Angel And Demon Poem by Peter Mamara

By M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

In a gloomy dome, in the midst of an yellow light
From the wax candles that burn next to the altar,
Dark cloisters are at the back of the dome.
These are big and not soaked by the red glare of the candles' wicks.
A young woman is kneeled on the steps, like an angel,
In the empty church, next to the arch in the wall;

On an icon inside the altar, in a ray of reflected red,
The Virgin Mary is seen pale and sad.
A candle is poked in a grey stone pillar.
Shiny drops of wax reach the floor with a hiss.
And wreaths of dried flowers with scent: fall to pieces.
And the young woman whispers a prayer in silence.

Wrapped in darkness, next to a marble cross,
He watches like a demon, in a dark and dense dimness.
He stretches his elbows. And he directs his stare towards the cross.
He has his eye deep in his head. His brow is wrinkled and cheerless.

And his chin presses on the stone's cold border.
And his hair, black as the night, is on the white marble pillar.
A gentle ray only just glows from the burned candle,
Which gives off a reddish-white radiance: it moves on his face.

She is an angel who prays. He is a demon who dreams.
She has a heart of gold. He has a rebel spirit.
Sad and devout, she keeps vigil at Madonna's feet.
He sits with poise in the dark and relaxes.

The young woman's full shadow is reflected like in a mirror
On a tall and cold wall, made of pure marble —
Which, it's white like snow in winter, and shiny like the still water.

Her shadow is kneeled down, like it's in prayer.
With a face white as marble, and with hands like wax,
In your sombreness, what don't you have there with you, blonde lass you?
I see a clear pale shape, mixed with stars.
You chaste stare is beneath your eyebrows.

Aren't you an angel with long wings full of stars?
But what do I see? What spreads out on your shadow's shoulders?
Two contours of wings that move unsteadily.
Two wings of a shadow lifted to the sky.

But that's not her shadow. He's her guardian angel.
Next to the white statue, I see his heavenly soul.
Above her chaste life is his virtuous excitement.
He prays by her side. He kneels by her side.

But if that shadow is hers, then she's an angel,
Though the people cannot see her white wings.
Walls, which are sanctified by people's long prayers
Mirror her clear wings and let anyone catch a glimpse.

I love you! The demon was about to cry in his dark corner.
But the winged-shadow makes his lips quiet.
He bends his knees not for love but for prayer.
He listens to her sweet, shy whispers, while banished from this world.
.......................................................................
She is a king's daughter — a blonde woman with a starry crown.
In this world, she is at ease — an angel, a queen and a woman.
He is upheaval in the kingdoms, the spark of ruin.
And he sows wild thoughts in wretched souls.

Between him and her, there were centuries of thought.
Life's blows split history and people.
They meet now and then, hardly ever. Their eyes stare at each other.
They seem to consume each other with their hot desire.

Her big blue eyes —sweet and softened by gentleness —
Pierce deep in his dark and wild eyes.
A red cloud go across gently on his slim face.
They love each other… And are both as one, yet far away…

A white king had come, burdened with power and glories.
And he had laid his ancient crown at her feet.
She entered and she walked on the carpets towards the throne
She put her small hand on his hand, on which he carried his sceptre.

But no—her nearly opened lips keep on being still.
Her hand is drawn back. The heart in her chest is tranquil.
In her heart, she was secretly in love. Clearly and slowly,
The demon of dreams, when one is young, appeared on her face.

She saw him inspiring the people with cool and bold ideas.
With a sweet fright of love, she thinks how powerful he is.
He goes immediately on the rampage with his great ideas,
Against all what long centuries and great leaders had put aside.

Perched on a stone, he wrapped himself in the red flag,
And his rough brow, absorbed in thought,
Looked like a dark night, covered by storm.
His eyes sparkled. His speech woke up his wild whim.
...................................................................
The young man sweats in a long agony on a modest bed.
An oil lamp glows with its avid and thin tongue.
And it sizzles in stale air. No one knows about him.
No one soothes his fate. No one strokes his brow.

Oh! Those thoughts directed against the world…
Against the laws that are written… against the clothed order…
With God's designation — today are directed all
Against his dying heart, and want to stifle his soul.

To die without a hope! Who knows the bitter thought
Which, was hidden in that phrase?
To feel irrelevant; not to feel free;
To see the great aims abridged to nil.
There are evils in this world that one cannot wrestle with.

And that fighting them you waste your days.
And when you die, you realize that you lived on this world to no purpose.
Such death is hell. Added tears; added resentment;
It cannot be crueller. You feel that you are not important.

Don't ever let him pass on to you, those dark thoughts.
How did he enter this life? How much love of righteousness and honesty?
How much sincere brotherhood did he bring with him?
And what about the reward, and the anger that torments his heart?

But the silver shadow of an angel approaches,
Through the hazy fog, that covers his eyes.
And it gently sits on his bed. She kisses his eyes blinded by cries.
And she clears the mist from his eyes.

She is the one. With a never felt, deep feeling,
He looks in her eye that is filled with emotion. She is fine looking.
His last hour, pacifies his whole life of agony.
"Ah, " he whispers dying, "my love,
I guess you might be the one…
With my rebellious thoughts, against the open sky,
Against this world, against my time,
Against my life, and against the people I armed…"

She didn't want to punish the demon.
She had sent an angel to bring him peace instead.
And peace is love.

(1873 April the 1st)

Translated by