Monday, April 06, 2009

The Death of the Wolf

KI-Media Note: An excerpt (highlighted in red) of the following poem by Alfred de Vigny was quoted by Duch during today's trial. He explained that this poem helped him cope during his time as S-21 jail chief, and it also helped him resolve his "internal conflict." The French version of the poem is provided below.

The Death of The Wolf

By Alfred de Vigny
English translation by Stan Solomons

I

The dark clouds sped across the orange moon
As smoke trails streak across a fire
And to the far horizon woods were black.
Silent we walked amid the dewy grass,
Amid dense briars and the vaulting heather
Until beneath some moorland conifers
We saw great gashes, marks of griping claws
Made by the wandering wolves we tracked.
We listened, holding back our breath,
Stopped in mid-stride. Nor wood nor plain
Loosed murmurs to the air, only
The mourning wind-vane cried out to the sky
For well above the ground the biting wind
Only disturbed the solitary tower
And the oaks within the shelter of the rocks
On their gnarled elbows seemed to doze.
No rustle then, but sudden, stooping low
The most experienced hunter of our band
Better to scrutinize the sand,
Softly declared - and he was never wrong -
That these fresh claw-marks showed without a doubt
These were the very animals we sought,
The two great wolves and their two stripling cubs.
And then we all prepared our hunting knives,
Hiding our guns and their fierce tell-tale gleam,
We went on, step by step, parting the bushy screen.
Three of us stopped, and, following their gaze,
I noticed suddenly two eyes that blazed,
And further off, two slender forms together,
Dancing beneath the moon, amid the heather.
And they were like the hounds that show their joy,
Greeting their master with a wondrous noise.
And they were like; like also was the dance
Save that the cubs played all in silence,
Knowing full well that near and sleeping slow,
Secure inside his house was man their foe.
The father wolf was up, further against a tree
Remained his mate, a marble statue she,
The same adored by Rome whose generous breast
And suckling gave Remus and Romulus.
The sire advanced with fore-legs braced to stand
With cruel claws dug deeply in the sand.
He was surprised and knew that he was lost
For all the ways were seized, retreat cut off.
Then, in his flaming maw, with one fell bound
Seized the bare throat of our bravest hound.
Like traps his steely jaws he would not leash,
Despite our bullets searing through his flesh,
And our keen knives like cruel and piercing nails,
Clashing and plunging through his entrails.
He held his grasp until the throttled hound,
Dead long before, beneath his feet slumped down.
The Wolf then let him drop and looked his fill
At us. Our daggers thrust home to the hilt,
Steeped in his blood impaled him to the ground,
Our ring of rifles threaten and surround.
He looked at us once more, while his blood spread
Wide and far and his great life force ebbed
Not deigning then to know how he had died
Closed his great eyes, expired without a cry.

II

I couched my brow upon the smoking gun,
And deep in thought, I tried to bend my mind
To track the She-Wolf and her two young ones,
They would most willingly have stayed behind.
But for her cubs that fine and sombre mother
Would not have left her mate there to endure,
She had to save her children, nothing other,
Teach them to suffer gladly pangs of hunger,
Not sell their souls, enter that dishonourable
Pact man forced upon those hapless beasts
Who fawn and hunt for him, and do his will;
The primal owners of the hills and forests.

III

Alas, I thought, despite the pride and name
Of Man we are but feeble, fit for shame.
The way to quit this life and all its ill
You know the secret, sublime animal!
See what of earthly life you can retain,
Silence alone is noble - weakness remains.
O traveller I understand you well,
Your final gaze went to my very soul.
Saying: "With all your being you must strive
With strength and purpose and with all your thought
To gain that high degree of stoic pride
To which, although a beast I have aspired.
Weeping or praying - all this is in vain.
Shoulder your long and energetic task,
The way that Destiny sees fit to ask,
Then suffer and so die without complaint."
----------
La mort du Loup

Par Alfred de Vigny

Les nuages couraient sur la lune enflammée
Comme sur l'incendie on voit fuir la fumée,
Et les bois étaient noirs jusques à l'horizon.
Nous marchions sans parler, dans l'humide gazon,
Dans la bruyère épaisse et dans les hautes brandes,
Lorsque, sous des sapins pareils à ceux des Landes,
Nous avons aperçus les grands ongles marqués
Par les loups voyageurs que nous avions traqués.
Nous avons écouté, retenant notre haleine
Et le pas suspendu. -- Ni le bois, ni la plaine
Ne poussait un soupir dans les airs; Seulement
La girouette en deuil criait au firmament;
Car le vent élevé bien au dessus des terres,
N'effleurait de ses pieds que les tours solitaires,
Et les chênes d'en-bas, contre les rocs penchés,
Sur leurs coudes semblaient endormis et couchés.
Rien ne bruissait donc, lorsque baissant la tête,
Le plus vieux des chasseurs qui s'étaient mis en quête
A regardé le sable en s'y couchant; Bientôt,
Lui que jamais ici on ne vit en défaut,
A déclaré tout bas que ces marques récentes
Annonçait la démarche et les griffes puissantes
De deux grands loups-cerviers et de deux louveteaux.
Nous avons tous alors préparé nos couteaux,
Et, cachant nos fusils et leurs lueurs trop blanches,
Nous allions pas à pas en écartant les branches.
Trois s'arrêtent, et moi, cherchant ce qu'ils voyaient,
J'aperçois tout à coup deux yeux qui flamboyaient,
Et je vois au delà quatre formes légères
Qui dansaient sous la lune au milieu des bruyères,
Comme font chaque jour, à grand bruit sous nos yeux,
Quand le maître revient, les lévriers joyeux.
Leur forme était semblable et semblable la danse;
Mais les enfants du loup se jouaient en silence,
Sachant bien qu'à deux pas, ne dormant qu'à demi,
Se couche dans ses murs l'homme, leur ennemi.
Le père était debout, et plus loin, contre un arbre,
Sa louve reposait comme celle de marbre
Qu'adorait les romains, et dont les flancs velus
Couvaient les demi-dieux Rémus et Romulus.
Le Loup vient et s'assied, les deux jambes dressées,
Par leurs ongles crochus dans le sable enfoncées.
Il s'est jugé perdu, puisqu'il était surpris,
Sa retraite coupée et tous ses chemins pris,
Alors il a saisi, dans sa gueule brûlante,
Du chien le plus hardi la gorge pantelante,
Et n'a pas desserré ses mâchoires de fer,
Malgré nos coups de feu, qui traversaient sa chair,
Et nos couteaux aigus qui, comme des tenailles,
Se croisaient en plongeant dans ses larges entrailles,
Jusqu'au dernier moment où le chien étranglé,
Mort longtemps avant lui, sous ses pieds a roulé.
Le Loup le quitte alors et puis il nous regarde.
Les couteaux lui restaient au flanc jusqu'à la garde,
Le clouaient au gazon tout baigné dans son sang;
Nos fusils l'entouraient en sinistre croissant.
Il nous regarde encore, ensuite il se recouche,
Tout en léchant le sang répandu sur sa bouche,
Et, sans daigner savoir comment il a péri,
Refermant ses grands yeux, meurt sans jeter un cri.

J'ai reposé mon front sur mon fusil sans poudre,
Me prenant à penser, et n'ai pu me résoudre
A poursuivre sa Louve et ses fils qui, tous trois,
Avaient voulu l'attendre, et, comme je le crois,
Sans ses deux louveteaux, la belle et sombre veuve
Ne l'eut pas laissé seul subir la grande épreuve;
Mais son devoir était de les sauver, afin
De pouvoir leur apprendre à bien souffrir la faim,
A ne jamais entrer dans le pacte des villes,
Que l'homme a fait avec les animaux serviles
Qui chassent devant lui, pour avoir le coucher,
Les premiers possesseurs du bois et du rocher.

Hélas! ai-je pensé, malgré ce grand nom d'Hommes,
Que j'ai honte de nous , débiles que nous sommes!
Comment on doit quitter la vie et tous ses maux,
C'est vous qui le savez sublimes animaux.
A voir ce que l'on fut sur terre et ce qu'on laisse,
Seul le silence est grand; tout le reste est faiblesse.
--Ah! je t'ai bien compris, sauvage voyageur,
Et ton dernier regard m'est allé jusqu'au coeur.
Il disait: " Si tu peux, fais que ton âme arrive,
A force de rester studieuse et pensive,
Jusqu'à ce haut degré de stoïque fierté
Où, naissant dans les bois, j'ai tout d'abord monté.
Gémir, pleurer prier est également lâche.
Fais énergiquement ta longue et lourde tâche
Dans la voie où le sort a voulu t'appeler,
Puis, après, comme moi, souffre et meurs sans parler."

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Who is survive on other suffering are evile criminal!

You are sucker!!!!! do you know who you are?????? Violence will follow you soon!!!!!!

Anonymous said...

Mit Duch this was the song that you make people sing - the song that makes you proud of killing innocent people:

The bright red blood
Was spilled over the towns and over the plain of Kampuchea, our motherland,
The blood of our good workers and farmers and of
Our revolutionary combatants, of both men and women.

Their blood produced a great anger and the courage
To contend with heroism.
On the 17th of April, under the revolutionary banner,
Their blood freed us from the state of slavery.

Hurrah for the glorious 17th of April!
That wonderful victory had greater significance
Than the Angkor period!

We are uniting
To construct a Kampuchea with a new and better society,
Democratic, egalitarian and just.
We follow the road to a firmly-based Independence.

We absolutely guarantee to defend our motherland,
Our fine territory, our Magnificent revolution!

Hurrah for the new Kampuchea,
A splendid, democratic land of plenty!
We guarantee to raise aloft and wave the red banner of the revolution.
We shall make our motherland prosperous beyond all others,
Magnificent, wonderful!

Anonymous said...

Does anyone know when or how Duch became familiar with this poem by Alfred de Vigny? Did he study the history of French literature at some time?

Anonymous said...

this is definitely not the original text. I am French and bilingual, and this is my favourite poem; and man I can tell you the translation SUCKS. even I can do better. who the fuck is this guy anyway? you definitely can't understand neither the power of the text nor its stylistic features with such a weak translation...

Anonymous said...

So do better and give us your translation...