# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/The Death of the Wolf (Alfred de Vigny)

THE DEATH OF THE WOLF.
WRITTEN IN THE CHATEAU OF M ***
ALFRED DE VIGNY.
Across the large disk of the moon the clouds Ran like the smoke across a bonfire's blaze; And to the farthest limits of the sky The woods grew dark. We marched, in silence all, Upon the humid turf, in dense low furze, Or higher heath, when under stunted pines Like those that stud the moors, we dimly traced The big marks of the claws of wandering wolves We had already tracked. We stopped and held Our breath to listen. Neither in the wood, Nor in the plain far off, nor in the air, The faintest sound or sigh was audible; Only the distant village weathercock Creaked to the firmament as if it mourned; For high uplifted soared above the earth The wind, and it grazed only with its wings The solitary towers and dim-seen spires, While ancient oaks and other lofty trees, That leaned their brows against the rocks below, Seemed wrapt in slumber peaceful and profound. Amid this silence suddenly crouched down The oldest of us—hunters on the search—
More closely to regard the sand we trod, For sand it was at present. Soon he rose And in a low voice said, that thrilled through all— For never had he been in error yet On such a subject—that the recent marks Announced the steady gait and powerful claws Of two wolves full-grown, followed by two cubs. We then got ready our broad-bladed knives And polished guns, and striving to conceal The flashing lustre of the steel that shone Too white in the surrounding darkness, moved Step after step, pushing the boughs aside That stretched across our path. Three stopped,—and then While straining to find out what they had seen, At once I saw two blazing eyes like coals, And then four forms, agile, and lithe, and gaunt, That danced in the faint moonlight on the furze Like joyous greyhounds, such as oft are seen Clamorous around their master from the chase At eve returned. Similar was their form And similar the dance; only the wolves And cubs gambolled in silence, as though they felt The neighbourhood of man, their mortal foe. The male stood on his feet, and farther on, Against a tree the female wolf reclined— A marble image, like the one adored By the old Romans as the heaven-sent nurse Of Romulus and Remus, demi-gods, Who from her shaggy side drew nourishment. A slight noise, and the male wolf was alert, His hooked nails buried in the sand, he looked Intent around, then judged himself for lost. He was surprised, and all retreat cut off!
Then sudden springing forth with flaming jaws, He pounced upon the palpitating throat Of the bold dog that rashly had drawn near; Nor did he loose his terrible iron grip, Though rapid shots traversed his heaving flanks, And sharp knives in his monstrous entrails plunged Like lightnings crossed, and with each other clashed, Until faint, gasping—dead, the strangled hound Rolled at his feet. He left his vanquished foe And gazed at us. The knives still in his sides Rested, both buried to their very hilts. He had been well nigh pinned unto the turf Which his blood deluged. Still, around our guns Menaced him, levelled ominously close, A sinister crescent, but he heeded not. He looked at us again, and then lay down, Licking the blood bespattered round his mouth, And deigning not to know whence death had come, Shut his large eyes, and died without a cry.
II.
I leaned my forehead on my empty gun And fell into a train of random thought, Unwilling, it may be, or unresolved The she-wolf and her cubs to sacrifice. These three had waited for the wolf, now dead; But for her cubs, I verily believe, The fair and sombre female had done more; She never would have let him die alone. But to her heart her duty now was plain: Her mother's instinct told her she must save
The offspring of her bowels with her life If need should be, that she might teach them, grown To wolf's estate, the duties of a wolf; To suffer without shrinking hunger's pangs, Never to enter into terms with man, (Such as exist between him and the tribes Of servile animals that bear his yoke, Or chase the first possessors of the woods And rocks before him, to obtain a place To sleep in, and a pittance from his hand,) And to hold freedom dearer far than life.
III.
Alas! I thought, in despite of the name, Believed so great, the lofty name of man, How weak we are, how abject! And I felt A shame for all our race. Life to forsake, And all its weight of sorrows and of ills, With dignity, mute, touching and sublime, Is known alone to animals contemned. To see what man, their lord, achieves on earth And what he leaves untouched, inspires this thought, —Silence is great alone, and all the rest Is vanity and weakness here below. Ah! I have learnt the lesson thou hast taught, Thou savage denizen of the forests wild, And thy last look has entered to my heart; It said:—'If thou canst do it, mortal, strive So that thy soul attain, through constant thought And patient study, to the lofty height Of stoic pride that cares not for events;
That height to which, born free in pathless woods, I, without effort, from the first have reached. To groan, to cry, to seek for any aid Is cowardice. With energy and strength Perform the long and often heavy task, And walk in singleness of heart along The way where fate has placed thee, whether smooth Or rough it be. Fulfil thy calling high; Then after that, like me, without complaint, Suffer and die, nor care to leave a name.'