through the treachery of their deceitful nephew and
cousin, Jogaila, were captured and imprisoned in the dungeons of the
This news flew like lightning
throughout all of
Kestutis’s body, laid
upon a fine catafalque, was carried from Kreva to Vilnius on the shoulders of
captives; before them walked a hundred mourners, loudly chanting lamentations
and weeping copious tears, which they collected in ceremonial glass
receptacles. Before them marched musicians and trumpeters, filling the
forests with the sounds of brass and horn. A hundred warriors, armed with
spear, axe and bow, surrounded the Duke’s litter, immediately followed by
his faithful servant, ready to be cremated with his lord. After them,
Kestutis’s steed was led, then his hunting hounds; his falcons and
hawks followed, and finally, in a golden cabinet, his robes, his cap, weapons,
golden chains and other treasure. Before all rode twenty mounted knights,
swinging their naked swords in the air above and around them, driving away evil
spirits, shouting in their most threatening voices, “Begone, devils, do
not approach him! Pikuoli, defend his soul!”
The din raised by the songs
of the mourners, sounds of trumpets and horns, and shouts of the mounted men,
attracted countless villagers along the way, prompting them to join the
procession which, by the time it reached
The litter was again raised
by the bearers and carried towards the castle. There a ritual bath had
been prepared, and the body was washed and anointed with fragrant oils, then
dressed in white robes, encased in shining armor, belted in gold studded with
precious gems, shod with red slippers embroidered with gold, and crowned with
his ducal cap. At his side they hung his sword, next to the lifeless hand
which not so long ago had been feared by
The body of Kestutis, thus
suitably adorned, was carried into the castle’s audience chamber and
seated upon the ducal throne, casks of ale and mead placed beside him.
Despite the horrid manner of his sudden death, his face retained its customary
noble, peaceful expression, augmented by his long snowy beard and white
brows.
The gates of the castle were
opened wide, allowing each individual, regardless of class, age or gender, to
gaze upon their fallen leader and bid him a final farewell. Crowds of
people passed through the castle, tearfully saying their goodbyes, for a full
five days. Jogaila was the first to take his leave. Drinking to his
uncle and pretending bitter tears, he called to the deceased:
- I drink to you, dear uncle, why did you have to die?
And all the assembly
repeated:
- Why did you have to die?
- Didn’t you have enough to eat and drink?
- Didn’t you have a State, castles and servants?
- Estates, fine robes and treasure, weren’t they enough?
- Didn’t you have a loving wife, children? O dearest ruler,
why did you have to die?
Later, Kestutis’s son
Vytautas was brought up from the depths of the dungeon. He shed no tears,
but with lips compressed and a stony countenance he approached his
father’s corpse, took a cold hand in his own warm clasp and looked long
into the beloved face, while revenge boiled in his heart. Then, without a
glance for the coward Jogaila, he returned to his prison cell, there to await
his father’s final obsequies.
At the same time, in the
Barrels of resin and grease were placed at each corner of the pyre to encourage
the flames, and an urn placed on a precious carpet waited to receive the ashes
of the Grand Duke. On the sixth day, an enormous throng gathered, filling
the whole of
The Grand Duke’s
faithful servant, having shared success and failure with Kestutis during all
their lives, clambered up on the pyre and stood alongside his lord, unwilling
to part with him now and determined to continue serving him in the next
life. The warhorse, as if knowing what fate awaited him, reared and
bucked, neighed and escaped the hands leading him, but finally submitted and
allowed himself to be lead to the pyre, where he was brought down and secured
with ropes. The unfortunate beast stretched his neck, flinging his long
white mane from side to side, casting reproachful eyes upon the
gathering. The hunting hounds, falcons and hawks, all bound, were
likewise placed around the pyre. Finally, at the Duke’s feet was
laid his treasure, all the things he would need in the afterlife: his gleaming
weapons and arms, studded with precious gems; his robes, golden belts and
chains; bread and drink; and finally, a bag of gold. All this, the Duke
would surely need during his long journey.
Trumpets sounded, and
attention shifted to an area where a portion of the Duke’s treasure had
been set out upon the ground as relics and remembrances, and ten of
Lithuania’s proudest and fiercest mounted warriors rode up. At the
signal, touching spurs to their mounts, they galloped, flew like lightning, and
leaning from the saddle, scooped up weapons, belts, and fragments of the ducal
robes, souvenirs of their leader to be saved for generations to come. The
crowd marveled at the young men’s skill and treated them to loud
applause.
But a large dark cloud in the
western sky boded ill, and it was necessary to proceed with the funeral.
As horns and long ceremonial trumpets sounded, and hymns of mourning were
heard once again, the priestly procession advanced from the temple of
Perkūnas, through the aged oaks. First came the keepers of the
sacred flame – vaidilutės - eyes lowered, robed in white, and after
them the priests – krivės – serious faces, heads wreathed
in oak leaves, also robed in white, some trailing animal skins from their
belts, each holding a tall crooked staff. Finally, escorted by two senior
priests, Lithuania’s high priest, the Krivė Krivaitis, a tall old
man, hunched with his age. In one hand he held his three-pronged staff;
in the other, a torch lit from the sacred eternal flame of Perkūnas.
The procession arrived at the pyre and Krivė Krivaitis bowed low before
the corpse, the priests and vaidilutės doing likewise. In
solemn tones, Krivė Krivaitis then recounted the departed Grand
Duke’s heroic deeds and services to Lithuania and her inhabitants.
He stood quietly awhile, then raised his eyes skyward, and proclaimed:
“I can see you, o
valiant hero, in the wide heaven, in gleaming armor, flying through the milky
way on your white steed. In your hand you hold three stars, as you enter
the Mansion of Eternal Joy, escorted by a mass of holy spirits!”
And so it seemed to those
assembled, that they did see their duke, flying along the paths of heaven.
The superstitious Jogaila, a believer in magic, was as white as a sheet.
Krivė Krivaitis held the
torch to all four corners of the pyre, then threw it up to the top. Red
and yellow flames licked at the branches of oak and pine, and soon the entire
pyre was burning, clouds of heavy smoke obscuring the bodies atop and around
it.
A black cloud then covered
the sky, lightning flashed and angry Perkūnas roared.
The funeral pyre continued to burn, an uncertain beacon in a sea of black.
Suddenly, as the air crackled and thundered, the earth opened and swallowed the
pyre with all that remained of Kestutis. Nothing was left - not a sign
that anything had stood and burned on that spot. The frightened crowd
dispersed in all directions, and the fainting Jogaila was carried into the
castle by his cohort.
Only the priests and
vaidilutės remained, serene and unalarmed, and in solemn procession
returned to their sanctuary, to praise all-powerful Perkūnas, foremost of
the gods, lord of thunder and lightning.
Source:
compiled by
Stasys Lipskis and published by “Žuvėdra”
in Lithuania, 1998
© English
Translation - Gloria O’Brien 2006
This article was printed in Lithuanian Heritage
Jan/Feb 2006