A Survey of Polish Literature and Culture 9780231877336

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A S U R V E Y OF POLISH LITERATURE AND CULTURE

COLUMBIA SLAVIC STUDIES A S E R I E S OF

THE

DEPARTMENT OF SLAVIC L A N G U A G E S COLUMBIA ERNEST

I. S I M M O N S ,

UNIVERSITY GENERAL

EDITOR

A S U R V E Y OF

POLISH

LITERATURE

AND C U L T U R E by

MANFRED

KRIDL

Translated from the Polish by O L G A S C H E R E R-V1 R S K I

1956

NEW Y O R K : C O L U M B I A U N I V E R S I T Y

PRESS

THE HAGUE: MOUTON & COMPANY

Published outside the United States and Canada by Mouton & Company, The Hague, Holland, in the series 'Slavistic Printings and Reprintings,' edited by C. H. van Schooneveld, Professor of Baltic and Slavic Philology, University of Leiden. The preparation of this work for publication has been made possible by a grant of the Rockefeller Foundation to the Department of Slavic Languages, Columbia University, and by a grant of the Stanwood Cockey Lodge Foundation, which has also assisted in making possible its publication in the United States. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 55-11748 P R I N T E D I N T H E N E T H E R L A N D S BY MOUTON &

CO., T H E

HAGUE

PREFACE

This book aims to present a general picture of the development of Polish literature, from its beginnings in the Middle Ages to the end of the Second World War, as seen against a cultural background which includes important historical and political events, the life of society, intellectual trends, education, and the arts. The main puropse of the book is to serve students and in part scholars not only in Polish, but also in the other Slavic literatures and in comparative literature. Since the study of Polish on the graduate level includes literature in the proper sense, social history, and culture, and since many literary historians are interested in cultural problems, it seemed desirable to give them at least general information about these subjects. This was done for purely didactic reasons, although not in accordance with the author's theoretical attitude concerning the a u t o n o m o u s character of literature and its development according to its own specific and to a large extent independent 'laws'. This is also the reason why the term 'literature' has been conceived, for the purpose of this book, in the broader sense, including not only poets, novelists, and dramatists, but also political, social, and moral writers, as well as historians and literary critics. However, literary works in the strict sense are treated mostly from the literary point of view, and the choice of authors is based on their artistic significance and achievements. Literature, too, constitutes the bulk of the book, while historical and cultural developments are treated less thoroughly. The present English version is by no means a simple translation of the author's Literatura polska na tie rozwoju kultury ('Polish Literature and its Cultural Background") published in New York by Roy Publishers in 1945. On the contrary, it is a thoroughly reworked and revised version of the Polish original adapted to the new purpose of the book and its new readers. A m o n g other things, it is shorter, contains fewer excerpts and quotations f r o m Polish (unavailable in English translation) and omits that material which would appear to be of little interest to the foreign reader. On the other hand, the English version is provided with more of

vi

PREFACE

the usual scholarly apparatus, such as dates, bibliographical data, footnotes, as well as the views of other scholars on particular problems. The English version, of course, also takes into account all the new developments in both Polish and foreign critical literature during the past ten years. The initiative for preparing this book is due to Professor Ernest J. Simmons, to whom the author is grateful also for his interest, encouragement, and valuable advice, as well as for a grant from the Department of Slavic Languages, Columbia University, to co\er the expenses of the translation. The author wishes to express further his gratitude to the Stanwood Cockey Lodge Foundation for a subsidy to aid in the publication of the book in the United States: to Professor Cornelis H. van Schooneveld, Leiden University, who kindly accepted the volume for his series 'Slavistic Printings and Reprinting*': and to Mrs. Olga SchererVirski for its translation. Acknowledgements are also due to the Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences in America for permission to reprint eight poems and excerpts from G. R. Noyes' Poems by Adam Mickiewicz (New York, 1944): to E. P. Dutton and Co., New York, for authorization to quote from Pan Tadeusz by Adam Mickiewicz translated by George Rapall Noyes (Everyman's Library, No. 842); to the Cambridge University Press for permission to include a quotation from Monica Gardner's The Anonymous Poet of Poland, Zygmuni Krasinski (Cambridge, 1919); and to Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., for authorization to print excerpts from Wladyslaw St. Reymont's The Peasants, translated by M. H. Dziewicki (New York, 1925). New York, February, 1956

M. K.

G U I D E TO POLISH P R O N U N C I A T I O N PREPARED BY THE AUTHOR*

In Polish t h e accent falls as a rule on the p e n u l t i m a t e syllable except in s o m e w o r d s of foreign origin [ m a t e m a t y k a , fizyka] a n d in certain c o m p o s e d words.

VOWELS a

as in father, a r m : Asnyk, Anhelli.

0

as in horse, lord: Opalinski, O r k a n .

u

as in t r u e : K u b a l a , Ulana.

6

e q u a l s u : G o m o l k a - G o m u l l k a , G o r n i c k i - Gurnitske.

e

as in met, e n d : Berent, F r e d r o , Z e m s t a .

1

like e in eve, be: Kiliriski - Kelenske, Lipiriski - Lepenske.

y

similar to English i in it or y in c o p y : Dygasiriski, Irydion.

H

similar t o French o m , on in c o m t e , m o n in s o m e positions [ O d a d o w 4 s o w ] ; in o t h e r s like Polish g r o u p s o m , o n : D i j b r o w s k a - D o m b r o f s k a , T r q b a - T r o m b a , K o l l q t a j - Kollontay.

?

similar t o French im, in [impossible, i n t e r d i t j , but replaced in t h e s a m e conditions as 3 by the Polish g r o u p s em, e n : S w i f t o c h o w s k i - Svientohofske, Por^bowicz - Porembovetsch. CONSONANTS

c

like ts or t z : B o h o m o l e c - Bohomolets, P a c - P a t s .

d

as in English except at the e n d of a w o r d a n d before voiceless c o n s o n a n t s :

g

as in gallant, gun except at the e n d : S t r u g - Struk, O s t r o r 6 g - O s t r o r u k .

j

like y in yard, yellow : Janicki - Yanetske, J a d w i g a - Y a d v e g a .

I 1

s o f t 1 like the French le, la. h a r d 1 [11] like in will or p r o n o u n c e d like a labial u similar t o t h e English w b e f o r e vowels: Stanislaw - Stanesllaf or Staneswaf, Laski - L L a s k e o r W a s k e . like the English or French v, except at the e n d : Boleslaw - Boleswaf a n d b e f o r e voiceless c o n s o n a n t s : T w a r d o w s k i - T v a r d o f s k e .

N o r w i d - Norvit, Chodkiewicz - Hotkievitsch.

w .... c

a soft c n e a r to the English ch in m u c h , b u t considerably s o f t e r ; m a r k e d by an accent [ ' ] or by an i before vowels: R o d o c , Cieszkowski [ C e s h k o f s k e ] cz . . . . nearest t o G e r m a n tsch [Nietzsche]: C z a r t o r y s k i - Tschartoryske, K a r l o w i c z Karllovetsch. * This is very general a n d p o p u l a r i n f o r m a t i o n dealing only with m a i n p r o b l e m s of p r o n o u n c i a t i o n , omitting m a n y details.

viii

GUIDE TO POLISH PRONOUNCIATION

ck . . . . equals tsk: Mickiewicz - Mitskyevitsch, Stowacki - SUovatske. eh . . . . equal h : Chmielowski - Hmyelofske, Mochnacki - Mohnatske. d i . . . . is d plus a soft z : Dziady - Dzady, Rodziewicz - Rodzevetsch. li

soft n like French gn [Bagne, vergogne]: Pigori [gne], Broniewski.

S

soft s approximately like the English s in sure: Sniadecki, Sienkiewicz.

sz

like sh but harder: Szujski - Shuyske, Pan Tadeusz - Pan Tadeush.

s z c z . . . English sh and ch put together: Goszczynski - Goshchynske, Szczucka Shchutska. n. . . . . like French j in jamais : Rzewuski - Jevuske : after voiceless consonants and at the end equals sz [sh] : Krzycki - Kshytske, Przybyszewski - Pshybyshefske, Laskarz - LLaskash. z

soft z: Zimorowicz - Z'imorovetsch, Zielinski - Z'elenske, Zyelenske.

z

equals rz: Z e r o m s k i - J e r o m s k e [Zheromske], Zólkìewski - Jullkyefske.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I — T H E BEGINNINGS OF POLISH C U L T U R E I — E A R L Y LITERATURE AND C U L T U R E THE TENTH THROUGH THE THIRTEENTH CENTURIES

1 11 11

THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

19

THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY

22

I I I — T H E SIXTEENTH C E N T U R Y : HUMANISM AND REFORMATION . I V — T H E SEVENTEENTH C E N T U R Y : BAROQUE LITERATURE V — T H E EIGHTEENTH C E N T U R Y

39 93 123

THE SAXONIAN PERIOD

123

THE STANISLAVIAN PERIOD

133

V I — A F T E R THE PARTITIONS: CLASSICISM AND PRE-ROMANTICISM V I I — P O L I S H ROMANTICISM BEFORE 1 8 3 0

191 213

ADAM MICKIEWICZ

215

THE POLISH ROMANTIC SCHOOL BEFORE 1 8 3 0

236

V I I I — P O L I S H ROMANTICISM AFTER 1 8 3 1 ADAM MICKIEWICZ

241 247

JULJUSZ SLOWACKI

268

ZYGMUNT KRASINSKI

291

CYPRJAN NORWID

306

I X — L I T E R A T U R E A T HOME AFTER 1 8 3 1 X — P O S I T I V I S M AND REALISM

322 347

X I — Y O U N G POLAND

403

X I I — P O L A N D REBORN

472

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

515

INDEX

518

A SURVEY O F POLISH LITERATURE AND CULTURE

CHAPTER I

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

T h e nucleus of Polish culture was formed at the time when individual Slavic tribes began to emerge from the proto-Slavic community, each with i ts own language, beliefs, and customs, and to settle in particular territories. This occurred in a very early period, and the process of formation was slow. We can give only approximate dates and very general information. We know that Europe was for a long time inhabited by an unknown people and that they were later replaced by the so-called Aryans, forefathers of all the Aryan peoples of Europe. In the course of centuries these primitive Aryans separated into individual groups of related tribes, among them the proto-Baltic group, from which eventually emerged the proto-Slavic group. The latter originally constituted a group with a common religion, language, and mores, traces of which may still be found in the languages and customs of the various Slavic peoples. This unity lasted for centuries, probably until the fifth or sixth century A.D. It was then that the individual Slavic tribes, among them the Polish tribe, began to form, and Polish culture dates from this period. We learn most about the culture and life of prehistoric Poland from archaeology, 1 linguistics, and the information we have about the other Slavs; we suppose that the life of all the Slavs was originally similar in character. The seat of the national ancestors of Poland was a country situated in the basins of the Oder, Warta, and part of the Vistula rivers, covered for the most part by tremendous forests and marshes, but with wide fields 1 Especially from the excavations done since 1934 on the territory of Western Poland and Pomcrania under the direction of Professor Jozef Kostrzewski. The above presentation of the beginnings of Polish culture takes advantage of the findings collected in his book, Kultura prapolska (Poznan, 1947), and of Zygmunt Wojciechowski's Panstwo polskie w wiekach srednich (Poznan, 1945).

2

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

and open meadows amidst the forests. It is from the word pole, polana ('field', 'plain') that the ancient name of the Poles, Polanie (later Polacy) is derived. Originally it designated only one of the Polish tribes, while the others took their names from rivers or territories, such as the Wislians from the Wisla (Vistula), Silesians from Silesia, Pomeranians from Pomerania, Kujawians from Kujawy, etc. Racially they belonged to the so-called Nordic group, that is, they were characterized by tallness, an oblong shape of the skull and face, fair hair, and blue eyes. Their chief occupations were farming, hunting, fishing, beekeeping, gardening, and cattle breeding. Their life was hard, like that of most primitive peoples who have to fight for their existence. Because they did not move from their original territory during the period of the Slavic migrations, they remained surrounded, though distantly, by Slavs and were cut off from contact with other peoples. This means that the Poles enjoyed for at least a few centuries a relatively peaceful existence. There was a great deal of variety among their primitive settlements. The oldest were groups of little huts made of earth; these were followed by lake dwellings built on piles; the most numerous, however, were the villages with huts forming two rows along a main road or grouped in a circle. There also existed numerous towns (known since the seventh century A.D.), fortified like citadels and surrounded by palisades, which were used for the defense of the country and served as residences for the leaders of the tribes. Even in prehistoric times there may have been as many as one hundred and fifty such fortresses on Polish soil. Craftsmen and farmers settled around these fortresses. The construction of these settlements naturally advanced from the most primitive shelters dug in the earth to wooden houses, with windows and doors, consisting of two rooms with wooden floors and stoves. Wooden or iron keys were also known. Food and clothing were probably the same as those known among the other Slavs. Vegetables, milk, and meat products were used, bread was made from stone-ground wheat, and sieves were also known. Salt had long been used for seasoning, as had vegetable and animal fats in cooking. Beverages, such as beer, bread alcohol, and mead were known to the Slavs. As for clothing, judging from linguistic and ethnographic information, we assume the existence of such materials as linen, wool cloth, and felt. These materials were used for shirts, kerchiefs, trousers, skirts, long russet coats, belts, fur coats, and caps. Various wool dyes were used. Shoes were made of bast, bark, or leather. There were many

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

3

adornments, especially for women, such as earrings, beads, necklaces, bracelets, pins, and rings. The high level reached by the Polish crafts in the early Middle Ages, confirmed both by contemporary and subsequent foreign testimonies, must have been based on an earlier tradition. Evidences from the excavations and other sources indeed confirm the fact that the proto-Polish products were of a relatively high quality. In the beginning, every house owner was by necessity also a craftsman; but the profession of such crafts as those of the wheelwright, blacksmith, cooper, potter, carpenter, cobbler, goldsmith, tailor, or weaver began at an early date. Those early masters had special tools, some of which were of relative precision, a fact attested to by the production of wheels and carts, barrels of various shapes, dishes, pots, and especially objects of wrought silver. One of the most advanced crafts was shoemaking; the products of Polish cobblers were later known and highly appreciated in Western Europe. In France in the fifteenth century, shoes 'a la Poulaine' (Pologne) were worn; in England certain kinds of boots were called "cracoves." The weapons of the time included bows and arrows, spears, battle axes, and shields. Armor was worn only by the retainers of princes; swords, which were of Frankish or Scandinavian origin, were worn by distinguished warriors. Methods for poisoning the blades of weapons were already known. Rivers, river valleys, roads, and paths served for transportation. Dams, bridges, rafts, ferries, and canoes were used even in the oldest times. The Poles also used boats large enough to accomodate forty-four persons and two horses. Along these roads the people sometimes undertook expeditions to distant lands, for the purposes of barter, a type of commerce which was well developed in prehistoric times. The middlemen in the barter business were Slavic tradesmen, Vikings, and Jews, who were specialists in the slave and fur trade. The word placic (to pay) is derived from pieces of linen (platy), which was one of the most popular 'currencies' of the time. In the tenth and eleventh centuries large numbers of silver coins were already in circulation; mostly foreign coins, they were weighed, not counted by the piece. It was not until the second half of the eleventh century that Polish money appeared in larger quantities. The Poles maintained their oldest commercial relations with the Avars and later with their successors, the Magyars, in the Hungarian plain, and with Kievan Russia, which furnished, among other things, helmets, amulets, and earrings. From the more distant East, with which the Poles had only indirect relations, bronze scales and later tropical fruits, spices,

4

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

and fabrics were imported. From Scandinavia and Germany came weapons, as well as bronze coins and dishes; from Bohemia came coins, ceramic products, and wool fabrics. The wealth of the people at that time is demonstrated by the considerable quantity of silver objects found in excavations. In Wielkopolska (Great Poland, in the region of Poznan), over a hundred such treasures (sixteen to twenty pounds of silver) have been found; in Pomerania, ninety. In Podlasia (Eastern Poland) a treasure of Roman gold coins of the third century A.D. was discovered. We have no direct information about either the religious beliefs or the general spiritual culture of the ancestors of the Polish nation. There are some accounts of the Pomeranians, Polabians, and Eastern Slavs from which we can deduce by way of analogy some general ideas of Polish religious culture. The Poles practiced a cult for the dead, which was performed in various ways: the so-called stypa, which has been preserved until the present day, was a feast which followed the funeral and involved games and wrestling 'to calm the souls.' Food and drink were offered to the souls of the dead, and heaps of straw or branches were burned to "warm" them. The Polanie, like other pagan peoples, worshiped both the good and the bad as unintelligible forces of nature. Generally speaking, the Polish Olympus was certainly less magnificent than that of the Greeks, the Romans, or the ancient Germans. There was the cult of Swarozyc, the god of the sun and of fire (a kind of Zeus or Perun, revered also by other peoples), and the cult of Dadzbog, also a god of the sun. Possibly they also honored Pogwizd, a divinity of the wind. It is certain, however, that prayers were directed to the moon and the stars, and that rivers, lakes, springs, mountains, groves, and trees were believed to be inhabited by divinities. All nature was full of nymphs and various little goddesses, phantoms, ghosts, demons, and water sprites. These beliefs were connected with various magical practices and with a whole ritual to ward off and subjugate evil spirits. Many of these practices survive today in the form of superstitions, which are not confined to the simple peasants. This early world was mysterious, gloomy, full of fears and apprehensions, but probably it also was imbued with a carefree spirit, for the Slavs were later given the name of 'dancing slaves' (sclavus saltans). Religious rites took place in groves, and they employed statues of divinities as well as altars. These rites consisted in prayers, offerings, prophecies, and common feasts. The worshipers offered to the gods the so-called first fruits: the first-born calves or lambs, the first sheaves of wheat, the first fruits, berries, and mushrooms, as well as mead, twisted

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

5

loaves, fish, and linen. They celebrated the holidays of autumn and spring (preserved until today in harvest-home parties and St. John's Eve bonfires). The winter holiday was called the 'feast' (godv), and it corresponded to the Christian Christmas. The early Slavs, including the Polanie, had a conception of the universe that was similar to that of other primitive peoples. They imagined the sky as a kind of vault leaning against an enormous pole, and the earth as a disc floating on the sea. Time was measured by the position of the sun and the stars and the phases of the moon. The heavenly constellations were known, and many of their ancient names have been preserved in the language. The time of night was also measured by the crowing of cocks, the first cry indicating midnight, the second one or two o'clock, and the third dawn. Whether the Slavs divided the year into months is a controversial question. The fact that today similar and even identical names designate different months in the several Slavic languages is attributed to climatic differences. Measures of length were taken from the various parts of the human body, such as elbow (yard), span (the distance from the end of the thumb to the tip of the forefinger), foot, and step. Measures of volume were the pinch (what could be taken with two or three fingers), the handful, the bushel, the gallon (potful). Counting was done, as among other primitive peoples, on the fingers, from which the decimal system originated. The ornaments made of wood and metals that have been excavated indicate a relatively highly developed artistic sense and a great deal of technical skill. Some painted and sculptured objects have also been preserved. Creative originality was revealed primarily by potters and goldsmiths; both pottery and gold work had reached a high level in Poland as early as the middle of the tenth century. Only ruins remain of the old temples, but from them we may deduce that in Pomerania their walls were painted and sculptured. As for the Christian architecture of the tenth and eleventh centuries, we know that there existed pre-Romanesque stone churches—rotundas with a central construction. The remains of a pre-Romanesque basilica have been recently discovered in Poznari. Little is known about the music of the time. Byzantine, Arabic, and German sources from the seventh to the tenth century mention Slavic lyres or lutes, probably referring to the ancient instrument called the dulcimer. There is no evidence that viols existed, but we know that the Slavs used flutes, fifes (with side openings), bagpipes, horns, and drums made of wood covered with thin leather. Less is known about singing,

6

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

for none of the religious songs, and only a few of the traditional secular songs, have been preserved. Equally little is known of their dances, which, if one may judge from their later development, must have been numerous and varied in the earliest times. There is one more characteristic phenomenon in the artistic culture of the ancient Poles. The fact that Polish poetry has no folk epic — a form which became the glory of the Germanic and Romance peoples, was represented in Russia by the byliny and the Igor Tale, and also flourished in Serbia — makes one believe that proto-Polish culture established no rich tradition in this genre. The basic social unit was the family, which was led by the eldest man and included the sons and grandsons together with their wives and children. The words used to designate kinship originated in proto-Slavic or even proto-Aryan times and have generally been preserved until today: ojciec (father), matka (mother), syn (son), corka (daughter), stryj (paternal uncle), wuj (maternal uncle), test (father-in-law), and so on. The same is true of such expressions as betrothal, marriage, dowry, and matchmaker. Many of the present customs connected with family life go back to these prehistoric times. The family system was patriarchal; no traces of a matriarchal society have been found. Marriage was in principle monogamous. References in Arabic and German writings to the polygamy of the Slavs probably are to princes and magnates. The first Polish prince, Mieszko, had seven wives before he was converted to Christianity; Wracislaw, in the twelfth century, had twenty-four wives. The husband's authority was unlimited, and punishment for a wife's infidelity was severe and cruel. A young married woman occupied a secondary position in the household until she gave birth to her first son. Every family celebration—birth, haircut (when a boy reached the age of seven his hair was solemnly cut), betrothal, marriage, or wedding — was associated with ceremonies, many of which have survived. The old view about Slavic anarchy, that there was no organized power, has been proven erroneous. Although we lack written documents, certain remains in historical times plainly indicate that a certain clan organization existed and that the clan was the elementary nucleus of the social system. All free men belonged to a clan. This clan included people who held one ancestor in common, those women who entered the clan through marriage, and adopted persons. The leader of the clan was its eldest member, known as the 'elder' (starosta or sheriff); the highest power rested with the 'meetings' (wiece) of the male members of the

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

7

clans. These meetings, however, were less frequent among the Poles than a m o n g the other Slavs. The characteristic traits of the clan system were the c o m m o n ownership of the land (originally); clan solidarity and common f e u d s ; ancestor worship; and the internal structure of the clan, which subordinated the individual to the clan organization. As a social category the clan is older than the individual or even the family. T h e r e were also broader organizations, the so-called opole, which included several villages. In time, the clan community began to be replaced by the family c o m m u n i t y . In connection with this gradual change began the hereditary use of part of the clan lands and the first signs of family and individual property. Such lands were probably distributed by drawing lots. T h u s the Polish tribe created certain forms of individual and social existence at a very early period; these forms became the foundation of its subsequent historical development. Originally this organization must have been quite loose, taking in clans and opola rather than whole tribes; whatever the details of this organization, it is certain that there was n o anarchy. In a later stage the consolidation and strengthening of the polity was effected by the rise of princely power. Probably individual clans joined together, frequently under the threat of external danger, a n d in time of war elected a leader (usually an 'elder' of some clan), who sometimes became the founder of a princely dynasty. There is reason to believe that as early as the ninth century a state of the Wislanie (Vistulans) existed a n d was ruled by a prince now unknown. This state was conquered in the same century by Great Moravia, but the trend toward the concentration of tribes and the creation of political organisms did not cease. T h e state of the Piasts, who were to govern Poland until 1370, must have been created in the same way, that is, by the unification of several tribes arid their submission, perhaps enforced, to the power of one prince. It is not k n o w n exactly when this occurred, but one may surmise that it happened in the course of the ninth century. T h e first historical Polish prince was Mieszko, who is mentioned in a G e r m a n chronicle of 963 as ruling over a relatively extensive and already organized state. It is certain, therefore, that this state had existed a long time before Mieszko; there are also some references elsewhere to his princely ancestors. The hypothesis defended by some G e r m a n historians (Schulte, Holtzm a n , Brackmann), that the Polish state developed as the result of a N o r m a n conquest, is untenable. It is denied both by the names of Mieszko and his predecessors and by the structure of the Polish towns, which reveals no trace of any N o r t h e r n influence. Furthermore, excavations

8

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

have yielded no significant objects of Norman origin, and there is a conspicuous lack of any Northern elements in the Polish language. Primitive society in Poland was divided into castes. The social hierarchy was headed by a prince or wlodyka, followed by a class of overlords who were the descendants of the 'elders.' Then came the warriors, followed by the peasants, and finally the slaves. The sense of clan solidarity was preserved among the overlords and knights, as may be proved by the so-called crests or emblems the clan groups held in common. The situation of the peasants, who originally were freemen, grew worse with time; from being landowners they gradually became land tenants. The administration of the state was centred in fortified towns, which belonged to the prince, and was carried out by employees later known as castellans. The population under the government of each castellan was obliged to give tributes and services. There were whole villages obligated to service, in addition to prisoners' settlements. A smaller administrative unit was the opole, which watched over public security, made decisions in boundary disputes, and fulfilled other administrative functions. Many ranks were created at the prince's palace — such as commanderin-chief (wojewoda), chancellor, cupbearer, master of the pantry, master of the hunt, sword-bearer, treasurer, standard-bearer — and these men constituted the prince's advisory council. The national revenue originally came from tributes in crops and cattle, court fines, market fees, customs duties, sale of salt from the saltworks belonging to the prince, and war booty. The population was held for various public services, such as repairing fortresses, bridges, and roads, and guarding the village and the princely court. It also had to furnish carts, to serve the knights, and to pay church tithes. Jurisdiction in the proper sense of the word was a later institution. In the earliest times, criminal matters and investigation of crime were settled by summary justice and by composition. There also were some forms of jurisdiction exercised by the clan councils, the 'elders,' or the opole leaders in cases of boundary disputes. Later the prince himself or his aids, the zupans (castellans), the wojewodas or judges, administered the law. In lands belonging to the knights or to the Church, the law was administered by the property owners. It was based on the common customary law and on the ordeal by fire and water. Punishment was generally very severe and ranged from the stocks to incarceration in dungeons, the cutting off of limbs, burning alive, decapitation, and crucifixion. The defense of the state depended upon the fortresses. The knights were summoned by the so-called wici, a call to arms symbolized by passing a coil

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

9

of rope from one knight to another, or by burning fires on mountain tops. The army was formed f r o m a mass levy, but there probably were also some permanent troops belonging to the prince. T h e army was divided into regiments, which possessed their own emblems, and the clans always remained together. Wars were conducted, as they have always been, in acruel manner: the enemy lands were devastated and plundered, the population massacred, and prisoners taken. Such chroniclers as Thietmar, Mauritius, and Ibrahim write about the great valor of the Slavs and the Poles. Cultural relations with other peoples were extensive, but they are known to us only from historical times. They were maintained by trade, princely marriages, the foreign clergy and religious orders sent to Poland, and finally by those who traveled in foreign lands. T h e Poles early had close relations with the Czechs, from whom they adopted Christianity. Mieszko's wife was a Czech, as were St. Wojciech (St. Adalbert), o n e of the first Polish Christian martyrs, and his brother, the first archbishop of Gniezno. It was from Bohemia that Poland received its first liturgical books and took the architecture of its churches and chapels as well as the organization of its army. Three quarters of the Polish liturgical vocabulary comes f r o m the Czech language and, indirectly, f r o m the German and Latin. German influence was felt through Bohemia and Moravia, and also directly f r o m Germany. It was reflected in church architecture and in the language, and increased at the time of German colonization (see p. 17). Poland had several German bishops and some Germans in the clergy and army. The first Piast monarchs traveled in Germany a great deal and some married German women. Poland was tied to Kievan Russia from the earliest times by political and cultural relations. There were some disputes (over eastern borderlands, for instance), but there were also periods of friendship and mutual assistance between the Kievan and the Polish rulers. There were also some marriages between the Piasts and the Ruriks. Many trade imports came from Russia, to which Poland owed an improvement in the arts of ceramics and gold work. Relations with Italy in this early period were limited mainly to the ecclesiastical sphere. When Poland was converted to Christianity, the Polish church was brought under the jurisdiction of the Holy See, and monks came from Italy. Jan, the first bishop of Wroclaw (Breslau), was an Italian. The Cistercians as well as other orders and several bishops came to Poland from France. The first Polish chronicler of the twelfth century was the so-called Gallus Anonymus, a Frenchman. Even Ireland and Spain furnished Poland with monks.

10

THE BEGINNINGS OF POLISH CULTURE

Jews in pursuit of trade arrived sporadically in Poland as early as the tenth century; it was not until the eleventh century that they began to settle in larger groups and play an important part in the economic life of the country, becoming the bankers of the princes, tenants of the monopolies (saltworks and inns), and minters. There are some early Polish coins with Hebraic inscriptions. Coins, silver, and various objets d'art came to Poland from the Arabs, and their chronicler Ibrahim also provides us with valuable information about primitive Poland. Among the historical figures of this early period who played a certain part in the history of other peoples we should mention two women. Adelaida, sister or daughter of Mieszko 1, married the Hungarian Geza, influenced his conversion, and brought up her son, St. Stephen; one of the daughters of Mieszko 1 was the mother of Canute the Great of Denmark, and she also won her husband over to Christianity.

C H A P T E R II

EARLY LITERATURE A N D CULTURE THE TENTH T H R O U G H THE THIRTEENTH

CENTURIES

The conversion of Poland to Christianity in 966 was of fundamental significance in the development of its culture. Mieszko I, the first historic Polish prince, embraced Christianity when he married the Bohemian princess, Dubrawka. Thus the young Polish state immediately gained access to the European family of Christian nations, enjoying with them equal rights at least in the moral sense. Furthermore, by adopting Christianity of the Latin or Roman rite in preference to the Greek, Poland came under the influence of the West rather than the East, in contrast to Russia and some of the South Slavic peoples. This was decisive for the growth of Polish culture, which is Western European in character; it does not mean, however, that the Poles did not absorb any eastern or northern characteristics. Such elements began to appear particularly after Poland had begun to expand toward the east and the north and to include into its political and social organism both Ruthenian, White Russian and Lithuanian peoples. There resulted the traditional and considerable differences between the Polonism of the Wielkopolska (Great Poland) and Malopolska (Little Poland, the southwestern part of the republic) regions on the one hand and Masovia (Central Poland) and the Lithuanian and Ruthenian territories on the other. National unity created through the centuries was in no way endangered by those differences, but this unity was always a 'unity in variety,' characteristic for Poland, and a source of great interest to foreigners who have known Poland closely. Conversion to Christianity was relatively smooth in Poland, without any of the violent shocks or struggles which occurred among other pagan peoples. But the peasantry long preserved many of its ancient beliefs and ideas and translated the old attitudes into the new Christian forms. The spread of Christianity was made difficult by the fact that the clergy was, at first, necessarily foreign — chiefly Czech and German. Further, this

12

EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

clergy, which had not yet been forced into a strict discipline, lacked the authority and influence which it later acquired. Nevertheless the Church played an essential part in the development of Polish culture in this early period. The founding of an archbishopric in Gniezno in the year 1000 made the Polish church independent of foreign influence, allowed a closer unification of clerical and lay powers, and raised the prestige of the Polish kings, who appointed bishops and had judicial power over them. The influence of the Church penetrated all branches of cultural growth: education, learning, writing, the fine arts, architecture, and music. Education was first organized in cathedral and parish schools, in collegiate churches, and in monasteries. The curriculum included reading and writing in Latin, grammar, dialectics, and rhetoric, and in higher grades music (mainly singing), arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. The task of the schools originally consisted in preparing the pupils for a career in the church (a Polish clergy had to be created to replace the foreign), but in time secular subjects were taught in these schools and other youths, for the most part the sons of princely or lordly families, began to study. The teachers were almost exclusively priests, for they were the only educated men in those times. The first monuments of architecture were cathedrals and monasteries. From the early, modest structures made of wood, there eventually evolved impressive stone buildings, adorned with sculpture and paintings. Of these early buildings, unfortunately, only traces remain, such as the vault of St. Leonard at the Wawel Cathedral in Krakow, the Cathedral at L?czyca, the famous sculptured doors of the Plock and Gniezno cathedrals (from the twelfth century) and some fonts. Nonecclesiastical buildings of the time were made of wood, and nothing remains of them because they were all destroyed by fire. The stone St. Florian's Gate and the Barbican (part of the medieval fortification), still standing in Krakow, were built toward the end of the thirteenth century. The beginnings of painting are seen in the illumination of books and in the paintings on church walls. The beginnings of music also had a religious character; pupils in the schools were taught mostly liturgical music originating in the West, where music was already highly developed. Secular music for dancing, hunting, or war must have existed also, but was probably in a very primitive stage of development. Polish writing originated in monasteries and chapters, where the earliest Polish annals were recorded. These records were a kind of calendar in which were noted, in a brief, almost laconic style, all the more important historic and dynastic events under their respective dates. The

EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

13

oldest is the so-called Roc:nik Wielkopolski (Annal of Wielkopolska) from the end of the tenth century, which is preserved only in a copy dating from the fifteenth century. The earliest original manuscript is the Rocznik Swiqtokrzyski (Holy Cross Annal) of the twelfth century. Among later annals the most important is the Rocznik Kapituly Krakowskiej (Annal of the Krakow Chapter), from the thirteenth century. Naturally, all the annals were written in Latin. It was also in Latin that the first lives of the saints were written between the tenth and the thirteenth centuries. The life of St. Wojciech was written five times. St. Stanislaw is honored with two lives composed in the thirteenth century. There also exist several accounts of the lives of other saints, Jadwiga, Salomea, Kinga, and Jacek. Meanwhile a new and more highly developed type of historical record appeared in the chronicles, which give a continuous, chronological account of either the whole course of Polish history or of just one period. The oldest of these was written by one Gallus, whose real name is unknown. It consists of three books written in Latin around 1115, and it contains the history of Poland from the beginning of the Piast dynasty to the year 1113. The last editor of this chronicle, Juljan Krzyzanowski, 1 points out the lack of balance in the distribution of the historical material and maintains that Gallus's work is a kind of 'Gesta of the three Boleslaws,' that is, Boleslaw the Brave, Boleslaw the Bold, and Boleslaw the Wry-mouthed (see p. 17). He finds in this work certain similarities with the French epics of the twelfth century, because this chronicle is not only historical but also literary in character. Each book is preceded by an epistle, a kind of epic 'argument,' and is summarized in verse. We also find in it occasional poetic forms, such as 'cantilenes' and 'carmina.' Its prose is rhythmic and often rhymed. The author is distinguished by a considerable literary culture; he knew ancient and modern literature, both ecclesiastical and secular. In spite of its panegyrical quality, his chronicle is of great historical value. Research has confirmed the fact that Gallus neither invented nor dressed up his material but reported accurately on people and events; he did not hesitate, for example, to call the Krakow bishop, Stanislaw, who was killed by King Boleslaw the Bold, a traitor, although subsequent tradition made the bishop a saint and condemned the king.2 In the thirteenth century a chronicle was written by a Pole, Wincenty, 1 2

Galli Anonymi Chronicort (Warsaw, 1948). See Tadeusz Wojciechowski, Szkice historyczne z XI wicku, 3d ed. (Warsaw, 1951).

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EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

known as Kadlubek, who was born around 1160, studied at Paris, was first a parish priest, then bishop of Krakow, and ended his life as a Cistercian monk. His chronicle contains the history of Poland from its earliest beginnings to the year 1206, and it is completely different in character from Gallus's work. Its aim was not so much to present real historical facts as to give a moral object lesson. The didactic element is very strong; the historical narrative is frequently interrupted by moral examples taken from the history of other nations, fables, sententious remarks, and moral treatises. Morality is identified with Catholic doctrine and, more specifically, with obedience to the Church. An example of this may be found in the account of the quarrel between King Boleslaw the Bold and the bishop Stanislaw. Kadlubek blames the king for it exclusively, calling him a monster and the bishop a martyr. Another characteristic of this chronicle is its tendency to color the facts, which makes us skeptical of many events reported in it. Kadlubek writes, for instance, that the Polish state was founded before the birth of Christ, that the Poles warred with Alexander the Great, and that one of the Polish princes married the sister of Julius Caesar. He also made use of folk legends as though they were historical truths. Kadlubek's style is rhetorical and flowery, and the text includes several poems. His chronicle was used as a textbook for the study of rhetoric as well as ethics. Of the other historical works written in the thirteenth century one should mention Kronika powszechna (The General Chronicle) by Marcin Polak, a Dominican brother and later archbishop of Gniezno, a similar chronicle by Dzierzwa (who lived in the second half of the thirteenth and at the beginning of the fourteenth century) and the so-called Ksiqga Henrykowska (Book of Henrykow), a history of the Cistercian monastery and its property in Henrykow near Wroclaw, which is an important source for the study of economic history in Poland in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It is also important for the study of the Old Polish language, for it contains the earliest sentence written in Polish and many Polish place names and proper names. The early Middle Ages also enriched Polish culture with a unique song, written in the Polish language. It is a hymn Bogurodzica dziewica (Mother of God and Virgin), and it contains a plea to the Holy Virgin that she should win her Son to the side of men and send Him down to earth. The second stanza appeals to Christ and asks him to hear this prayer and to grant men a pious life on earth and salvation in heaven. These are the two oldest stanzas of the song, the earliest copy of which

EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

15

is kept in a Latin codex of 1467. The song itself, however, was certainly written much earlier, though it is impossible to fix the date exactly. The oldest hypothesis attributed it to St. Wojciech, placing it in the tenth century. Later scholars, however, were more cautious and shifted the date of the song to the beginning of the fourteenth century. Recently the date was again set in the earlier period, when Jozef Birkenmajer attempted to revive the St. Wojciech hypothesis. 3 T. Lehr-Splawiriski subjected the language of Mother of God to a thorough scrutiny, showing that it contains linguistic elements of an earlier and a later period; he concluded that the oldest version must be dated at least as early as the first half of the twelfth century. 4 Whatever the final conclusion may be, it seems certain that Mother of God was known and sung in the thirteenth century. The song is of great linguistic and literary significance. Its language contains expressions which are not to be found in the oldest Polish texts and illustrates therefore an older form of the language. The literary value of the work is high, and the style and versification are most impressive. The style is sublime, in the manner of medieval Latin and Greek hymns, with which Mother of God has a certain kinship; 5 it is, furthermore, simple and expressive. The rhythmic structure of both stanzas, which may be considered as a single stanza in two parts, 8 is elaborate for a medieval work and was unsurpassed in Poland before the time of Kochanowski (sixteenth century). The lines, which are of varying syllabic length, are divided by caesuras into two or three parts; the rhythm is emphasized by this distribution of caesuras and by the rhyme which is used not only at the end of the line but also internally with occasional assonances. The song, moreover, possesses historic and national importance. Its popularity is attested by the large number of manuscripts in which it exists (four from the fifteenth century and fourteen from the sixteenth); in the fourteenth century it became the national anthem and was sung by Polish knights when they went into battle. By the sixteenth century it had lost its popularity, but it was still sung in churches even during the following century, and in the Gniezno Cathedral until quite recent times. The melody of Mother of God, written in musical notation on the oldest manuscript, is composed for one voice part and strictly modeled on the Gregorian chant. '

Bogurodzica dziewica (Lwow, 1937).

* Uwagi o jfzyku Bogurodzicy, Ksifga pamiqtkowa dla uczczenia Ignacego Chrzanowskiego (Krakow, 1936). * See Birkenmajer, Bogurodzica dziewica. ' Maria Dtuska, Studia z historii i teorii wersyfikacji polskiej (Krakow, 1948), I, 77, 78.

16

EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

In the later manuscripts we find approximately twenty additional stanzas, of which only a few have any real place beside the first in subject matter and poetic value. Their linguistic forms also belong in general to a later period. The oldest monuments of Polish prose, which are also from the thirteenth century, though the first copy is from the fourteenth, are Kazania Swiqtokrzyskie (The Holy Cross Sermons) so called because the Latin manuscript in which the sermons were found belonged at one time to a monastery in the Holy Cross Mountains (Gory §wi?tokrzyskie). In 1890 the distinguished Polish philologist, Aleksander Bruckner, found them in the Imperial Library in St. Petersburg. Unfortunately, part of the parchment on which these sermons were written had been cut up into strips which were sewn into the binding of the manuscript. From over a dozen such strips which were saved it was possible to put together only a few pages of a larger original collection of sermons. On these pages we have three sermons which are probably complete (for the feasts of St. Michael, St. Catherine, and the Three Magi), and three more of which only the beginning or the end was preserved. It is possible to deduce that these sermons were composed according to a traditional medieval pattern: first the text from the Bible, which gave the subject; then an introduction in which the priest would tell in Polish from which part of the Bible the fragment was taken and explain it briefly; then the sermon itself, which paraphrases the subject, explains its significance, and draws a general moral lesson. In the Holy Cross Sermons we find very old linguistic forms which are almost unknown in other Old Polish texts, such as the old imperfect and aorist tenses. The work also contains much useful material for the historical study of phonetics, etymology, inflection, and syntax. The texts discussed above are not the first in which we find Polish words inscribed. Even in the Latin diplomas of the early twelfth century we find isolated Polish words. In 1136 a bull of Pope Innocent II to the archbishopric of Gniezno contained over four hundred Polish names, mostly those of persons and places. The same is true of the Book of Henrykow, mentioned above, which contains documents issued by various popes and princes stating the privileges of bishops and monasteries, besides many juridical documents. Although they are less significant than the longer texts, they also provide valuable material for the history of the language, especially in phonology and etymology. There is some meager material and an occasional historical reference to indicate that there must also have existed at this time some secular poetry, such as ballads, sung by wandering singers and jugglers who were called

EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

17

by the German term 'Spielmann.' There was also some oral folk literature, such as wedding songs, including the old and immortal song about hops, the old harvest songs, various exorcisms and adjurations put into poetic form, and even some early legends about the Holy Virgin and the saints. From the political point of view the Polish state had a checkered career during the first three centuries of its existence. Founded by Mieszko I, organized, fortified, and expanded under Boleslaw the Brave (992-1025), it lost these acquisitions under his successor, Mieszko II (1025-34) and again rose to power during the reigns of Boleslaw the Bold (1058-79) and Boleslaw the Wry-mouthed (1102-38); after the death of the latter it broke up into parts as a result of the unfortunate division effected by the last Boleslaw among his five sons. This marked the beginning of a period called that o f ' q u a r t e r e d Poland,' which lasted until the unification of the country under one rule by Wtadyslaw the Short (Lokietek) at the beginning of the fourteenth century. For more than a century and a half Poland was not a political unity, although nominally the Prince of Krakow possessed sovereignty over the other princes. These princes fought between themselves, having no interests higher than their own provinces, and frequently succumbing, as in Silesia, to Germanic influence. The political prestige of Poland must have deteriorated at this time. The influence and power of the clergy and the lords was intensified, because every prince needed help in the domestic struggles of his own province. At about this time the gentry class began to form from the knights and those freemen who still owned land; the burghers also were established as a class and enjoyed many privileges; urban culture began to prosper. The peasants were divided into three categories: freemen (with or without land), half-freemen or glebae adscripti (settled on church and knight lands and obliged to render services) and slaves (who descended from debtors and war prisoners); the latter made up the majority of the working class. German colonization also dates from this period, and it assumed considerable proportions in some parts of Poland, affecting a transformation in the character of cities and rural areas. Attracted by the privileges to be had in the organization of new cities and villages, the Germans appeared in Bohemia and in Poland as early as the end of the twelfth century. They appeared in larger numbers towards the middle of the thirteenth century. Previously the Polish cities, or more specifically the settlements of enslaved workers who lived around the fortresses, had had neither organization nor autonomy. Now the princes gave them a judiciary and economic self-government, their own bailiffs and aldermen, German law, and partial exemption from tributes and services. The cities were reorganized and

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built according to a fixed plan: in the center there was a square with a town hall and parish church, from which led a number of principal streets. The city was surrounded by a wall or a ditch with a palisade. It is certain that these new cities helped to improve the economic and cultural life of the country, to increase trade, crafts, and industry, just as the colonization of the countryside by the Germans increased its productivity. This affected only the principal cities and agricultural lands of Western Poland. Many German writers have written extensively about the civilizing role of German influence in Slavic countries. An objective judgment must recognize the many advantages brought about by German colonization, especially in the cities; but, on the other hand, it should also take into consideration the fact that the growth of Polish cities and the bourgeoisie was not the work of Germans alone, but that of the administration and the Polish population as well. The city owners, that is the princes and bishops, took an active part in the organization of their cities, and the city population was not composed of Germans exclusively, though at first they did play a dominant part. These German arrivals were assimilated in the course of the fifteenth century, and they became not only loyal citizens of the country but very often ardent Polish patriots. In the sixteenth century there were such outstanding Poles of German origin as Cardinal Hosius (Hose) and the historian, Kromer. In later years we find a long list of Polish scholars, statesmen, and patriots with German names, as (to mention only a few) Linde, the author of the first dictionary of the Polish language; Lelewel (Loelhoefel), the most distinguished Polish historian of the nineteenth century; Libelt; Kremer; Estreicher, the author of the modern Polish bibliography; and Brückner, the distinguished philologist. Innumerable Polish families of German origin have continued to the present day to contribute much to the growth of Poland's civilization and to give a truly Polish character to the life of her cities. Like all other nations, Poland absorbed many foreign and kindred elements, such as the Ukrainian and Lithuanian. It was from the Lithuanian part of Poland that the greatest Poles were to come. This is evidence for the vitality and attractiveness of Polish culture, for a weak and undeveloped culture can never assimilate foreign or even related elements. Further evidence of the vitality and resilience of Polish culture is seen in the fact that even in the early Middle Ages it never ceased to develop, if slowly, in spite of the unfavorable political conditions produced by the division of the country into principalities. In spite of this division the cultural ties between the provinces were maintained, and each of them contributed to the common cultural heritage.

EARLY LITERATURE A N D CULTURE

THE FOURTEENTH

19

CENTURY

In the fourteenth century Poland entered a period of gradual growth in both internal and external strength. This strength was established by three major developments: the unification under the rule of Wladyslaw Lokietek (1306-33), the splendid administration of Kazimierz the Great (1333-70), and Poland's union with Lithuania. Kazimierz's merits were so remarkable ihat of all the Polish kings he was the only one who won the title of 'Great.' His services to the country include the codification of law in the Statute of Wislica; the creation of a central administration; the imposition of military duty on every landowner; the incorporation of mercenaries into the army; the construction of approximately forty fortress towns, which defended the country from invasions; the walling of cities (hence the popular saying that the king had found Poland in wood but left it in stone): the stabilization of a sound currency; the assurance of a lasting peace, and the founding of the Krakow Academy. Another feature both of Kazimierz and of his successors' reigns was that they directed Poland's policy of expansion toward the East rather than toward the West to oppose the Germans; this change of direction greatly influenced the further development of the country and its society, pushing the frontiers farther to the east and then to the north. Later, however, this policy caused wars with Muscovy, inclusion into the Polish state of a great number o f ' n a t i o n a l minorities,' and, ultimately, wide expansion at the expense of internal consolidation and national unity. The union between Poland and Lithuania was a significant act which had far-reaching consequences; the first step toward this union was the marriage in 1386 between the G r a n d D u k e Wladyslaw JagieHo of Lithuania to the Polish Queen Jadwiga of the Hungarian dynasty of the Anjou line. Initially this union was no more than personal, and Lithuania remained a separate state. Eventually, however, in the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the relationship between the two states grew closer, until it culminated in the creation of a unified Polish-Lithuanian state by the Union of Lublin (1569). This was one of the few instances in history of the federation of two nations and the expansion of a country's territory by peaceful means. In addition to dynastic and political interests, such as the common cause against the Teutonic Knights and the creation of a powerful state, this union was also inspired by moral aims: the conversion to Christianity of pagan Lithuania and the expansion of Western culture to the east and north. A m o n g the other far-reaching political and social developments of the

20

EARLY LITERATURE AND C U L T U R E

period we should also mention the following: as early as the end of the fourteenth century the gentry secured its first privileges in the so-called Pact of Koszyce (1374), when it was exempted from all taxes and duties (except for a small amount per acre): it was then established that public offices in the country might be occupied only by persons who came from the locality in question, and that the gentry was entitled to special remuneration for taking part in wars conducted abroad. These exceptional privileges raised the gentry high above all other classes. They were followed by others, which were presented to every newly elected king for confirmation. The dynasty of the Piasts, which had reigned in Poland from the beginning o f its historical existence, came to an end with the death o f Kazimierz the Great in 1370. The first elected king was Ludwik the Hungarian, with whom the Pact of Koszyce had just been signed. His daughter J a d w i g a succeeded, and finally Wladyslaw Jagiello ratified the privileges o f the gentry. H e and Jadwiga founded the Jagiello dynasty which reigned until 1572. The primary educational system continued as before in cathedral and monastery schools; the number of parish schools was increased, and by no means were all the students who graduated from these schools committed to a religious profession. The most important factor in the growth o f education was the foundation by Kazimierz the Great o f the K r a k o w Academy in 1364. Until that date the Poles had had to g o a b r o a d to study; the majority went to Italy ( B o l o g n a , Padua), s o m e to Paris, and others to Prague, where the university has existed since 1347. Kazimierz the Great conceived the project o f organizing a school of higher learning at home, to supply a m o n g other things the need for educated lawyers to codify Polish law. T o found a university in those days required the pope's consent, because in all univerisities the most important faculty was theology. The pope consented to the foundation of a university in K r a k o w , but he did not permit a faculty o f theology, probably because of the insufficient number of qualified professors. That is why the academy as founded by Kazimierz the Great was not a full university and had only three faculties: law, medicine, and philosophy. Originally there were twenty-one chairs, eight of which were occupied by professors of law. The further growth of the Academy was interrupted by the death of the king, from whom it had derived its financial support. In 1397 the p o p e permitted the creation of a faculty of theology a n d Queen Jadwiga supplied the funds for the maintenance of a full university; in 1400 the formal foundation of the school was solemnized. The school has since been called the Jagiellonian University, and it is (he

EARLY LITERATURE AND CULTURE

second oldest European university north of the Alps (if its date of origin is taken as 1364), for the University of Vienna was not founded until 1365. The majority of the writings of the fourteenth century were still in Latin and included mainly religious works, sermons, and chronicles. In the latter genre there is the so-called Kronika wielkopolska (Wielkopolska Chronicle), by an unknown fourteenth-century writer, which describes the history of Poland from legendary times to the year 1271, and the Kronika olisvska (Oliva Chronicle), which is a history of the Monastery of Oliva, near Gdansk (Danzig) up to the middle of the thirteenth century. The most outstanding chronicler of this century was Janko of Czarnkow, the son of a bailiff of the Wielkopolska region; a canon of Poznan and later archdeacon of Gniezno, he finally became vice-chancellor under Kazimierz the Great. He played an important part in the foundation of the Krakow Academy. His chronicle covers the period from 1333 to 1384, but it is chiefly devoted to the reign of Wladyslaw the Short. It is in the form of a diary, in which the author notes contemporary events in which he personally has taken part. Hence his chronicle is important as being an authentic document, although it is only relatively reliable because the author does not try to conceal his personal sympathies, prejudices, and even hatreds. The most important monument of the Polish language of this century is Psalter: Florjariski (St. Florian's Psalter), so called because it was kept by the St. Florian Abbey near Linz in Upper Austria. Before the last war the Polish government bought it from the Abbey and deposited it in the National Library in Warsaw. In this we need not deal with mere fragments, such as the Holy Cross Sermons, for it is a long, parchment manuscript containing 297 pages, written in Gothic script and very beautifully illuminated. It contains the complete translation of the Psalms of David in three languages: Latin, Polish, and German. It is most likely a copy done towards the end of the fourteenth century of an earlier manuscript of the thirteenth century, but with the obsolete earlier forms replaced; for instance, only a few of the aoryst and imperfect forms remain. Another valuable Polish text of this period is Kazania Gnieznienskie (the Gniezno SermonsJ, which are now kept at the Library of the Chapter in Gniezno. The manuscript of these sermons also comes from the end of the fourteenth century and may be considered as a copy of an older original. It contains 103 sermons in Latin and ten in Polish, which are written on 190 pages in large format. Of the Polish sermons four are Christmas sermons, two are about St. John the Evangelist, and the rest are devoted to John the Baptist, Mary Magdalene, St. Lawrence, and

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St. Bartholomew. These sermons are not original works, but rather adaptations or imitations of Latin sermons and legends, for instance, the Legenda aurea of Jacob de Voragine. The author is unknown, but the uniform style and tone suggest that all the sermons came from the same pen. The language is at least a half-century later than that of the Holy Cross Sermons, though it does contain some older words. The Easter song in one stanza, Chrystus zmartwychwstal je (Christ Was Resurrected), may be considered a fourteenth-century work, and the poetic production of this period must in general have been much richer than the few pieces which remain to us. There are also some songs which cannot be dated accurately but which may have been created in the fourteenth century or in the first half of the fifteenth, for instance Jezus Chrystus Bog-czlowiek (Jesus Christ, God and Man). The same is true of the supposed remains of books which, according to Diugosz, were read by Queen Jadwiga; these contain fragments of sermons, a fragment of the visions of St. Brigid, and the life of St. Blazej. Apart from these texts we have, as in preceding centuries, very many place and proper names in the Latin court accounts and other documents. The documents which are especially important for the historical study of the language are the formulas of court oaths, that is, brief testimonies of the parties and their witnesses, frequently written in Polish. They are dated and record the spoken language of the time, which often shows interesting dialectal peculiarities.

THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY The fifteenth century is occupied by the second half of the reign of Wiadyslaw Jagiello (until 1434), the reigns of his sons Wladyslaw of Warna (1434-44) and Kazimierz the Jagiellonian (1447-92), and the latter's son Jan Olbracht (1492-1501). The first result of the Polish-Lithuanian Union was a terrible defeat inflicted on the Teutonic Knights by the armies of the two nations in the Battle of Grunwald (in Pomerania) in 1410. This victory was followed by others, as a result of which the Teutonic Knights lost the northern part of Lithuania. To the southeast the boundaries of the country now reached the Black Sea. The initial difficulties connected with the consolidation of the union (the opposition of Witold, Wladyslaw Jagiello's cousin, who aspired to the Lithuanian crown, the conflicts following his death, and the civil war in Lithuania) were subdued during the reign of Jagiello's second

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23

son, Kazimierz the Jagiellonian. After a difficult and long war, which lasted for thirteen years, this king finally fought it out with the Teutonic Knights and regained Pomerania together with Gdansk, Marienburg, and Warmia; East Prussia remained within the Teutonic Order as a Polish feudal fief. Poland's relations with the Czechs and the Hungarians were friendly. Wladyslaw of Warna, JagieHo's elder son, was king of Hungary until his heroic death at Warna in a battle with the Turks. Later another Wladyslaw, the son of Kazimierz the Jagiellonian, occupied both the Czech and the Hungarian thrones. In the East the situation was less favorable, because of Muscovy's policy of expansion and the Turkish occupation of the Black Sea coast toward the end of the century. The campaign conducted against the Turks by Jan Olbracht ended in defeat in Moldavia, and in 1500 a considerable part of the eastern provinces in Lithuania was lost to Muscovy's Ivan III. The beginnings of Polish parliamentarism, which grew out of conclaves of the gentry known as dietines, took definite shape when the Diet (Sejm) and the Senate were organized as permanent institutions toward the middle of the fifteenth century. The Diet seated representatives of the entire gentry, elected by the dieiines, while the Senate included secular and clerical dignitaries appointed by the king. Poland thus had one of the earliest parliamentary systems in Europe. The right of representation and voting at that parliament was, however, limited to the gentry, and the burghers were almost completely excluded from any part in it (they later had two representatives). Poland was becoming a country with a unique regime, for it had a king and was at the same time a 'republic' of a sort — a republic of the gentry, governed by the Diet, which gradually curtailed royal power and in reality combined both legislative and executive power. This polity was shown in a less favorable light in the later course of Polish history, but in its time the gentry estate, which represented 10 percent of the population, enjoyed liberty and freedom to a degree that did not exist elsewhere in western Europe, not to mention eastern Europe. At the same time, the character of gentry society itself was changing. Having been formed from an old knightly class, it had hitherto preserved a chivalric character; the chief occupation of the gentry, their profession so to speak, had been the pursuit of chivalry, to which the whole education and life of a gentleman was devoted. With the change in economic conditions, the growth of culture, and the resultant increase in demands on a farming economy which expanded to meet these needs, the knightly gentry society gradually began to transform itself into an agrarian society. As Jan Kochanowski later complained, swords were turned into spits,

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helmets became nests for chickens, armor served as containers for the horse's hay. Prosperity grew, the national income increased and was drawn chiefly from trade in crops and lumber (wheat went through Gdansk to the distant countries of Europe), and the standard of living was raised. The gentry was drawn toward learning and the university, and as early as the fifteenth century it produced scholars of great stature. In spite of the political handicaps imposed on the burghers, cities also grew in wealth and culture. Krakow in particular was distinguished by the number of its inhabitants and its wealth, its social and intellectual culture. Krakow was the equal of many cities in western Europe, possessing the courts of the kings, bishops and magnates, the palaces and stately homes of the rich gentry and burghers, and the University, which was the center of learning and the arts. The guilds contributed to the colorfulness of city life. They were organizations of craftsmen, the aim of which was to protect the professional interests of the crafts, to give mutual assistance, to care for the disabled, and to help with the military defense of the city. Each craft had its separate guild with its hierarchy of craftsmen (pupil, apprentice, master), its officers, its own buildings often remarkable for their beautiful architecture, its own patron saint and a chapel devoted to him. Krakow has preserved to this day certain streets — the Cobblers' Street, the Potters' Street — where the different groups of craftsmen used to congregate. The church gained in both moral and material strength. It already had such distinguished representatives as Zbigniew Olesnicki, bishop of Krakow and a cardinal, who fought for the independence of the Church and the superiority of its authority over the state; Tr^ba, the archbishop of Gniezno, and Andrzej Laskarz, bishop of Poznan, took active part in the Council of Constance (1414-18) and won the high respect of the other representatives. This participation in the Council not only raised the prestige of the Polish clergy in the eyes of Europeans but also had a great cultural significance, for it helped to establish intellectual relations with the West and to bring Western learning into the country. Many valuable parchment manuscripts on different learned topics, which are now kept at the Jagiellonian Library in Krakow, were brought to Poland at that time. Naturally, the entire clergy did not attain to such a high level of intellectual influence. We know from reports issued by the bishops themselves that they had to fight against ignorance, simony, immorality, and neglect of duties among the lower elegy. The Jagiellonian University was at the peak of its development. The organization of the University differed greatly from that of the present day.

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It was a kind of community of professors and students who lived together; frequently they shared the same quarters and dressed in the same kind of costume, rather like a cassock. There was not the differentiation that there is today, mainly because nearly every lecturer was at the same time a student who attended other lectures and was preparing to receive a higher university degree. After a two-year course a student could take a 'bachelor's' examination, and after another two years the 'master's.' The next degree was the doctorate. It frequently happened that a doctor of medicine or law became a professor, but if he wished to pursue a doctorate in theology he had to study theology for several additional years; a doctorate in the faculty of theology was very difficult to obtain. As we have seen, the academic titles were much the same then as they are now in Europe. There was a further similarity in the fact that each faculty was an autonomous body, electing its own dean and the rector, who administered the university together with the deans of the faculties. The rules governing the number of courses, exercises, and disputes, as well as the choice of subjects of study, were stricter than those of today. The university was in part secular, but the clerical element dominated because theology was considered the queen of all the disciplines, and the professors were almost exclusively priests. During the first thirty years of the existence of the Jagiellonian University, 4,300 students enrolled in it, of whom 800 were from abroad - Hungarians, Silesians, German, and Swiss. Within the fifteenth century the number of students exceeded 18,000, 8,000 of them foreigners. Thus we see that the university became an important and serious center of learning which attracted many foreign students. Among the professors there were several outstanding scholars (see below), while counted among the student body were such famous men as Nicholas Copernicus, Zbigniew Olesnicki, Jan Diugosz (see page 26), and the German humanist, Celtes. The University educated not only world-famous scholars but also better teachers for secondary schools; the level of education among the clergy was also raised. Great progress was also made in all fields of writing, scholastic philosophy, theology, church oratory, mathematics, astronomy, and the natural sciences. Mateusz of Krakow (1330-1410) was active at the end of the fourteenth century; he was professor of theology in Prague, Krakow, and Heidelberg, and he later became a bishop and cardinal. In addition to his Dialogus rationis et conscienciae he also wrote in 1404 his major work, De squaloribus curiae romanae (The Squalor of the Roman Curia), in which he attacks

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simony and advocates that the church council should have powers superior to the pope's. Pawel Wlodkowic (died 1435), rector of the University at Krakow, presented to the Council of Constance in 1415 and 1418 two very important treatises against the Teutonic Order and the conversion of infidels by force (Tractatus de potestate papae et imperatoris respectu infidelium and Tractatus de Ordine Cruciferorum). Jakob of Paradyz was an outstanding theologian. He was of peasant origin, and rose to become a professor at Krakow, a representative at Church Councils and supporter of their superiority over the pope. In addition to sermons he wrote approximately eighty treatises concerning Church reform and other theological and moral questions. Jan of Glogow was considered the most distinguished representative of scholastic philosophy at the Krakow University; he left behind a great many works in philosophy, dialectics, classical philology, and other fields. The Krakow professors, Michal of Bystrzykow and Jan of Stobnica, were the first men in Poland to take up the teachings of Duns Scotus. The Polish astronomers of the time were Mikolaj of Kwidzyri and Wojciech of Brudzew, both teachers of Copernicus. There was also a distinguished natural scientist, Jan Stanko, the author of a medical dictionary. Great progress was also made in historiography. One of the students of the Jagiellonian University, Jan Dlugosz (1415-80), was the most distinguished Polish historian until the eighteenth century. He was the secretary of Bishop Olesnicki, became canon of Krakow Cathedral, and finally archbishop of Lwow. He was also tutor to the sons of king Kazimierz the Jagiellonian. He was often employed in diplomatic missions to the Teutonic Knights, the Czechs, and the Hungarians. He was the author of several historical works in Latin, the most important of which is his chronicle of Poland (Annates seu Chronicae Regni Poloniae). It is divided into twelve books which include the geography of Poland, the prehistorical epoch, and the history of Jagiellonian Poland to the time of the author's death. It differs from earlier chronicles primarily in the accumulation of historical sources on which it is based, which was great and varied for its day, and by a definite, though necessarily timid, criticism in their evaluation. Dlugosz rejected many of the myths that had been created by earlier chroniclers, but he inevitably lacked sufficient training in methodology to avoid creating some myths of his own. So, for instance, all the Polish mythology, modeled after ancient mythology without factual foundations, is the work of Dlugosz's imagination. All his ' t a d a s . ' 'Nijas.' 'Dziewannas,' and 'Marzannas,' which were supposed to be relative to the Greek and Roman gods, never existed

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in Polish paganism. These names probably c o m e f r o m folk songs, where they had an altogether different meaning. T h e same is true of his accounts of Lech, Popiel, and K r a k , the alleged first Polish rulers. They are t o d a y considered to be n o more t h a n legends; however, a n u m b e r of them are colorful and interesting a n d could inspire the poetic imagination, as they often did, t h o u g h they lack authenticity. In spite of these deficiencies, Dtugosz's bias in the evaluation of people and events, a n d the exclusively theological point of view f r o m which he considers the causality of historical events, his chronicle became the most i m p o r t a n t source f o r the study of the Middle Ages in Poland. Although it is not yet a historical work in the modern sense of the word, neither is it a chronicle of the medieval type; rather it is somewhere between the t w o genres. Another interesting figure is the first political writer of Poland, J a n Ostrorog, w h o was at the same time P o l a n d ' s first outstanding secular writer (he died in 1501 as the wojewoda of the province of Poznari). His work, also written in Latin, is entitled Monumentum pro Reipublicae ordinatione ( M e m o r a n d u m for the Organizing of the Republic) a n d expresses criticism of various institutions of church and state. O s t r o r o g first d e m a n d e d a r e f o r m of the law courts a n d of legislation. He considered it an a n o m a l y for the Polish state to apply different codes of l a w : Polish law f o r the gentry a n d the peasants a n d G e r m a n law for the burghers. H e advocated a c o m m o n Polish system of law for everybody, though he did not f a v o r equality of all beneath this law; on the contrary, he preferred a legal discrimination between the different classes. His penetrating j u d g m e n t a n d political sense is seen in his keen feeling f o r this legal a n o m a l y a n d his criticism of it. His independent attitude m a y also be seen in his criticism of the Church. H e would have preferred the country t o be less d e p e n d e n t on the Catholic Church a n d the Polish Church to d e p e n d on the Polish king rather t h a n the pope, naturally not in matters of faith, b u t with regard to questions of law and administration. The king rather t h a n the p o p e should, in his opinion, appoint bishops, the so-called Peter's pence paid to the pope by the dioceses should be abolished a n d the clergy should not enjoy special privileges. These opinions u n d o u b t e d l y reflect the new humanistic trends which had c o m e from the west a n d were s o o n to be strengthened by a tendency towards reformation, as well as a specific animosity on the part of the Polish ruling class against the prerogatives that the Polish clergy had been able to acquire in the course of centuries and which limited the influence of t h e gentry on deciding national issues.

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Ostrorog also proposed reform in economic matters, such as the abolishment of guilds which raised the prices of their products and special taxation on nonagricultural goods, as well as the repair of roads and bridges, making coins out of pure silver, etc. Most of these reforms aimed at the protection of agriculture, which was the gentry's chief occupation. All the authors discussed above wrote in Latin, but Polish poetry and prose were also enriched in the fifteenth century. One of the longest and most decorative manuscripts of that century was Biblja Krolowej Zojji (Queen Sophie's Bible), also known as the Saros-Patak Bible because it is now kept at the Library of the Calvinist Church in Saros-Patak in northern Hungary. This manuscript probably contained the translation of the entire Old and New Testaments, but more than half of the pages were torn out so that only 185, containing the Old Testament, were left. The work exists in a copy made in 1455 from an original manuscript that is now lost. This translation was made from a Czech original, which has not been identified, by Father Andrzej of Jaszowice for Queen Sophie, Wladyslaw Jagiello's last wife. The language still uses the old dual form, observed both in the declensions and the conjugations, but the aoryst had already gone out of use; Polish orthography is also improved, with the nasal and palatal vowels generally indicated. Another important Polish text is the so-called Psalterz Pulawski (Pulawy Psalter), a fifteenth-century version of the St. Florian Psalter, which modernizes the language of the older version and allows us to follow the changes the language had undergone in the course of a century. The 'religious romance,' Rozmyslanie o zywocie Pana Jezusa (Meditations on the Life of Jesus), belongs to the second part or even the very end of the fifteenth century. Although it is based on foreign material (the Latin poem Vita Mariae Virginis et J. Christi rythmica and others) and utilizes the commentaries of Peter Comestor's Historia Scholastica, which was very popular in the Middle Ages, it does contain a great deal of original material. This is seen particularly in the fictional elements, in the combination of apocrypha and legends with passages from the Bible or the writings of the Church Fathers, in passages written in verse, and in certain observations and meditations which are interspersed with Latin phrases. The anonymous writer first tells the life of the Holy Virgin, then the birth of Christ, His youth and work, and finally His passion. The account breaks off at this point and remains an incomplete and unequal work, full of repetition and redundancy. Among the other religious texts written in Polish one should mention

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Kazanie na dzien Wszech Swiqtych (The Sermon on All-Saints Day) and Modlitwy Waclawa (The Prayers of Waclaw, translated from the Latin). There were, of course, many similar books of sermons and prayers. There were also translations of the medieval Latin prose romances, such as Powiesc o papiezu Urbanie (The Story of Pope Urban), Alexandreide, and others. Other Polish texts preserved from the fifteenth century are additional court formulae and the translations of the statutes of Kazimierz the Great from the Latin original. The first two of these translations date back to 1449 and 1450. Many other laws were contained in these codes. There are finally such interesting linguistic documents as dictionaries of the Bible, collections of the names of months and plants, and genealogical tables, in addition to 'glossaries' of Polish terms written in between the lines or in the margin of Latin texts to translate the more difficult words and expressions. Polish poetry, religious as well as secular, lyric as well as epic, is already quite diverse in the fifteenth century. It is still difficult to find artistic wholes, but we often find passages in which religious and other feelings are expressed in a sincere and moving manner. Thus in Skarga Matki Bolesnej pod Krzyzem (Mary's Complaint under the Cross) the feelings of the Mother of God speaking to her Son are expressed in touching tones; if He were 'lower,' she would try to help Him, she would hold up His 'little head' which is falling down, she would wipe off His blood and would give Him water to drink: "But it is not allowed to reach Your Holy Body." Piesn o Zwiastowaniu (Song of the Annunciation) expresses admiration for Mary by praising her above the whiteness of a lily, the beauty of a rose, the scent of a narcissus, and the 'preciousness' of an exotic flower. One of the interesting manifestations of Polish medieval poetry is Piesn o mqce Panskiej (Song of Our Lord's Passion), the earliest copy of which is dated 1420, although it was written much earlier, probably towards the turn of the fifteenth century. It is a translation of the Latin hymn Horae Canonicae Salvatoris, which describes the taking of Christ in the garden, the trial under Pontius Pilatus, and the Passion. Although it is only a translation, it possesses a certain significance in the development of Polish poetry for it introduces for the first time (following the original) the thirteen-syliable line with a regular caesura after the seventh syllable.7 The rhythm of the work is nearly flawless, and the language reveals a relatively advanced sense for 'poetic conception.' 7

Dhiska, Studia, p. 13.

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Other religious songs show a great variety of structure, with anything between five and ten syllables to a line, but with a general tendency towards irregularity. Most rhymes are ' g r a m m a t i c a l ' or based on assonance. The structure is sometimes elaborate, as in the alphabetic poems (in which each stanza begins with a successive letter of the alphabet), in the acrostics (the first letters of each line f o r m words), or in poems in which each stanza begins with the successive words of a prayer. 8 It is difficult to establish the dates of indiv idual poems a n d decide which are strictly medieval and which later works, for pieces of all periods are included in collections made in the fifteenth, a n d even the sixteenth, century. One also has to take a n o t h e r circumstance into consideration, namely that they originated and disseminated in the same way as folk songs. Their authors are usually a n o n y m o u s , the lines a n d stanzas of different songs often run into one another, a n d the original version is often abbreviated or enlarged u p o n , as in the case of Mother of God. As to literary genres, we have a m o n g these songs works of a lyrical character, like the Lenten and Easter songs, Christmas carols, songs for C o r p u s Christi and the Holy G h o s t , a n d songs for the Holy Virgin, as well as others of an epic character, such as the legends and songs a b o u t the saints. A m o n g the f o r m e r we should mention also the Zoltarz Jezusöw czyli pigtnascie rozmyslan o Bozem umgczeniu (Psalter of Jesus or Fifteen Meditations on G o d ' s Passion) by Wladyslaw of Gielniöw, a Bernardine m o n k who was a p o p u l a r preacher a n d writer of Latin and Polish songs. The Psalter is dated 1488, but it has n o t yet been ascertained whether it is an original work or an a d a p t a t i o n f r o m Czech. 9 In either case, this poem is a m o n g the more interesting a n d may be included in the same class with the Song of Our Lord's Passion, with which it has not only analogies of subject matter, but the same syllabic, binary r h y t h m : the thirteen-syllable line with the caesura after the seventh syllable. T h e Hymn o Duchu swi^tym (Hymn a b o u t the Holy G h o s t ) was probably written towards the end of the fifteenth century by an u n k n o w n a u t h o r ; the song worships the third person of the Holy Trinity as the source of heavenly grace and contains a plea for eternal life. The most remarkable fifteenth-century epic is Legenda o swigtym Aleksym (Legend of St. Alexis). T h e fifteenth-century text is included in a Latin code, but this is probably a later c o p y ; it contains 240 lines, is * See Aleksander Brückner, Sredniowieczna pie.in religijna polska (Kraköw, 1923). ' Brückner, ibid., is of the first opinion. The second is defended by S. Dobrzycki, Z dziejöw Sredniowiecznego piimienniciwa polskiego, Prace filoiogiczne, V (Warsaw, 1895).

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unfinished, and its author is anonymous. It is not an original work; the life of St. Alexis was the subject of manyGreek, Latin, French, and German legends which began in the eleventh century. It portrays the ideal ascetic life which is based on absolute negation of all material goods and even denial of human dignity. Alexis, a young Roman lord, abandons his young wife, riches, and a comfortable life; taking some gold with him, he goes wandering into the world. He distributes his gold among beggars, priests, and students, and lives by alms given him as he sits on the steps of the church. After many years he returns to his home, where not even his father recognizes him. He picks a little corner under the staircase of his father's palace as his dwelling ("Here under the stairs he lay, Everybody poured slops and foul water on him" - goes the Polish version of the legend), and he lives on the remains from his father's table. Many years pass in this way until Alexis' death, when a miracle occurs: all the bells of Rome begin to ring by themselves, and the mystery of the aristocratic beggar is uncovered. This legend has no literary value, but it is interesting as a symptom of the introduction of ascetic ideology into Poland. Among the epic works describing the lives and passions of the saints we have songs about St. Stanislaw, St. Catherine, St. Christopher, and St. Dorothea. They deal with the legends of the saints in a simple and naive manner. The story of Stanislaw, the bishop, tells of his conflict with King Boleslaw the Bold, his death, and the miracles connected with it. A legend in verse tells the story of Catherine of Alexandria, the 'wonderful maiden' who in her youth knew Christ and 'disdained wordly values.' The emperor sent 'learned masters' to her, that they might 'talk her out' of it. But the maiden 'talked them out of it' so well that they were converted, with the result that the emperor had them bound in the city square and burned alive. In return they were given 'a happy dwelling' in heaven. Now it was the emperor's turn to try to reconvert Catherine; he did not succeed, and Catherine was decapitated; after her death, milk flowed from her severed neck and the angels carried her body to Mount Sinai. In comparison with religious poetry, secular poetry is relatively poor in the fifteenth century. Its significance is mainly cultural and its literary value minimal. It is a treasury of the Old Polish language, a collection of examples illustrating the mores of the time as well as other aspects of contemporary life, for it touches upon immediate social and political problems. This kind of secular literature must have existed in the preChristian era in Poland, as we have already suggested, in the form of myths, fables, tales, and songs of all kinds. There were also the so-called

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'historical songs,' which narrated important historical events, and 'ballads,' which treated such traditional themes as the lady who kills her husband, the suitor, and the ghostly lover. Only fragments of this mass of popular literature remain. One of the earliest and most interesting didactic works of the time is O zachowaniu sig przy stole (Table Manners), a poem by a certain Slota (or Zlota), which dates back to the beginning of the fifteenth century. Nothing exact is known about the author, but it is supposed that he was a young student in Krakow of gentry origin. The work itself is reminiscent of similar Latin, German, Czech, French, and Italian works. Its subject is proper behavior at the dinner table. From the author's recommendations as to what is and what is not proper at table, a vivid picture of reality emerges; the faults which offended good manners seem to have been: sitting down at the table 'like an ox,' 'getting hold of the serving dish first,' reaching over the heads of others, 'eating with dirty hands,' and the like. The author recommends that 'ladies should cut their food into small morsels'; the knights and gentlemen should pay attention to the women and offer them what is best on the table. However, the poem is not devoted exclusively to these matters. It begins by singing of the charms of eating in general, and the second part is devoted to praise of the fair sex, a reflection of the Western chivalric code. There is nothing better than maidens and ladies, the poem says, 'the charm of every party depends on them'; 'all goodness derives from them,' they are the crown of all things and should be respected by all. The work is arranged in the medieval pattern within a framework of two prayers, the verse is octosyllabic and irregular, the rhymes are grammatical or assonantic and in couplets. The style is very simple, but it is filled with forceful and picturesque expressions. The Rozmowa Mistrza ze Smierciq (Dialogue between the Master and Death), from the end of the fifteenth century, also has a moralizing character, though in a different vein. It is based on the Latin treatise in dialogue form, Colloquium inter mortem et magistrum Polycarpum, and its subject is the implacable power of death, an engrossing problem to the people of the Middle Ages. Polycarpus, 'the wise man,' begged God that he might see death personally. One day his plea was satisfied, when, as he was alone in a church, a being 'of female nature' and with a terrifying countenance appeared to him; not in the form of a skeleton (as is usually the case) but of a mouldering corpse, which is described in very expressive details. The impression was so strong that Polycarpus fainted and fell to the ground with such force that 'he moaned.' When he comes to, the

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dialogue begins. The master would like to run away from Death, and he wants to bribe her with presents. She, however, will not hear of it, for she despises all property and does not care for the raisins and almonds, velvets and other expensive fabrics which he offers. She presents him the picture of her omnipotence: she 'tortures all human species without regard to age, sex, or social class.' But she is particularly anxious to punish corrupt judges and lecherous monks. The master timidly asks her the purpose of doctors, if she has so much power; to this Death replies: 'Every doctor is a cheat, his ointments nothing do defeat.' In the Polish version the Dialogue is unfinished, but we know from the Latin original (and its Ukrainian adaptation) that the master inquires about the final judgment, and Death teaches him how to live in order to avoid going to hell. This work is characteristic and interesting for many reasons. Besides her peculiar external appearance, Death is also distinguished by humor and vivacity, which are unusual traits in such a character; she tells the master to smell her scythe to see how sharp it is, she assures him that he may die at any moment, she speaks with him quite frankly and even calls him 'very stupid.' When she describes her pursuit of the animals she talks like a gentleman at a hunt. Her attitude towards physicians, judges, and monks is also that of the gentry. The pictures of the monk who runs away from the monastery in search of adventures and of the curates with 'meaty necks' and 'double-chins hanging on their breasts,' are full of verve and color. Inn-keepers are attacked for the bad beer they serve; the higher clergy and office holders are also attacked. The poem is not only didactic; it is also a satirical picture of the mores of the day. 10 It is written in octosyllabic verse, with a trochaic metre and rhymed in couplets; being loosely constructed, its action is often interrupted; there is much repetition and often whole catalogs of Death's trophies are quoted. A similar subject is found in Skarga umierajqcego (A Dying Man's Complaint) which is written in the same manuscript as the preceding work. The dying man is tortured by anxiety for the salvation of his soul, because he realizes that he has not much deserved it during his life, which was devoted to acquiring money and enjoying physical pleasures. The author consoles him, saying that with contrition, confession, and the acceptance of the Sacrament he can open the path to heaven. The work is composed of twenty-two four-line stanzas; the first letters of the stanzas are arranged in alphabetical order. 10

See Stefan Vrtel-Wierczynski, Sredniowieczna poezja polska swiecka (Wroclaw,

1949).

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Satyra na chlopdw (Satire on the Peasants) is of particular interest because, unlike the numerous later satires against the gentry, it is directed against the laziness and unfriendliness of the peasants; it must surely have been written by a country gentleman. He complains that the peasants 'take excessive rest,' while pretending to work hard; when they go out to work they stop on the way, supposedly to repair their ploughs; 'they hitch sick cattle to the ploughs'; on purpose they allow their masters' crops to be poor; they think up all kinds of troubles in order to avoid work; sometimes they deliberately lose a part of the plough in order to go off to the forest, pretending to look for a piece of wood with which to make a new part but in reality lying down behind a bush to take a rest. The conclusion implies that, although the peasants pretend to be simple people, they are in reality very shrewd. This poem of animosity towards the peasants may be compared to another in which the gentry expresses its indignation against the burghers, Piesn o zabiciu Andrzeja T^czynskiego (The Song of the Murder of Andrzej T^czynski). This murder actually took place in Krakow in 1461. The knight, T^czynski, was preparing to go to war and gave his armor for repair to a city craftsman; dissatisfied with his work, T^czyriski whipped him heavily. This provoked great indignation among the populace, and crowds marched on T?czyriski's home; the knight found shelter in the Franciscan Church, but the mob caught him there and murdered him ruthlessly. Six burghers were decapitated. This work is not strictly epic in character, for it portrays only a few of the facts involved and treats even these in a very general manner: the murder in the church, the dragging of the corpse along the gutter, the delegation to the burghers of Wroclaw with a complaint, the publication of the list of the names of those guilty in the riot, the punishment of the murderers. On the other hand, the poem is filled with lyrical elements: complaints, sorrow, indignation, praises for the murdered man and his son, satisfaction with the just punishment. The poem is composed of twenty-six irregular lines, with a clear, though uneven division of each into two parts. Next to a few full rhymes we also find several that are limited only to the final syllable or assonantic rhymes. Piesn o Wiklefie (The Song of Wyclif), written toward the middle of the fifteenth century by Jfdrzej Galka of Dobczyn, a Bachelor and Master of Aits in Krakow, is significant because it reverences John Wyclif, the spiritual father of Hussitism, and sharply attacks the Catholic clergy. This is apparently the only surviving song in Polish modeled on Czech Hussite songs.

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A few words should be said about love poetry. Because there was in Poland no feudal knighthood (or feudalism in general), the concept of 'Frauendienst' or chivalric gallantry, so widespread in the West, was virtually unknown; there were neither troubadours nor minnesingers. Poland lacked both the rich love poetry and the treatises about the 'art of love' which were so numerous elsewhere. The authors of the few Polish love poems written were not knights but university students and scribes. In one manuscript of the Bible, for instance, a certain scribe, having finished his work, gives his thanks to Christ and ends with the wish: Scriptoripropenna dabitur eipulcrapuella...11 Love songs, letters, and tales frequently may be found in collections of sermons, theological treatises, statutes, and glossaries. On the whole, they are rather naive both in the feelings they express and in the manner of their expression. The verse form was used not only for poetry in the strict sense of the word but also for practical mnemonic purposes. Formulas of the catechism, medical prescriptions, grammatical rules, calendars, and dictionaries were versified — even the treatise on orthography by Jakob Parkosz in 1460. Polish architecture entered a Gothic period in the fourteenth century. Such outstanding buildings as the Wawel Cathedral, the Church of the Virgin Mary, the Dominican Church, and the Church of St. Catherine in Krakow were all built in the Gothic style, as were many secular structures. The royal buildings on the Wawel, originally of Gothic architecture, were later reconstructed in Renaissance style. The beautiful Jagiellonian Library (the former University building), built in Gothic style in the fifteenth century, exists to this day. Traces of the Gothic are also preserved in the town hall and other buildings in the main square of Krakow. The sarcophagi of the kings in the Wawel Cathedral, those of Wladyslaw the Short, Kazimierz the Great, and, above all, Wladyslaw Jagiello (made in red marble) are magnificent examples of this style. The reign of Kazimierz the Great saw a lively development in painting. The Krakow Cathedral and the rooms of the Wavel Castle were probably decorated with frescoes at this time, and in the churches of other cities similar wall paintings were also being made. Toward the end of the fourteenth century the painting of pictures and altars began; depictions of the homage of the magi, in the Church of the Virgin Mary in Torun, and the descent from the cross (middle of the fifteenth century), painted on wood, are well preserved. Several panels representing the stigmatization of St. Francis and the scene of the Annunciation also date from this period. 11

Ibid.

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There are also triptychs and portraits of the saints. The Kraków painters were already well known at that time, an they were often commissioned to do work abroad. The National Museum in Warsaw has several beautiful and valuable monuments of Polish Gothic art of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. There are, among other things, polyptychs, paintings, sculptures, and portraits from Pomerania and Malopolska (Little Poland, Southern Poland, of which Kraków and Lwów were principal cities). One of the greatest sculptors of the time in Europe was Wit Stwosz, who came from Nuremberg to Kraków in 1477 and spent the next twenty years there. He soon became the leader of a sculptors' school, and it was in Kraków that he achieved his masterpiece, a triptych altar carved in wood, on which he worked for twelve years together with a group of his pupils. He found in Kraków a congenial atmosphere, conditions suitable for his work, and burghers who furnished him with the necessary financial means to create this tremendous work, which is now considered one of the finest examples of medieval art. The altar, which is now in the Church of St. Mary in Kraków, is built in three parts, with two wings which may be shut and which are covered with bas-relief on both sides. The altar is forty feet high and thirty-three feet wide. The central part depicts the death of the Virgin Mary, and the wings represent twelve scenes from the life of the Virgin and her Son. The sculptures are all painted and gilded. The figures, which number about two hundred, are more than lifesize (the tallest measure from nine to ten feet), with striking expressions, full of life and movement. Among them are the apostles, saints, angels, scholars, hangmen, and devils. The piece is worked with extraordinary expressiveness and precision of detail, which may be seen not only in the wealth and variety of the spiritual emotions expressed in the faces of the figures but also in the folds of their garments, in their hands, hair, clothes, shoes, weapons, tools, and furniture, as well as in the plant and animal decorations. Even before Stwosz, Poland had had triptychs of medieval character that were high in value, but neither before nor afterward did the country have such a masterpiece as this one. In the art of sculpture it is the precursor of the renaissance, for it reveals the influence of the Flemish masters, although traces of medieval traditions (for instance, in the treatment of the landscape) are still visible. Stwosz also executed a number of the tombs in the Wawel and Gniezno Cathedrals. Another outstanding sculptor of the period was Piotr Vischer the Elder, who also carved several sarcophagi in Kraków and Poznañ. The music of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was mainly religious

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37

in character. It remained relatively undeveloped in the fourteenth century but began to make better progress in the next, when whole collections of religious songs were written. Unfortunately, only a small number of them were notated. Some of them are sung to this day, but the melodies must have been radically changed in the course of centuries. The composers of these songs are unknown. The first known composer was Wladyslaw of Gielniow, who has already been mentioned; he wrote the music for his Psalter of Jesus and introduced the custom of having it sung in church after the sermon. With the firm establishment of the Roman Church, liturgical music began to flourish in Poland. Hymns and the so-called Latin sequences in honor of St. Wojciech, St. Stanislaw and St. Kinga were sung in churches and monasteries. Jan Kempa, bishop of Poznari in the first half of the fourteenth century, is recognized as the first known author of such sequences. They were soon translated into Polish in order to make them accessible to the common people. The translation of the famous hymn, Dies irae, dies ilia, was made in the fourteenth century. Poland also had many songs in honor of the Virgin Mary, the so-called Marian Hymns. Significantly, a treatise on music, more specifically on choral music, was written in Poland as early as the first half of the fifteenth century. Its author is Szydlowita, master of the Jagiellonian University. Research by musicologists shows that Krakow Cathedral held the lead in the field of choral music in Poland. Polish liturgical songs followed closely the old church tradition and West European models, but they also reveal some originality and a great variety of melody.12 The foremost Polish composer of the fifteenth century was Mikolaj Radomczyk (Nicholas of Radom), about whose life, unfortunately, very little is known. It is supposed that he was in close contact with Wladyslaw Jagiello's court because one of his compositions is dedicated to the king on the occasion of the birth of his second son. It is a vocal monody with an accompaniment for two instruments. Mikolaj Radomczyk also wrote five other musical compositions: three parts of the Mass (two Glorias and a Credo), a Magnificat, and one composition without words, probably an instrumental work. According to Polish and foreign musical specialists, Mikolaj Radomczyk was well versed in the most progressive techniques of his time; he knew 12 See Zdzislaw Jachimecki, Muzyka polska tv rozwoju historycznym (Krak6w, 1948) I, 40 ff. Jachimecki also quotes works by W. Gieburowski about Szydlowita (Poznafi, 1915) and W. Pozniak about choral passions in Poland (Krak6w, 1947).

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the works of contemporary Italian, French, and English masters, but, as a composer, he did not submit to any one style exclusively. In the manuscript collection which contains the above works there are also several other musical compositions of the same century; among them are a Latin hymn in honor of the city of Krakow (with words by Stanislaw Ciolek, vice-chancellor to Wfadystaw JagieHo), the students' song of the Krak6w Academy, and hymns to the Virgin. On the threshold o f the sixteenth century Poland was already territorially an extensive country, internally consolidated, and cherishing great hopes for the future. Considering the fact that Muscovy was not yet playing an important role in European culture, that the Czechs were torn by religious (Hussite) wars, and that the Balkan Slavs were in virtual servitude under the Turkish yoke, Poland was at the time the only great state among the Slavic peoples. As has already been mentioned, its culture developed slowly but continuously, a fact which, as the strength of the Polish state increased, allowed the country to exercise its influence on neighboring countries and to assimilate the foreign elements which formed part of the republic. This process had begun in the fifteenth century, but it reached its peak in the following century; we shall speak about it more extensively in the next chapter. At this time mention should be made of another characteristic of Poland's internal life, namely the considerably different levels of culture in the various Polish provinces. Even then Matopolska (Little Poland) and Wielkopolska (Great Poland) surpassed the culturally poorer Masovia and the even poorer eastern provinces. It was only later that Masovia assumed significance (when the Polish capital was transferred from Krakow to Warsaw), while the so-called 'eastern confines' have throughout the history o f Poland been neglected both materially and culturally. Another characteristic trait is seen in the variety of physical types, customs, dialects, and costumes of the Polish and non-Polish population of the various provinces of the republic. From Western Wielkopolska through Malopolska and Masovia to Ruthenia, White Russia, and Lithuania was spread the large and colorful panorama of the gentry, the burghers, and the peasantry, who all cultivated their own traditions and customs. All this certainly made for a highly colorful and interesting picture; in Poland's subsequent historical development each of the Polish provinces contributed valuable elements to the national culture, and it should be remembered that many of its outstanding figures were men o f German, White Russian, or Lithuanian origin.

CHAPTER III

THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY: HUMANISM AND REFORMATION

The sixteenth century is called the 'golden' age of Polish culture, for in that century the growth of Poland's political strength coincided with a lively progress in all fields of intellectual endeavor and a particular achievement in literature. The internal policy of the Jagiellonian dynasty was prompted by the idea of an increasingly close union between Poland and Lithuania, as a result of which the creation of a unified PolishLithuanian state was signed in the act of the Union of Lublin in 1569. The external policy strove to maintain the prestige that Poland had gained even during the preceding century, when the Jagiellonian monarchs sat on the Hungarian and Czech thrones. Poland was faced with great and difficult tasks both externally and internally: to consolidate a vast country, to raise the standard of living, to reconcile the interests of the people with those of the state, to assure the safety of the frontiers and remain vigilant in foreign policy. Poland in the sixteenth century was in no position to fulfill all these tasks with equal success, but it achieved many significant and durable results. Zygmunt I (1506-48), who came to the throne after the short reign of his brother Aleksander (1501-06), was faced with difficult problems both in the East and the West. Muscovy had signed a treaty with the Emperor Maximilian I and occupied Smolensk. Moreover, Maximilian supported the Teutonic Order against Poland, and the grand master of the Order refused to continue paying homage to the Polish king. The Congress of Vienna, in 1515, reached a temporary agreement according to which Albert of Brandenburg, Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, was converted to Protestantism and thereafter paid his homage to the Polish king as a secular prince. The Order thus ceased to exist, but it gave rise to the Hohenzollern dynasty which later harrassed not only Poland but all of Western Europe. The relationship with Muscovy, however, remained unsolved, which gave rise to new military conflicts. Furthermore, the

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Jagietios lost the Hungarian and Czech thrones, when Wladyslaw's son, Ludwik, was killed in a battle against the Turks, and a Habsburg prince was elected as the monarch of Hungary and Bohemia. The danger of a combined aggression by the Turks and the Tatars was warded off by the Polish victories over the Tatars and the fortification of the south-eastern frontiers. Zygmunt August (1548-72), the son of Zygmunt I, maintained peace in the south, avoiding war with Turkey and improving Tatar-Polish relations. The relations with Muscovy, however, remained tense because of Ivan the Terrible's desire to acquire Livonia. Poland forestalled Ivan by taking that region under its protection. This step caused a new war with Muscovy, which ended in compromise: the northern part of Livonia was occupied by the tsar, while the southwest, with Riga and Courland, remained in Poland's hands. In this way Poland's position on the Baltic was strengthened. One of Zygmunt August's important achievements was to succeed in unifying Poland and Lithuania finally into one state with a common Diet and a monarch elected jointly, though both countries preserved a separate administration, army, treasury, and codes of law. Zygmunt August was, the last of the Jagieltos. He left no successor, and after his death the epoch of elective kings began in Poland. Although even the Jagiellos were officially elected as kings of Poland and grand dukes of Lithuania, these elections had kept the royal line within the limits of one dynasty. After an interregnum which lasted for two years, the French candidate, Henry of Valois, was elected. After spending only a few months of the year 1574 in Poland, he returned to France, upon the death of his brother, in order to occupy the French throne. The Polish gentry then voted the election of the Transylvanian prince, Stefan Batory (1576-86), who turned out to be one of the wisest and bravest of the Polish kings. He strengthened Polish authority in Gdansk, and he conducted three victorious campaigns against Ivan the Terrible, thus winning back Polotsk and insuring Poland's rule over the whole of Livonia. In internal affairs, his greatest deeds were the creation of courts of appeal, which made the organization of jurisdiction more efficient, and the founding in 1579 of a university in Wilno (in place of the old Jesuit Academy). The king's closest collaborator was his chancellor, Jan Zamoyski, one of Poland's foremost statesmen, a soldier, humanist, and educator. After Batory's death, Zamoyski was instrumental in the election of the new king, Zygmunt III (1588-1632), who was of the Swedish Vasa dynasty and a nephew of Zygmunt August. The transformation from an absolute monarchy into a republic of the

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gentry, a process which had begun in the course of the preceding century, progressed further in the sixteenth century. The gentry secured new privileges, reaching the summit of its acquisitions in the Constitution 'Nihil novi' of 1505, which laid down the rule that the king could not decide anything new (nihil novi), even in cases of great emergency or national danger, without the consent of the Diet, that is, the gentry at large. 'Nothing concerning us without us' became the political watchword of the ruling class. This liberal and democratic principle, unfortunately, concerned only one social class, which consistently and stubbornly refused to grant rights to the burghers and peasants, despite the advice of the most enlightened groups in the country. The Polish gentleman was one of the freest men in Europe, and he was proud of the fact that he owed nothing to his king except 'a realty tax, war duty, and the use of the royal name in court summonses'; the latter always began with the words: 'In the name of his Majesty the K i n g . . . ' The concept of divine right, of the king annointed by God, which still prevailed in the rest of Europe, had disappeared in Poland a long time before. Together with the fall of monarchical power, worship of the king, who was only a nominal ruler, also disappeared. This feeling of independence with regard to the monarch strengthened even more when, after the death of Zygmunt August, the kings were elected not by the Diet but by the gentry at large (viritim). Every gentleman considered himself as the king's personal elector, to whom the king owed his position and was therefore obliged to be grateful. This 'gratitude' was formulated at every election into the legal form of the so-called pacta conventa, a kind of contract between the elected and the electors. Only on his solemn affirmation of this contract could the candidate be elected. In this way the gentry secured increasing privileges, and they came gradually to adopt a belligerent attitude towards any form of power. Stefan Batory, who struggled against this autocracy of the gentry, though generally without success, on one occasion said to a gentleman named Kazimierski: 'Silence, you clown!' He received the following answer: 'I am not a clown, but I elect kings and I do away with tyrants!'1 What would have been the fate of a French or Spanish gentleman of the time, had he dared to answer his king in this manner? Credit for emancipation from mystical reverence for monarchic power must go to the Polish gentry. But, on the other hand, the gentry did not realize that Poland required the strong executive power personified by 1

Aleksander Brückner, Dzieje kultury polskiej, 2d ed. 4 vols. (Warsaw, 1939-46).

1st ed. 3 vols. (Krak6w,1931) ;

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a king and that the gentry's autonomy was beginning to assume dangerous proportions. In the sixteenth century Polish cities were still at the height of their development, especially the larger cities, such as Krakow, Lwow, Poznan, Lublin, and Wilno. But at the same time the legal handicap of the burghers was increasing: they were not allowed to buy land and were forced to sell the land they already owned; in the Diet they had only two delegates, a representation which in practice eliminated their influence in the government. The life of a burgher was valued lower than that of a gentelman; the murder of a gentleman entailed a fine of 120 grzywnas and a prison term of one year and six weeks, while the murderer of a burgher got away with a fine o f t e n grzywnas and served no prison term. The situation of the peasants grew worse with every century. They were burdened with gradually increasing duties and work. Formerly the peasant had worked for the landowner only one or two days a week, but in the sixteenth century this was increased to four and even five days a week. The literature of that period is full of vivid portrayals of the plight of the peasants, against which poets, political and social writers, and preachers expressed their feelings of indignation and embitterment. The intellectual and literary life of Poland in the sixteenth century was influenced mainly by three forces: (a) the political activity of the gentry who were striving for control of the state, (b) humanism, and (c) the Reformation. We have already noted the political activity of the gentry, which not only contributed to political and oratorical refinement (almost every gentleman was an orator who liked to display his eloquence, and Latin was a language he mastered as freely as Polish) but gave birth to a literature in which political and national problems were discussed, the aims of the gentry class justified, and polemic controversies conducted with opponents. In order to understand the character and significance of humanism, we must pause for a brief analysis of the intellectual life of the Middle Ages. Recent research has shown that the Middle Ages were not quite so simple, primitive, or 'backward', as was formerly imagined. In addition to the magnificent development of architecture, art, and music in western and southern Europe, there was also a lively intellectual and literary movement and a flourishing social ethos. Within the framework of a strict religious and ecclesiastical discipline there was still room for lively and varied personalities to express themselves, for an intensive spiritual life. The official doctrine, or method, as it were, of reasoning and investiga-

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tion was so-called scholasticism, which comprised the medieval systems of logic, metaphysics, and theology. Scholasticism had played a great part in forming the minds of medieval scholars and preparing them for strict, logical thinking. It was based on the works of Aristotle, who, in logic as in other disciplines, laid the foundations for scientific thinking. Scholasticism was used by the learned clergy for the purpose of justifying the truths of faith, and their works are of fundamental importance for the Catholic doctrine. St. Thomas Aquinas applied scholasticism to theology in the thirteenth century, and, in general, his successors only developed and supplemented his theories. There were among the scholastics some extraordinary minds, but there were also, as is usually the case, mediocre ones. The latter often involved themselves in unusually fantastic reasoning which had nothing in common with scientific thought or even with common sense. At a later date, when a reaction against this reasoning ensued, the abberations of scholasticism became the chief argument against the whole trend, which was often condemned in its entirety and considered representative of the 'darkness' of the Middle Ages. This reaction had various causes, and they were deeper than mere dissatisfaction with the methods of scholastic thinking. What was questioned was the whole medieval outlook, its attitude towards life, the world and the individual. When scholarship entered its 'secularized' phase, when gradually more secular scholars began to take up learning, the field of interest widened and began to include domains that had been foreign to scholasticism, such as natural sciences, literature, and art. The old scholastic methods ceased to be sufficient even for philosophy and logic. New approaches and methods had to be found. A new epoch began, variously described as humanism and renaissance. These terms do not designate the same thing, but rather parallel phenomena which overlap or, more specifically, influence one another. Humanism is a broader concept and, for that reason, more difficult to define; its manifestations were many and their character was dependent on the country and the historical moment. Deriving its etymology from the Latin homo and hitmanus, the word humanism designates a certain worldview, a certain cultural and educational ideal and a code of aesthetics based on Greco-Roman culture and literature. Humanism rejected all ties which kept a check on human individuality and its freedom to think, or on the free investigation of any problem accessible to the human mind. These problems grew in number, reflecting the whole range of human reality and opening up completely new fields of inquiry. In this way new disciplines sprang up, intellectual horizons broadened, and a lively activity began to flourish in fields

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theretofore unknown. Like every new and vital movement in the history of human thought, humanism directed its attack against the old authority; one might even say against authority in general, whether in the form of church, state, philosophy, or science. Hence conflict between the new movement and traditional institutions became inevitable. Humanist tendencies were combined and to some extent evoked by the Renaissance, which gave fresh life to art, literature, learning, and statecraft, and changed the political, social, and moral thought in Europe between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. Ancient culture played a great role in this movement, as it also did in humanism. It was then that this culture, together with its magnificent monuments of art, architecture, literature, philosophy, learning, and law, was 'discovered' by southern and western Europe and evaluated and assimilated as a common spiritual heritage. The Middle Ages did not know Greek literature at all, Latin literature only fragmentarily; among the Greek philosophers only Aristotle was recognized, among the Latin poets only Virgil; only a few of their works were known. The 'pagan' spirit that emerged from that culture was responsible for its condemnation in the early Middle Ages; many of its priceless monuments were destroyed. It was not until after the seizure of Constantinople by the Turks (1453), when many Greek scholars sought shelter in the West and brought with them not only their thorough knowledge of Greek culture but also innumerable manuscripts of the Greek writers, that Europe came close to these treasures in the original, received them with enthusiasm, and recognized them as the summit of human creation. The effect of this was very important for the subsequent development of European culture. The modern European mentality developed under the influence of and the foundation created by the ancient Greeks and Romans. Because of the new interest in Greek literature, Latin literature, which had been known to some extent before, suddenly appeared in a new light. The classical Latin language, rather than the corrupted medieval Latin, now became the language of poets and scholars. The European study of classical philology arose from their efforts to accumulate, classify, edit, and annotate Greek and Latin works. The fundamental elements of ancient culture entered the blood of all the civilized nations of Europe. European law was modeled on Roman law, the languages of all nations cultivated the Latin influence to develop vocabulary and grammatical forms. From the Remaissance to the present day, education has been founded on the study of ancient languages and culture.

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Humanism began in Poland in the fifteenth century, having been brought to the country in various ways by foreign humanists who came to Poland, by Poles who studied at foreign universities, and through manuscripts brought home by them. Reflections of this trend may be noticed already in the work of Ostrorôg, in his independent and critical attitude toward church and state. Beside a number of foreign representatives of humanism, Poland also had its patrons and early humanist poets writing in Latin. Among the professors of the Jagiellonian University there were ardent supporters of humanism, like Jan of Ludzisko and Grzegorz of Sanok. The former was a professor of medicine, but at the same time a great admirer of Cicero, and he lectured and recited speeches (such as his speech to greet King Kazimierz the Jagiellonian) in a beautiful classical Latin. Grzegorz of Sanok, for a time a professor of the University but later promoted to the position of archbishop of Lwow, was an extraordinary man for his time; he not only knew and loved ancient literatures, but was also interested in the natural sciences; and in private life he paid tribute to the ideals of the Renaissance by keeping a magnificent court at the archbishopric of Lwôw and surrounding himself with scholars and artists, as well as by patronizing learning and the arts. One of his protégés was the Italian humanist, Philip Buonacorsi, known under the name of Kallimach. He lived in Poland between the years 1470 and 1496 and became the center of the humanistic movement. Among other works, he wrote a biography of Grzegorz of Sanok, which became a valuable source for the study of the beginnings of humanism in Poland, and the story of King Wladyslaw of Warna. Kallimach later became tutor to the sons of Kazimierz the Jagiellonian and was counselor to Jan Olbracht. His activity at the royal court in Krakow certainly contributed to the infiltration there of humanistic elements. Together with the German humanist Celtis, who also spent some years in Poland, Kallimach founded the humanistic society in Krakôw, the Societas Vistulana. Such were the beginnings of humanism in Poland. In the sixteenth century, and especially in its second half, humanism penetrated the entire intellectual life of the country. Because the Jagiellonian University stubbornly held to scholasticism, although several of its masters were humanists who educated the students in that spirit, its significance and prestige began to decline, and the young Polish gentry, in their desire for fresh learning went to foreign universities, particularly to Italy (Padua, Bologna, and Rome) and Germany (Leipzig and Wittenberg). There the youth of Poland learned new ideas and new methods of reasoning. A knowledge of foreign languages and cultures at that time superior to

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the Polish was also acquired, together with refinement of manners and greater cultural desires. This contributed greatly to the rise of the cultural standards at home. Nearly all the outstanding Polish writers of the sixteenth century (except Mikolaj Rey, who was brought up in Poland) were educated for a long time abroad, and their writings are thoroughly imbued with the spirit of humanism and the Renaissance. All these men knew the ancient languages and literatures, where they found the models for their own literary genres and forms; although they were national writers who wrote in Polish, frequently they drew their ideas from Greek or Roman literature. Classical prose, as well as poetry, influenced the Polish writers. The ideas of the Greek philosophers, the works of the Greek rhetors and of Cicero were studied and assimilated. Polish parliamentary oratory and some church oratory followed their example; political writers and moralists imitated the ancients, and lawyers grounded themselves in Roman law. Through an intensive study of Latin from early childhood, the young men of the country were introduced to the ancient world, studying until they knew it well and could speak its tongue; when they began to be active in state affairs, politics, or literature, they were thoroughly imbued with classical traditions, often thinking in terms of the ideas and concepts of the ancient masters, transferring these concepts to the contemporary situation, and even using classical terminology to talk about the Polish state and political institutions. The term Rzeczpospolita (republic) is a literal translation of the Latin respublica, and the Polish republic was considered by its rulers and creators (the Polish gentry) as a kind of ancient republic in which the forms of the state and the regime were to recall the ancient 'republics.' This also explains the fact that the official designation of the Polish state was neither 'the Polish monarchy' nor 'the Polish kingdom,' even though Poland was ruled by kings, but 'the Polish republic.' The Polish senate and senators also vividly recalled the Roman senate, Senatus Populusque Romanus, and tried to imitate it externally. In short, whatever sphere of Polish cultural life one touches upon during or after the fifteenth century, one always comes across classical Latin traditions. One cannot understand Old Polish culture, nor the foundations on which the subsequent culture of Poland and of all western Europe was based, without a knowledge of the ancient Graeco-Roman culture and its tremendous influence. The growth of the humanist movement occurred particularly during the reign of Zygmunt I. The king's wife, Bona, of the Italian family of the Princes Sforza, contributed greatly to this growth. The royal court became a cultural center which attracted Italian artists and musicians,

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humanist poets and prose writers. Following the example of the royal court, the bishops and greater gentry (for instance, the bishop Piotr Tomicki) became patrons of the new movement. The wider circles of the gentry and burghers also became involved in the movement, although it never reached the lowest strata of society. Latin continued to be the prevailing language in literary production. The reigns of Zygmunt August and Batory saw the 'nationalization' of humanism, which then entered its truly Polish period. Several outstanding poets and prose-writers began to write exclusively or mainly in Polish, although a number of others, who were equally important, continued to write in Latin. The Reformation, which now crossed the path of humanism, played a great part in giving the movement a national character. Now a true humanistic atmosphere began to prevail in both the public and private life of Poland. It was recognized by foreigners as a powerful factor in Polish life, literature, art, learning, and pedagogy. Humanism and the Renaissance had a Europeanizing effect on Poland, and they enabled her to enter into closer contact with western and southern Europe; they raised the standard of education, contributed to a flowering of literature both in poetry and in prose, raised the level of manners and morals, brought new elegance to social forms, dress, dining, recreation, and entertainment, and improved the social position of women. A certain secularization in life and manners took place. The Church was still powerful, but it ceased to play the dominant role it had previously enjoyed; faith began to waver, and indifference in matters of religion, eclecticism or religious liberalism set in. No earlier epoch in Poland produced men so outstanding in all fields as these highly integrated men of the Renaissance. The third important factor in the cultural life of this epoch was the Reformation. The religious reform which had begun in Germany spread quickly among the neighboring countries, reaching Poland in the first half of the sixteenth century during the reign of Zygmunt I (the Old) and reaching its climax during the reign of his successor, Zygmunt August. 'The religious innovations,' as they were popularly called at the time, took various forms, Lutheranism, Calvinism, Arianism or Unitarianism, the doctrine of the Czech Brethren, and other movements. There was a moment in the second half of the sixteenth century when the new movements were widespread in Poland, and when the new faiths won many representatives among the foremost Polish families and masses of the gentry, who joined them either out of conviction, curiosity, or the desire to

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please the rich dissenters. In 1569 there were more Protestant than Catholic senators among the secular representatives in the senate; there were fifty-eight Protestants and fifty-five Catholics, but the former had no majority in the senate because fifteen Catholic bishops were seated in it.2 Whole provinces were controled by the movement, especially Malopolska and Lithuania; it even reached the royal court, and it was said that the king himself was favorably inclined toward it. There were times when it seemed that the majority in Poland might have become Protestant. A number of reasons may be given to explain why this did not happen. Although the Reformation took hold of a large segment of the rich and middle-class gentry as well as many burghers, it left the Polish peasantry completely untouched. The peasants' attitude towards the 'innovations' was one of indifference, as was their attitude toward everything that they considered an 'entertainment' to the gentlemen, even if it was learning, literature, or art. The generally unfavorable attitude towards Protestantism was also influenced to some degree by a certain attachment to Catholic tradition, especially in its external forms. The same may be said mutatis mutandis about the petty gentry, whose way of life differed little from that of the peasantry. The Masovian gentry, for instance, evinced no interest in the Reformation at all. Even the burgher society was not generally won over to Protestantism, as might have been supposed. There were cities, especially those in the eastern confines such as Lwow or Przemyil, which the 'innovations' never even reached. As far as the overlords and the wealthy gentry were concerned, purely religious motives did not play a decisive role. The whole trend towards Reformation had a political foundation. It is true that there must have been individuals, and even whole groups, inspired by a more profound interest in religious questions; otherwise the extensive and interesting religious literature, written by both Protestant ministers and secular authors, could not have originated in Poland. These writers were shocked by the abuses of a part of the Catholic clergy, their attachment to material things, their neglect of religious duties, their worldliness, their activity in political struggles, and their drive towards supremacy of power in the state, all of which can be confirmed in such truthful sources as the reports of the bishops and the admonitions from the Vatican. On the whole, however, the gentry embraced Protestantism as a political weapon in their struggle against the clergy and its privileges, against the court of law of the bishops, the accumulation of wealth in bishoprics and monasteries, and against the payment of tithes to priests. Protestantism, and 1

See Bruckner, Dzieje kultury pohkiej.

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especially those sects which advocated a pure, integrated Christianity, negation of wealth, and disdain for material things, furnished the gentry with arguments in their struggle for control of the state, which they did not wish to share with the clergy. In the course of the sixteenth century, when the gentry had secured practically everything they wanted and had even broken down the prerogative of the diocesan courts, which previously had held the right to judge breaches of church law committed by secular persons (at the Piotrk6w Diet in 1552 it was voted that, although the diocesan courts might pass verdicts in these matters, the secular authorities had the right not to execute them), the practical usefulness of Protestantism ceased to exist and the gentry, which was in principle indifferent in matters of faith, ceased to support the Reformation. There were other reasons for the fact that the trend died as quickly as it had spread at first. The lack of unity among the Polish Protestants themselves led to ardent struggles between the individual sects (for instance, hatred for the Unitarians, called in Poland 'Arians' or Polish Brethren was as strong among the other Protestants as it was among the Catholics), thereby weakening the Reformation. Moreover, although it was supported by learned men, whose works are to this day highly appreciated in Poland and abroad, and by men of high moral integrity entirely devoted to their mission, it lacked a single truly great personality who could have organized the whole movement and combined the individual trends into one powerful and compact force. Finally, the strong reaction on the part of the Catholics also became an important factor in the fight against Protestantism. Catholic circles had at first attached little importance to the movement, but when they realized its strength they declared unconditional war upon it. The first phase of this war was best represented on the Catholic side by Cardinal Hosius and the historian Kromer, both mentioned earlier. Hosius had been the president of the famous Council of Trent, which was responsible for major reforms in the Church. His Confiteor of the Catholic Faith, written in Latin, was famous not only in Poland but also abroad and was translated into Czech, German, French, Dutch and English. Marcin Kromer, who was, like Hosius, of burgher origin, fought against Protestantism both with his pen and by his actions, in his capacity as bishop of Warmia. Of his works the most important is Rozmowy aworzanina z mnichem (the Conversations Between a Courtier and a Monk, 1551-54), written in Polish, besides several Latin pamphlets. However, the efforts of individuals, no matter how outstanding they may have been, did not suffice. The Jagiellonian University, which had ardently opposed Hussitism, was now in decay and continued in the

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course of scholasticism, as though nothing new had happened in the world. It was then that Hosius conceived the plan of bringing the Society of Jesus to Poland for the purpose of fighting dissent — a plan that had far-reaching consequences for Poland. The realization of this project contributed in large measure to the failure of the Reformation in Poland. What previously had been done by a few individuals was now undertaken by a powerful order. Even its bitterest enemies admitted that the Jesuits had a first-rate organization, a very effective method of propagandizing the faith by accomodating it to circumstances, to all intellectual levels, classes, and their superstitions, and finally that it had great strength of discipline, readiness for sacrifice to the cause, and fanatical determination in its struggle against the opponent. The Jesuits were active in all spheres. Realizing the importance of education, they began first of all to found schools, which after a short period of initial difficulties gained tremendous success. This success grew with each decade until, in the seventeenth century, the Jesuits had gained a monopoly over the upbringing and education of the youth of the country. The Jesuits did not, however, limit themselves to the organizing of education. They were active at the royal court and in the courts of the aristocrats as chaplains, advisors, and confessors; they sent special missions to those provinces where Catholicism was threatened, either by Protestantism or the neglect of the Catholic clergy (for instance, in the Ukraine and Lithuania). They also organized charity, founded banks for the poor, and supervised hospitals and prisons. They had a talent for swaying the minds and the imagination of young and old, and they spread their propaganda in leaflets, pamphlets, sermons, and public disputes with the Protestants. From such a list one may gather how many-sided was the activity of the Jesuits. The Jesuits had many distinguished representatives in Poland, among them Jakob Wujek, who authored commentaries on the Bible, collections of sermons, and the only Polish translation of the Old and New Testaments approved by the Church. The pride of the Jesuits in Poland was Piotr Skarga, an outstanding preacher and writer. On the other hand, the Reformation in Poland should not be thought of as a minor or ephemeral movement which lasted for a short time and disappeared without leaving a trace. It undoubtedly contributed very substantially to Polish culture. Without it the 'golden age' would not have been so varied or interesting; its intellectual life, polemics, and conflicts would have been weaker, and, above all, there would have been fewer literary and other works in Polish The Protestants of all sects wrote a great deal, and many of them wrote in Polish exclusively; they

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wrote new things which stimulated thought and forced the Polish clergy to study religious, historical, and social questions more seriously. In disputes with them, the clergy had to be well prepared in order to avoid appearing ridiculous. The indirect effect of this pressure was positive not only for the clergy but also for the lay population, who were hearing about these problems for the first time. The provincial towns, many of which are today quite forgotten or neglected, together with such cities as Kraków, Wilno and Lublin, became publishing centers; they had their own printing presses which produced writings popular not only in Poland but also abroad. And most of them were Polish books. The first printed Polish translation of the four Gospels was the work of the Protestant, Stanislaw Murzynowski, and it appeared in Königsberg in 1551. It was not until 1556 that the New Testament (and in 1561 the whole Bible) appeared in the translation of the Catholic priest, Jan Leopolita. The Calvinist translation of the Bible was published in 1563; it is the so-called Radziwill Bible or Brest Bible, for it was published in Brest-Litovsk at the expense of Mikolaj Radziwill the Black, an ardent Calvinist. Many hymn books, psalters, biblical commentaries, and sermons were also printed. This development of Protestant publishing stimulated the Catholic clergy to a more lively literary activity. Analogous Catholic publications began to appear; people felt an increased need for the printed word; they bought books and pamphlets and read progressively more. The Reformation also increased Poland's prestige abroad ; Poland even became famous for its tolerance and the shelter it gave to Protestants who were persecuted in the West. One of the outstanding representatives of the Reformation in Poland was Jan Laski, who came of a rich aristocratic family and was the nephew of a primate. He might have played a leading role in Polish Protestantism, but he lived mostly abroad, in England and in Germany, where his activity and works are still appreciated. One of the leaders in Poland was Jan Seklucjan of Bydgoszcz, who was first active in Poznan and later in Königsberg under the protection of the Prussian Prince Albert. Seklucjan was one of the most active Protestant editors and authors, and his press in Königsberg produced many books on religious and polemical subjects. Mikolaj Rey, one of Poland's great writers of the century and 'father of Polish literature,' was also numbered among the ardent propagandizers of the Reformation; because he wrote vividly and colorfully and was well acquainted with the psychology of his readers (he belonged to the petty gentry), his works enjoyed great success. He propagandized for the new faith not only in prose but also in poetry. Even those of his poetic works

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which are not primarily didactic are filled with allusions to and accusations against the pope and the clergy. Although he was really not qualified, he did not hesitate to write extensive theological treatises, such as Postylla (a commentary to the Gospel) and Apocalypsis (a commentary to the Revelation of St. John). Polish 'Arianism' (Unitarianism) was another interesting movement, and it had such representatives as Grzegorz Pawel, Marcin Krowicki, Marcin Czechowicz and Szymon Budny. Their doctrine, though it was not uniform, went further than any other of the Protestant sects in advocating an absolute and unconditional application of the Gospel in life. For instance, they believed that it was forbidden to kill, even in 'a just war' or by capital punishment. They advocated a true and integral Christian brotherhood between peoples, which, of course, excluded all manner of rule by man over man, all serfdom, and in Poland the slavery or subjection of the peasantry. This was one of the earliest protests voiced in Poland in defense of the peasant class. In this connection they deliberated over the question whether it was proper for a Christian to have servants and staff deprived of freedom; it was from them that the Tolstoyan slogan of not opposing evil with (evil) action derived, though it only became well known and fashionable several centuries later. They also taught on the basis of the Gospels a renunciation of worldly vanity, earthly delights, sensuousness, fashions, and the like. Moreover, they preached other dogmatic principles, although they were not always in complete agreement among themselves. It is clear that such a doctrine could not achieve wide acceptance, especially among the rich aristocracy and gentry. That is why one of the most characteristic traits of 'Arianism' was the fact that it attracted the poor — the urban and rural masses. The radical attitude of the Unitarians was probably instrumental in uniting the Protestants and Catholics against them, and finally, in the seventeenth century, the Unitarians were expelled from Poland. There were other dissenting sects, represented mostly by foreigners who had been persecuted in their own countries and found shelter in Poland. Sectarian literature possesses among other things the merit that it has preserved innumerable traits of the mores of these people, and it records the way they lived, spoke, and thought. This literature also contributed greatly to the development of the Polish language. The rapid development of Polish printing in the sixteenth century is closely connected with the growth in intellectual and publishing activity. Krakow was foremost in printing, with the presses of Jan Haller, Ungler, Scharffenberg, and Wietor. The first printed books appeared at the be-

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ginning of the sixteenth century. The oldest (between 1511 and 1514) is usually held to be the collection of prayers written by Biernat of Lublin, a burgher who was both theologian and physician, under the general title Raj duszny (The Paradise of the Soul). The title refers to the paradise that prayers open to the soul. Biernat was also the editor of an interesting collection of fables attributed to the legendary fabulist, Aesop. The Polish author collected them carefully, translated them into Polish verse, and added a number of Roman, medieval, and other fables. It was against this cultural background that the 'Golden Age' of Polish poetry and prose developed. It did not immediately reach its peak, but went through a kind of preparatory period, which lasted through the first four decades of the century. During these years many humanist poets were still writing in Latin, among them Jan of Wislica, Andrzej Krzycki, Mikolaj Hussowski, author of the very interesting Poem of the Bison, and Klemens Janicki (1516-43), of peasant origin from Wielkopolska. With the help of patrons, Janicki was well educated first in Poznan and later in Italy, where his Latin poetry became famous. He was the author of Latin elegies with religious, autobiograhical, descriptive, and historical motifs. His most popular, though not necessarily his best pieces, are the historical elegies devoted to the praise of Polish kings and archbishops. Other genres were also current at this time, including the lives of saints, biographies of Christ, and Christmas carols, translations of ancient and medieval romances, of which the most famous is Rozmowy Krola Salomona mqdrego z Marcholtem grubym a sprosnym (The Dialogues of King Salomon the Wise and the Fat and Vulgar Marcholt (1521). The reputation of being a 'Golden Age' of literature was won for the century mostly by four writers: Mikolaj Rey, Jan Kochanowski, Andrzej Frycz Modrzewski, and Piotr Skarga. Each wrote in a different genre, to which he gave works of permanent value: Rey in Polish prose, Kochanowski in poetry, Modrzewski in progressive political and social thought which went far ahead of its time, and Skarga in inspired oratory. Thanks to them, Polish literature reached at that time the highest level in the entire Slavonic world and challenged comparison with that of Western Europe. MIKOLAJ R E Y of Naglowice ( 1 5 0 5 - 6 9 ) represents many of the typical features of the contemporary Polish gentry, both the good and the bad. He was bom into a family of average means, but thanks to his practical spirit, common sense, and good economy he eventually gained a considerable fortune. He studied little; a contemporary biographer frankly states that Rey was in elementary school for four years, after which he

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spent only a few months at the Jagiellonian University. In order to complete his 'education' he went to the court of the voyevoda, Tenczynski. In spite of this rudimentary training (he never was abroad), his innate talents and his vivid mind developed a wide range of interests, while his ambition and his desire not to be thought ignorant brought him a wide, though not always well assimilated, education in reading. He wrote poetry and prose (some of his works going into thousands of lines), discussed religious, political, social, and moral problems, and was one of the most highly respected champions of Protestantism, though his Protestantism was of a 'homemade' variety in which various doctrines were mingled with no very high degree of consistency. He was recognized as the leading Polish writer of the time. Although he wrote prolifically, he had enough time to live in comfort and to enjoy all the delights of life in the country, which he loved with the typical affection of a Polish gentleman. He ran his household efficiently and zealously, bought and sold land in different parts of the republic, led a very active social life, traveled all over the country, took part in conventions and meetings, and was popular as a valuable companion, and a connoisseur of good food and drink. Rey transferred many features of his character into his literary work: a healthy, practical outlook on life, a quick and open mind, considerable power of observation and a wide experience. His writings reveal a sober, simple attitude toward problems of life and man, without special profundity, yet without shallowness. He displays also a moral sense deeper than the average, based on his Christian principles, which enables him to rise above the prejudices and superstitions of his class and write the frequently unpleasant truth about the gentry. Rey was sensitive to evil and corruption, and his attitude grows more intense when he is confronted with the errors and sins of the often over-satirized and hated 'papists.' He shows some understanding for the weaknesses of the Republic and points out the indifference of the citizens towards public affairs ('that terrible neglect of ours'). But his common sense and a healthy kind of hedonism kept him from extremes of sacrifice or self-denial. Rey never occupied any public office, and he advised his contemporaries against doing so, for he considered such service a restriction on personal liberty, which was to him man's greatest treasure; it might also tempt one to corruption and abuse. His ideal man was neither the ascetic, the saint, the statesman, the politician, the scholar, the artist, nor the great leader, but rather the good and honest landlord, with moderate interest in public affairs; he might accept the duties of a representative but he should live and act primarily in a limited circle, in his countryside, with his family and friends. Both

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virtue and vice should in this life be measured by a golden mean of reason. Excess of one is as bad as excess of the other, for life becomes too dull and uniform. And life as it is, Rey believes, is intensely interesting — the idyllic life of the country, where man is in close contact with nature and, as it were, within the conditions of nature and regulated by her laws. A life not without variety, despite its regularity, for a man who knows how to look about him, to live, and to make the most of every day. Rey knew how to observe and, what is more important, how to describe what he saw; he lived within the laws of God and man, without being ashamed of his preferences and habits, his indulgence in food and drink, and his insistence above all else on personal freedom and convenience. In his writings, Rey forcefully, though perhaps unconsciously, became the protagonist of vital force and biological strength of the national masses. Being intellectually and morally superior to the average gentry, he taught his class how to follow a balanced code of Christian morality in life and how to raise the general standard of mores and intellectual culture. Although he wrote many thousands of lines of poetry, he was not yet a poet in the proper sense of the word. He lacked poetic culture and creative imagination, and from his language, which was the common tongue of the contemporary Polish gentry, he failed to forge a poetic instrument. He had an indisputable and perhaps excessive ease in writing, a sense of rhythm and rhyme, and a gift for realistic observation which enabled him frequently to hit on happy turns of poetic phrase. In the description of dawn in the work entitled Wizerunek (The Portrait) we have, for instance the motifs of the songs of various birds ('one bird is asking about another in the forest'), whose voices the poet attempts to express fittingly; these motifs blend with others: the flashes of rocks, the sunrays which illumine the earth, the dawn 'of rosy beauty,' and the play of light against the clouds. An expressive picture of a fair is poetically colored in a Protestant light: the priest yells in church and counts the eggs the people have brought to the altar as tithes; outside the church people are noisy, opening barrels, playing on drums and flutes; the chickens are cackling, and the pigs are squealing. In the imagery and comparisons of Rey's poetry one recognizes the gentleman-farmer, whose mind is absorbed in his household, hunting parties, and domestic and wild animals. For instance when he wishes to present the troubles of a married man, he compares him to a plucked goose which walks about with its wings low; for, those who marry 'change like geese every spring.' Attacking the cult of wealth, gold and pretense, he states:

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Dress up, as you wish, but if you are a pig, Your dress or family name will help but little... Even a wolf would be a nobleman if he were given a coat of arms. But everybody would still know his real character. During drinking parties 'the company howls like wolves in the woods, and the goat horn squeaks like a pig into one's ear'; a man who is drunk 'snores like a swine that has eaten y e a s t . . . and his eyes shine like those of a rat when it crawls out of a pile of flour . . . he chatters like a stork and grunts like a boar'; when he feels like singing, he 'bellows like a calf,' and when he wants to dance 'he slips like a goat on ice.' Among Rey's works in verse the best is undoubtedly Krotka rozprawa miqdzy trzema osobami: partem, wojtem a plebanem (Short Discourse Between Three Persons: The Nobleman, the Bailiff, and the Parson, 1543). This satire in the form of a discussion between the representatives of three classes, the gentry, the clergy, and the peasantry, is over two thousand lines in length. They debate the sufferings and weaknesses of their three estates; the chief value of the piece lies in the large number of observations on the mores of contemporary society and in the realistic picture it gives of Polish life and various human types. From the gentleman's remarks we find out that the clergy neglects its religious duties, thinking mainly of the gifts and tithes to be extorted 'for the salvation of the donors' souls' (one scene describes the curate as he walks around a peasant's field, feeling the fattest bunches of wheat to take them for himself); those who refuse to give or delay their payment are threatened with excommunication. The parson defends himself as well as he can, and has some criticisms for the gentleman and the bailiff too; he describes the difficult situation of a clergyman who has God's authority for turning to the people for material support and reproaches the gentleman and the bailiff for being stingy. He then becomes sharper in his criticism of the gentry and accuses the judges of corruption; he points to the ambition and pride of the castellans, and the private interests of the Diet deputies ('those empty-headed creatures, who are supposedly called deputies'). The effect of his attacks is summarized in the fact that both the clergy and the gentry 'ride on the same horse.' The bailiff adds that the gentry are also given to drunkenness and cardplaying, to buying expensive clothes for women, and above all to persecuting the peasant; both the gentleman and the priest are guilty of robbing the peasants' property, quartering soldiers on it, imposing heavy tributes, and so on. To justify himself, the gentleman can only say that the duty of defending the country, and all the estates, falls solely on the gentry. The temptation to treat the Short Discourse as a historical document

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which gives an authentic recount of conditions in contemporary Poland, should be restrained upon reflection that it is, after all, a literary work and, furthermore, a satire, which concentrates on certain characteristics and consciously exaggerates them. Rey's next poetic work is Wizerunek (The Portrait, 1558, abbreviate title), which numbers some ten thousand thirteen-syllable lines. In twelve chapters the author tells the story of a young man who wanders all over the world in search of truth. He visits various philosophers who reveal their theories to him. As a result of these experiences, which also include a visit to hell and one to heaven, he is convinced that one should despise worldly vanity and look to the immortality of one's soul. Thus it is a moral, didactic poem, modeled on the well-known Zodiacus vitae by Palingenius, which was popular at the time. Rey does not scruple to make great use of this work (such plagiarism, incidentally, was a general practice of the time); he borrows its whole structure, outline, and division into chapters (only the titles are his own creation), as well as many details, remarks, and moral lessons. For all that, the work is not mere didacticism, and it is not a slavish imitation. Local social elements play an important part in The Portrait, which contains many of Rey's own ideas and many portrayals of Polish life that are both animated and colorful. Curiously enough, these fragmentary scenes, interspersed anecdotes, and sketches generally are given to foreign philosophers, thus the Greek sages discuss, with great knowledge, the deficiencies of the Polish gentry and clergy (already known to us from the Short Discourse); they are very well acquainted with Polish cuisine, accuse the Poles of dining too elaborately, holding bizarre parties, and characterize Polish officials and landlords. As we see, there is a wide range of subjects and motifs, if some monotony in their distribution and some redundancy and repetition, particularly in the moralizing passages. The satirical and social elements introduce the main source of vitality. The language has Rey's typical liveliness, vivacity, and coarseness. The work swarms with pigs, boars, greediness, hiccoughs, spitting, and vulgar words which never appear in Palingenius. Very often general reflections made by Palingenius are given concrete exemplification. Zwierzyniec (The Bestiary), a collection of eight-line epigrammatic poems, was published in 1562. There are four long chapters of epigrams dealing with (1) historical and mythological figures, both pagan and Christian; (2) contemporary people and events; (3) various social groups and offices, ranging from the king downward; and (4) the human vices and social abuses mostly as were then common in Poland. The epigrams

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about the author himself and about Kochanowski (which pay homage to the poet's talent) are among the most interesting; there are others about the pope, Luther, freedom, and the like. Rey also gave to Polish literature a drama, or, more exactly, a story of the biblical Joseph in dialogue form, intitled Zywot Jozefa z pokolenia zydowskiego (The Life of Joseph the Jew, 1545). This is an imitation, and in parts an adaptation, of the dramatic dialogue Comedia sacra cui titulus Joseph (1537) by the Dutch Jesuit, Cornelius Crocus. It presents the story of Joseph from his youth until the moment when he became the governor of Egypt. The main portion is devoted to Joseph's sojourn at the court of Potiphar, the love of his wife Zefira for Joseph, the temptation (sketched in comic scenes), and the final victory of virtue. Other dialogues, such as Dialog kota z Iwem (The Dialogue Between the Cat and the Lion) and Dialog Warwasa z Dykasem (The Dialogue Between Varvas and Dycas), remained in manuscript form and were only found and published much later. While Rey's poetic language is often clumsy and generally rather prosaic, his prose is colorful and pliable, with the vitality capable of expressing both commonplace and exalted feelings and thoughts. Unchecked by the requirements of rhythm and rhyme, it flows freely and smoothly, though the syntax is frequently chaotic; it is apparent that the literary language of Poland was still in process of creation. Rey's prose is of great value to us today, for it gives us a vivid and authentic picture of the speech of sixteenth-century Poles — their everyday, rather than their official, oratorical, parliamentary, or literary language. Rey's prose contains even more household words, expressions, phrases, and comparisons drawn from country life, than does his poetry. Another trait of Rey's style is his vigor of expression, which is frequently gaudy; this probably was a feature of the colloquial language at that time, and Rey wished to make himself understood to the gentry, who were not very literate, and in a way that would make his ideas and moral teaching thoroughly intelligible to all. One of Rey's most characteristic prose works is his Zywot czlowieka poczciwego (Life of a Nobleman), which constitutes the first part of a large collection of various writings under the common title, Zwierciadh (The Speculum, 1567, title abbreviated). This is a kind of moral treatise in which the author expresses his ideal of a gentleman's life from childhood until old age. The work is divided into three books; the first treats the period from birth until middle age ; the second and longest middle age, from marriage until old age, and the third old age itself.

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The author begins with Adam and Eve and the story of the seduction of the human race by the Devil; he considers the differences within human nature and the dependence of every man on the planet under which he was born. He does not, however, preach fatalism; man's foremost duty is to watch over his 'inborn nature,' and to cultivate a control over evil and a desire for the good. Herein Rey sees an important task for parents and educators. What Rey says about the education of children shows his wisdom, moderation, and liberalism, as well as a deep experience. Some of his opinions are valuable even today. Rey, for instance, believes that one should first determine the child's nature and then adopt suitable methods of education. The modem idea of letting the child's individuality develop freely is plainly expressed by Rey. On the other hand, he comes out against spoiling the child by dressing him up excessively with too many ribbons, laces, jewels, or other ornaments which might encourage precocious affectations. It is equally demoralizing, Rey believes, if the parents express perpetual delight at everything the child says or does. As for learning, Rey recommends moderation; one should not overburden the child's mind with masses of facts drawn from books. He rather favors private education at home, which is practical and closely connected with life, rather than learning out of 'dried leather,' as he calls books. He emphasizes the importance of physical education, horseback riding, the games of chivalry, and the like. Unfortunately, Rey does not mention higher education when his gentleman reaches the age of adolescence. He advises him to go abroad, but not so much to learn as to acquire social poise and good manners. All this is in harmony with Rey's general philosophy of life, which we have already described. The same is true of the subsequent career of a nobleman, with regard to his choice of a profession (either at the court or in the army), to his marriage (it is best to marry a person of the same class, that is, neither richer nor poorer), and to his attitude towards public duties. All things should be ruled by a principle of moderation and a regard for personal freedom and convenience, which Rey, however, closely connects with the necessity of a virtuous life and goodness toward other men. Rey shows his attachment to rural life in that the best pages of his book are devoted to it. He discusses the four seasons in great detail, as well as the occupations in the fields, in the garden and home, and the pleasures and games connected with it. In the third part Rey attempts to persuade the reader of the delights and pleasures of old age, which include the serenity of family life, conversation, and reading the works of wise men. One should rid oneself of the fear ofdeath.

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Like The Portrait, The Life combines didactics with description. The descriptive passages are the more interesting. The style is set in the tone of conversation between an older, more experienced man and his younger companion. The moralizing passages are monotonous, but they also show much indulgence toward human weakness and a kind of sympathy for the fallen. In addition to The Life, The Speculum also contains the following parts: Spolne narzekanie... (The Collective P l a i n t . . s e e p. 61); Apophtegmata, short works in verse on a variety of topics; Przemowa krotka do poczciwego Polaka stanu rycerskiego (A Short Discourse to a Polish Knight), which contains general characterizations of various nations, including a favorable one of Poland; Rey's violent attack on the Unitarians, which is very significant; Zbroja pewna kazdego Rycerza chrzescijanskiego (The Surest Armor of Every Christian Knight), and the poem, Farewell to the World. Here are some samples of Rey's style taken from The Life: (Description of summer) Well then, when the warm summer comes, is it not a joy to see how it makes everything you worked for in the spring ripe and fully grown? There are the little apples, pears, and sour cherries of your first tree grafting; and from the garden the tender cucumbers, melons - those delights of the garden! And that fresh butter, the farm cheeses, and the fresh eggs; and the little chickens and geese are cackling, the sheep are bleating, the little pigs running about, and the fish are jumping. You can only say to yourself: 'Enjoy it, my soul, you have plenty of all that is good!' but always with humility and thanks to G o d . And when you go to the harvest with your hunting bird and see the farming girls mowing and singing as they work, the boys shouting joyfully, as they put the wheat in stacks. And they like their work better when they see their lord, especially if the lord does not chase them around the field with a stick to give them a beating. There you can also run after a quail, but mind that you don't trespass over the millet or other crops of poor people, for the man whose crops you have harmed will be very sore and will say to himself: 'May the devil take you!' Nor should you boast about your hunting so that everybody stands around and shouts: 'There, Sir, it fell, it fell, you shot it down!' While the gentleman boasts in front of the peasants because he got his prey, they stand around and leave their sickles. In everything one must always use moderation and wise deliberation. Even in this short fragment we observe certain characteristic traits of Rey's style. His love for country life and all its affairs is expressed in the

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numerous diminutives, used for fruits (in other parts of his works he utters similar endearments about food and drink) as well as domestic and other animals and people. There are also moralistic sentences — a characteristic trait of all his writings — about the fear of God and moderation. His moral attitude is also revealed in his relationship with the peasants, in his care for their property, and in his remarks about good and bad masters. There is also a touch of his practical, common sense in his remark about the mowers who interrupt their work to watch their master hunt. Rey can also write in a more serious style, even with pathos. His prose works are full of such passages. So, for instance, in The Collective Plaint of the Entire Kingdom against Our Neglect of Right, he condemns the inhumanity of the gentry towards their subjects in sure and powerful language; he calls justice 'a spider's web' which may easily be broken by a hornet, but which will envelop a miserable fly who will lose everything in it. He warns the nation that such abuses could bring about the fall of the republic, and he tries to portray the loss of independence to the readers by describing the invasion of their homes, the destruction of their property, and the murder of their families. Some of his sentences have a truly ominous ring, and they prophesy the suffering the Polish nation later had to bear during a century of oppression. One must not forget, however, that similar prophecies were frequent in sixteenth-century literature; they have the Old Testament and the visions of the Hebrew prophets as their common source. Nevertheless, this does not belittle the truth of Rey's and other writers' exhortations to the nation to acknowledge its faults and mend its ways to avoid the sad fate of the Hebrew people. Rey has been called 'the father of Polish literature.' This should not be understood to mean that he was the first to write in Polish, which he did partly because of his limited classical education and partly because he wished to influence the larger masses of society. As we know, a great deal had been written in Polish before his time. He may be considered the 'father' because his works, more than those of his predecessors, may be counted as original literature, reflecting to a higher degree many aspects of contemporary Polish life. Moreover, Rey considered literature as his profession, and his books were destined to reach not merely the men and women who could not read Latin, as had been the case hitherto with regard to works in Polish, but the entire gentry of which he was an outstanding representative. The originality of his work is undeniable, although frequently he found his bases in foreign models. He borrowed from them only general ideas or some individual themes or motifs, and

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created the rest from his own imagination. It is therefore proper to consider him as the first original Polish writer. was the first Polish poet. A truly excellent poet, it may be said without exaggeration that he was the greatest in the Old Slavic world, and in Poland he remained the greatest until Mickiewicz — a comparison which bears out his exceptional significance in the history of Polish literature and culture. Kochanowski's work marks one of the peaks of Old Polish culture. Unfortunately, we know little about Kochanowski's life, but what we do know allows us to state that it was very different from that of Rey. In the first place, he received a broad and thorough humanistic education. He studied at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow, where he remained for only a short time, and in Italy, where he went at the age of twenty. During his four years' sojourn in Padua, and a shorter period spent in France, he became thoroughly acquainted with the ancient languages and literatures and was one of the finest humanists in Europe. His early works were written in Latin, chiefly elegies modeled on Ovid, Tibullus, and Propertius. These poems, devoted to real or imaginary love, do not possess any outstanding significance. Besides Greek and Latin literature, Kochanowski undoubtedly studied both early and contemporary Italian and French literature, the works of Dante and Petrarch, as well as Ariosto, Ronsard, and other more modern authors. Perhaps Kochanowski found in these writers his own inspiration to write in the vernacular. It is said that while he was in France he met Ronsard, the great initiator of national poetry, and conceived at that time the Polish religious hymn Czego chcesz od nas Panie (What Do You Want from Us, O Lord), which begins with the words 'What do you want from us, O Lord, for all your generous gifts... ' The story also tells how this hymn was sent to Poland, was read in numerous copies, and met with Rey's ardent praise. Whatever the case may have been, the fact remains that the hymn is among the most beautiful of Kochanowski's works, and some doubts have been expressed that it could have been written so early. But in poetic creation all kinds of 'miracle' are possible, and in this case all conjecture is fruitless, for only an authentic document could possibly resolve the question of the date of this work.

JAN KOCHANOWSKI ( 1 5 3 0 - 8 4 )

Judging by the subsequent development of Kochanowski's work, we may suppose that even during his stay abroad he laid the foundation for his 'literary program.' Th»s program was generally in harmony with the trends of Ronsard's school, the so-called Pléiade, and it advocated

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among other things that poetry should be written in the vernacular but in classical style, so that national literature might be imbued with the spirit of the ancients and, at the same time, acquire a national character. It goes without saying that this whole conception of art was based on classical poetics. In this way western and southern Europe had absorbed and transmuted the inspiration of ancient culture, and Polish poetry had to follow the general example, if it was not to be a slave to classicism but become its independent heir and relive its inspiration in new historical conditions. By following the general process of the Renasisance, Polish poetry also acquired broader connections with European literature and gradually lost its provincial quality (how much provincialism there still is in Rey!) to become more universal. In order to accomplish this development in Polish poetry, a great poetic talent was necessary, and Jan Kochanowski became that talent. Thanks to his work, Polish poetry completely changed its character. It not only became humanistic and European, without losing anything of its national character, but it also ridded itself of those tendencies towards didacticism which had been so characteristic of the earlier writers in verse and had endangered the poetic quality of their works. Kochanowski was the poet who gave his country pure poetry. His task as a poet is beautifully expressed in Muza (The Muse), which begins with the famous line: 'To myself I sing and the M u s e s . . . ' With admirable brevity Kochanowski presents the eternal fate of poets who create for themselves and for art, without concern for profit or the opinions of those for whom 'rhymes' are merely empty sounds. At the same time, the poem reflects a profound conviction of the poet's own worth and his posthumous victory. Much later the Polish Romantic poet, Juljusz Slowacki, spoke in similar terms about his own poetry. In 1557 Kochanowski returned home and, following the example of other humanists, tried his hand at playing the courtier. He soon found a patron and tutor in the person of the bishop and vice-chancellor, Piotr Myszkowski. Through his intervention Kochanowski received certain privileges from the king, Zygmunt August, and was appointed royal secretary in recognition of learning and literary merit. The so-called courtier period in Kochanowski's career now followed. Its influence upon his writing may be seen in many works of various forms, including panegyrics, elegies, satires, a tale in verse intitled Szachy (Chess, a description of a chess game with a love plot woven into it), and a satirical poem intitled, The Satyr, in which, probably by inspiration of his patron, the poet complains of the disappearance of chivalrous spirit among the gentry and accuses them of effeminacy and indifference towards the

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traditions of the past. We detect here an echo of that conversion of the gentry from a knighthood to a farming class, about which we have already spoken. Kochanowski's most interesting and original works during this period are the Fraszki (Trifles, 1584), which he continued to write throughout his life. These are short poems on a variety of subjects, both light and serious. We find among them many anecdotes, various humorous stories, epigrams, epitaphs, portraits of friends, and descriptions of their adventures, among which love and wine occupy an important place. Many of these poems are devoted to women: confessions of love, compliments, arguments, and the like. They reflect courtly life, a gay and brilliant existence, and at the same time show a high social and cultural level as well as something of life in the cities and in the country. They are characterized now by a light-hearted joie de vivre, now by more profound reflection upon life. Kochanowski's wit is far more subtle than that of Rey, and in his writings he displays that indulgence with which wise men observe and accept their fellow men with their comic foibles as well as their vices and sins. As a literary genre the 'trifle' was readily cultivated at the time of the Renaissance and was known in Europe as the epigram. It was first introduced in Poland by Kallimach, and then cultivated by Krzycki and Rey; Kochanowski delighted in collecting anecdotes, and it was from this material that he created his various epigrammatic pieces, both prose and verse, in Latin (Foricoenia) and in Polish. Among the latter we have both original works and translations from Greek and Latin collections of epigrams (Anacreont and Martialis). Their chief characteristic is their compactness, which catches the heart of the matter and emphasizes characteristic traits. The language has none of those superfluous words which Rey would often use simply for the sake of rhythm; it is fluid and free, but never vulgar. We may look at some examples in outline. In the trifle intitled O doktorze Hiszpanie (The Spanish Doctor), an anecdote based on a pointe, a Spanish court doctor called Rosius leaves a very gay party in order to go to sleep. He does not, however, enjoy his rest for long; his companions quickly remember him, attack his quarters ('the doctor did not give way, but the door did') and force him to drink. Willy-nilly he gives in, until his head begins to swim. The trifle ends with the doctor's words: 'I went to bed sober, but 1 got up drunk.' In another, O Kapelanie (The Priest), the queen wanted to go to Mass, but the priest was not found at home, 'for he was watching the wine pitcher.' As an excuse to the queen, who accuses him of oversleeping, the

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priest replies: 'I have not even gone to bed. What do you mean by long sleep?' A twoline epigram, Na naboznq (The Pious Woman), embodies one essential question: 'If you do not sin, as you say, my dear, why do you go to confession so often?' In one of the trifles, Do Milosci (To Love, there are several under this title), we find a faintly mythological concept of love combined with a complaint at 'the undaunted thought of the stubborn woman.' In another, Do paniej (To a Lady), the structure of which is based in part on a syntactical parallel, homage to a mistress in 'rhyme' is placed much higher than a sculpture in marble or gold, for 'the glory of poetic genius remains forever, It knows no damage and is not afraid of years.' In a witty, skilful, anaphorically constructed trifle, To a Girl, the poet assures a beautiful maiden that she should not avoid him, for, though his beard is grey, his heart is not so old, and in order to persuade her more effectively he mentions the analogy of garlic, which 'has a white head, but a green tail,' and the oak tree, 'whose leaves are pale, but who stands up firm because its root is healthy.' The trifle, Do snu (To Sleep), touches on a different question, namely the mystery of sleep, which teaches man how to die and gives him 'insight into future life.' The soul's slumbering journey across the world and beyond it is expressed in a series of images of a metaphysical cast which contrast with the state of bodily rest. Na lipq (To the Linden Tree) is full of charm and a subtle feeling for nature. The linden tree itself speaks as a symbol of nature which gives calm and rest. The shade, the cool breeze, the song of birds, the scent of flowers and the whisper of leaves — these are motifs expressed in a subtle manner. Kochanowski also wrote, during his career, what he called 'songs.' There is no basic thematic difference between these two genres, for the trifles were not concerned only with gay and ephemeral themes any more than the songs were limited to serious ones. However, the songs are generally in stanzaic form, and the lyrical element is more strongly emphasized in them. Kochanowski's Piesni (Songs) are found in four books which, like The Trifles, were published posthumoulsy (the first two books in 1585). The influence of Horace is to be found in all of them, and they include numerous translations or free adaptations of Horace's works. Kochanowski frequently paraphrases, but with equal frequency he borrows only Horace's idea, as from the odes Aequam memento rebus in arduis or 0 nata mecum consule Mantio, and he recreates it, making a Polish poem out of it; or again, he will take one detail and use it in completely original songs. But the Horatian spirit and mood pervade even the latter. There

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is praise of virtue, clear conscience, and the contentment they afford; there is a controlled hedonism in the desire for calm, happiness, and spiritual balance (aequa mens); there is a belief in the mutability of fortune and the vanity of material things, and hence praise for moderation and contentment with whatever one has. In a word, it is the philosophy of a humanist who has experienced a great deal, observed the problems of men, is surprised by nothing, and intolerant of nothing. On the other hand, there is a great capacity for enjoying life, a deep interest in all its manifestations, and a sense of enjoying the moment, full of gayety and 'praise of the wine pitcher.' The subjects of The Songs are varied. There are love songs, descriptive, patriotic, religious and contemplative poems, and others devoted to the family, to friends, to social life, and so on. A few examples will give the reader at least some idea of Kochanowski's poetry in this genre. In the second song of the first volume, which begins with the words 'Serce roscie patrz^c na te czasy' ('The heart is edified, looking at our times . . .'), a descriptive element of a markedly lyrical sort is combined with the contemplative. The description concentrates on the contrast between recent winter and present spring. Before, there had been naked woods, snows reaching above the knees, ice on the rivers; now, trees and meadows are in bloom, there is growing corn, a west wind, and the singing of birds. The heart is edified by this sight, and inner serenity and a clear conscience intensify the delight in nature. This mood of calm and contentment dominates the whole poem, which ends with an apostrophe to 'cheerfulness' or 'the good mind': 'Be with me, when I am sober or drunk!' Both the descriptive and the contemplative parts are composed of simple words, which create, however, expressive poetic images. Song III of the same book 'Dzbanie moj pisany . . .' ('Oh, my painted pitcher . . .') has a rhetorical structure; it is in the form of an oration to the pitcher as the symbol of a precious drink in which even philosophers indulge, and which makes everybody 'softer,' unveils secret thoughts, gives a sense of hope, and inspires courage. This song was one of the most popular of the sixteenth century and was frequently sung by the gentry. In one form or another, the image of the pitcher appears in many of Kochanowski's songs. In Song IX, for example, it serves as a kind of ornament together with fiddles and lutes. The pitcher also colors the character of the philosophical reflections expressed in this poem; one should not worry excessively about the future, for we are all subject to the

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laws of Fortune; 'everything is so strange in this poor world of ours, and he who wants to know everything will perish before he learns.' Hence the moral: one should not boast of happiness, and one should bear unhappiness with fortitude. Similar ideas are expressed in Song XXIV, 'Zegar, slysz?, wybija, Ust^p melankolija' ('The clock, I hear, has struck, Away Melancholy . . . ' ) , framed by apostrophes to the 'good mind' which is born of wine and filled with contented thoughts about the wonders of this world. Among the love songs must be mentioned Song VII, 'Trudna rada w tej mierze, przyjdzie si? rozjechac' ('It cannot be helped, we must p a r t . . . ' ) , which subtly expresses the feelings of a man in love at the moment of separation. As in many works of true poetry, these familiar, often described feelings are given a new freshness: the necessity of separation, the impossibility of reconciling oneself to that necessity, an unusually vivid image of the beloved and her charms, and a feeling of envy for the road 'on which such a handsome foot will soon walk' and the woods and rocks which will hear her 'charming voice.' The song about the destruction of Podolia by the Tatars in 1575 is full of anger, humiliation, and shame at the thought that, because of internal disorders in Poland, attacks on the province of a powerful state by such savages can still take place. The poet calls upon the nation to wipe out this stain, and the poem ends with a stanza which warns that, unless this is done at once, the Polish proverb 'The Pole is wise after the damage' will have to be replaced by a new one 'The Pole is stupid before and after the damage.' The finest of Kochanowski's religious songs is the hymn already mentioned, What Do You Want from Us, O Lord. It can be safely said that in this poem pure religious feelings of admiration, adoration, disinterested love, and delight in the Creator's work itself were expressed for the first time in Polish poetry in a way worthy of their aspiration. The Polish language shone with a new splendor and strength of expression. The linden tree, which speaks in one of the songs discussed above, stood in front of the poet's little manor in Czarnolas, and he loved to sit and work in its shade. The small estate of Czarnolas fell to Kochanowski after the death of his parents, and he went to live there around 1571. He does not seem to have felt at home amidst the attractions of courtly life, and it is interesting that he refused the offices offered him, resisting even Myszkowski's suggestion to become a clergyman. He felt called to a vocation that was neither in the church nor in the state. Finally he accepted from Stefan Batory, as a formality only, the title of Seneschal of

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Sandomierz. He felt drawn to the quieter way of life which would give him time for his literary work, which he considered the real purpose of his life. This change marks the beginning of the third and last period in Kochanowski's work, the one to which his greatest masterpieces belong: Treny (The Threnodies,) Psalterz Da widow (The Psalter of David), and Odprawa pos/àw greckich (The Dismissal of the Greek Envoys), beside numerous minor works. Among the latter we should mention Piesn Éwiçtojanska o Sobôtce (The Song of St. John's Eve), probably written in 1575; it describes the country fete, deriving from pagan times and preserved until very recent times, which is held on St. John's Eve in June. Boys and girls make heaps of kindling wood, burn them, and jump over them, dancing and singing around them. Within this frame the poet has written twelve songs, sung by the maidens, expressing the joys and sorrows of love, the beauties of the Polish countryside and the delights of life in the country. St. John's Eve revealed for the first time to the Poles the beauty of their land; we found in Rey a eulogy for country life, but he emphasized the practical aspects of its existence. Although Kochanowski too looks at the country with the eye of a landowner, he can also see it as an artist. The work has a purely artistic character; it lacks any ethnographical particularities or folk influences. One of the masterpieces of the Czarnolas period in Kochanowski's career is his Psalter of David, published in 1579. This inspired work, of which innumerable translations into many languages have been made, had frequently been translated into Polish before Kochanowski. We have mentioned some of the earliest translations (St. Florian's Psalter in the fourteenth century and the Psalter of Pulawy from the fifteenth) ; in the sixteenth century, Rey and others also translated it. The earliest translations in prose have only philological value, and the later translations in verse failed to come close to the original. Only Kochanowski's translation is a work worthy of the psalms themselves. Not knowing the Hebrew language, he took as his model the Latin adaptation by the Scottish humanist, Buchanan, at the same time drawing upon contemporary Polish versions of the Psalter. His is not a literal translation, but a paraphrase in which the fundamental themes and motifs of the Psalms, and especially their spirit, are conveyed in a number of poems of various length, each poem corresponding to one Psalm. This is the work both of a philologist and artist. The simple sentences of the Hebrew original are frequently transformed into vivid poetic images, hence there is much amplification of the original text; Kochanowski's adaptation is tbus considerably longer. He also frequently smoothes the elementary and

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crude force of the original and suits it to a more humanistic taste. The poet worked on the Psalter for eight years (1570-78). What prompted him to assimilate The Psalter into Polish poetry? In the first place he found there one of the most profound expressions of the human soul, immersed in the contemplation of God and aspiring to union with Him. At the same time the psalms are penetrated by purely human feelings and thoughts, with all the fears, sadness, suffering, doubts and hopes common to all men. Kochanowski found there undoubtedly many of his own spiritual experiences symbolized and sublimated, as it is the case with any great poetry. He was excited by the poetic task of transferring that whole poetic world into the forms of his native tongue, that were about to be created by himself. How this was done, Mickiewicz testifies in his lectures on Slavic literature given in the Collège de France in the following words : 'In his translation of the psalms [Kochanowski] is inspired, he has a noble and lucid style, a bold poetic rhythm, fluent and splendid phrases, and throughout a sacerdotal solemnity and the gravity of wisdom.' And, we should add, a thorough mastery of the verse and the stanza. We find in the psalms an immense wealth and variety with regard to the length of the line and the structure of the stanza (there are approximately 30 kinds), to rhythm and rhyme. The richness of Kochanowski's poetic devices makes the forms of earlier Polish poetry look poor by comparison. The Psalter became Kochanowski's most popular work. By 1641 it had gone into twenty editions, which was a record for his time. The outstanding Polish composer of the sixteenth century, Mikolaj Gomólka, set them to music, and they were sung all over Poland, by Catholics and Protestants alike, although the poet had personally no connection with the Reformation. They were known abroad, even in Moscow, and they are sung today in Polish churches. One of the best known is Psalm 91, which begins with the words ' K t o si? w opiek? poda Panu swemu' ('He W h o Surrenders to God's Care') and which is a strong expression of love and faith in God. The second masterpiece of the Czarnolas period is Kochanowski's Treny (Threnodies, 1580). This genre, which laments the memory of the dear departed, was known in antiquity and was cultivated by Renaissance poets like Petrarch. Kochanowski's Threnodies are dedicated to the memory of his beloved daughter, Orszula, who died in her third year after a short illness. This shock provided the external impulse to write nineteen short poems, in which fundamentally the same motif appears through a series of extraordinarily rich variations. Threnodies tells a unique lyrical

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story of the suffering that can take possession of the whole human being. At the same time it is the picture of a mind which realizes that it has been overwhelmed by irrational forces, from which there is no escape, and attempts to understand its own inner processes. The poet's genius is shown in his ability to avoid monotony or repetition and to give new life to a theme, every nuance of which is thoroughly familiar and has been often described: the cries of despair and the first reaction to the shock; the prostration of grief; the gradual recovery of consciousness; the agonizing memories of the beloved child; the search for forgetfulness in the happy memories of the past, when the child was still alive; and then the renewed pangs of pain at the sudden sight of her clothes; bitter reflections on the collapse of his own philosophy of life, which had been won with so much effort; and, finally, peace and resignation in his return to Christian faith. Before the soul can reach this last stage of reconciliation and acceptance, it must pass through the inferno of suffering and doubt that penetrates to the very foundation of belief. The poet pictures the soul of a humanist, founded upon the ancient philosophies on which he has spent so many years of hopeful toil, and now suddenly confronted with a horror that shatters the edifice at a blow. The wisdom of the Stoics had taught him that a man may acquire happiness in a just balance of the spirit, so long as he considers the outside world as a game of blind forces unworthy of a truly wise man's attention. Thus he will not attach himself to the world and its affairs, and will not be moved by success or by failure, as is the case with the ignorant, the profanum vulgus. Raised above the vanity of this world, he will not be vulnerable to sudden despair or unseemly joy; he will preserve the detachment of spiritual balance, the aequam mentem through all the vicissitudes of life. Kochanowski was certainly not a stoic philosopher in the strict sense of the word. But many traits fundamental to that wisdom had attracted him and allowed him to order his life for the sake of peace and contentment. His child's sudden death revealed to him the other side of life, the merciless, the cruel, the unintelligible and irrational side. And he shows us the heartrending, internal drama of a 'wise man,' made prey to all the instincts and feelings of this world — this unessential, despised world. He is a prey to the suffering which is the lot of every 'barbarian' who knows nothing of the nature of life and death. He shows us the humanist who weeps like a woman over the corpse of a small child, a child with no significance for the world; he presents a classical poet destined to describe lofty and exalted themes, possessed by such a small and unimportant object as a little girl.

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Even his Christian faith in immortality is shaken by this cruel shock. In one threnody he wonders where his daughter's soul might rest after death. He reviews many possibilities, including the Christian answer, but he does not believe in any of them and fears that her soul may not exist at all. These are the human and eternal perspectives of Kochanowski's Threnodies. Their literary expression is rich not only in qualities of the poet's own ingenuity but also in the best humanistic tradition. His wide reading in classical literature comes out in his many references to mythology; there are expressions borrowed from Horace, Ovid, and Catullus, and arguments from Seneca and Lucretius. The dates and chronology of the individual poems are unknown to us, and we can do no more than guess at a probable order. 3 We shall select several threnodies for more detailed analysis, in order to study more closely some characteristic aspects of their problems and their poetic art. The first threnody is a kind of introduction, in which the poet defines the chief problem of his work, calling upon all the tears, cries and sorrows of Heraclites and Symonides to help him in mourning for his beloved child. In the first four lines we have a wealth of expressions for grief: the weeping, tears, laments, complaints, sorrow, and despair. This is one motif of the poem, which is followed by the image of the child's sudden death compared with the death of a nightingale, which is devoured by a 'dragon' in front of the unhappy mother's eyes, while she tries in vain to defend her nestling. This vain defense evokes a reflection (the third motif) on the uselessness of despair before the irrevocable facts. 'All is vain,' cries the poet, 'who shall say which is easier, to overcome, or be overcome by grief.' These three motifs form an organic whole which directly expresses the spiritual state of mind. 4 The comparison employed in the second motif does not detract from this directness, because it possesses a symbolic character. The final reflection is strictly linked with the two preceding motifs. The language operates mostly, though not exclusively, within abstract concepts, as in the initial enumerations. Remarks about the home and the charming girl' introduce concrete elements. The word 'all' (in one case even 'all and all') is repeated seven times, and it emphasizes the greatness of suffering which can be measured only against all the pains of the world. 5

See Stan ¡slaw Windakiewicz, Jan Kochanowskt, 2d ed. (Warsaw, 1947). ' I distinguish between direct (pure) and indirect lyric poetry; in the latter lyrical moods are expressed with the help of description, narration, dialogue, and the like.

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The numerous exclamations are in keeping with the general style of the poem. The structure of Threnody V is based on a comparison of Orszula's death with the cutting off of a small olive tree by 'an over-zealous* gardener who is clearing the garden of weeds. The first part of the poem is devoted to a description of the olive tree which is suddenly cut off from further growth; the second to the similar death of the child. The work ends with an invocation to the evil Persephone. The description of the first part is expressed mainly in concrete terms with the aid of several personifications; among them we find a number of diminutives, which heighten the emotional tone of the description; the personifications emphasize the concept of the small tree as a living being. This device constitutes a link between the image of the death of the olive tree and that of the child. The image of Orszula's death is generally conceived in the same way: she had grown under their parents' eyes, has scarcely risen from the ground; here a new motif appears, 'the contagious spirit of remorseless death,' which 'inspires' the child, who falls at her parents' feet. The style reveals a truly classical quality of clarity and simplicity. Figures of speech are used in moderation. The combination of concrete and metaphorical elements does not obscure the meaning, but lends the language an emotional coloring. The expressions representing death are particularly striking. Threnody VIII evokes in a penetrating way the atmosphere of emptiness in the home after the disappearance of the beloved creature. The house is full of people, but it seems 'as though it were empty; so much was lost with one little person.' This feeling of emptiness inspires memories of the child when she was still alive. Orszula appears, talkative, cheerful: 'you sang for everybody'; she was a busy, tender child, who never 'allowed her mother to worry or her father to think too much.' This characterization is closed with a variation from the first motif: 'Sorrow stares from every corner . . .' Thus the principal motif of the poem is set in relief by the contrast between the past and the present. The style is particularly remarkable for the emotional weight of its highly condensed poetic formulations. Amidst the wealth and variety of moods, experiences, and problems, Threnody IX occupies a place of special importance. An eternal problem is revealed in this twenty-line poem, which reaches beyond the loss of the child; it touches the mutual relationship of thought and life, of knowledge and nature, of intellect and mystery. This is the main motif of the first part where the poet grasps in a condensed way the essence of the

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philosophy of stoicism (probably not borrowed directly from its source, but rather through Seneca), as we explained above (p. 70). The second part of the poem, which is shorter, depicts the tragedy of 'an unhappy man' who wasted all his years to 'see the threshold' of this wisdom, and who is now hurled from the topmost steps. The style is well suited to the subject and contains a variety of discursive elements. They are shown, for instance, in a number of condensed statements presenting the wisdom of the Stoics, carefully arranged in sequence, through sixteen lines. This accumulation of parallel statements, linked with each other in meaning and rhythm, lend the style a rather 'intellectual' character, though without making it less poetical. On the other hand, the metaphorical and figurative elements subdue the abstract tendency of the style. Threnody XI is also contemplative in character and poses the theme of virtue and its effectiveness. The poem begins with an assertion that virtue is an insubstantial thing, a trifle; this is the principal motif, reinforced by two rhetorical questions ('Who has ever been saved by piety? Who has ever averted an evil chance by goodness?') and developed subsequently in the image of 'the unknown foe' who 'confounds human affairs, caring for neither the good nor the bad.' Another motif is then introduced: the limitation of the human mind; 'light dreams, ephemeral dreams,' are all its experience and knowledge of the world and God's secrets. This absolute pessimism finally produces a reaction, as the poet realizes that it leads him not only to the loss of all consolation but to that of his reason as well. These three motifs blend, representing different aspects of the same problem: a conviction that evil is omnipotent, the hopelessness of any attempt to learn its causes, and the realization of the consequence of such a world view. Among Kochanowski's stylistic devices, one should observe here the three repetitions of the word 'trifle' in the first two lines to emphasize the dominant theme. We find also the same vivid, forceful images that are in the other Threnodies, illustrating the attitude of the poet. Finally the moral and religious crisis arrives (Threnody XVIII). The poet identifies himself with those who give God no thought in time of happiness, who forget the truth of the fact that everything comes from Him. There follows a series of moving pleas and prayers to God, contrition before His power, and hope of grace. This Threnody is constructed in the form of a prayer, combining confessions and supplications. Several images develop the principal motif

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of the soul, lost in despair, which turns to God as to the source of both happiness and calamity. Here he confesses his own grievous sins, but preserves faith in God's infinite charity. These elements follow each other, yet they also grow out of one another, and thus constitute artistically an organic whole. Kochanowski is also the author of the tragedy intitled Odprawa poslôw greckich (The Dismissal of the Greek Envoys). This work was written in 1578 for the celebration of the wedding of Chancellor Jan Zamoyski, and at his request. It was a work ordered, as it were, by a friend who could not be refused. The poet had too little time to create a finished and polished play. That is why his tragedy remains little more than a sketch, though a sketch of unusual beauty. The subject is probably borrowed from Homer's Iliad (the poet was just then translating Book III of that work), but he was also assisted by the fantastic medieval romance, The History of the Trojan War, and depicts a certain episode in the conflict between Troy and Greece. The Greek envoys, Ulysses and Menelaos, appear in Troy, demanding the return of the beautiful Helen, the wife of Menelaos, who has been kidnapped by Paris, son of the Trojan king. This provides the rather meager action of the play. The more sensible citizens, represented by Antenor, are ready to recognize the Greek claims, but Paris naturally opposes them violently and, with the help of numerous allies, forces the senate to refuse their demands. These young people do not realize that the refusal to return Helen will bring war with Greece, and the last scene of the play announces the opening of hostilities. Kochanowski's work is modeled on ancient tragedy in the style of Euripides and Seneca, and it follows the general pattern of humanist tragedy as it was then represented by Trissino and Jodelle. It has a single, unchanging scene (the square in front of the royal palace), choruses which give voice to sundry sententiae, and in its structure follows the principles set by the Greek masters. It contains a prologue (which in modern drama has been supplanted by exposition), two episodes, relative to modern acts, and finally the exodos or dénouement. The chorus is heard after the prologue and after each of the episodes. The action is completed in one day. The play was performed at an aristocratic court in the presence of the king, by the youth of the gentry, as was the custom in the humanist tradition. Although the subject was borrowed from foreign models, Kochanowski did not limit himself to what he found in them. Out of the familiar material, which was supplemented with the Polish poet's own inventions,

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he created a new artistic unity. The value of The Dismissal, which may be called a kind of 'dramatic sketch,' does not lie in a tragic entanglement or in the presentation of great characters who struggle against fate; rather it is a competent presentation of a dramatically tense situation, occasioned by the arrival and dismissal of the Greek envoys. Kochanowski revealed an indisputable dramatic sense in his conception and execution of this situation. Several of the characters are firmly drawn, though only in outline, like Antenor, Aleksander (Paris), Kassandra, and the senators, and there is much dramatic life in such scenes as the deliberations of the senators, the appearance of Kassandra, and her ominous prophecy about the fall of Troy. Some of the dialogues have a definite dramatic tone, as that between Antenor and Paris where their different characters and opinions are set in conflict over Helen, while the choruses move with a beautiful rhythm and verse. The poet's attempts to individualize the language of the various characters is also strongly felt. The play contains some interesting, though anachronistic, allusions to the disorder which reigned in the Polish Diet, to the insolence of some deputies who often terrorized the Diet and forced it into measures in their own favor, and to abuses of which the young gentry was guilty. The poet employs such expressions as 'the one God,' 'republic,' 'the peasant' and 'the peasant coat.' A clearly political tone, probably inspired by the king and his chancellor, is heard in the calls to war, which could only be understood as referring to Batory's intention of declaring war on Muscovy. Kochanowski was above all a poet and an artist. Of the three intellectual movements of this time, only humanism influenced him decisively, shaping both his mind and his art. Humanism gave him his most valuable qualities: his broad literary and artistic culture, his noble and refined morality, which he associated with a Christian faith, his clear, penetrating mind, highly sensitive but always guided by reason, and, most important of all, his art, modeled on classical masterpieces though it was as truly Polish as it was universal. Kochanowski was the first 'European' in the history of Polish literature, and his works belong to that realm of universal values which makes them a part of the heritage of world culture. Kochanowski's poetic art adheres generally to the classical forms, with classical 'realism' and moderation, and is always controlled in its realization of poetic devices. His poetry abandons itself to no flights of fantasy that might lead it beyond the ordered forms of art, nor does it stoop to vulgar themes, for Kochanowski was always aware of the noble nature of his vocation. He never permitted himself to be drawn into literary innovations or revolutions, but he was never given to slavish imitation.

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He transformed foreign motifs and forms for his own use, 'for himself and for the Muses.' The language he used was a distinctly literary language, the tongue of the educated class, raised to poetic dignity by new values of cadence, meaning, and vigor. It is always 'classical,' lucid, and noble, without exaggerated neologisms, but also without commonplace and prosaic expressions. A comparison with any of the usages of Rey reveals the nature of Kochanowski's achievement, which made of the Polish language a splendid instrument for poetry. As regards versification, Kochanowski's great achievement was the establishment in Polish of the strictly syllabic verse and the stabilization of rhyme. Hitherto, Polish prosody had been asyllabic or only partly syllabic, and rhyme had been incomplete or based on assonance. 5 Kochanowski was untouched by the Reformation. He remained a Catholic, but an enlightened and liberal Catholic, with no inclination to fanaticism. In this he showed also his broad humanistic attitude and was the representative of the cultured and enlightened strata of his nation, both in his own day and later. He took no part in the political struggles, preserving always his aequam mentem, his moral balance. When he was forced to take a stand (and his mighty patrons made use of his authority and fame) as in his few patriotic, didactic, or satirical poems, he did so tactfully and in a calm, moderate manner, treating pertinent questions from a general point of view, as befits a true poet. He did not want to force his Muse to serve anyone or anything, but his art, and only through art his nation and mankind. ANDRZEJ FRYCZ MODRZEWSKI ( 1 5 0 3 - 7 2 ) w a s a m o r a l i s t a n d a p o l i t i c a l

and religious writer, whose thought was far above the heads of contemporary society. His ideas were of that kind which the average man calls 'Utopian,' believing that such ideas have no real use, for they demand what is in reality impossible. Only posterity recognizes (sometimes) that these 'Utopians' were right, still rarely following their ideas. This was the fate of Modrzewski's ideas for over two centuries. With very few exceptions, he was misunderstood, and no one defended him; both the gentry and the clergy attacked him persecuting him even into hiding. Characteristically he was no revolutionary, at least not in his political and social views; he did not attack the foundations of the gentry republic, nor did he advocate the abolition of the class system; he did not demand equal political rights for the burghers and the peasants, nor did he pro6

See Maria Dhiska, Studia z historii i teorii wersyfikacji polskiej (Krakow, 1948), I, 216 ff.

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pagate a transformation of the Polish state into some fantastic island of happiness. He wished the republic to be reformed within the existing framework of her polity, to have glaring anomalies in its laws removed, to see the national mores improved, to raise the level of education, and to regulate the religious disputes. What today seems so right and necessary, however, had to wait until the end of the eighteenth century to be carried out even in theory, but in the sixteenth century it threatened too many vested interests and privileges to avoid provoking indignation and hostility. Modrzewski was a well-educated man, versed not only in ancient literature but also in philosophy (his works reveal the influence of Aristotle, Plato, and Cicero) and theology. He studied at the Jagiellonian University, at Wittenberg (where he met Melanchthon), and at Nuremberg. His extensive studies, his knowledge of Western Europe and its conditions, provided him with intellectual weapons; his mind was naturally acute and penetrating, and embraced wide horizons. He was capable of grasping problems and synthesizing their elements, though at times he perhaps tended toward an unyielding point of view. With this background Modrzewski took up the task of criticizing the laws, mores, and religion of Polish society. He did this in a number of books and pamphlets written in Latin. In the first, entitled De poena homicidii (The Law of Homicide, 1543), he declared himself against the inhuman law which discriminated between the life of a gentleman and that of a peasant. We have already mentioned that a high fine and a long prison term were imposed upon the murderer of a gentleman, while there was no prison term and only a small fine for the murder of a peasant. Modrzewski tells the story of a gentleman who was brutally beaten by two men, one a gentleman, the other a commoner. Before his death the fatally wounded man could not determine which of the two had inflicted the fatal blows; he felt that both had an equally heavy hand. After his death a complicated 'legal' question arose: who should be held responsible for the murder? The easier road was chosen, the peasant was pronounced guilty, and decapitated, while 'the gentleman,' Modrzewski adds, 'is still alive and lives among honest men.' It must be mentioned here that a peasant could rarely pay the high fine, with the result that he was sentenced to life imprisonment or condemned to death. Modrzewski urged uniformity of law and a death sentence for all murderers, regardless of the social position of the murderer or his victim. In this cause Modrzewski enjoyed the support of the king and several outstanding personalities, such as Cardinal Hosius, Kromer, and others. The Diet, however, rejected on two

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occasions a measure drawn up in accordance with Modrzewski's idea. In another pamphlet, De decreto conventu. . . (1545), Modrzewski took the side of the burghers, who were also wronged; as we know, they were restrained from purchasing land, in order that the gentry might have a monopoly in the production of crops and their export abroad. Modrzewski came out against these limitations; his moderation and readiness to recognize the fundamental division into classes is shown in his suggestion that if the gentry does not wish to allow the burghers to purchase land, it should let them become members of the gentry class and make 'gentlemen' out of them, which will smooth out the whole problem. Unfortunately, this high-minded author imagined these things to be too easy and did not realize the genuine motives underlying the policy of the gentry towards the burghers. Modrzewski's longest and most important work, in which he exposed his ideas most fully, is De Republica emendanda (The Reform of the Republic, 1551). Modrzewski published only three books of his work in the first edition: those on mores, on law, and on war; the publication of the other books, on the Church and on schools, was forbidden by the Church. The complete edition, consisting of all five books, was published in Basel in 1554. It was first published in Latin, but soon appeared in various translations: Spanish (1555), German (1557), Polish (1577), and, in the seventeenth century, Russian. The fact that Modrzewski begins his work with a discussion of mores is characteristic for his basically moralistic attitude. He considers Christian morality the right foundation not only for private life but also for the lives of societies, nations, and states. The chief task of any state is then the education of its citizens in the spirit of Christian morality, and all its other aims should be subordinate to this. He devotes much space to the education of children, dealing with both the training of character and intellect. He demands careful and systematic learning rather than the kind of 'playful' education advocated by Rey. Public education, and the proper organization and provision of schools, is thus one of the most important tasks for the state and society. The teaching profession, which was generally considered of little consequence, or even despised by the 'well born,' is rated very high by Modrzewski. He demands respect for teachers and understanding for their important role in society, also an improvement of their material situation. He speaks with equal emphasis concerning other public offices, unlike Rey, believing that service in some realm of public life, be it representative, senator, hetman (commander), administrative official, or judge, is the duty of every citizen. His

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demand for the creation of special 'caretakers for the poor,' which resembles modern social insurance, is characteristic; likewise his demand for 'guardians of morality,' to which nothing corresponds in modern times. In his scheme, these guardians were to watch over public morality and mete out punishment for transgressions of the moral law. Modrzewski's attitude toward liberty in its relation to law is surprisingly modern. This was a special problem in Poland, where the average gentleman believed that freedom meant freedom to do as he pleased. Modrzewski understood very well that the concept of liberty was closely connected with the ultimate goal which freedom has to serve. Liberty must not be used for aims detrimental to society. The question is not simply that the liberty of one group must end where it endangers liberty of another, but the very principle of freedom must be limited by higher respect for the good of society. Laws serve to regulate and normalize, as it were, the foundation of liberty. 'If good breeding,' says Modrzewski, 'humility, kindness, virtuous, and God-fearing customs reigned in the republic, then . . . laws would be unnecessary, for laws are not written for virtuous people, who are good by nature and modesty rather than by fear.' What should these laws be? Modrzewski develops opinions similar to those already expressed in his treatise on homicide, namely, that all Polish citizens, regardless of origin and social estate, should be equal before the law; that is, that all transgressions should receive the same sentences, whether the offender be a gentleman or a commoner. In other words, the concept of class discrimination should be abolished from the Polish courts. Modrzewski attempts to persuade his countrymen that the republic 'cannot prosper through the gentry alone, for who would feed us and our cattle, if there were no ploughmen? Who would give us fabrics and clothes, if there were no craftsmen? Who would bring us all the necessities of life, if there were no tradesmen? And who, finally, would be the gentlemen, if there were no peasants?' He explained, further, that 'laws are like medicine which a good doctor will use without discriminating against one patient or favoring another; when he recognizes the illness, he will not care whether he is treating a lord or a vassal, a gentleman or a commoner, but proceed to the cure. This should be the practice also of law: to punish the guilty equally and to preserve the prosperity, peace, and health of all.' And if there were to be any differences in punishment, those in high positions should receive more 'than those of lower estate; the rich, the gentlemen [should be] punished more than burghers and peasants, those who occupy public offices more than

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those who do not, for they are endowed with more brains and riches by God, which should lead them away from transgression, and therefore their transgression is worse.' Such sentences and Modrzewski's attitude in general are inspired by a high intellectual and moral culture. We must add that he opposed other legal anomalies in Poland as well. He advocated the elimination of the so-called patriarchal courts, which gave the landlords the right to judge their peasants. These courts were the exact opposite of all objective courts, in which three parties have to be represented: the accuser, the defendant, and the judge, who is independent of the first two. In the 'patriarchal' courts it frequently happened that the gentleman was the judge of his own case, if it concerned a conflict with a peasant. Finally, Modrzewski did not forget a further injustice inflicted upon the peasant : his obligation to remain on a given farm, which meant that a peasant could not leave his village without his lord's permission. In this way the peasant was unable to look for better conditions, either in other parts of the country or in the cities, for the lord would not, of course, voluntarily lose labor which he received for nothing. Modrzewski attacked this law, and demanded that the lord should be deprived of his right to retain a peasant by force and thus reduce him to the status of a slave. Modrzewski's ideas and projects of this kind provoked great animosity among the rich gentry. He evoked a similar animosity among the clergy with the theological and religious theories which he developed in his chapter on the church in The Reform of the Republic. His reasoning was logical but impractical, in that it did not take into account the emotional aspect present in every religion; he himself was not emotionally attached to any particular religious sect. He argued for the creation of a general Christian church, based on the teachings of Christ, which would combine the principles of Catholicism and Protestantism in a kind of general synthesis of both. In such a church the Mass would be celebrated in Polish, communion would be given in both kinds, the priest would be allowed to marry, and laymen would take part in church councils. Modrzewski's views on war are again liberal and modern views. He considers war an evil, in opposition to all the precepts of Christianity, humanitarianism, and common sense. But he realized that war is inevitable, at least in such case where a nation must defend itself against attack. He recognizes justice only in defensive wars, and writes a great deal of truth on the subject of how to avoid them through an appropriate foreign policy So peace should be preserved with all neighboring nations, and no step taken that would be likely to provoke hostile preparations abroad.

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If this should occur on one side or another, despite precautions, an attempt at peaceful settlement by way of mutual agreement should be made. He also advocates mutual peace treaties, international councils of arbitration, and even takes into account the possibility of forcing militaristic and aggressive nations to preserve the peace through an effective control of their policies. Unfortunately, Modrzewski's voice was not heeded except where it provoked indignation, as among the high clergy. The papal envoy in Poland urged the authorities to dismiss Modrzewski from his post as mayor in the diocesan town of a Catholic bishop; he was in fact dismissed, but, because of the king's intervention, only for a short time. (1536-1612) looked at life and the problems facing Poland from a different point of view than Modrzewski, but he saw many of the same evils and attacked them with all the strength of his powerful oratory and his literary talent. Modrzewski was a learned theoretician, while Skarga was an active fighter caught up in the whirl of religious and political struggle. They were both moralists, but Modrzewski was interested in the principles of the polity and of law, whereas Skarga devoted all his energies to the battle against Protestantism and schismatism, and against immorality in private and public life. He was born in Masovia, and had a hard childhood because of his parents' premature death. He studied at the Jagiellonian University, after which he became rector of a parish school in Warsaw. He was then tutor to the sons of the Krakow voyevoda, T^czynski, with whom he traveled abroad. Neither humanism nor secular learning attracted him, however. After his return home he became a priest, settled in Lwow, and became famous there as an excellent preacher, a defender of the poor, and an ardent foe to Protestantism. To fight the Reformation in defense of Catholicism suited his nature, and he made it his chief aim in life. It was to this end that he went to Rome and entered the Society of Jesus; as we have already seen, the Jesuits played an important role in the fight against the Reformation in Poland. After his return he was sent to Wilno, one of the cities most strongly influenced by the Reformation. There he devoted himself to reconverting Protestants back to Catholicism. Among others, he reconverted the sons of Prince Radziwill, one of the pillars of Calvinism in Lithuania, and allegedly dozens of Protestant ministers. When the Jesuit Academy in Wilno was turned into a University (during the reign of Stefan Batory in 1579), Skarga became its first rector. He also organized Jesuit education in the distant northeastern regions of the PIOTR SKARGA P O W ^ S K I

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republic (Livonia, presently Latvia). Called back to Krakow, he was after a few years called upon by the new king, Zygmunt III, to become the court chaplain. He remained for more than twenty years in this post, and it was during this time that his oratory and writing reached their peak. He was connected with the politics of the royal court, but in fact never entered into the political field; he devoted himself entirely to his sermons, on matters of religious and social behavior, and to his writing, which was concerned with the same themes. He observed much evil in the private and public life o f Poland, from which he feared terrible consequences in the future; he never hesitated to speak the truth openly, even to the influential and wealthy overlords, although he might have exposed himself to unpleasant reprisals. Some of the means Skarga used in his campaign against religious dissidents, as we read them in his anti-Protestant pamphlets, would be alien and disturbing to the modern conscience. They are filled with rage and intolerance — to the point of fanaticism. He believed, like many people at that time, that the Reformation was a crime against God and country, and that its followers should be punished as criminals or at least as great sinners. He was convinced that religious belief was not a matter of free choice, but should be, indeed ought to be, enforced. In propagating Catholicism, he limited himself to speaking and writing, but he advised the authorities to use more forceful means, such as not admitting Protestants to state positions. He did not go as far as some, however, who demanded that the dissenters be punished with exile, confiscation of property, or even death. Nonetheless, he made a violent attack on the edict o f religious tolerance (1573), which assured all religions free development and safety within the boundaries of the Republic. This was a remarkable piece of legislation, especially at a time when Western Europe was on the threshold of religious wars. These are the facts, but they cannot be evaluated from the modern standpoint. Religious tolerance, the principle which allows every man to worship God as he pleases without ceasing to be regarded as a worthy man and a respectable citizen, is a concept which began to take strong root only in the eighteenth century. During the period now under discussion there were, o f course, people who believed in the principle of religious tolerance, otherwise the edict of 1573 could not have been enacted by the Diet. But in general a fanatical struggle was taking place between Catholics and Protestants of various sects. Both groups lacked tolerance, for each believed deeply and was ready to sacrifice everything to its own concept of truth. Soon whole countries were to be involved in long and

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bloody religious wars (the Thirty Years' War), and murders and massacres of the Protestants were to begin (the Night of St. Bartholomew in France). In the face of all this, Skarga's intolerance had a relatively mild character and must be considered and evaluated against the background of contemporary circumstances and feeling. The following are the most important of Skarga's works: O jednosci Kosciola Bozego (The Unity of Church, 1577) devoted to the union of the Orthodox Church with Rome; ¿ywoty ¿wiqtych (The Lives of Saints, 1579), one of the most widely read books in Poland and one that has been reprinted frequently (shortly before the last war a new critical edition with extensive commentaries was published); collections of sermons, such as Kazania na niedziele i swiqta (Sermons for Sundays and Holidays), Kazania przygodne (Incidental Sermons), that is, sermons made for special occasions, including 'Kazania pogrzebowe' (Funeral Sermons), 'Kazania dzi^kczynne' (Thanksgiving Sermons), one, for instance, occasioned by the victory of the Poles over the Swedes at Kirkholm in 1605. Skarga's most distinguished work in oratory and in literary prose is the collection of so-called Kazania Sejmowe (Diet Sermons, 1597). For a long time it was believed that Skarga really delivered these sermons before the king and the representatives and senators gathered at the Diet. The distinguished Polish painter of the nineteenth century, Matejko, portrayed him, in the picture entitled 'Skarga's Sermon,' with his hands raised, his head lifted, his eyes burning, hurling verbal thunderbolts and terrible prophecies in an effort to move and persuade the statesmen gathered before him. Unfortunately, this picture does not correspond to reality; it is a legend, which was exploded by the impressive research of the French scholar, Auguste Berga.6 This learned priest not only mastered the Old Polish language (he published a translation of the Diet Sermons in French, with excellent commentaries, and wrote a valuable study of Skarga) but he knew the history and internal conditions of contemporary Poland very well. His learning and his acute mind enabled him to prove beyond doubt, employing both material and psychological arguments, that Skarga did not deliver and could not have delivered his sermons before the Parliament. That he did not deliver them is born out by the absence of any reference to them in any of the contemporary minutes of the Diet; that he could not have delivered them is argued on the grounds that, had he dared to address the haughty and proud dignitaries in such a •

Auguste Berga, Pierre Skarga (Paris, 1916).

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manner, he would surely have paid for it with imprisonment — if not his head. There are more arguments to support Berga's judgment, for instance, that the Diet Sermons were not published separately but at the end of another collection of sermons, giving the impression that they were concealed. Polish specialists have accepted the results of Berga's research without reservation. This fact, of course, does not belittle the value and significance of the Diet Sermons, nor does it put into doubt Skarga's personal courage in attacking the overlords in his sermons; we need only mention that in one sermon he says they have the hearts of 'thieves.' In another he calls them 'little kings' who, 'fighting among themselves and envying one another, will turn everything into chaos, will ruin and annihilate you [the gentry].* The real value of these sermons lies in their unusual and hitherto unknown ardor and verbal power, when Skarga speaks of the fatherland and its ungrateful sons. He attacks the lawlessness which reigned in Poland, the general discord and internal quarrels, the vested interests of the gentry, and their inhuman oppression of the peasants. He urges the gentry to love their country with disinterested devotion, and at the same time he gives a penetrating analysis of the national character, with all its haughtiness, presumptuousness, suspiciousness, envy, unruliness. He advocates strong monarchic power and restriction of the freedoms of the gentry; he warns of the catastrophic effects of anarchy which may proceed from the present state of affairs, drawing a truly prophetic picture of the fall of Poland. Nearly all these problems had been discussed in Polish writings before Skarga, if one recalls only Modrzewski or Rey; some of them may be found in the Old Testament and in ancient literature. The fact that in Skarga's works they appear in a new light, with fresh color and renewed force, is due mainly to his talent as a writer. He raised Polish prose to a height that was never equaled in Old Polish literature and seldom in later works. This achievement was won by merits that distinguish, to a greater or lesser degree, every truly outstanding writer: a feeling for the language, an ability to take advantage of the wealth and beauty accumulated through the ages and, at the same time, to add richly to its effectiveness ; a genius for creating new values in style, for lending words a new meaning through intuitive choice and construction — in a word, sufficient control of the language to make it express exactly what the author wants to say. Skarga had all these qualities to a high degree. This assures him an outstanding position ia the history of Polish literary style.

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Rey, Kochanowski, and Skarga represent the high point of Polish literature in the sixteenth century. There were, in addition, numerous other writers who were active in various genres and who, though they may fall short by comparison, nevertheless contributed lasting values and helped to make the literary life of the epoch so alive. We can neither discuss nor even enumerate all of them here, and must confine ourselves to mentioning the more important among them. Mikotaj S?p SZARZYNSKI (c. 1550-81) showed great promise as a poet, but, unfortunately, he died very young. We possess only a portion of his work (his only collection, Rytmy abo wiersze polskie, Rhythms or Polish Verses, was published posthumously in 1601), but it contains valuable poems. They are for the most part lyrical works, some of them composed in the difficult form of the sonnet. Having begun with love poems, Szarzynski later wrote several profound religious and contemplative poems. Among the former we have Fraszka o Kasi i Anusi (The Trifle of Kasia and Anusia), based on the idea of falling in love with two girls at the same time. The poet describes in a humorous way the condition of his heart, its 'flames' and 'tortures,' when he has to look at Kasia and Anusia as they sit side by side. First one seems more beautiful, charming, and pleasant to him and then the other. This poem may be compared with Kochanowski's trifles for its lightness, skill, and wit, and for the sprightly composition of the verse. The sonnet, O wojnie naszej, ktorq wiedziemy z szatanem, swiatem i cialem (Our War Against Satan, the World and the Body), deals with the perennial problem described in its title. The poem begins with the highly condensed lines: Peace — happiness, but struggle — Our existence under Heaven: Satan, 'severe prince of darkness,' and 'world's vanity' prey upon us for our perdition. Our body ('that house of ours — our body') essentially desires the fall ('to fall forever it will never cease to demand'). What should a man do in this terrible struggle, when he is 'weak, careless and undecided'? The sonnet ends with an invocation to God, 'that universal King,' for help and grace. The language of this poem is original, with striking and evocative expressions and images inclosed in the strict limits of the sonnet form, which demands of the poet a great mastery of language and versification. The numerous and long poetic works of Sebastian KLONOWICZ (c. 15501602) do not possess much literary value, though they have considerable cultural significance. Klonowicz was a burgher from Great Poland who

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settled first in Lwow and later in Lublin, of which he became the mayor. His principal works are two poems in Latin, Roxolania (1584) and Victoria Deorum (1587), and two poems in Polish, Flis (The Rafts, 1598) and Worek Judaszow (Judas' Sack, 1600). They all reveal a great deal of interesting and valuable ethnographic and social material. Roxolania, or 'Ruthenia' (referring to the southeastern part of the republic), gives the first detailed description of that region, its geographical location and landscape, its villages and cities, and the life, occupations, and customs of its inhabitants. In The Rafts, subtitled Launching Boats on the Vistula, we have a description of the journey of raftsmen who carry crops from the Warsaw bridge to Gdansk. The poem is filled with detailed information about the banks of the Vistula and the cities situated on them, and, what is more important, about the customs and dialect of the raftsmen, whose descendants still transport, not corn, but lumber on the internal waterway of Poland. Victoria Deorum and Judas' Sack are satirical and didactic poems in which Klonowicz expressed his truly humanitarian and Christian attitude, as well as his independent and generally severe judgment of the anomalies of Polish life. He himself was a burgher, exposed to disdain and abuse at the hands of the ruling class. This allowed him also to feel the lot of the peasantry more deeply, and he frequently refers to it in his works. In Victoria deorum he argues that true nobility does not depend on birth, or on honors and privileges acquired by any but virtuous means; nobility should be the mark of virtue, labor, and learning. He protests against the opinion, so widespread among the gentry, that crafts dishonor a man. In Judas' Sack we have many pictures of the mores of the burghers and the peasants; but its principal subject is the characterization of a variety of cheats, embezzlers, and thiefs, with whom, as a municipal juror and mayor, Klonowicz came into close contact. It is characteristic of the period that the author, describing in detail many petty robbers, dit not dare to write about the open offenses, robberies, and corruption of which the greater gentry were guilty and which Skarga called 'open sins.' Among the Polish prose writers high praise must go to Lukasz G o r n i c k i (1527-1603), not so much for the originality of his works, which were for the most part adaptations and imitations, but because, although he was an educated humanist, he wrote exclusively in Polish and in a beautiful, elegant style. His principal work is Dworzanin polski(The Polish Courtier, 1566), an adaptation suited to Polish needs of a similar work by the Italian writer, Baltasar Castiglione. The aim of the book was to present

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the ideal courtier. The problem itself was not, of course, among the most important of the age, but the fact that a whole book was devoted to it proves that there were in Poland persons who felt that mores and customs needed to be improved and cultivated in their own country. Gornicki was such a man, and he himself was a courtier to both Zygmunt August and Stefan Batory. Having spent a long time in Italy, he fell in love with the Italian way of life and set it as an example for the Poles. His ideal courtier was to be a cultured, educated, suave man with elegant manners and an interest in literature and the arts; in addition he was to be well versed in the practice of arms, and in all respects both physically and morally healthy. He should be endowed with 'courtly' graces, know how to conduct himself properly, how to dress, to entertain women, and so on. This 'courtly' ideal penetrates Gornicki's entire work, and it sometimes seems that his ideal of a courtier is identified for him with the ideal of man, thus his book becomes something of a textbook on the good breeding. His book is interesting, cultured, written with verve, filled with good observations and remarks and even better sayings and anecdotes. It did not produce any great effect or influence, any more than his political writings, which, though they contain a healthy critique of Polish weaknesses, offer no remedy other than the Italian institutions. A characteristic figure of the Polish gentry is seen in another political writer, Stanislaw ORZECHOWSKI ( 1 5 1 3 - 6 6 ) , who is said to be the first Polish 'journalist'. He undoubtedly had a considerable talent for writing with verve, liveliness, and a typical gentleman's sturdiness, but he frequently used his talent for purposes which were not serious and even unworthy. His intellect was uneven, demagogical, and anarchical; he was very sure of himself and imposed his theories and opinions, often marked by a lack of consistency and contradictions. In the same work he would say contradictory things, such as, for instance, that the Polish polity is the best in the world, at the same time exclaiming in the manner of the old Hebrew prophets: 'If you cut my heart open you will find in it only one word: We shall perish.' He fought ardently in the defense of Catholicism, but at the same time he caused the clerical authorities and the Vatican great embarrassment because, although he was a Catholic priest, he not only married other priests but himself married. He did not hesitate to use libel and calumny against his political and religious opponents, often resorting to blatant lies in his disputes, as, for instance, with Modrzewski. His patriotism was of the lowest kind, for it consisted in flattering the nation and, above all, the gentry, in a kind of national megalomania, and it inspired him to use wild phrases about the superiority of Poland and the

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Poles at the expense of the other peoples who comprised the republic, like the Lithuanians, whom he despised. Naturally, he treated the burghers with even greater disdain, describing their crafts as 'mean and dirty' and claiming that only the gentry might consider itself the heir of the Polish state; 'the tradesmen, craftsmen, and farmers are not the lords of the Polish Kingdom, but its servants,' which is to say they are servants of the gentry. Orzechowski had such wide popularity among the uneducated circles of the gentry that at the Diet they always defended him in his conflcts with the clerical authority, and they were only too ready to adopt his phraseology. An example of how he addressed the gentry, and of his general attitude and manner of reasoning, can be seen in a passage from his pamphlet entitled, Quincunx to jest wzór Korony polskiej na cynku wystawiony (Quincunx, that is a Model for the Polish Crown, 1564) — one of the monsters of political literature — in which Orzechowski advocates a theosophical polity in Poland. This pamphlet contains a chapter in which the author considers the differences between a kingdom and a duchy. The kingdom is, of course, far superior to the duchy. Why? Because even 'our Lord, Christ, called his state a kingdom, and the devil's state a duchy.' Christ is also called king, and the devil is called prince. What is the conclusion? Just as Christ's kingdom is superior to the devil's principality, so is the Polish kingdom superior to the duchy of Lithuania. Hence another simple conclusion that in every respect a Pole is by far superior to any Lithuanian. Nevertheless, one may find in Orzechowski's writings certain lucida intervalla. Even in his first work, Fidelis subditus (1543) he pointed out some lawlessness at the time of Zygmunt I, abuses of the government and of Queen Bona, the want of discipline and the corruptin of representatives and senators, and the oppression of the common people. Also in his later political pamphlets, which generally tended to apotheosize Poland and its regime, he often contrived to take a critical attitude towards his countrymen. Although his ideal was a state ruled by the Church, he did not close his eyes to the immorality of the clergy, their corruption, carelessness, greediness, and attachment to wealth. He defended his own marriage, on the grounds that immorality could best be stopped by abolishing the law of celibacy. Among the Polish historians of the sixteenth century the most distinguished was Reinhold HEIDENSTEIN (1556-1620), who came of a Frankish family that had settled in Poland in the middle of the fifteenth century. He is the author of the Latin De bello Moscovítico commentatorium libri

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sex (Commentary on the War with Muscovy, 1584), which gives a detailed and authentic description of the war between Batory and Ivan the Terrible, and a more extensive work, Rerum Polonicarum . . . libri XII (Polish Problems in Twelve Books, published only in 1672), which deals with the history of Poland from the death of Zygmunt August (1572) to the beginning of the seventeenth century (1602). These works are based on a careful collection of verified historical sources, from which the author selected the most important material and presented it in an objective and scholarly manner. Heidenstein does not limit himself to the history of kings and wars, but also tries to recreate the internal history of the country — the Diet, elections, legislation, jurisdiction, the conditions of education — in which he comes closer to the modern conception of the historian's task. Marcin KROMER ( 1 5 1 2 - 8 6 ) was a humanist and an ardent Catholic, who attacked the teaching of Luther and wrote, among other things, two books of historical nature. The first, written in Latin, Polonia sive de origine et rebus gestis Polonorum (The Origin and Deeds of the Poles, 1 5 5 5 ) , is not an original work but rather an adaptation of Dtugosz and of Miechowita, a chronicler of the sixteenth century; nevertheless, this work enjoyed great popularity both in Poland and abroad. His second work, Polonia... (Poland..., 1 5 7 5 ) , is a kind of small encyclopedia, containing a mass of interesting and valuable information about the country, its fauna and flora, its villages and cities, inhabitants, the polity of the republic, the Diet, the public offices, the army, and so on. It may be seen from what has been said of the principal trends and the most distinguished writers of the sixteenth century that the Latin dominated the writings of the first half of the century. Latin was also the official language of government, diplomacy, legislation, jurisdiction; even private correspondence between educated people was conducted in Latin. In the second half of the century the Polish language began to be used extensively in poetry, legislation, and other public domains; however, Latin remained the language of scholarly literature.

Musical culture must have reached a relatively high degree of development even at the turn of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, for one of the outstanding German composers, Heinrich Finck (d. 1527), director of the Royal Chapel at the court of the Polish kings Jan Olbracht and Aleksander, received his musical education in Poland. Sebastjan of Felsztyn approached Finck in style; he was the author of theoretical

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treatises and a composer, whose three 'typically Netherlandish' 7 compositions for four voices have been preserved. Another distinguished composer of the period was Mikolaj of Kraków, who probably worked between 1490 or 1500 and 1520 or 1530. In the tabulation of Jan of Lublin, forty-one of his compositions were found, among them dances, songs for several voices, preambulas for organ, and the like. 8 An important development in music is marked by the founding in 1540 of the so-called College of Roratists, a choir composed of eleven priests, whose task it was to execute the early morning mass in Advent (rorata) every day. The repertory of this choir included works by outstanding foreign composers, such as Palestrina, Certon, Goudimel, and Orlando di Lasso. Around the middle of the sixteenth century Wadaw of Szamotuly, one of the foremost Old Polish composers, was active in the musical world, where he won for himself an international reputation. He wrote motets, songs for a four-voice mixed choir, psalms (also choral), and some incompletely preserved 'laments.' The English music historian, H. E. Wooldridge, states that Wadaw of Szamotuly and two other Polish composers (Leopolita and Szadek) are 'really remarkable members' of the Roratists, that 'the style of their music is late Flemish' and that it is entitled to a place among the good work of its time.' 9 The production of Marcin Leopolita of Lwow (c. 1540-89), is equally important and valuable. His three five-voice masses, three motets (also for five voices), and some forty 'Songs for the entire ecclesiastical year' have been preserved. This music combines the characteristic features of the Netherland school with the newer 'Roman school' of Palestrina and Orlando di Lasso. One of the most profound works of Polish music at the time was 'Melodies for the Polish Psalter' (1580) by Mikotaj Gomólka. These are settings of the Psalms of David in Kochanowski's version, one hundred and fifty in number, written in four voices. 'Maintained in the church tonality, they often go beyond the narrow boundaries of diatonics (standard major or minor scale of the eight tones of the octave), as they employ bold dissonances, unknown in religious music of the sixteenth century, and furthermore a great wealth of modulation. . . . Through

' ' '

Józef Reiss, Historja muzyki w zarysie (Warsaw, 1920), p. 74. Zdzistaw Jachimecki, Muzyka polska w rozwoju historycznym The Oxford History of Music (Oxford, 1905), p. 301.

(Kraków, 1948).

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their progressive e l e m e n t s . . . they paved the way to the modern harmonic system.' 1 0 By comparison with choral music the instrumental music of the century is poor. We know only one outstanding composition of this genre, Duma (The Ballad) by an anonymous composer. Although we know of the existence of music guilds, and know too that the repertory of such a guild had to include works other than foreign ones, we know nothing of any works by Polish composers, except for some works for the lute. The art of lute-playing had reached a high degree of development thanks to a German from Saxony whose name was Walenty Greff-Bakfark or in Polish simply Bekwark. He spent sixteen years at the court of Zygmunt August and was one of the most celebrated virtuosos of his day; he is mentioned by Kochanowski in The Trifles, by Górnicki in The Courtier, and by other writers even in the seventeenth century. He published two collections of compositions, which contain transcriptions from vocal works as well as original pieces. Among the Polish lutanists we should mention Wojciech Dlugoraj (b. 1551), author of fantasies, 'villanellas,' and dances, and Jakób Polak (the Pole), who spent many years in France and was very popular as a musician at the royal court. In architecture the era of the Renaissance began. In this style we have such beautiful edifices as the Castle of Wavel, constructed in place of the old castle which had burned down towards the end of the fifteenth century, together with the Zygmunt Chapel, the work of Italian architects, and the Sukiennice (a market hall in the center of the main square) in Kraków, the city hall in Poznañ, and many other structures. Among the new tombs at the Wawel, the tomb of King Jan Olbracht was created at this time. The royal treasury and the Cathedral contained not only great wealth in jewels, gold and silver, but also magnificent works of art, such as the famous Wawel Gobelins, liturgical clothes, crosiers, miters, etc. The standard of painting was generally inferior to the architecture and sculpture of the period. The illumination of codexes and graduals still flourished in the monastries, and wall paintings were executed, though the latter have mostly been destroyed by fire and time; the influence of Hans Dürer (brother of the famous Albrecht), Kulmbach, and other German painters dominated in guild painting. A beautiful polyptic of St. John the Almoner, anonymous pictures representing the Holy Trinity, the Holy Mother, the Resurrection, and the like are still extant. 10

Reiss, Historja muzyki

w zarysie, pp. 82-83.

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It may be said, generally, that there was a great difference between the levels of Polish culture at the beginning and at the end of the sixteenth century. In the fifteenth century and the beginning of the sixteenth, it is probable that at least half of the gentry was illiterate; in the second half of the sixteenth century the gentry produced great writers and such a poet as Kochanowski. Humanism, the Renaissance, and the Reformation made the difference. The establishment of a closer contact with the West, and especially with Italian culture, exercised a decisive influence in the refining of Polish culture. At that time the Italian universities numbered among their students four thousand Poles, and the German universities two thousand, figures which were never to be surpassed in the future. Nevertheless, it is not difficult to notice that, although this higher culture spread broadly over Poland (this was favored by the rural rather than urban character of Polish society), it was spread in a shallow way, never reaching the entire gentry, affecting only its higher circles and a small segment of the burgher population. Then as later Poland had outstandingly gifted men and highly intellectual personalities, but these were individuals who soared above the average level, which was not very high. There was no continuity or real integration of culture which could penetrate to the lower strata of the gentry, not to speak of the burghers and peasants. This explains the fact that the great Polish writers of the sixteenth century had to wait nearly a century and a half for successors worthy of themselves, and some of them even longer than that.

CHAPTER IV

THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY: BAROQUE LITERATURE

During the interregnum which followed the death of Stefan Batory a military conflict developed between the followers of the Archduke Maximilian of the Habsburg line and those of the Swedish candidate of the Vasa dynasty. The 'Swedish' party won, led by Jan Zamoyski, and the Swedish prince was elected king of Poland as Zygmunt III (15881632), thus establishing the Vasa dynasty in Poland. This king was unpopular among the gentry, both because of his dealings with Austria and because of his attempts to strengthen the power of the monarchy in Poland. These political attempts led to an open rebellion instigated by the magnate Zebrzydowski. Furthermore, a few ambitious overlords involved Poland in the entanglement with 'the false Dmitri,' one of the pretenders to the throne of Muscovy who claimed to be a son of Ivan the Terrible. This resulted in war with Muscovy and the unsuccessful attempt to unify Muscovy with Poland by placing King Zygmunt's son, Wladyslaw, on the Muscovite throne. Poland's only profit from this war was the recapture of Smolensk and Czernichow. The plan of Zygmunt III, who in 1592 also became king of Sweden, to unify Sweden and Poland through a personal union also failed, because of Swedish opposition which drew Poland into a new war that effected the loss of practically all of Livonia. In 1620 another war broke out, this time against Turkey, during which Stanislaw ¿olkiewski, an excellent military leader and statesman, perished. Zygmunt's successor, Wladyslaw IV (1632-48), managed to stabilize Polish relations with Muscovy and Sweden, and thus brought the country a few years of peace. But. in the year of his death the alarming rebellion of the Cossacks broke out under the leadership of Bohdan Chmielnicki. The ensuing war was long and costly, and its outcome was often in doubt; but it finally ended with victory for the Poles in 1651. Chmielnicki had

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made the Ukraine subject to Russia, which again attacked Lithuania; this in turn produced a new war between Poland and Muscovy; it ended with the Treaty of Andruszow (1667), which divided the Ukraine between the two countries, with the Dnieper constituting the new frontier line. Kiev remained on the Russian side. All this occurred during the reign of Wladyslaw's brother, Jan Kazimierz (1648-68). In 1655 Poland was exposed to another and far more ominous invasion, organized by the Swedish king, Charles Gustavus, who, profiting from Poland's temporary weakness, wanted to conquer Prussia. Aided by several Polish overlords, the Swedish armies engulfed Poland and occupied Warsaw and Krakow. It seemed then that the last moments of the republic had come. However, the heroic defense of the monastery at Cz?stochowa (the shrine city) under the leadership of its Paulist prior, Father Augustyn Kordecki, became a symbol of national resistance and stimulated a military reorganization which led finally to the expulsion of the Swedes from Poland. In the treaty signed in Oliwa in 1660, Poland renounced the larger part of Livonia. As a result of this 'deluge' of misfortunes, Poland lost much territory, had even more of its lands devastated, and became internationally weak. When Jan Kazimierz abdicated in 1668 the gentry elected a 'Piast,' that is, a Pole, Prince Michal Wisniowiecki (1669-73). During his reign new calamities and losses befell Poland: the Turks captured Kamieniec in Podolia, and the humiliating Treaty of Buczacz accorded to them that province and the Polish part of the Ukraine. Wisniowiecki's successor, another 'Piast,' Jan Sobieski (1674-86), became popular for his famous victories over the Turks. When he was made king, he determined to end the Turkish menace once and for all by creating a European anti-Turkish league. He signed a treaty of alliance with the Austrian Emperor, Leopold I, and when the Turks besieged Vienna in 1683 Sobieski led a Polish army of 30,000 to assist the city. He gained a splendid victory over the Turks, not only liberating Vienna but saving Western Europe from a possible Turkish onslaught. The king's hopes of organizing an anti-Turkish league failed, although the Pope and the Republic of Venice had joined it. His plan to r e f o r m the Polish system of government and assure one of his sons the succession to the crown failed similarly. Culturally, the first half of the seventeenth century was in some respects a continuation of the 'golden a g e ' The intellectual and cultural life continued to move with the impetus it had received in the sixteenth

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century. There were new writers of outstanding talent, and Polish culture was gaining a reputation abroad. But, on the whole, Poland's cultural life depended on the heritage of the preceding century. The sources which had contributed so much to the cultural trends of this century began to dry up, and new ones were lacking. The three principal factors underlying the culture of the sixteenth century, the political movement of the gentry, humanism, and the Reformation, began to lose their inspirational force. Having achieved everything they wanted in politics, the gentry had nothing more to fight for and ceased to be a motivating force. Humanism was still an important cultural factor but, as the seventeenth century progressed, it began to weaken; the contact with the West was broken when wars prevented the masses of Polish youth from studying at foreign universities. As for the Reformation, the reasons for its failure have already been discussed in the preceding chapter; in this we have anticiated a little, for the Reformation did not begin to wane until the seventeenth century, the period of the Catholic reaction. This reaction did not only entail opposition toward Protestantism, and even persecution of Protestants, but in Poland was accompanied by a general lowering of intellectual culture to the point of obscurantism within Polish Catholicism, which was mainly represented by the Jesuits. The role of the Jesuits in this period of Polish history is unfavorably evaluated by most modern Polish historians. As arguments against their activity they usually mention: a return to medieval attitudes rather than any development of the enlightened Catholicism; an emphasis on the letter, rather than the spirit, of holy law, and complacent insistance on superficial forms; a low academic level in the Jesuit schools, which meant in almost all Polish schools, since education was mainly in the hands of the Jesuits; extreme intolerance and zealous fanaticism; and finally, a deliberate attempt to control all the branches of public and private life, which could gradually subject everything to the influence of the Order. These facts are well known and generally recognized; the activity of the Jesuits produced such discontent all over Europe that in 1773 Pope Clement XIV considered it advisable to abolish the Order. On the other hand, when considering the Polish Jesuits, it must be remembered that they could not have acquired such tremendous influence had they not been supported by the majority of the gentry. They gained influence by a rare ability to adapt themselves to every condition and circumstance which would give to the Order any power over people; they paid special attention to men who had influence and significance in the country. Their educational program was not concerned with training men to meet the problems of the country but

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rather to recognize the existing status quo without concern for real reforms, whether in education, public affairs, or religious life. This attitude on the part of the Jesuits caused other orders, which were numerous in Poland at the time, to treat them with great reserve — if not with outright hostility. This attitude was made quite plain in polemical, theological, and religious writing. The gentry meanwhile remained true t o itself. T h e gentry looked with dissatisfaction at the growing material a n d moral power of the Jesuits (they surpassed in number and fortune all the other orders in Poland, and in 1772 their fortune in Poland alone was valued at 33 million zlotys), they protested against the privileges a n d interferences of the Order, but ultimately they sent their children to Jesuit schools; they were flattered by the class distinction of these schools, they liked the strict discipline, and they enjoyed the parades at which they could always hear panegyrics in honor of the influential parents a n d p a t r o n s of the schools. T h e Jesuits c o n d u c t e d their struggle against dissenters in various a n d indiscriminate ways. Doubtless they were morally responsible for the g r o w t h of fanaticism, armed attacks on Protestant temples, a n d even occasional murders of Protestant ministers. In the years 1658 a n d 1659 the representatives in the Diet, who were either directly or indirectly their tools, carried t h r o u g h the parliamentary law which expelled the Arians f r o m Poland. This was open violation of the legal protection a n d toleration granted t o all denominations and enforced in Poland since 1573. Other religions, such as the Lutherans and Calvinists, survived, a l t h o u g h their existence was m a d e difficult and unpleasant. It will be seen f r o m what has been said that the Counter R e f o r m a t i o n t o o k a special f o r m in Poland, just as the Reformation had d o n e . The R e f o r m a t i o n had failed to reach the majority of the population a n d did n o t affect the social organism very deeply; in the same way the C o u n t e r R e f o r m a t i o n was not as intense or bloody as in other countries. P o l a n d h a d no real religious war during the thirty years in which Western E u r o p e bled through civil strife. How shall we explain this? Some historians explain it by an innate tolerance a m o n g the Poles. Others, w h o are probably closer to the truth, attribute it to the indifference of the gentry in matters of f a i t h ; they were generally tepid in their response to issues which elsewhere inflamed religious passion. They could be persuaded to pass legislation against the dissenters and sometimes even to c o m m i t violent excesses, but it did n o t lie in their nature to pursue a systematic, a r d u o u s policy of extermination. Only one case is known of an official d e c a p i t a t i o n of a m e m b e r of the gentry for alleged atheism.

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Another reason for the lowering of Polish culture during the seventeenth century lay in the foreign wars that swept the country almost uninterruptedly. The Cossack-Tatar, the Swedish, Turkish and the Moldavian wars caused terrible devastation and plunged the country into confusion, anarchy, and even civil war, as when, during the Swedish invasion, several Polish overlords went over to the side of the Swedish king. Except for the initial stages of the Cossack campaign, however, the wars afforded a series of triumphs to the Polish forces, the most notable being the expulsion of the Swedes from Poland, the victories of Chocim, Kluszyn, Kirkholm and the rescue by King Jan III of Vienna. In the seventeenth century Poland had excellent military leaders, such as ¿olkiewski, Koniecpolski, Chodkiewicz, Czarniecki, and the king Jan Sobieski. Nevertheless, even victorious wars are destructive and tend to lower rather than raise the national standard of culture. The destruction of the country, and especially the Polish cities, was so great that it was beyond repair during the existence of the republic. No wonder then that learning, art, and culture could not flourish. At the same time, all the weaknesses and inefficiencies of the polity, which Modrzewski and Skarga had already lamented, made themselves felt more strongly now. The electoral system produced confusion and anarchy after the death of every king; the instructions given to the deputies in the dietines, generally concerned only with the interests of individual regions, handicapped the representatives and complicated the activity of the Diet in general matters; the state treasury was empty, and the soldiers' pay irregular. The gentry's 'golden freedom' began to change into an intolerable self-will, while the respect for the law declined and the poorer gentry was dominated by the overlords. During the first half of the century the burghers maintained their general prosperity and the standard of their education. A number of Lwow burghers like Anczewski the physician, Kranz the scholar, Zimorowicz the poet, and Zal?ski the lawyer, achieved distinction. The cities had by this time become completely Polish in character, the German language having disappeared already in the sixteenth century from the municipal council acts. The life of the guilds continued to lend the cities a colorful and animated character. Hygiene and sanitation were relatively good. But gradually, as a result of wars, frequent tires, and epidemics the cities also began to decline. After the transfer of the capital to Warsaw by King Wladyslaw IV, Krakow became a small provincial town. Poznari met the same fate. Trade and industry shrank because of the economic policy of the

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gentry, who profited from their privileges of custom exemption and did not pay city taxes on their real estate property. The most important trade route led through Gdansk, thanks to which the German burghers of that port city profited extensively, but the country at large gained nothing. Nothing had yet been done to better the status and condition of the peasantry. As the seventeenth century wore on, their situation grew worse. The following conversation quoted by a contemporary writer gives a witty idea of their lot. A gentleman said to a peasant: 'You poor thing, you work so hard in this world; surely you will go to Heaven after you die.' The peasant replied: 'And who would chop the wood for the lord and make his fire in hell? There is no other way, I must follow him there too.' We have already spoken of Jesuit education. The other schools were not much better. There were, however, some efforts at improvement, like the project of the Krakow bishop, Tylicki, and the foundation by the Jagiellonian University of intermediary secondary schools between the parish school and the university (for instance, the later Gymnasium of Nowodworski in Krak6w or that of Lubranski in Poznari and similar 'academic colonies' in other cities). The Zamoyski Academy, founded by Jan Zamoyski toward the end of the sixteenth century, continued to function. It was, in accordance with the founder's original idea, a center of learning in the eastern provinces and was an unprecedented example of a higher institution founded by a private person. The Jagiellonian University continued to exist, of course, though its professors, preoccupied with their struggle against the Jesuits over the monopoly of higher education, had little time for scholarly work. Some good dissenters' schools still existed, among which the finest was the school in Leszno directed by Jan Komenski (Comenius), a Czech by birth, who found shelter in Poland during the Protestant persecutions in his own country; he was the head of the sect of Czech Brethren and was known all over Europe for his theological and educational work. All this fine work, however, could not alter the fact that education, like culture in general, was on the decline. In the first half of the century there was still some activity in scholarship. The outstanding mathematician, Jan Brozek, the distinguished astronomer, Jan Hevelius of Gdansk, and Sebastian Petricius of Pilzno, a translator and commentator of Aristotle, were all living and working during this period. We may add to this list the names of George Cnapius, the author of an excellent Polish-Latin-Greek dictionary which was at the

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same time a kind of encyclopedia, also the 'polyhistorian', Szymon Starowolski (see p. 115); and finally Jan Zamelius, a botanist of Krakow, author of a 'herbarium' (a descriptive book about plants). There were also a number of learned theologians and distinguished doctors of medicine who, however, did not leave any written work. It was against this social and cultural background that Polish literature developed in the seventeenth century. There is a visible difference between the literature of the first and second halves of the century which corresponds to the general changes in the national life. At the beginning the writers were still strongly influenced by humanist and Renaissance traditions, and although they were less gifted than Kochanowski, they wrote in his spirit and were educated on his style. With the decline of humanism, however, the character of poetry changed and writers ceased to go abroad for their studies, preferring to be educated at home. Thus they lost touch with foreign literary movements, especially with French literature, which was then at its peak. A few Polish writers knew contemporary French and Italian literature and found there models for their own work; but on the whole Polish literature of this period was original and typically Sarmatian in character ('Sarmatian' is a term traditionally used for any quality that was typical of the old Polish nobleman). In the past, Polish literary historians have judged it very unsympathetically and considered it as one of the proofs of the cultural decline in the seventeenth century. This attitude resulted from their incomplete acquaintance with what was in fact written during this period, for many works remained in manuscript form and were not published until the late nineteenth century; moreover, they judged this literature from the point of view of the high poetic standards achieved in the preceding century and by humanist criteria of style and taste. Since seventeenth-century styles and tastes were so changed, they appeared at first as manifestations of decadence. Today we take a different attitude in this matter. Thanks to the discovery and publication of many unknown works, a task performed chiefly by the excellent scholar, Aleksander Brückner, we have now a more complete picture of this literature. Furthermore, we try to understand and appreciate it in its own right rather than contrast it with the standards of humanism. As a result, seventeenth-century literature has been largely restored to a position where it reveals considerable cultural and literary merits. Its literary quality has been termed baroque by way of analogy with the style which reigned in architecture and art. This term is likewise used to describe certain West-European trends and writers.

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Although analogies between poetry and the plastic arts are usually fallacious, because of the incomparable nature of the two arts and their radically different means of expression, we may perhaps avail ourselves of this analogy in a figurative sense, adding the reservation that it refers merely to certain general concepts common to all the arts (though given a different meaning in each), such as perspective, contrast, structure, background, coloring, movement, instrumentation, melody, and so on. The characteristics of baroque literature are, generally, a falling away from the classical ideals of calm, moderation, and strict division between literary genres, a division which had preserved the uniform character of each genre; and further, a reaction against slavish adherence to certain fixed, almost sacrosanct, models, their rules of style and their types of versification. Having broken with these traditions, the baroque poets began to treat literary material more freely. Their 'freedom' was often the result of a conscious opposition to ancient models, but frequently, as in Poland, the result of either ignorance of them or, at most, a very superficial acquaintance. Among the Polish poets who have been described as 'baroque,' many enjoyed a fine literary culture while others were provincials of the type of Rey. The seventeenth-century 'baroque' is consequently an extremely varied style, and the variety is all the more extensive because the century was more prolific than the sixteenth. Within this variety, however, we do find some common traits. The general sense of freedom and the reaction against literary tradition led to a loose, even careless structure, a mixture of different literary genres in one work, a delight in contrast, and a 'high,' elaborate style filled with complicated poetic figures, Latin phrases (the so-called macaronisms) or sentences translated straight from Latin, with a Latin syntax and structure. Not only was Polish mingled with Latin, but loftiness was mingled with vulgarity, poetry with very simple prose, serious subjects with shallow anecdotes. Many contemporary writers seemed to think that to write in verse form was a guarantee of poetry. They wrote poems as one writes political treatises or historical works; and in this spirit they conceived the historical poems of the time which are sometimes valuable as sources but devoid of any poetic feeling for the historical material. Nevertheless, this poetry has a style it can call its own, a charm and sense of nuance, much gusto, vivid contrasts, and shifting moods. Furthermore, it reflects probably more accurately the life of contemporary Polish society than did the poetry of the preceding century, even in its most distinguished masterpieces. We can choose only the most characteristic and valuable works from

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among a vast quantity of rich and varied literature. By following a chronological order we shall first meet a poet whose poetic spirit still belongs to the humanism of the sixteenth century. He is Szymon SZYMONOWICZ (1558-1629), a refined humanist with a wide and profound knowledge of ancient literature, whose attitude towards poetry, its aims, and functions, was like that of Kochanowski; that is, he sang for himself and for the Muses, devoting himself to his work, which was the aim and center of his life. He wrote a great deal in Latin, even more than Kochanowski, cultivating several genres : circumstantial poems in praise of the merits of the chancellor Zamoyski, the weddings and death of distinguished persons, etc., other shorter or longer poems of different kinds, and finally also tragedies {The Chaste Joseph). His Latin works won him fame abroad, where they were reprinted even more frequently than in Poland. But he did not forget his mother tongue; of his writings in Polish the finest are his Eclogues, published in 1614. As a humanist he naturally modeled these poems on the ancient authors in the genre, Theocrites and Virgil, often translating their works or adapting them into Polish. But he also produced many completely original poems with motifs taken from Polish life. Although he was a burgher by birth and only later received a nobleman's title, his eclogues sing the charms and sometimes the sorrows of country life, as led by the farmers both of the gentry and the peasantry. One of his most beautiful eclogues is Kolacze (Bread Loaves), which begins with the familiar picture of a magpie croaking on the fence, an augury that guests will soon arrive, according to the beliefs of his day. In the subsequent lines of the poem we have a number of charming and natural pictures, traced in a simple language that is both artistic and graceful. 'A handsome lad' rides through the gate of the manor with his companions, and they are all dressed so beautifully and luxuriously that 'everything in the manor laughed like the sky at the sight of the merry dawn.' This is not an ordinary visit, however; the girl's heart is leaping for joy because it is her fiancé who is coming, and her marriage and wedding feast will soon take place. Everything in the manor is prepared, waiting only for the groom's arrival. The girls gathered for the ceremony reproach him for his delay. They chafe him with subtle malice, saying that he must have been very sure of his fiancée if he was not in a hurry to get her; but they warn him of the risk he was taking because 'he who trusts in the best weather is usually caught in the rain,' and 'one must not sleep even when one is sure of things to come.' They want to frighten him, but at the same time assure him of the constancy of his beloved, although she had often heard 'evil stories' about him, probably provoked by envy.

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There follows a charming and subtle portrayal of the bride's feelings, her worries and anxieties, the chief of which is to explain to him how valuable is the treasure he is about to win. While he delayed his arrival, for her 'the day was not bright and the sun was not bright' without him. Meanwhile the bridegroom is met by the mother and the daughter. The young man makes a low bow and once more asks for the girl's hand and probably receives a sure promise, because the bride's girl companions take her with them and begin to dress her for the wedding. Finally the whole company goes to church. While the priest prepares his stole, the young man is pale with emotion and on the bride's face 'one tear flows down after the other'; but she is told she should not weep or 'people might say that you cry for joy, but others might think something worse because there is so much jealousy in the world.' After the marriage ceremony everyone returns home and the wedding feast begins. The girl's 'heart melts,' and the bridegroom complains that the meal lasts too long. Nevertheless, he has to go through with all the rituals in the traditional manner. This includes the serving of the 'bread loaves,' accompanied by the singing and dancing of the girls. Bread Loaves is a gem of old Polish poetry. Regardless of the fact that it is a valuable picture of contemporary Polish life and its customs, it is distinguished by its intellectual character, subtle humor, a language which is excellently suited to the subject, sharp psychological observations, and the cheerful atmosphere of sympathy and interest created by the poet for even small details of life, in which he finds so much beauty and charm. Szymonowicz's second masterpiece in this genre, Zency (The Harvesters), has a different character. The nobleman's field on which the reapers are working forms the scene of this eclogue. The work is arduous and exhausting, a fact which is confirmed by one of the female workers, Oluchna, who complains that noon is coming and yet they must continue to work on orders of the land steward, who stands over the harvesters with a stick and a whip. His whip is rarely still, and the steward whips a female worker without regard for the fact that this is only her third day of work after a long illness. Young people do not always look sadly at such a life, however. There is among the reapers another girl, who has a way of handling the steward: 'I praise and flatter him and thus keep my back in one piece,' she says, and then sings a song about the steward which is one of the most beautiful parts of the eclogue. It begins with the lines Oh my sun, the beautiful eye of a charming day! Your ways of living differ from our steward's way,

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which are followed by several skillful and witty comparisons between the 'habits' of the sun and those of the steward. The sun rises when its time comes and runs along its path regularly. The steward would like it to rise at midnight and would like to 'marry noon with evening.' Sometimes the sun burns, and at other times it 'lets a breeze blow' to cool the working people; but the steward relentlessly hastens people to work, and he would like to have everything done in one hour. The sun is sometimes veiled by 'cloudy vapors,' but the wind quickly blows them away; the steward's face always remains cloudy. This song with the same anaphora, 'O my sun, the beautiful eye . . . ' is repeated in another variation toward the end of the eclogue, when Pietrucha, seeing the steward approaching, tries to flatter him and urges him to imitate the sun in his habits. When she further wishes him a good wife, the steward is quite won over and finally has the work interrupted to give the reapers some rest. Maciej SARBIEWSKI (1595-1640) was even more of a humanistic poet than Szymonowicz. He wrote exclusively in Latin, and, of all the Polish latinists, he was the best known and most widely appreciated abroad. He was often referred to as the Christian Horace, for his odes modeled on Horace were his best works. He was a Jesuit monk and for some years confessor to the king, Wladyslaw IV, but he was not attracted by either high rank or the life of the capital; he felt the beauty of nature deeply and longed for the countryside and its quiet existence, where he could devote himself to poetry. In his youth, and occasionally later, he was forced by circumstances to write panegyrics in honor of the king, the pope, and other powerful patrons. Among the odes which made him so famous there are some in panegyrical form, for which he had good example in the works of his master, Horace. Sarbiewski also wrote political odes, similar in character to his panegyrics, as, for instance, the odes calling for a crusade against the Turks, or the patriotic odes which praised the Polish victories over the Turks and glorified Polish freedom. Sarbiewski's genius came out more forcefully in his contemplative odes and in those which contain beautiful descriptions of nature. The first type expresses a severe and, so to speak, monastical world view, contrary to the spirit of Horace and humanism, and even more incongruous when expressed in the tongue of the Romans and in the forms of ancient poetry. We find many descriptions of nature not only in the odes but also in the long poem, Silviludia (Games in the Wood), the main subject of which is a panegyric in honor of King Wladyslaw IV. These descriptions reveal what was at the time an almost unique feeling for nature, a feeling which often turned into

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sentimentality; we find in them an artistic appreciation of nature, an understanding for the beauty of its forms and fruits. Another 'European' of Polish poetry in this century was Andrzej MORSZTYN ( 1 6 1 3 - 9 3 ) . Like Kochanowski and Szymonowicz, he too 'sang for himself and for the Muses,' although his attitude was motivated by entirely different reasons. He was not inspired by any profound sense of poetic vocation, and did not consider poetry his chief profession; rather he toyed with poetry in his spare time. He led a very active public life as a courtier at the courts of Wladyslaw IV and Jan Kazimierz, was vice-treasurer to the Crown, and a politician and diplomat in the pay of France, when he intrigued against King Jan III. He was in addition a highly educated man, well-acquainted with Europe, and he loved French and Italian literature; he translated, adapted, and imitated the works of French and Italian authors. His translation of Corneille's tragedy, Le Cid (published without a date some time between the years 1696 and 1698), is one of the few evidences of contact between Polish literature of the seventeenth century and French literature; it speaks for Morsztyn's good literary taste and reveals high poetic qualities. He did not set much value on his own creations, and did not publish his works, which included two volumes of poems: Kanikula albo psia gwiazda (Caniculum or the Dog's Star) and Lutnia (The Lute), which were published only in the nineteenth century. In these poems Morsztyn betrays primarily the influence of the Italian poet, Marino; inspired by his spirit he also imitated his poetic forms. Morsztyn was the most distinguished representative of the baroque style in Polish poetry, that is, of the literary baroque, which was imported from Italy. It was a cultured, refined baroque by comparison with the domestic, Sarmatian baroque, with which it had little in common. Morsztyn excels in brief, compact forms, full of elaborate verbal combinations, which express complex psychological nuances and perceptions. He readily uses striking comparisons and contrasts, or juxtaposes objects and phenomena which are not normally associated with one another. This gives his works a very 'intellectual' quality; they are highly abstract, and sometimes amount to no more than a play on words. The principal motif is love, and its expression has a distinctness which is new in Polish poetry. Morsztyn sometimes carries poetic emphasis and symbolic statement to the verge of the absurd, and his lines sometimes give the impression rather of a poetic trick than of poetic art. However, Morsztyn demonstrates his considerable control over the language and verse forms, an unusual ingenuity and a queer imagination. The sonnet Do trupa (To a Corpse) is composed exclusively of a series

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of comparisons, and it contrasts a corpse and a man in love. Here is a prose translation: You lie dead — and I lie dead, You from an arrow of death, I an arrow of love, You have no blood, my face is pale, Your candles shine openly, my flame is concealed. Your face is covered with funeral cloth, I closed up my senses in terrible darkness, Your hands are tied, but I, having lost Freedom, have my brain chained up. But you are silent, and my mind is weeping, You feel nothing — and I suffer terrible pain, You are like ice, and I burn in infernal flames. You will disintegrate into ashes very shortly, I cannot, having become the element itself Of my eternal fire, disintegrate into ash. Another sonnet: Cuda mihsci (The Miracles of Love) is composed of some strange paradoxes revealed in this special 'baroque' conception of love. How can one live without a heart? How can one not live, if one feels a fire inside, which eats man up and is at the same time fed by man? Another paradox is found in the girl's eyes which contain every joy, but which man avoids just the same. The poet concludes that 'these miracles are made by love' against which man's reason is powerless. Niestatek (Inconstancy) achieves the ultimate in concentration and compactness. Translated in prose it runs as follows: Eyes are fire, forehead a mirror, The hair is gold, tooth a pearl, breasts are milk, Mouth — coral, crimson — cheeks, As long as, my maiden, you are good to me. When we quarrel, cheeks are leprosy, Mouth a cavern, breasts — pale white-lead, Tooth — a corpse's bone, hair a spider web, Forehead a mangle and eyes ashes. Another poem with a similar title is constructed in such a way (14 lines in one sentence) that the poet enumerates all the impossible things more likely to occur than that 'a woman should be constant.' Each line begins with the anaphora, 'rather' ('rather the agitated sea will calm for our asking,' 'rather the poet will tell the truth than a dream'), and the poem ends with the dramatic conclusion about woman's constancy. The poet is very ingenious in his choice of these impossible contingencies, which are yet more possible than a woman's fidelity; they include such things as

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catching the wind in a sack, putting sunrays in one's pocket, and extinguishing Etna with tears. Another point of contact between Polish literature and that of the west and south is found in the writings of Piotr KOCHANOWSKI, nephew of Jan (1566-1620). His most important work was his translation from Italian into Polish of two poems of the sixteenth century: Orlando Furioso by Ariosto and Jerusalem Reconquered by Tasso. These translations have great merits: they are, in general, faithful, written in octaves like the originals and in a beautiful, lofty style, modeled on the best Polish writers of the sixteenth century. Orlando was not published until later, but there were three editions of Jerusalem in the seventeenth century alone, which supports the view that there was still a wide public for good poetry. This translation, moreover, had great influence on Polish epic poetry in the second half of the century. The foremost epic writer was Wactaw POTOCKI (1625-96), a very interesting and characteristic figure of his age. He was a typical 'Sarmatian' in the sense that he never traveled abroad and never even studied at the Jagiellonian University; he disliked foreigners and foreign countries, and loved Polish country life and Polish chivalric traditions. 'The treasure of a nobleman's title' was to him one of the greatest and most holy possessions; he considered the gentry to be ordered by divine right to rule over the other estates in Poland, and he failed to see any of the deeper causes of the decline of Poland. On the other hand, he was very talented, had a receptive mind, as is seen in his knowledge of Latin literature, which he acquired without any formal education. He undoubtedly represented a cut above the average gentry, and he was quick to observe and condemn many corrupt and evil practices in the life around him. Although he had many interests outside literature, from early youth until his death he devoted himself chiefly to poetry. He had no desire to become famous or popular, and, of his tremendous literary production (approximately three hundred thousand lines of poetry), he published very little during his lifetime; he always worked intensely 'for himself and for the Muses,' and was not disturbed from his work by the terrible misfortunes which he experienced in his life. The worst shock was the decree that banished the Arians (Unitarians) from Poland. As an Arian Potocki had to choose either to leave the country forever or to be converted to Catholicism. He chose the latter, for he could not face exile. But the decision must have been difficult, because it seems that Potocki followed Unitarianism not as a fashion or an interesting 'innovation,' nor simply to please some powerful patron, but out of the deepest religious convic-

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tion. Similarly, his once purely formal Catholicism became eventually an ardent faith, and revealed again his power of conviction rather than obedience to formality. Such experiences were no light matter for a serious and conscientious mind, especially when we consider that in spite of his change of faith, and particularly immediately after his conversion, influential circles continued to consider him as a religiously 'suspect' person. He was in constant fear for his wife, who remained faithful to Arianism, but they did not leave Poland; he lost two sons in the Turkish war, and his beloved daughter died. In spite of all this Potocki worked with extraordinary spiritual energy, not only immersed in the past and praise of the heroic exploits of Polish knights but also well acquainted with contemporary life which he loved, though not uncritically; he had a sharp and critical eye for the vices, weaknesses and inefficiencies of the ruling class, the clergy and the Polish polity, such as the free election of the king and the liberum veto. He knew this life well and described it with affection in all its aspects, both commonplace and sublime, in the home, in the fields, at the dietines, in the market, in school, among the gentry, clergy, burghers and peasants, and he wrote with special pathos about military campaigns. One of Poland's most glorious military exploits became the theme of Potocki's most distinguished work, Wojna chocimska (The War of Chocim), finished in 1670, but published only in the middle of the nineteenth century. This poem describes the heroic defence of Chocim in 1621 by a combined Polish-Cossack army of some 65,000 men under the command of Jan Karol Chodkiewicz, against much stronger Turkish forces, estimated at 400,000 under the command of the famous Osman. The battle lasted for four weeks, and when the treaty was at last signed the Polish army was almost completely without ammunition. The 'historical' quality of this poem lies not only in its presentation of a fragment of the past but also in its preservation (customary in the epic works of the time) of historical authenticity in presenting facts and personages with no concession to poetical fancy. Potocki followed in the main the account of the war given in the Latin diary of Jakób Sobieski. His poem thus comes very close to being a historical chronicle, and it gives the events in chronological order. There remains, of course, the basic difference between the poet and the historian which binds the former to the requirements of poetry — to say nothing of the fact that he writes in verse. According to an old custom of epic poems, Potocki starts with an 'invocation' and puts into the mouths of historical characters speeches they certainly never made in reality; he often intersperses the narrative

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with descriptions of nature and expounds his general views on things and people in lyrical digressions. In this way a versified historical chronicle acquired some poetic substance, while it was also acquiring poetic form through the manner of presenting, combining, and illuminating the historical material. Potocki's style clearly differs from the style of Kochanowski and Szymonowicz. In the invocation we have phrases, such as 'the bloody history of the Sarmatian Mars,' which are suited to the classical style; but there are also such unusual expressions as 'the Muse pouring that bloody history out onto paper,' and others like 'clothing with tribute,' 'deadly hands,' 'pride turned to nothing.' These and other phrases show Potocki's individual and original sense of the language. Many lines show a power for condensation, as the one which speaks of perjury: 'When one's mouth takes an oath without the oath of the heart' or of God: 'You who can rule over a weak pen as over frightening steel.' In the speech made by Chodkiewicz we find such expressions as 'the archive of your breasts,' and, in his invocation to God, the plea that 'God may tear up the catalogues of our great sins.' The poet tries to give the characters and events the stature of greatness and heroism. The subject alone lends itself to the attempt, and the poet intensifies its pathos, not only through the idealization of such figures as Chodkiewicz, Lubomirski, Lipski, Zienowicz, and the Cossack leader, Sahaydaczny, but also through expressions of his own enthusiasm — lyrical outbursts which glorify to the nation the greatness of Chocim. On the other hand, Potocki shows much disdain for the Turkish army, which is composed of tradesmen, Jews, craftsmen, and dealers in slave trade. This vulgar lot is contrasted with the Polish army, which is composed of Sarmatian knights with old and famous military traditions. Nevertheless, in spite of its beautiful and moving passages, the fire of its patriotic feeling, and its heroic tone, this poem, numbering 12,000 lines, is not a work of mature or high poetic art. The poet lacks creative imagination; he relies too much on the historical facts alone and does not merge them into a single poetic vision. He is too prosaically straightforward and sometimes even too monotonous in his presentation of events and characters, for they are all set in the same 'high' tone, which it is impossible to maintain with equal intensity throughout a poem of such length. Potocki was probably unfavorably affected by his typical Sarmatism, which brought with it isolation from Western-European culture, literature, and art; although, on the other hand, it was this Sarmatism that allowed him to create a work which, in both its good

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qualities and its weaknesses, is typically Polish. The concept of the ideal knight, who is capable of miraculous valor and heroism, was given a powerful form in this poem, which thus captured one of the fundamental traits of the Polish character and bequeathed the Polish knightly traditions and military virtues to all posterity. In Potocki's enormous poetic production there are two collections of immense proportions and commensurate titles: Moralia, the title of which is too long to be quoted in its entirety, was finished in 1688 but published only in 1915-18, and a similar collection with the following abbreviated title: A Garden (Ogrod) but unweeded; a stack of different kinds of corn; a stall with many things ... stories, narratives, adventures, likenesses, examples, which even if they did not happen, could have happened to people of both sexes, different estates and age; ... with some jokes on close friends offered without sarcasm, was finished about 1690 and published in 1907. Unlike The War of Chocim, which is devoted to knightly and military life, these collections reflect the farm life and the social customs of the Polish gentry in the seventeenth century. Besides contemplative and moralistic poems, these volumes include innumerable anecdotes and various jokes which, although they are occasionally very salty and do not bear out the title of the first collection {Moralia), convey an excellent idea of the social customs of the time and reveal the undiscriminating wit and frequently vulgar humor of the gentry. Some of the more printable tales and sketches are often clever and amusing, and they touch upon many aspects of life. We have, for instance, the anecdote in verse, W kosciele gwizdad (Whistling in Church.) Hearing a peasant use the word 'lie,' a priest taught him that he should not use such nasty words, but instead he should whistle every time someone told a lie. Soon after the priest preached a sermon about the creation of the first man: God made him out of mud, and put him near the fence so he might dry. Hearing this, the peasant whistled loudly. When the priest asked him whether he was telling a lie, the peasant answered: 'Who could have made the fence, if there were no men.' This simple anecdote shows the low level of contemporary sermons for peasants and the healthy common sense of the peasantry. In another humorous poem, Golono, strzyzono (Shaving and Shearing), the author presents the eternal problem of woman's stubboraess. A man and his wife quarreled over the problem whether a man of their acquaintance had shaved or sheared off his beard; the husband maintained that he had shaved it off and the wife said that he had cut it off. Finally the impatient husband pushed the woman into

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the river, and as she was drowning she stuck her fingers out of the water and imitated the shears. The neighbors all assembled, and they saw that the husband, in looking for her, was walking against the current. They laughed at him, but he replied that, although the river bears everything down stream, the 'woman is always so contradicting in everything that even after death she goes against the current.' Nienadana ceremonja (The Unsuccessful Ceremony) describes a comic scene when King Kazimierz, being thirsty during his hunt, dropped into a poor Masovian nobleman's house to have a drink. The nobleman gave him the last drops of beer he had in the house. The king asked him to drink his health also, which was customary. The nobleman tasted a bit out of the king's glass and again handed it over to the king. The king made him drink it up. The nobleman obeyed him, but when the king in turn asked to have a glass of beer, the host had to admit that there was not a drop of beer in the whole house. The poem ends with the king's aphorism: 'One should not be ceremonious in Masovia.' There are also some longer anecdotes, one of which describes the menace of exaggerated Polish hospitality. When the unfortunate guest finds it impossible to escape from the drinking company, he kneels down and swears that he has to go home, that he is completely full and cannot drink any more; nevertheless, they surround him with filled glasses even after he is in his carriage, so that he cannot move. Another story tells how difficult it is sometimes to get rid of an importunate guest; the only thing to do is to leave one's house at night. In another a gentlewoman, who has no maidservant, takes a simple peasant girl with her when she visits friends, having previously taught her how she should behave: she should be polite and modest, she should address everyone as 'sir' and 'lady,' she should not blow on her spoon in the peasant manner, and she should cross her hands when her mistress looks at her. As a result, when the cock breaks the mangle, the new maidservant informs her lady about it in the following manner: 'His excellency the cock beat up my lady the mangle.' When, forgetting her mistress' teachings, she starts to eat a chicken in her own manner, tearing it apart with her hands, the indignant lady glances at her with anger, and the girl quickly crosses her hands in her lap, leaving a big bone in her mouth. With regard to style these poems resemble Rey's Trifles rather than anything by Kochanowski. But in their control over the verse form, in wit, effective structure, and skilful formulation of the 'pointe', they are generally superior to Rey. The rest of Potocki's extensive works, which includes religious poems, fantastic historical tales in verse, and the like, have no particular signi-

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ficance. He is remembered chiefly as the author of The War of Chocim and numerous small works in which he revealed himself not only as a painter of Polish contemporary life but also as a moralist who saw its evils — in the oppression of peasants, the corruption of law courts, the self-will of the overlords, religious intolerance, and so on. Another prolific epic poet of this century was Samuel T W A R D O W S K I of Skrzypna (1600-60). Like Potocki, he came of old gentry stock and was a champion of the chivalric code of knightly life. He wrote long historical epics, which make up in historical value what they unfortunately lack in poetry. Przewazna legacja Krzysztofa Zbaraskiego (The Most Important Mission of Christopher Zbaraski, 1633) is a description of the travel of Prince Zbaraski, Equerry of the Crown, to Constantinople to secure the confirmation of the conditions of peace from the Turkish sultan after the Chocim war. The poet was among the persons who accompanied the prince; he was in Zbaraski's service and wrote panegyrics to him and to his family, a practice which was fashionable in the seventeenth century. A journey of this sort lasted several months and allowed the participants to observe in detail the countries they visited. Twardowski took advantage of this, noted scrupulously everything he saw and experienced, after which he described it in a poem numbering over 7,000 lines. Since he was a curious, intelligent, and observant man who lent an ear to everything, his poem contains many interesting insights into the countries and peoples he visited. He describes Moldavia (modern Rumania), and the Slavic countries, Serbia and Bulgaria, noticing both the appearance of the countryside and the customs of the inhabitants. His sojourn in Constantinople is described in the greatest detail and is filled with exotic and dramatic impressions, for the Turkish vesir's intrigues exposed the life of the Polish envoy to some danger. Ultimately the mission ended happily and the whole company returned home in good health and spirits. Polish literature had been wanting in works of travel, though some diaries of journeys to exotic lands had been written in the sixteenth century, and the genre gained a valuable, detailed, and thorough work in Twardowski's poem. Twardowski's other epic poems, which are even longer, are Wladyslaw IV (1649) and Wojna domowa z Kozaki i Tatary, potem Szwedami i z Wqgry (The Civil War with the Cossacks and Tatars and then with the Swedes and Hungarians, 1681). The first is a rather tasteless panegyric in honor of Wladyslaw IV, whose life from early youth to maturity is described in detail against an equally detailed background of Polish

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contemporary history. In the same detailed manner The Civil War describes more than a decade of Polish history (1648-60) — one of its hardest periods, later recorded in Sienkiewicz's Trilogy, when a virtual deluge of strife swept the country, submerging it in ruin and chaos but leaving a testimony to the heroic defence against the agressors. The Cossack wars are most colorfully and most authentically described, which is why this part of Twardowski's work was to become one of Sienkiewicz's principal sources for With Fire and Sword. The general character of these works is that of a historical chronicle, and in this respect they resemble Potocki's War of Chocim; the author describes the events in chronological order, year by year and even day by day, paying special attention to the historical accuracy of his narrative. This kind of structure, the cataloguing of events, and the scrupulous enumeration of military detachments and formations with all their commanders and officers, makes the work heavy and causes it to violate the fundamental law of epic poetry, which requires free selection from the mass of historical material. The poet should suit his selection to the requirements of literary rather than historical composition, draw the reader's attention to those moments which are effective from a literary point of view, and work out some plot or design connected with the background of historical events, introducing besides historical figures fictitious characters who express sometimes better the spirit of the epoch. This is the art of the epic poet, which is seen in all the masterpieces of epic poetry from Homer to Mickiewicz's Pan Tadeusz, but it is lacking in Twardowski's work. The character of the modern historical novel is, incidentally, similar to the epic, as is confirmed, for instance, by Sienkiewicz's Trilogy. Strangely enough, Twardowski, who is so heavy, redundant, and hard to digest in his epic poems and who wrote in a style which strove in vain for loftiness and power, was also the author of some idyllic tales in verse that are of much higher artistic value. One of them, Dafnis w drzewo bobkowe przemieniela sig (Daphne Transformed into a Bay Tree, 1638), which is in the form of a dialogue, tells the story of Daphne who turned into a bay tree in order to escape Apollo, who persecuted her with his affection. This poem is not original, since the author borrowed its subject and plot from foreign models, but he transformed it with great ingenuity and skill and made several beautiful and charming scenes which capture the essence of simplicity and tenderness, give expression to the feelings of love, and rid his style of exaggerated elaboration and artificiality Szymon

ZIMOROWICZ,

a burgher of Lwow, died when he was twenty

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(1629) and was the author of only one volume (published in 1654), a book of love songs entitled Roksolanki (The Roxolans), which means 'Ruthenian Maidens' {Roxolania being the Latin term for 'Red Ruthenia'). This work resembles Kochanowski's Songs of St. John's Eve, but it is much longer, since the emotions of love are here expressed by sixty maidens and boys instead of only twelve girls as in Kochanowski's work. It was a difficult poetic task to find so many variations in a single theme. One may say that Zimorowicz succeeded in general because he was not only a gifted poet but because he was schooled in the poetry of Kochanowski and Szymonowicz, as well as in Ancient and Italian poets. The Roxolans is outstanding for the variety of its motifs and the originality of their expression. The subjects include all the peripeties of love: delight, the fullness of happiness, hopes, sorrows, disillusion, separations, complaints of infidelity, and the like. The Ukrainian maidens portray many different psychological types that are universal. Majoranna, for instance, complains that despite her grace, beauty, and good dowry, she has not 'stolen into anybody's heart as yet' and has not fallen in love with anyone. Licydyna confesses that 'she has lost her heart' which is now held by her beloved. All she can do now is to follow her heart, for 'without a heart, as you know, it is impossible to live in this world.' From her window Cyceryna saw her lover passing by, but he did not even look at her. She expected him to come back in the evening, but she waited in vain. She remembers the moments spent with him in the past and wishes him as sleepless a night as she will have. Pawencja is afraid of love and compares it to a rose that has a beautiful scent, but also has sharp thorns. Bohymnia expresses her happiness in love in a lyrical description of awakening spring. Except for some baroque mannerisms, Zimorowicz's language is simple, clear, direct and full of poetic charm. If Kochanowski's influence is apparent in the style, the structure of Zimorowicz's verse is quite original. He operates freely with varied rhythmical patterns, combining lines with a different number of syllables; he readily uses internal rhyme. The structure of stanzas is also varied and ingenious. Szymon's elder brother, Bartlomiej ZIMOROWICZ ( 1 5 9 7 - 1 6 7 3 ) , a distinguished burgher and mayor of Lwow, also tried his hand at poetry. He wrote all kinds of poems, of which the best known are Sielanki nowe ruskie (The New Ruthenian Eclogues, 1 6 6 3 ) , among which we find 'historical eclogues,' a special genre, devoted to the Cossack attack on Lw6w in 1648. These are not eclogues in the traditional sense but rather short lyric-epic poems which describe disconnected scenes of the Cossack war.

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Nearly all the poets of the seventeenth century also wrote satirical works, ridiculing or attacking the vices of Polish society and the polity. Some are classical satires, that is, short poems which characterize certain sins and evils in the guise of symbolic persons or events; other poets merely made satirical insinuations in larger poems devoted to different subjects. Among the, so to speak, 'professional' satirists we should mention Krzysztof OPALIIQSKI ( 1 6 1 0 - 5 6 ) , voyevoda of Poznan, who was notorious for surrendering the province of Wielkopolska to the Swedes and for his subversive activities in general. Strangely enough, this man wrote very bitter satires on national weaknesses, works which could have been written by a sensitive patriot. Opaliriski said nothing which had not already appeared in Polish literature during the sixteenth century, when these critical attitudes towards the handicaps of the Polish life began to emerge. But he repeated it in an uncompromising and acute style, with words full of indignation, irony, and satire. If Opalinski had been a poet of greater talent and could have conveyed his feelings with a more forceful sense of poetic language, his Satyry albo przestrogi (Satires or Warnings, 1650) would be an outstanding example of satirical poetry. That he fails is due not only to a lack of talent but also to a too-simple exposition of his ideas; he explains everything too directly, without leaving anything to the reader's imagination and is not satisfied with the presentation of facts which should speak for themselves, but explains and clarifies them too persistently. Thus his satires resemble versified treatises about the bad sides of Polish life rather than works of poetic art. The task of poetry is 'to show the world its face' and state problems and questions; it has no need nor any competence to solve problems or to give practical advice as to how to escape or repair evil. Opaliriski's works therefore have an undoubted cultural significance, but in Polish poetry they occupy a very modest position. The lyric poetry of the second half of the seventeenth century found an interesting representative in Wespazjan KOCHOWSKI ( 1 6 3 3 - 1 7 0 0 ) . He did not study at any university, either at home or abroad; he was a soldier during part of his life, fought against the Cossacks and the Swedes and took part in the Vienna campaign, and for the rest a farmer. Morally and intellectually, however, he was inferior to Potocki ; he was an intolerant fanatic and had a shallow attitude towards contemporary conditions in Poland. He believed that Poland was the chosen nation, which was especially loved by God and was in His special care. This idea, which can also be found in Starowolski, another writer of this century, is borrowed, naturally, from the Old Testament notion of the chosen Jewish nation ; it

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appeared now in Poland for the first time. This would be insignificant had not this belief been reborn much later among the Polish romantic poets, leading to the so-called Polish messianism, which maintained that Poland was not only the 'chosen' nation but that it was destined to lead humanity and even bring salvation to the world. Such messianic beliefs have appeared sporadically in other modern nations, but nowhere have they become so suggestive and held such powerful influence over the minds of the poets as in Poland. We shall have occasion to speak further on this subject later. In the meantime, we should note simply the birth of this idea in the seventeenth century. The work in which Kochowski expressed these beliefs was published towards the end of his literary career and is entitled Psalmodja polska (Polish P s a l m o d y . . . , 1695). It is written in a lofty and pathetic poetic prose and numbers among Kochowski's best works. It is imbued with sincere religious and patriotic feelings; in thirty-six psalms, several of which are very long, it treats a number of religious, political, social, and other themes. The work is not distinguished by any special depth or originality of conception, especially as compared to Kochanowski or Skarga; but it is sustained by ardent patriotic concern and the pride Kochowski felt in the history and great destiny of his fatherland. Kochowski's lyrical gift expressed itself most happily in these psalms, and, from an artistic standpoint, they frequently are superior to his works in verse, a great variety of which he published during his lifetime. A collection of his poems, intitled Nieproznujqce proznowanie (Unleisurely Leisure, 1674), contains religious and patriotic songs, describing also the customs of the Polish people, and many other pieces in the style of Kochanowski's or Potocki's Trifles. There is also a separate collection of trifles, which do not, however, have either Kochanowski's refinement or Potocki's broad humor. Among the most distinguished prose-writers of the seventeenth century was Szymon STAROWOLSKI (died 1656), a writer who was well versed and educated in various branches of knowledge. He wrote in Latin for his foreign public and in Polish for his countrymen. His Scriptorum Polonicorum Hecatontas, the first bibliography of Polish literature, is his most important Latin work; it contains biographies, lists of works, and short characterizations of several hundred Polish authors. Naturally, one should not expect this work, written in the seventeenth century, to be a scientific, modern bibliography nor even a history of literature. It is rather a list, nonselective, and incomplete, of many writers and works with eulogies and general remarks. We call it a bibliography because it is

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the list itself, rather than the comments, which is of value. As a historical document it supplements our knowledge of the writings of the period; it speaks of many books which have since been lost, so that Starowolski's collection is the only record of their existence. Starowolski's works about Polish orators and warriors are similar to his bibliography. It was a great advantage that these works were written in Latin, because they might then be read abroad and disseminate information about Polish culture. Starowolski's work in Polish is considerable, and it covers a wide range of topics. He discussed the Turkish problem from both the social and political points of view, paying particular attention to the aggravating question of Polish-Turkish-Tatar relations; he drew up plans for fortifications lines against the Tatars and for a league of European nations (in Latin). He examined in detail the reforms that should be made in the Republic, in his Reformacja obyczajow polskich (Reform of Polish Mores, 1645) and other works, pointing out the same vices and deficiencies in the system as the writers of the preceding century had done. He was not, however, without religious intolerance, and his attitude was generally hostile towards the burghers. In other respects his attitude was more progressive and enlightened; he never satisfied himself with generalities, and he proposed very concrete measures for the reform of jurisdiction, finance, army, education, and so on. He summed up his emotional position in a prose elegy entitled Lament utrapionej Matki Korony polskiej, juz juz konajqcej, na syny swoje wyrodne... (The Lament of the Sorrowful Mother, the Dying Polish Crown, over her Unworthy, Malicious Sons who Do not Care for their Parent - this lengthy title is thoroughly in the style of the age). Another political writer who deserves mention is Lukasz O P A L I N S K I (1612-62), who wrote the pamphlet entitled Rozmowa plebana z ziemianinem (The Dialogue Between a Vicar and a Country Gentleman, 1641). He boldly defends the thesis that the king's power must be strengthened in Poland in order to curtail the spread of anarchy. He speaks with equal boldness in his satire, Cos nowego ... (Something New . . . ) , written in a mixture of prose and verse, against the so-called liberum veto; this custom, which later lead to the disintegration of parliamentarism in Poland, made the veto of one representative sufficient to throw out any bill, and further, it cancelled all decisions or acts passed at that session of the Diet, which had then to be adjourned. This veto was used for the first time at the Diet of 1652, and it inspired Opalinski to write his satire. Another type of political writer is seen in Andrzej Maksymilian FREDRO (1621-79), a typical laudator temporis acti, who championed the 'golden

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precept of freedom' and everything which supported it. He was a spokesman for the liberum veto, the institution of elective kings, and the limitation of royal power; he feared that any alteration of these fundamental institutions would jeopardize the foundations on which the Republic was built. Fredro made a greater contribution to Polish culture with his work Przyslowia mow potocznych (Proverbs of Everyday Speech, 1658), which is a lengthy collection of old Polish proverbs, valuable both for its language and representation of the social customs of the time. Polish preaching in the seventeenth century never again reached the heights it had known under Skarga, and indeed it often fell far below them. A different style now developed in sermons, a style suited to the tastes, interests, and general cultural level of the gentry. Even distinguished preachers felt compelled to reach the hearts and minds of their hearers by descending to vulgar tones, to numerous salty anecdotes and conceits, and to a gross popularization of abstract ideas. One of the best preachers was the D o m i n i c a n , F a b j a n BIRKOWSKI (1566-1636), w h o was inspired

not only by a religious but also by a knightly spirit, and who possessed an unusual fire and passion. In his intensity he may even have surpassed Skarga, although he was far beneath him in the art of his language and had not the same high seriousness and nobility. Pamigtniki

(The Memoirs) of J a n PASEK (1630-1701) are a unique

example of Polish prose. These are authentic, sincere, and unpretentious memoirs, written exclusively for himself and not intended for publication. Pasek was to the seventeenth century something of what Rey was to the sixteenth, with the difference, however, that while Rey represented the cultured and partly educated gentry, Pasek was a thoroughgoing representative of the undistinguished and mediocre masses of the gentry. His education was at best 'Jesuitic'; he was forced by the needs of the times to take part in the Moldavian War, the war with Muscovy, and Stefan Czarniecki's expedition to Denmark. After several years of fighting he returned to his own country and led the life of a typical nobleman, giving himself up to farming, harvesting grain and sending it to Gdansk, contributing to the uproar at the dietines, and participating in law suits, quarrels, fisticuffs, and drinking parties. As a man he was undistinguished; his mind was an agglomerate of superstitions, class prejudice, bigotry, and primitive opinions concerning his own nation and other nations. His distinghuishing feature was a feeling of superiority about his own nation, and a disregard amounting to disdain for foreigners. He thought of the Swedes as 'a nation of pigs,' Muscovy as 'a nation of reptiles',

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Germans as 'dogs' because they are Lutherans, and the French as Poland's particular plague (one must remember that French influence had just begun to spread in Poland by way of the court of Queen Marie Louise). He was sometimes cruelly inhuman, and he naively described his own nasty 'exploits' especially with his serfs. He could never envisage any broader political or social horizons. His religiousness was purely external, his morality mediocre, his concern for personal interest unbounded; his greed accompanied him even on the battle field, where he constantly looked for fatter and richer boyars to rob, and in public affairs, where he always demanded a high price for his services. Nevertheless, he was a man of inexhaustible vitality and high temperament, shallow optimism, and undiscriminating humor. He was an excellent companion and a fine narrator, as may be seen in his memoirs; he was besides a stalwart liar who told unbelievable tales about himself and his adventures. One should therefore be careful not be believe everything he says especially about himself; but, at the same time, one cannot resist the charm of his narrative, the liveliness of his style, the vividness of his pictures and scenes. His work includes an endless store of scenes taken from both war and private life. The memoirs cover a period of thirty years, beginning in 1656, although the manuscript that has been preserved, and which was published in the nineteenth century, is not complete. Pasek chose for description those events of war and public life in which he himself had taken part or which he had either witnessed or heard about; these include the wars, the rebellion of Lubomirski, though Pasek did not take part in it, the election of Michal Wisniowiecki, and the like. The majority of his material, however, is drawn from the kind of private life we have just described. The language is simple and the narrative smooth, interspersed occasionally with poor Latin; it represents the everyday language as spoken by Pasek and the contemporary middle-class gentry. The style is frequently careless, without taste or refinement, sometimes clumsy and vulgar, but always lively and colorful, reminiscent of Rey's style, though generally less striking. Pasek gives us a valuable document of the everyday speech of Poland in the seventeenth century, and an unconsciously frank picture of the average Polish nobleman of the middle class. We have discussed only the most distinguished and characteristic writers of this period. There are many others, who wrote in prose or verse in various literary or non-literary genres and fonns. There is a huge body of anonymous literature, comprising some tens of thousands of panegyrics,

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many books of memoirs, travelogues, translations or adaptions of novels (like Hieronim Morsztyn's Historja ucieszna o zacnej krolewnie Banialuce, Funny Stories about the Distinguished Princess Banialuca), religious books, moralistic and ascetic treatises, and historical works. There was also an interesting burgher literature, which has been preserved only in fragments; what we still have gives us some insight into the life of that despised and oppressed social class and an occasional glimpse of the gentry as seen through the eyes of the burghers. It also presents craftsmen, bachelors of the university, monks, market women, Jews, soldiers, and peasants, and provides a valuable cultural and social document. In spite of the gradual decline of Polish culture in the seventeenth century it was still spreading abroad. This was made possible because of the impetus the culture acquired in the sixteenth century, which had set it ahead of the neighboring Slavic nations. Polish influence spread in the Ukraine, particularly among the upper classes, the clergy, the gentry and the higher circles of the Cossacks. Polish was often spoken in those circles and the customs of the Polish gentry were imitated. Education and literature were strongly influenced by both the Latin and Polish languages. The Metropolitan of Kiev, Piotr Mohyta, founded a college there modeled on the Jesuit schools. Nevertheless, Poland did not take advantage of its cultural influences; it took no interest in the problem of the Uniats, that is, the Greek-Catholics, adopting rather an attitude of indiiference towards the people and life of the Ukraine. The same waste of opportunity is apparent in Poland's relations with Muscovy. The dynastic and religious policy of Zygmunt III undoubtedly let slip the possibility of a closer union between Muscovy and Poland by placing Prince Wladyslaw IV on the Muscovite throne. At the same time, Poland failed to maintain its cultural influence in Muscovy. This influence had been widespread over the native culture of Muscovy, penetrating through the Polish and Lithuanian Ukraine and influencing Russian literature and education as well as national customs and even the language. In the seventeenth century Poland was in close political contact with Rumania (Volokhia), but its cultural influence was relatively small. Poland had ceased to exert any effective influence on her western and southern neighbors, like Bohemia and Hungary, because of the fatal isolation of Poland from Western Europe and the cultivation of a more provincial culture. The gentry of Lithuania was swiftly becoming Polish, and here the effect of Polish culture penetrated more deeply, reaching down to the level of the Lithuanian peasantry, who kept their age-old traditions and

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the national language but in general succumbed to White Russian and Polish influence. It is worth mentioning here that the Poles contributed to the survival of the Lithuanian language by translating, among other things, religious books into Lithuanian. The Jesuits have done a great deal in this respect. As regards the other nationalities who inhabited Poland, the Germans, as we have seen, had already become entirely Polish in the preceding century. The same process of Polonization took place among the Tatars who had been imported into Lithuania from the Crimea by Witold, the Grand Duke of Lithuania, given land and made subject to military service. In the middle of the seventeenth century, the Tatars in the Polish army numbered some fifteen regiments. The Tatar population was eventually Polonized, though it always remained Moslem. In the seventeenth century the Polish Armenians joined the Catholic Church by way of a union, giving rise to the Armenian-Catholic denomination, which preserved the Armenian liturgical language and certain customary rituals (the same occurred with the Greek-Catholic Uniats). The Armenians likewise became thoroughly Polonized; among them were many rich tradesmen, especially in Lwow. Eventually the Armenian minority produced many distinguished men of merit. Jews had begun to settle in Poland in the middle of the thirteenth century; they are among the earliest foreign minorities. Persecuted in the West through many centuries, they readily came to Poland where they found asylum with a relative degree of tolerance and, above all, a chance to make a living. Originally they traded in slaves, and later they either devoted themselves to lending or coining money, sublet country inns, treated diseases, or took leases on tolls and duties. They had partial freedom, self-government within the Jewish communes, and their own educational system of khaiders and yeshivas (higher schools). Their social and moral life of the seventeenth century was very similar to what it has been later, particularly among the lower strata of their society. Poland did not, however, afford a 'Jewish paradise' without drawbacks. There were certain limitations, such as the law that all Jews wear yellow caps; some cities, like Krakow, had 'ghettos,' where the Jews were ordered to live in a suburb called Kazimierz (after Kazimierz the Great) in order to avoid the continual quarrels with the burghers who were their competitors. The Jews were sometimes legally prohibited from working in trade and industry, though this law was never enforced, and there were some infrequent attacks made on the Jews. In the middle of the seventeenth century the Jews, especially those in the East, suffered as much as the rest

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of the Polish population from the wars and murderous Cossack raids. Polish art, particularly music and architecture, in the seventeenth century fell predominantly under Italian influence. A number of outstanding Italian musicians (Cilli, Marenzio, Pacelli) worked in the newly organized Royal Orchestra in Warsaw, considered one of the best in Europe. Naturally many Italian musical compositions were performed there. Mikolaj ZIELINSKI was one of the finest of a large body of Polish composers; an organist and the conductor of the cathedral orchestra in Gniezno, he was a representative of the monodic style in music (a homophonic, declamatory recitative). The two collections of his compositions are Offertoria totius arrni... and Communiones totius anni (1611). The Offertoria are written for seven to eight voices with a division into two choirs and the accompaniment of two organs; stylistically they belong to the poly-choral trend represented by the Venetian School. The Communiones are compositions for solo voices with an instrumental accompaniment (harp, organ, lute, violin, horn, or even trombone) and a choir of two to six voices. Adam JARZ^BSKI was an interesting personality, a poet, architect, and musician. In music he represented the Italian concerto style; he wrote twenty-eight compositions for different combinations of instruments and is considered by specialists to be the initiator of the modern epoch in the history of Polish instrumental music. 1 The third outstanding composer of this period was Marcin MIELCZEWSKI (d. 1651), a member of the Royal Orchestra and later conductor of the orchestra of the bishop of Plock. During his life he published a canon for four voices (a vocal composition in which each voice successively imitates the leading part) and a concerto for basso continuo with the accompaniment of three instruments; some forty compositions, among them concerto motets and masses, remained in manuscript form. The influence of the Roman School combined with the concerto style is revealed in the work of Bartlomiej PEKIEL, director of music at the court of Wladyslaw IV. He wrote canons, masses, and motets which are among the finest compositions of the seventeenth century. In addition to the Royal Orchestra, numerous orchestras at the courts of the wealthy lords and high-ranking clergy also promoted the culture of music. The opera founded at the royal court in Warsaw maintained a high standard of musical culture. Its Italian and Polish singers performed a repertory composed chiefly of Italian operas. 1

According

to J. J. Dunicz, quoted in Zdzistaw Jachimecki, Muzyka

w rozwoju historycznym (Krak6w, 1948), p. 184.

polska

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The baroque style dominated in many magnificent churches and palaces which were designed by Italian artists. The beautiful Greek Catholic Church in Lwow is the work of Pedro Borbone. The same city prides itself on the Bernardine Church and the Boim Chapel. In this period the city of Wilno erected the Jesuit Church of St. Kazimierz and the church of St. Peter and St. Paul which is famous for its magnificent interior; it was constructed by the Polish architect, Jan Zaor of Krakow, and the interior sculptures and bas-reliefs were executed by Italian artists from Milan. The founder of the church was Pac, the Wilno voyevoda, whose name and that of his family has been memorialized by the inscription of the front of the church: Regina Pads — funda nos in Pace. The Church of the Sisters of the Holy Sacrament in Warsaw and that of St. Anne in Krakow were both erected during the reign of Jan Sobieski. In the seventeenth century the royal castle in Warsaw was reconstructed in the form preserved until the last war. At the same time the Column of Zygmunt III was built on the square in front of the castle. Among the other Warsaw palaces we should mention the Kazimierz Palace, which is the present university building, the Ujazdowski Palace, and the enormous and richly decorated Kazanowski and Ossoliriski palaces. Many beautiful palaces were also erected in provincial towns. By comparison with the achievements in architecture and sculpture, painting has less to boast of during this period. There were indeed many active painters, including foreigners, but of their works, about which we know from historical sources, relatively little has been preserved. Some excellent portraits by foreign and Polish painters are still extant, but the artists of such portraits as those of two Polish magnates, Krasinski and T^czynski, are unknown; we should also mention the portrait of King Jan III (Sobieski) by Jan Aleksander Tretko (born 1622). Teodor (Bogdan) Lubieniecki (1653-1718 or 1720) worked mostly in Germany, where he was known for his etchings, portraits, and historical paintings; his brother, Krzysztof (1659-1729), spent his life in Holland and created valuable portraits and genre paintings. Another painter, Jan Ziarnko, emigrated to France, where he was known under the name Le Grain. Many masters of guilds went to provincial cities, where they did much interesting polychrome work on wood for various churches, as well as some fine religious paintings. Among the religious painters Wojciech Borzymowski was considered the finest, though the less well-known Krzysztof Boguszewski is probably his equal.

CHAPTER V

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY THE SAXONIAN PERIOD The Saxonian Period is rightly considered to be the most bitter epoch in the history of the Old Republic. The political conditions of the country at this time are largely accountable for the decline in national prosperity. After Jan Sobieski's death the election of the new king took place under strong pressure from Prussia and Russia. Despite the wishes of the majority of the gentry, the Saxonian candidate was elected to become August II (1697-1733). From the beginning he pursued a policy contrary to the interests of Poland and in alliance with Peter the Great involved Poland in the so-called Northern War against Charles XII of Sweden, a war which provoked a new Swedish invasion of Poland. After some initial successes, Charles XII was defeated by the Russians in the battle of Poltava in 1709. The victorious Peter the Great now considered himself all the more authorized to meddle in Poland's internal affairs; he not only supported August the Strong but discussed with him plans to divide Poland and forced the Diet of 1717 to reduce the Polish army to 24,000 men. Such steps, impelled by Augustus's ambition to establish an absolute form of government in Poland could not contribute to his popularity. The death of August gave rise to new riots and wars. The gentry elected Stanislaw Leszczynski, whose candidacy was supported by France. Prussia and Russia, however, objected and forced the cause of their own candidate, the son of Augustus the Strong, August III (1733-63). The new king neglected Poland completely, spending the larger part of his time in Dresden and leaving the cares of government to his ministers. Poland weakened quickly, while Prussia and Russia gained in strength during the War of the Austrian succession and the Seven Years War. These few details indicate how Poland began to lose her sovereignty and independence in this period, partly as a result of the blindness of the

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gentry already shown in the seventeenth century and their optimism and lack of responsibility in public matters. A state of internal anarchy developed, and legislative work was hindered; the situation became more critical through a gradual decline in executive power, a lack of money in the treasury because taxes were not voted upon in the Diet, the destruction and impoverishment of the country, corruption and lack of competence in the law courts, and widespread civil strife among the overlords. The wealth of the cities declined, as did the number of their inhabitants; Warsaw itself numbered some thirty thousand inhabitants, but its dozen or more beautiful palaces were surrounded by wooden huts. Industry and trade were stagnant, a situation which was only partly improved by the efforts of several magnates to found iron, glass, pottery, carpet, and belt factories, such as the famous belt factory in Stuck. The condition of the peasants also grew worse; forced labor on the landlords' farms was now demanded six days a week. The rural population shrank to one third of what it had been in the seventeenth century. Foreign visitors to Poland in these years described it as a desolate country by comparison to France. While ominous clouds were gathering over the Republic, the life of the higher circles of the gentry continued to be rich, varied, and picturesque. Even during the preceding century the simplicity and severity of customs had begun to disappear in favor of the luxurious and opulent life which reigned all over Europe at this time. The noblemen began to dress more luxuriously, keep a large staff of servants, import expensive wines from abroad, and adopt elaborate foreign cuisines. An interesting culinary specimen of the time is S. Czernecki's cook book, entitled Compendium ferculorum albo zebranie potraw (A List of Meals), in which, in addition to a list of kitchen utensils and vegetables, we find one hundred meals made of milk products, one hundred meat dishes, and one hundred ways of preparing fish — including, for instance, such extravagant specialties as a whole pike, the head of which is fried, the middle boiled, and the tail roasted, or a capon served in a bottle. On their travels abroad the rich noblemen were always surrounded by a crowd of courtiers and servants. The extraordinary wealth and pomp of Polish embassies abroad, as, for instance, on the occasions of Ossolinski's mission to Rome (represented by the Italian artist, Delia Belli) or the mission to bring Queen Louise from France, caused the admiration of foreigners. Not only the kings but also the rich noblemen allowed themselves the luxury of keeping jesters at their courts, while the high-born ladies kept dwarfs in their retinue. The Polish costume was not in itself

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expensive, but it was adorned with expensive accessories, such as golden buttons, chains, and precious stones in studs and caps. It was said that a Polish dignitary often wore 'whole villages' on his body. (These and other details are taken from A. Brückner, op. cit.) This tendency towards a pompous and gay life grew more marked during the Saxonian Period. It was then that the proverb was coined: 'Under the Saxonian king, you may eat, drink, and loosen your belt.' The French cuisine gradually became more fashionable. The French costume — a tail-coat for the gentleman and a hooped skirt for the lady — was introduced; the French language spread very swiftly and now became traditional for all the upper classes; trips to France, especially to Paris, were fashionable, not so much for the purpose of study as to acquire refinement and French manners. Versailles became the ideal, and it was imitated by Polish noblemen. Frenchmen came to Poland as teachers, tutors, and tradesmen, but often also as ordinary cheats and fortune hunters. These years saw a blending of French and Polish customs and costumes, which survived until the fall of the Republic, all the while provoking the indignation of the strict Sarmatians. The life of an average or well-to-do gentleman remained unchanged. He was educated in the old manner: after graduating from a Jesuit school he was sent to a nobleman's court (instead of a university), where he learned the manners of society and how to serve the rich. The only 'intellectual' pursuit open to him was as a private secretary. Otherwise a gentleman could become a master of the wardrobe, master of the stable, vice-treasurer, or — the peak of his dreams — marshal of the court. No wonder then that such a courtier remained dependent on his lord for the rest of his life, obliged to defend his interests and support his policy unconditionally. Women were still in an underprivileged position in society: there were no schools for girls; they studied at home, where they learned to read (though not always to write) and to perform some household duties and practice a few feminine accomplishments. They usually married not according to the wishes of their heart but as a result of financial and family arrangements. The ancient strictness towards children continued to prevail until the end of the century. The pater familias was an absolute and despotic lord and ruler over the whole family, including his wife; he demanded humiliatory signs of respect (such as having his feet kissed or his knees embraced, and having everyone stand in his presence), and there was no appeal from his verdict concerning the children. It therefore happened that when the children gained relative freedom, for instance, by marrying, they often abandoned themselves to

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a wild existence. Satirical literature of the seventeeth century is full of complaints against adultery in both husbands and wives, lightheartedness, prodigality, and the like. In one respect the situation of women began to improve. Under the influence of French culture the social prestige of the woman was raised, though only among the upper classes; women began to be more respected, there was growing susceptibility to their charms, and feelings for them became more subtle, more 'romantic.' With the passing of time a more fundamental change in women's social position will take place, though the Polish women, like their other European companions, still had to wait a long time to reach the level of social equality. Against such a background it was impossible that Polish intellectual life should maintain itself at even average level. The popular work by Father Benedykt CHMIELOWSKI is usually quoted as an example of the general ignorance. It is intiteld, No we Ateny albo Akademja wxzelkiej scjencji pelna... (New Athens, or the Academy, full of all science, with many titles, divided into categories, written as a memorandum for the wise and a lesson for idiots, practical knowledge for politicians and entertainment for the dejected, 1745). This indeed is a kind of encyclopedia de omnibus rebus et quisbusdam aliis, which gives information from all branches of knowledge and sundry instructions and guidance for the practical circumstances of life. The medical prescriptions are highly amusing, as, for instance, the one against toothache: 'Take the bone of a frog's leg and use it to touch the tooth; it will stop aching.' To prevent sleep: 'By putting the eye of a swallow into a person's bed sheets, you will take his sleep a w a y . . .a good method for lazy people.' To stop hail: 'Place a large mirror in front of the hail cloud; it will turn elsewhere.' The following geographical and scientific remarks deserve attention: in one Italian city 'there is a valuable treasure, the ring of the Queen of heaven and earth, with which she was married to St. Joseph.' In another city 'behind a glass there is the dress of the Holy Mother, the stove on which she cooked for Christ and St. Joseph, and an earthen dish from which She fed Him.' 1 Chmielowski's political and social opinions are no less primitive. Further evidence of the intellectual and moral level of the period is found in the book of memoirs by the chamberlain, Marcin MATUSZEWICZ, written duiing the reign of August III. It reveals a vivid picture of the spiritual poverty of the middle- and upper-class 1

See Ignacy Chrzanowski, Ilisiorja liieratury niepodleglej Polski, 3d ed. (Warsaw, 1918).

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gentry, who clung to the doors of their overlords, considered selling themselves to the magnates a natural and virtuous practice, and found all means of maintaining and increasing their own fortunes quite acceptable, even if these included bribes from foreign powers. Besides such works, the gentry was also fed on ascetic literature of a very low kind; moreover, the Almanac, which contained historical, political, social, and practical domestic notes in addition to astronomical and meteorological information, was indispensable in every household. The production of tasteless and servile panegyrics continued as widely as in the seventeenth century; these works surpassed each other in servile humility and exaggeration. There were also various 'romances,' translated or adapted from Classic, Italian or French literature, besides various pamphlets, 'silvae rerum' (which replaced newspapers),and the like. This dark period of ignorance was, however, illuminated by some brighter lights. The Jesuit Kasper NIESIECKI elaborated a work in four volumes, entitled Korona polska (The Polish Crown, 1728-43), which is the longest and most detailed Old Polish book on heraldry; it still has not lost its value as a source for the study of the histories of noble Polish families. The coats of arms and family names, as well as their individual members, are enumerated in alphabetical order together with offices held, titles, and distinctions. This is a work of great industry and erudition, but, executed as it was by one man, it could not be complete, especially since the author held unfortunate prejudices against several families whom he found unworthy (for instance, for religious reasons) to be included in his book. Despite this deficiency and certain Saxonian practices such as the repetition of superstitions and fables, the work is unique and irreplaceable. The second achievement of this period is due to the efforts of the bishop of Kiev, Andrzej ZALUSKI, who alone and at his own expense collected a library of 300,000 printed works and 10,000 manuscripts — a large figure for this period — catalogued it in verse to suit the Saxonian taste, and donated it to the Polish government. After the partition of Poland, this library, which contained many priceless and rare editions, was transported to St. Petersburg, during which operation many books were destroyed or lost. Only after the first World War was it in large part returned to Poland; it was completely burned by the Germans in 1944. Zaluski was also a tireless bibliographer and the editor of old and new Polish works; he wrote several satires in the French style, translated the French satirist Boileau, and initiated various scholarly projects such as the Polish bibliography, written by his librarian, Janocki.

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Waclaw RZEWUSKI, Field-Commander of the Crown, attempted to establish contact with the great French poetry of the seventeenth century, writing tragedies modeled on Corneille and Racine and comedies in the style of Molière. His works have little literary value, but in times of such widespread darkness they at least opened a little window onto the rest of the world. There were other rays of light. Elzbieta DRUZBACKA, the first distinguished Polish woman wirter, who bears witness to the merging intellectual emancipation of women, was undoubtedly endowed with a poetic gift, though the unfavorable literary atmosphere prevented it from flourishing. The most successful passages of her works are those devoted to love and to satirical pictures directed mainly against the life in the courts of the wealthy, with which the poetess was well acquainted by personal experience; as a poor gentlewoman, she herself was brought up in such courts. Her descriptive poem Opisanie czterech ezqsei roku (Description of the Four Seasons) is of some poetic merit; in contrast with other works of the epoch Druzbacka's style is simple and inspired by a more spontaneous feeling for nature. Her fantastic novel, Fabula o Ksigciu Adolfie (The Story of Prince Adolphe), based on a French model, is also of some interest. Among the other women writers we should mention Franciszka RADZIWILL, wife of the hetman (commander) and voyevoda (governor), Radziwill; she had read the 2,000 volumes which composed her private library and organized a theater in her palace in Nieswiez, where she produced both translated plays and some original works of her own. The writings and activity of Father Stanislaw KONARSKI (1770-73) are of much higher value. He was a clergyman of the Piarist Order, an excellent pedagogue and reformer of education and the literary language ; he was besides the first political writer to dare a direct attack on the liberum veto, subjecting this parliamentary precedent to a thorough and extensive criticism. Strictly speaking, he does not belong spiritually to the Saxonian Period, but goes beyond it in his wide education, intellectual culture, wisdom, and broad political horizons. He was a forerunner of the Age of Englightenment who began his work during the Saxonian Period. Thanks to him this period, particularly its last phase, does not appear so entirely gloomy. Unlike his 'Saxonian' countrymen, Konarski was educated not only at home but also abroad in Italy and in Paris. He profited from his observations abroad, particularly of the education system, and on his

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return home he began immediately to reform the Piarist schools, which at that time were close to the Jesuit system. Realizing the fundamental importance of education and the fact that the Polish system was at least a century behind the times, Konarski concluded that a reform must be rapidly instituted in order that the next generation which was to govern Poland in this troubled era should be educated in a different spirit. He founded the so-called Collegium Nobilium (College of the Gentry) in Warsaw in 1740. It was inevitable that the College should be designed only for the gentry, both because of the still prevailing hierarchical social tradition and also because the immediate need was for an enlightened new generation to save the country at large from general decline. For the time being, this task could not be fulfilled by any other estate. In his Collegium Konarski broadened the course of study and modernized the methods of education. He acted firmly, though with moderation, and never retreated from his line of policy, despite many obstacles. Although he kept Latin as the language of study, he also introduced the study of the Polish language, which, astonishing as it might seem, had been completely neglected in the older schools. Moreover, Konarski made the younger students study all the subjects in Polish, and only after they had thoroughly mastered Latin, which was now taught with improved, modern methods, did they adopt it as their language of study. Konarski further preserved the study of religion and even theology, but he abolished scholasticism because, in the form in which it was taught in the Jesuit schools, it produced a pedantic narrow-mindedness. His great innovation was the introduction of the natural sciences, physics, and mathematics, as well as history, geography, and law, which were all contained within the framework of the so-called knowledge of the world; the aim of this discipline was to set Polish learning within the broader perspective of European and world knowledge. Nor did Konarski neglect the study of foreign languages, particularly French. Konarski expressed his views on education in the Latin pamphlet, Ordinationes, that is, School regulations, a work which has lost none of its pertinence to the present day. At the time, it constituted in Poland and abroad a virtual revelation of the modern, broad, progressive, and humanitarian spirit of pedagogy and education. One may claim for Konarski a divine gift as a pedagogue and teacher. He discusses the methods of education, whereby the young should be influenced only by gentleness, indulgence, persuasion, and good example, and defines the role and position of the teacher, who should never lose his calm, even when faced with the strangest pranks, nor ever take revenge on his pupils

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in moments of anger or irritation, but should punish them when this is required, after due deliberation and explanation of the guilt. He rejected corporal punishment in principle, permitting it only in very exceptional cases, with a deep understanding of its general harmfulness and inhumanity. Konarski's views may seem quite clear and self-evident today, but at the time they amounted to a revolution in a country where the whip, terror, fear, and inhuman severity were the chief methods of education both at home and in schools. These conditions, incidentally, also prevailed in other countries. In England, for example, even in the nineteenth century corporal punishment and other means of terrorizing the children existed and were forcefully attacked by Charles Dickens. In Konarski's Ordinationes we find a number of excellent proposals concerning moral education to correct the traditional Polish shortcomings, besides valuable observations on the teaching of academic subjects, on the relationship between teacher and student, friendship among the students, the concept of solidarity, the equality of all students, regardless of the rank, fortune, and social position of their parents. Konarski warned against haughty treatment of servants, which he considered unworthy of a cultured person. He wished to inspire the young with a love of reading at an early age, not so much for entertainment as for the permanent occupation of their minds during their school years and later in life. The high-minded principal and his colleagues at the Collegium Nobilium rapidly established an entirely new educational spirit. The College educated a number of men who played a distinguished part in the Polish cultural renaissance in the second part of the eighteenth century, among them Ignacy Potocki, one of the most enlightened men of his period and one of the authors of the Constitution of the Third of May. Other alumni of the Collegium, often without occupying any public office, disseminated the new views and ideas all over the country. The fact that reforms were made possible towards the very end of this century, though only in theory, that a Diet was found to pass the new Constitution, and that the gentry did not turn against the reforms en masse, is in a large part due to Konarski and his school. In literature Konarski's activity as a reformer is seen in his reaction against the corrupted literary taste of the Saxonian Period, the bombastic tasteless panegyrics, the exaggerated 'baroque' style, and against the macaronic style which interspersed every Polish text with whole sentences and passages in Latin. As a remedy against this fashion Konarski argued for a rctum to the finest authors of the sixteenth century and to their language and style. He reintroduced these almost forgotten authors into

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the curriculum of his school and set their works as examples of the best, purest, and noblest Polish style. He discussed these issues in the Latin pamphlet, De Emendandis eloquentiae vitiis (The Improvement of the Vices of Style, 1741). In his school, and in others, the students organized theatrical productions to celebrate various holidays and feasts. It was for these performances that Konarski personally translated some masterpieces of seventeenth-century French literature, in this way contributing further to the development of his pupils' aesthetic taste. He also wrote an 'original' tragedy entitled Tragedja Epaminondy (The Tragedy of Epaminondas, 1756), very much in the French style; the verse was heavy, but the whole was inspired by considerable patriotic feeling. It illustrates the thesis that in exceptional circumstances a good citizen should react against the law, if the law is harmful to the country. One such harmful law was the liberum veto. Its damaging effects during the Saxonian Period were shown in an almost complete paralysis of legislative power. Any attack on this holy relic, this 'touchstone of freedom' was considered by the gentry as high treason. Konarski was the first who dared to speak against it. Later, King Stanislaw Augustus rewarded him with a special medal bearing the inscription 'Sapere auso,* which means: 'To him who had the courage to have a brain.' The work in which Konarski expressed his views is entitled O skutecznym rad sposobie (On Effective Councils, 1760-63) and is in four large volumes. Konarski knew his countrymen well, and he realized how deeply rooted was the superstition of the liberum veto and how fanatical the attachment to it. For this reason he proceeded cautiously. In the first volume Konarski made a preparatory survey of the problem, giving a variety of opinions on the liberum veto, including some by mighty and influential persons, to which he gave particular emphasis whenever they contained any criticism of this parliamentary practice. When he had published this first volume, touching upon this so delicate question, and had seen that the gentry neither attacked him nor banished him from their society, he proceeded all the more boldly to expound in the next volumes a clear, sharp, and destructive criticism. He first exposed the intolerable anarchy which prevailed in the Polish polity, the destruction of the country, the poverty of the lower classes, and all the other evils and weaknesses of Poland. He further pointed out that the only way to save the country was through the Diet, which must legislate fundamental reforms. The most obvious hindrance to any constructive work by the Diet was clearly the liberum veto. In order to demonstrate the harmfulness of this parliamentary precedent, Konarski gives a short history of the Polish Diet

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and shows how many times private interests, ambitions, or even downright corruption have caused the interruption of the Diet sessions. What was to be the remedy? Various Polish politicians had already offered their advice in the past, but theirs had been partial remedies, compromises with the existing state of affairs, which could not eradicate the evil. Konarski demonstrated that these partial projects could not be effective. He analyzed the constitutions of western European countries, where nothing resembling the liberum veto had ever existed. He also argued, against the spokesmen of 'golden freedom,' that there was no legal basis for the maintenance of the liberum veto, for it had never been established as a law but merely as a bad practice, one of the obstructive weeds flourishing in the soil of the overgrown 'freedom,' or, more accurately, anarchy, enjoyed by the gentry. Konarski's ultimate conclusion was that the liberum veto must be abolished altogether, and that normal practices must be reinstated, where majority and not unanimity is decisive in passing bills. Besides Konarski's writings the most distinguished work of political literature of the Saxonian Period was Glos wolny, wolnosc ubezpieczajqcy (The Free Voice, Insuring Freedom, 1749), written by King Stanislaw LESZCZYNSKI, who, after losing the throne of Poland, settled in France as the Prince of Lorraine and whose daughter, Marja, was the popular queen and wife of Louis XV. An educated, wise, and noble man, Leszczynski was well acquainted with Western Europe and the polity of Western countries, and he was aware of the perils threatening Poland. Because he also knew well the conservatism of the Polish gentry, his projections are cautious and moderate. So, for instance, he does not demand a complete abolition of the liberum veto, but that it be limited to the specific issue against which a protest is raised, so that the veto should not hinder the entire legislative program of a given parliamentary session by canceling all the measures previously decided upon. Nor does the free election of kings seem unfortunate to Leszczynski; he merely advises that it should not be done 'viritim,' that is, by the entire gentry (which frequently precipitated a state of chaos, with widespread abuse, quarrels and corruption), but by the Diet. Furthermore, considering the harm the reign of the Saxons has inflicted on Poland, he wishes to exclude foreigners from candidacy to the Polish throne. Leszczyriski's humanitarianism and the nobility of his sentiments make themselves felt particularly in his attitude on the peasant question, where his views are similar to those of Skarga and Modrzewski. He stresses the importance of the peasant's role in the country, for they arc the pro-

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viders both of food and of soldiers for the army; it is they who pay taxes and work hardest though in the worst conditions. But in his conclusions Leszczyriski was again moderate. He did not propose the complete abolition of serfdom, but demanded that the peasants should at least be freed from their duty to remain on a given estate and that they should be made tenants. Paying rent on their piece of land should replace forced labor on the lord's farm. As we see, Leszczynski's projected reforms did not go very far, but we must view them against the background of the existing situation during the Saxonian Period and what was currently written and thought on these subjects; by contrast, Leszczynski's ideas afford a bright and comforting picture.

T H E STANISLAVIAN PERIOD The new king, Stanislaw August Poniatowski, was imposed upon Poland by Catherine II, the Russian tsarina. His reign (1764-95) covers the most dramatic period in the history of Poland, a period which brought with it on the one hand a cultural renascence, a literary revival, and great political and social reforms, and on the other hand a desperate, though ineffectual, struggle to defend national independence against the treacherous policies of the three neighboring powers, Russia, Prussia, and Austria. The patriotic gentry reacted strongly against these policies, especially that of Russia, by organizing the so-called Bar Confederacy and waging for four years (1768-72), despite their numerical inferiority, a spirited war against the Russian forces stationed in Poland. One of the leaders of the Confederacy was Kazimierz Pulaski, later a hero of the American War of Independence. The Bar Confederacy did not gain sufficient support from either the government or the country at large, and when the help expected from France and Turkey did not arrive, the war ended in defeat. This prompted Prussia, Russia, and Austria to execute in 1772 the long-planned first partition of Poland. Russia took Livonia and the northeastern part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, up to Dvina and Dnieper; Prussia annexed Pomerania without Gdansk, and Austria the southern part of the Polish territory, which came later to be known as Galicia. The Diet of 1773 was forced to recognize the partition. Meanwhile, the country underwent large-scale reforms in education

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and the polity and economy of the state (see below). The work of the Four-Year Diet in this domain (1788-92) culminated in a new Constitution (passed on May 3, 1791), which was to make a modern constitutional and liberal country out of Poland. Poland's neighbors, however, could not allow its execution. At Russia's instigation, a group of reactionary noblemen, who opposed the reforms, formed the so-called Confederacy of Targowica and demanded Catherine's help to defend the 'Polish freedoms.' A strong army invaded Poland, and defeated the weak Polish forces in the campaign of 1792. As a result, the second partition of Poland took place; in this Russia took another section of Lithuania, and Prussia occupied Gdansk, Toruri, and all of Western Poland (Austria did not take part in the second partition). By way of retaliation against this gross violation of national sovereignty, the Poles rose again in the armed insurrection of 1794, this time under the command of Tadeusz Kosciuszko, who had taken part in the campaign of 1792 and had previously fought under Washington for the independence of the United States. In spite of some initial Polish victories, which resulted in the liberation of Warsaw and Wilno, the campaign of 1794 ended in disaster inflicted on the Polish army by the joint forces of Russia and Prussia. There was now no way of resisting the third and last partition of Poland by the imperialist powers in 1795. The remainder of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania fell to Russia, Prussia took over central Poland, with Warsaw, and Austria the rest of western Poland with Krakow. The second half of the eighteenth century is generally called the Stanis1 avian Period or the Age of Enlightenment, because this period coincides with the reign of the Republic's last king, Stanislaw August, and, more importantly, with the emergence of the new outlook in thought, literature, and life known as the 'Enlightenment,' which came to Poland chiefly from France. At this time France was experiencing a cultural uplift as important as that which had occurred in the seventeenth century, with the difference that it was now the turn of philosophical, political and moral literature to flourish instead of poetry which, particularly in the poetic drama, had reigned supreme during the preceding century. Basing themselves on the achievements of English philosophy and reestablishing contact with the humanist tradition, a number of outstanding French writers were creating a new system of thought with new attitudes toward moral, political, and social issues. This new trend is generally called rationalism, which is defined as an attempt at a rationalist explanation of all the 'riddles of existence,' supported by empirical analysis. It broke

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with the traditional concepts of theological thought and claimed a new criterion of empirical verification as a more rational basis for truth. In fact the problem was more complicated. It is true that the thinkers of the Enlightenment applied rationalistic and logical criteria not only in scholarly research (which is normal) but also to domains which are alien to logical analysis, as, for instance, faith (not only of the religious type). This does not mean, however, that they entirely disregarded the more 'irrational' domains of man's spiritual life, such as his emotions and beliefs. They erected a metaphysical system known generally as deism, which is founded on the belief that the world is penetrated by some spiritual element and that it is not a plaything for blind and brutal material forces; they accepted in fact a dualism of matter and spirit. This spiritual element became their 'God,' and this faith (which they could not prove logically) the cornerstone of their religion. It is true that their attitude toward religion based on revelation, towards churches of every denomination and theological doctrine was scornful and hostile, but they were far from rejecting the foundations of Christian morality. They maintained only that 'Christian' ethics is not based on God's revelation but is grounded in man himself. Man need only be educated in a proper way and be given the conditions suitable for intellectual development to perceive and realize the good. Hence the French writers placed great emphasis on up-bringing, education, and learning. They understood well that these are the most important domains of human life and that all cultural, intellectual, and moral growth depends upon them. Some of the writers went so far as to state that knowledge and reason were the only remedy against the sufferings of mankind, and that an enlightened man must necessarily be a good man, while moral deficiency results solely from an inadequate understanding of good and evil. This was also their faith (not always borne out by fact), and this faith gave them a powerful weapon against ignorance, superstition and prejudice. In their zeal they often attacked (especially in religious matters) feelings and attachments which constitute the mainspring of all effective religious belief. They hurt such feelings and mocked at ritual and time-honored customs; Voltaire was the master of such invective. On the other hand they worked zealously and effectively to purge the minds of the people of many primitive or antiquated notions, and they opened men's eyes to many new issues. They threw new light on problems which had long lain untouched and, by compelling fresh thought, inspired a lively intellectual revival even among their ostensive enemies, who were forced to defend their ideas anew or revise their views.

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This critical spirit, at once down-to-earth and intense, fertilized all fields of cultural endeavor. 'Through enlightenment to a better world' was the slogan of the age. Only an enlightened mind will understand the nature of evil and find the best remedies both in the political and the moral domain. The writers of the Enlightenment taught men their natural rights, by which all power should be delegated by society at large and not depend upon the 'divine rights' of the monarchs. Society should have the right to elect its own government and to supervise its work. The spiritual revolution issued into fact with the great French Revolution, which set out to establish a new set of liberal, humanitarian, and democratic principles. The slogan of equality, liberty, and fraternity, which fired the Revolution, derived from the works of the writers of the Enlightenment. Never before had purely intellectual activity, the written word, produced such a thorough revolution in political and social life, not only in France but in all of civilization. And it was not only the question of royal power that was involved. The battle against artificial and irresponsible authority was followed by a crusade for the rights of man, the equality of all men, equal rights and duties for all, individual liberty, liberty of nations and fraternity among nations. Such were the ideas f r o m France that permeated the world. In Poland, where the ground was already partly prepared, they combined with the impulse towards reform already seen during the Saxonian Period to yield the fine flower of the Polish Enlightenment which blossomed at the very end of the Republic's existence. A characteristic feature of the Stanislavian Period is the great contrast between its various aspects. The contrast is observed as much in the variety of intellectual culture as in the customs and manners and even the fashion in clothes of the different groups of society. On one hand we have the royal court with King Stanislaw and the most distinguished men of the period centered a r o u n d him: poets, artists, statesmen, scholars, and political and social writers and leaders. On the other hand, there was the generally ignorant mass of the gentry, who looked with fear and hatred on their countrymen clad in French costumes and on the ideas they advocated, the books they wrote, their interest in reforms, and their attacks on nearly everything that Poland 'stood for.' Thus, while one part of Polish society was being increasingly influenced by Western-European and particularly French culture, the other part showed a tendency to hold stubbornly to Sarmatism, that is, to all the ideals of the past regardless of whether they were good or bad. The countryside was, of course, still

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ruled by Sarmatism, but the cities, particularly the capital, developed a strange mixture of different costumes, ways of life, thoughts, and feelings. This does not mean that the side of progress and Gallic spirit was entirely bright and the conservative camp completely dark. Inevitably the cause of progress became a 'fashion,' attracting many small-minded supporters, snobs, and careerists who sought favor with the king or the liberal magnates. On the other hand, the Sarmatians could claim several men of integrity with a healthy feeling for their country's good, men who sensed from where the danger came, though they did not always realize what means should be used to avert it. The best representation of such patriotism was found in the Bar Confederacy, which fought against the interference of Russia in Poland, though at the same time its members opposed the reforms of the most enlightened minds in the country, defending reactionary ideas and committing great political mistakes (such as kidnapping the king). There were also Sarmatians of a different type — closer in spirit to the reformers, though more moderate and fearful of the bad influence of France on Polish mores. The cultural and intellectual impetus of the Polish Enlightenment was effected by a comparatively small group of distinguished writers and political leaders whose talents can be measured by the broadest European standards. The significance of their achievement, which was to produce lasting effects in the future, lies in their having created a new kind of Polish mentality; indeed, a new kind of Pole, who differed greatly from the nobleman of the seventeenth century or the beginning of the eighteenth century. The reformers were all Europeans, not in the sense that, blinded by Western Europe, they forgot the healthy traditions of their own country, but in that they absorbed all the great values of Western European intellectual culture and made them their own. This meant, obvioulsy. breaking with all the shallow forms of Sarmatism, with its naive and narrow-minded nationalism, its unjustified faith in its own strength, and its isolation from Western culture. This was not a superficial tribute to foreign innovations (we are speaking about the most distinguished men of the period), but a deep conviction of the universality of all true and creative culture, a belief that national culture can develop only in contact with the general culture of the world and that isolation from the latter can only mean impoverishment and ultimate extinction. Narrow minds unjustly accused these men of a lack of patriotism. Their patriotism was, in fact, not to be disputed, though it was of a new kind, no longer bigoted and uncritical but governed by a sober spirit of constructive determination, prepared to look with objectivity on their own country and its history,

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knowing its qualities and virtues, but also realizing its weaknesses and vices. Unlike the usual exhibitions of nationalistic fervor which, whether openly or indirectly, flatter the nation, exaggerate its merits, and conceal its failings, their patriotism aimed to raise the intellectual and moral level of the country and educate it in the spirit of universal ideals. It is worth remarking that this kind of enlightened patriotism, based on the universal ideals of European culture, eventually became characteristic of all the great men of Poland. Among the distinguished Poles of the eighteenth century the concept of liberalism blended sympathetically with their other characteristics. This liberalism was not the defined political, social, and economic doctrine which developed only in the course of the next century, but a general attitude towards moral, religious, political, and social issues. Intolerance, caste-consciousness, inequality, and social injustice, as well as oppression of the lower classes, were concepts alien and repulsive to their 'enlightened' mentality. These concepts offended their humanitarian feelings, and their faith in the fundamental equality of all men. In this way they became the precursors of the principles of democracy, principles which were also adopted later by the greatest men of Poland. Naturally, we cannot speak in the eighteenth century of democracy in the modern sense; it was unknown at the time, but we can certainly point to the seeds from which it was to grow. These great minds of the Polish Enlightenment played the chief role in the reform of the state and in the raising of the cultural level. Even before the session of the Four-Year Diet certain useful reforms were carried through, such as the creation of a Permanent Council composed of the king, eighteen senators, and eighteen members of the gentry to be elected every two years. Divided into departments of foreign affairs, the police (department of internal affairs), the treasury, the army, and the judiciary, this Council brought order into the Polish administration and gave it some uniformity. Also prior to the Four-Year Diet, the treasury was stabilized sufficiently to effect an increase in the national income and even to balance the national budget. Certain reforms were begun in the army and, for the purpose of developing industry, new factories were built in the capital and provincial cities. Here great praise is due King Stanislaw August and several wealthy noblemen, such as the vicetreasurer of Lithuania, Antoni Tyzenhaus, who built in Lithuania alone twenty-three factories for linen, cloth, stockings, carriages, belts, laces, and the like, employing three thousand workers. A uniform tariff was introduced (from which the gentry were not exempt) and this laid the

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foundation for a more normal growth of trade, which slowly began to emerge from its period of decline. Towards the end of the century a surplus in the trade budget was established. The family of the Princes Czartoryski, one of the few aristocratic families which rendered good services to the country, took part in many of these enterprises. The Military Academy founded by the king in 1766 developed splendidly under the direction of Prince Adam Kazimierz Czartoryski, educating officers as citizens, teaching them foreign languages, history, and mathematics besides military subjects, and inspiring its alumni with the new public spirit of the age. This school produced outstanding military experts who were also men of ideas, among them Kosciuszko, Jasiriski (leader of the insurrection in Lithuania in 1794), Niemcewicz, one of the noblest figures in Polish literature and public life, and the generals Fiszer and Mokronowski. One of the important deeds of this period was the foundation in 1773 of the Commission for National Education, the first modern ministry of education in Europe. The Commission included, among others, Ignacy Potocki, the pupil of Konarski; Grzegorz Piramowicz, an outstanding educator; Adam Czartoryski; Hugo KoHqtaj, a distinguished political writer; and Julian Niemcewicz. In the course of twenty years of conscientious and intensive work the Commission accomplished important and progressive reforms in education. In the year in which the Commission for National Education was founded, Pope Clement XIV dissolved the Society of Jesus. This created a completely new situation in Polish education, which, as we know, had been largely in the hands of the Jesuits. With the abolishment of the order, the Jesuit schools had to suspend their work, which facilitated the organizational work of the Commission which, in addition, inherited the tremendous estates of the Jesuits and was thus endowed with both the means and the freedom to accomplish its goals. Its most significant accomplishment was to transfer education from the old monastic and ecclesiastical pattern to the secular basis, as well as to place the right of authority in the hands of the state. The curriculum and staff organization was also revised to accord with the ideals of the Enlightenment. The Commission held that education is an affair of the state and not of the Church or holy orders, that teachers should be laymen, primarily trained for the profession of teaching, and that the courses of study should be suited to the modern needs of the nation and the state. The introduction of Polish into all schools as the official language of study was a final blow to the absolute rule of Latin and went beyond the reform of Konarski. Following Konarski, the Commission also intro-

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duced the study of modern languages, modern history, and the natural sciences, to which were added lectures of a more practical nature in agriculture, horticulture, land surveying, and the like. Teaching methods were no langer based on memory tests and deductive reasoning but on principles of rational induction in keeping with modern didactics. The creation of a uniform educational system was an achievement of the utmost importance. Like a modern ministry of education, the Commission exercised its authority over all types of schools, including the universities (the universities of Krakow and Wilno; the university of Lwow, founded in the seventeenth century, was now under Austrian occupation) and secondary and elementary schools. Even the parish schools were partly under its authority. Inspectors were sent out to visit the schools and supervise their work. The Commission further planned the first large-scale program in Poland to achieve proper education for the peasants; religion, reading, writing, arithmetic, and many practical subjects useful in agriculture were taught at the elementary rural schools. The elementary schools, which included the lower grades, were followed by the higher grades or departmental schools ('departmental' refers to the divisions of the province of the Crown and the province of Lithuania into ten departments); the latter were supervised by both universities. Both these highest institutions urgently needed reform in order to educate sufficient teachers for such a large number of new schools, a matter which the Commission for Education did not neglect. It was on behalf of the Commission that Hugo Kolhjtaj, about whom we shall speak later, took up the reorganization of the Krakow University. In three years he achieved remarkable results: he increased considerably the income of the University, raised the salaries of the professors, introduced new methods of teaching, basing the study of natural sciences and medicine on collections in museums, on zoological gardens, laboratories, and clinics. He sent gifted students abroad for further study and founded the first large teachers college at the University. Father Marcin Poczobut, a learned astronomer and professor at the University of Wilno, accomplished there a similar reform, though on a smaller scale. The Commission had to overcome many difficulties in its work. Besides strong opposition on the part of the Sarmatians and the defeated Jesuits, the biggest obstacle was the lack of lay teachers and suitable textbooks. The first obstacle was io be met by the establishment of teachers colleges, but this plan was on a long term basis; no wonder that, as late as 1789. for 367 clerical teachers, mostly Piarists and Benedictines, there were only 115 lay instructors. The Commission entrusted the

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problem of texts to the Text-Book Society then under the leadership of the enlightened and progressive Ignacy Potocki and his assistant, Father Grzegorz Piramowicz. The Society launched text-book contests, and some of its members wrote textbooks themselves. In spite of the longterm planning of this project, the Society soon secured a relatively large number of textbooks, among them the Gramatyka lacinska i polska (Latin and Polish Grammar) by Father Onufry Kopczynski, excellent for its day, and Piramowicz's Dykcjonarz starozytnosci (Dictionary of Antiquity). All these reforms applied to the education of men. The education of girls continued to be largely overlooked, though some progress was made toward improvement. Boarding schools for girls appeared in larger cities; in Warsaw alone there were thirteen such schools. The course of study, however, included rather 'social' subjects, such as French, dancing, playing the clavichord, and so on. Many girls were still educated in convents or at home by foreign governesses. Scholarship could not prosper immediately, for there had been a hundred years of stagnation. Nevertheless, during the Stanislavian Period, Poland could boast a group of learned men who might compare with foreign scholars. The History of the Polish Nation by Naruszewicz (see below) marked a great advance in historical research into Poland's past. The mathematician, Jan Sniadecki, began his scholarly work at this time and continued it into the first few decades of the nineteenth century; he created the Polish mathematical vocabulary. His brother, J?drzej Sniadecki, a physician and chemist, established the Polish terminology for chemistry and raised the level of the faculty of medicine at the University of Wilno. He was a distinguished scientist and an excellent writer. Poland also had the astronomer, Poczobut, who has already been mentioned, and the botanist, Jundzill, author of Flora litewska (The Lithuanian Flora); there were besides the already mentioned Kopczynski and Piramowicz, F. S. Dmochowski, author of Sztuka rymotworcza (The Art of Verse,) a kind of Polish poetics based on the classical French theories. The army also became a concern of the Permanent Council and later of the Four-Year Diet, but its problems were never adequately solved before the partitions. Much money was needed to create a permanent and numerically effective army. Although in the course of years the treasury of the Republic was built up to a great extent, its funds were not sufficient to organize a modern army. That is why the Diet's resolution to organize a permanent army of 100,000 men could not be carried out, despite heroic

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efforts to secure new sources of taxation. Finally, by 1791, the number reached 60,000; although it was later increased to 70,000 by conscription, it was a force too small to resist the armies of the allied imperialist powers. The most important work of the Four-Year Diet was the Constitution of the Third of May, based on the noblest principles of the age and modeled after the constitutions of France and the United States. It established a hereditary throne, abolished the ¡iberum veto, and gave certain rights to burghers and peasants. It necessarily made a compromise between the most progressive trends and the existing conditions in Poland. In this respect the authors of the Constitution again displayed a rational sense of moderation and critical acumen. They were faced, after all, with a poor economic situation and the unpreparedness of the gentry for radical reforms; there was also a time factor, due to the ever-increasing threat from Russia, Prussia, and Austria. Consequently, the peasant question and the burgher question were given only partial solutions, for fear that excessively radical reforms might provoke opposition among even the more progressive gentry and expose the whole project to the risk of failure. On the whole, however, the Constitution shows much truly progressive thought and great wisdom, and it has been influential in the subsequent development of Polish democratic ideas. It marked a big step in the development of the Polish state toward modern forms of polity and, although it could not be carried out in practice because of the partitions, it remained as a kind of political testament for subsequent Polish generations. Great significance was attributed to the Constitution in Western Europe by such outstanding men as Mirabeau and the English philosopher, Edmund Burke, who went so far as to compare the French Revolution with 'the bloodless Polish revolution' to the advantage of the latter. When we discuss this whole reform movement, we must not forget that the execution of many of these reforms depended on political events, which developed swiftly and altered situations radically. Thus the Constitution of the Third of May and nearly all its reforms were annulled by the Confederacy of Targowica, which at the Diet of 1793 compelled a return to the old regime. The Kosciuszko Insurrection, in turn, abolished the resolutions of that Diet and brought back the status quo of 1791. After that insurrection failed and the third partition occurred, Poland's regime no longer depended at all upon the Polish Diet; the three provinces of Poland fell under the administration of Russia, Prussia, and Austria. A great deal was contributed to the cultural and political evolution of this period by the unfortunate king, Stanislaw August Poniatowski, whom

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posterity has judged too severely. If fate had allowed him to occupy the Polish throne in normal times rather than toward the very end of the Republic's existence and if the task of saving his country's independence had not been placed on his shoulders, he would undoubtedly have been considered as one of Poland's more distinguished kings. He was a welleducated and cultured man, he knew several foreign languages and literatures, loved the arts, and was endowed with extraordinary personal charm; he was very likable as a person and a good judge of character; he always surrounded himself with men of integrity and intelligence. He was, moreover, well informed and enlightened in his views on external and internal affairs and was a sincere supporter of reform. His initiative was felt in many enterprises, such as the growth of industry, the improvement of trade, the organization of a permanent Polish diplomatic service, and the establishment of the Commission for Education, the Military Academy, and the national theatre. Many works of contemporary literature, learning, and politics were inspired or encouraged by him. His royal court was a center of cultural and political thought. Nevertheless, he was a man of weak will, unsuited to fight against such odds as those set against him in the astute, brutal, and indiscriminate policies of Russia, Prussia, and Austria. He frequently broke down before such overpowering difficulties, as, for instance, when he joined the Confederacy of Targowica, which destroyed the work of his own adherents. In spite of this, he was intellectually and culturally a worthy representative of the Polish Age of Enlightenment. We have already indicated how the king gathered about him the contemporary intellectual elite, made up of representatives of the aristocracy and the nobility. Unfortunately, there were among the representatives of this classes men both dishonest and criminal, who went down in history as traitors and hirelings and who received a permanent salary from Russia for their services. Such treachery was rare, however, and the majority of the gentry were loyal, even those who looked with an unfavorable eye on the social and political 'innovations.' The gentry had a healthy national instinct and realized the danger of the Russian policy and the necessity to fight it (e.g., the Bar Confederacy). A considerable part, however, was misguided by influential overlords and believed strongly that the work of the Four-Year Diet and the reformers was inspired by the devil, directed against religion, freedom and the greatness of Poland. They could even sometimes convince themselves that Catherine the Great was the true defender of the gentry's freedom. What was the condition of the other estates? During the Saxonian

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Period, as we know, the cities had been neglected and the legal status of their inhabitants left unchanged. After the first partition, conditions improved somewhat in several cities, particularly in Warsaw. The city budgets were doubled and even tripled, while the number of citizens increased. Around the year 1776 Warsaw numbered some 60,000 inhabitants, but by the time of the Four-Year Diet the number had risen to 120,000. Other cities slowly recovered from their earlier and serious depopulation: Krakow had 9,000 inhabitants, Poznari over 12,000 and Wilno approximately 11,000. The burgher issue was given some attention in the Constitution of the Third of May, largely because of the efforts of the burgher mayor of the city of Warsaw, Jan Dekert, a distinguished leader who was able to represent effectively the interests of the burgher class. His efforts resulted in a convocation of city delegates in Warsaw, at which the 'Act of United Cities' was drafted and combined with a demand for the reinstitution of rights. For the reasons enumerated above, the authors of the Constitution were, unfortunately, handicapped in solving both the peasant and the burgher questions: they therefore could not carry through any basic or radical reforms. Nevertheless, the Constitution provided that all royal cities should be 'free,' that is, not subject to the authority of officials, that burghers should be allowed to purchase land, and that a burgher on whom the rank of nobleman had been conferred might remain in his city office without offending his dignity as a nobleman. The Constitution also extended to the burgher population the age-old law of neminem captivabimus (according to which a man could not be imprisoned without a court verdict) and allowed the cities twenty-two representatives at the Diet, though only in an advisory capacity. Not only did the legal status of the burghers change, but also the attitude of the gentry towards them. This change of attitude is indicated by such facts as the registration of the Speaker of the Great Diet, Malachowski, and forty nobleman delegates, in the books of the burgher population, which amounted to a voluntary acceptance of 'the burgher estate' (an action unthinkable a few decades earlier, but now repeated by fifty noblemen in Wilno), and the nomination to the mayoralty of Warsaw of the nobleman, Zakrzewski, after Dekert's death. Naturally the Confederacy of Targowica invalidated all these laws, though it could not kill the spirit that had inspired them. During the Kosciuszko Insurrection, the banker Kapostas offered a large sum in support of the cause and the cobbler Jan Kilinski became the hero of the insurgent capital. The condition of the peasants was not greatly changed, even though

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the authors of the Constitution realized the importance of the peasant issue and the most distinguished political writers argued ardently for emancipation. The most that the Constitution could do was to place the peasants 'under the care of the law and the government,' to guarantee that new contracts between the lords and the peasants would be binding for both sides, and to assure freedom to all the peasants who returned home from abroad. Under the pressure of government action and public opinion the peasant situation really did improve; there were instances where forced labor was considerably reduced, and even where the peasants were given freedom and land. Kosciuszko's Declaration, made in May, 1794, was a step forward in the solution of the peasant question. He assured the peasants freedom and the right to move from place to place, reduced their work on the lord's farm by one-half, one-third, or one-fourth, depending on the number of working days previously required, abolished the lords' privilege to evict any peasant from his land, except in cases of disobedience, and established government 'guards' who were to watch over the strict execution of the new laws. Social life reflected the transitional character of the epoch and the conflict between its two basic trends: the West-European, particularly the French, and the Old Polish or Sarmatian. The private fortunes of the great families were still enormous. Karol Radziwill owned, besides his tremendous family estate, several dozen towns and 600 villages by endowment from the king. Szcz?sny Potocki, even after the first partition, which had forced him to sell those of his estates which were under Austrian occupation, had a yearly income of three million Polish zlotys. Toward the end of the century the expenses of the Pulawy estate, owned by the Czartoryski family, amounted to one and one-half million zlotys, and the maintainance of the kitchen alone to 150,000 a year. Such examples of great wealth were becoming less frequent, however. The smaller estates found it necessary to adapt themselves to the new conditions; the number of aristocratic courts with a retinue of courtiers was dwindling; the youth of the gentry could no longer 'be educated' at those courts, and instead went to school or settled on the land much earlier in life. Nevertheless, there was still a great deal of prodigality, lavishness, and living beyond one's means. Warsaw, of course, was the centre of social and political life. There are many references in contemporary documents to extravagant and brilliant parties, balls, receptions, reckless card playing with entire fortunes to be won or lost, and many anecdotes about the amorous intrigues of various well-known persons, such as Prince Joseph Poniatowski, later a hero of the Napoleonic wars (See A. Brückner, op. cit.).

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One feature of the period, which is too characteristic to be overlooked, was the growth of freemasonry. This movement had come to Poland from France some time earlier, but had gained in strength only during the Stanislavian Period. The Masons were a secret organization which delighted in mysterious and theatrical ceremonies, exotic titles and ranks, but at the same time was inspired by the progressive and liberal ideals of Enlightenment. Its aim was to spread the spirit of the Enlightenment by exerting influence on the government and on prominent public figures through members of their society placed in high positions. A considerable number of masonic lodges sprang up in the larger Polish cities; the members included many distinguished men of the time, laymen, clerics, and participants in the Four-Year Diet (the Potockis, the Czartoryskis, and the king himself). Freemasonry thus exerted a certain influence on politics, though it was not decisive; the influence was merely indirect, through certain persons who, as we know, were inclined always to be moderate and pay due regard to the immediate conditions. Such men found the radical methods and ambitious program of the freemasons largely unacceptable, especially in matters of religion and faith. Polish poetry of the Stanislavian Period developed under the double influence of two periods in French literature, those of the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. For there had been a certain time lag delaying Poland's full acquaintance with and assimilation of the classical French literature of the seventeenth century. This was one current in Polish poetry of this period. The other derived from French literature of the eighteenth century, that is, contemporary literature, which could not rival the preceding period as regards poetic talent, but which was rich in excellent prose writers like Voltaire, Montesquieu, Diderot, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who formed the intellectual elite of contemporary Europe. Under the favorable influence of these periods in French literature, the Polish writers also returned to the good classical traditions of the Polish Golden Age. The style of their works again became clear and pure, devoid of extravagancies, neologisms, and the macaronisms which had littered the language of the seventeenth century and the Saxonian Period. This clarity of language produced a similar clarity and precision of the poetic images and ideas. The best poets of the time show a clear mastery over the verse, rhythm, and stanza, and a highly developed sense of stmcture, which not only forbade (by classical rule) the mixture of different poetic genres but also controlled and ordered the composition of the

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individual elements in a literary work, instead of leaving them to the accidents of 'inspiration.' Such strict poetic discipline sometimes produced a certain stiffness and coolness in the verse, and later there were complaints that the Stanislavian poets lacked 'feeling;' but at least there were few careless works, few poems which did not display great deliberation and clarity of thought and expression. Poetry was still 'the mirror of the times,' though it reflected an image that was less simple and coarse and represented the world with nuances of greater subtlety. In their moral, political, and social ideas the Polish writers of the Stanislavian Period drew heavly on the traditions of the sixteenth century, supplementing them with their own experience and thought and with perceptions learned from Western European literature. Polish political literature was inspired by the spirit of liberalism in the broadest sense, and by a sincere belief in progress. It has no revolutionary characteristics, any more than did the programmatical ideas of the political reformers themselves. Political literature, Uke poetry, was ruled by 'right reason,' providing an accurate and reasoned evaluation of the political scene without demanding the impossible, and having an eye always for the immediate practicality of actual reform. The most representative figure of the period both in his poetry and in his general intellectual outlook was Ignacy KRASICKI ( 1 7 3 5 - 1 8 0 1 ) . He was the son of an aristocratic though impoverished family, whom his parents destined for a career in the church, where he quickly attained the highest honors. At the age of thirty-two he was already a bishop, and towards the end of his life he became the archbishop of Gniezno. He achieved this exalted position because of outstanding gifts and because of his preeminent human and social virtues. He combined many of the finest intellectual, cultural, and social traits of his time: an unusually keen intelligence, a broad education, and a wide range of literary, artistic, and scholarly interests; wisdom, moderation, and common sense, a calm and serene mind which was not disturbed even by the ill fate of the country; love of a quiet and comfortable existence devoted to intellectual pursuits; a rationalistic outlook that avoided radical extremes, being tempered rather with humor, irony, and an indulgent acceptance of the ways of the world even in the troubled political and social sphere. He had no liking for political or social activity, and even less for political struggle, which demanded a completely different temperament and would have disturbed his spiritual balance and torn him away from his favorite occupations. Krasicki's chief merits, therefore, are not displayed in affairs of state but in his writing, which is rich and varied and of an excellence that entitles

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him to be considered the greatest poet of the eighteenth century — the most distinguished after Kochanowski and before Mickiewicz. What we have already said in general about Polish poetry in the Stanislavian Period applies particularly to Krasicki. He set Polish poetry at a level it had not known since the 'golden age.' His work is imbued with the spirit of the age and represents one of its favorite precepts (derived from Horace), that literature should both 'amuse and instruct,' or teach through entertainment. Both the entertaining and didactic elements are strong in Krasicki's poetry, as among all the contemporary poets, but it should not be assumed that such deliberate intention to instruct makes his works artistically inferior. Krasicki's poetry generally does not directly recite any moral lessons. It does not force morality on the reader, insisting on what is good and bad, nor does it give any advice on how people should act or think; instead it attempts to represent the world, its people, and its problems in such a way that the lesson emerges, as it were, of its own accord, through a deeper comprehension of the facts which poetry has the power to promote. This didactic task was facilitated for the poets of the Age of Enlightenment because they cultivated chiefly epic poetry and because their favorite genres were fables, satires, and comic works, where there was good opportunity for showing up the weakness of mankind, its lying hypocrisy, falseness, external show, and inner emptiness. With a poet of such talent as Krasicki, endowed with a sharp sense of observation, a subtle irony, and an ability to characterize people and their attributes in a few deft, synthesizing strokes, the moral effect of his work was all the more striking and effective. No wonder then that Krasicki's influence was great, especially among the enlightened circles of society, and that quite early in his writing career he was acclaimed as the greatest writer of his epoch. Krasicki's fables count among his masterpieces. He wrote two collections: Bajki i przypowiesci (Fables and Parables, 1779), and Bajki nowe (New Fables, 1802). The versified Wstqp do bajek (Preface to the Fables) may give us some idea of the poet's mastery. This small poem is composed of ten parallel sentences, beginning with the anaphora: 'there was' (there was a young man, there was an old man, there was a rich man, and so on); each line contains one or two sentences, which in turn present certain highly condensed, paradoxical formulations of various human types. The paradox consists in the poet's attribution to these types certain traits which they normally do not possess; thus, there is a young man, who led a moderate life, an old man who never scolded, a generous millionaire, an author who derived joy from the fame of other

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authors, a soldier who did not boast, a tax official who did not steal, a sober cobbler, an honest minister, and finally a poet 'who never made up stories.' Having enumerated all these improbabilities, the poet ends his preface as follows: What kind of a fable is this? Anything can happen! That's true, nevertheless I shall include this among fables. In this way Krasicki suggests not so much the themes of his fables (for they naturally do not treat the types described in the preface), but their general tone, a tone in which irony mingles with humor, satire with objectivity, skepticism about human nature with a certain sympathetic understanding and tolerance. Like all fable-writers, Krasicki borrowed the subjects for his fables from all the accessible ancient and modern sources, and, like every distinguished fabulist, he elaborated these traditional themes in a new way. His writing shows originality and, among other things, considerable independence from his models, even (at least in the first collection) from such a popular and attractive model as Lafontaine. He resembles rather Phedrus and Lessing in his compact structure and economy of language, 2 but even these and other similarities are at most fragmentary. 3 The sources of approximately one third of the Fables and Parables are known; but even when Krasicki takes a known motif he often transforms it completely, changing the characters and situations and drawing completely original conclusions from them. So, for instance, Aesop's fable about the fox who teases a goat in order to get out of a pit is changed by Krasicki in such a way that the fox, trapped in the pit, cannot find a savior and, in addition, has to listen to a moral disquisition from a wolf (Lisi wilk — The Fox and the Wolf). A fable by the Prince de Nivernais tells the story of a dog who unluckily happened to sleep through the arrival of a thief at night; naturally, he was given a beating. On the next night he was so zealous that he chased away his mistress's lover, for which he was again whipped. 4 In Krasicki's Pan i pies (The Master and the Dog), the situation is different: the dog barks the whole night at thieves and wakens the master for which he gets a beating in the morning. The next night he sleeps well, and does not hear the thief; the latter robs the house, and the dog is whipped because he did not bark. Because of this treating of known motifs, and because very often the subject itself is Krasicki's own 2

W. Borowy, O poezjipolskiej wieku XVIII (Krakow, 1948), p. 149. J. Kleiner, Ignacy Krasicki, Pamiftnik Literacki, XXXIII, and L. Bernacki, Stan badan nad Krasickim, ibid. • W. Borowy, ibid., p. 151.

3

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invention, many of his fables constitute a completely distinct type in the genre, quite unknown in other literatures. Krasicki's compactness of structure is sometimes taken to extremes. Only the essence of a problem is given, and the characters and their traits are portrayed by one or two details. This is the case of The Master and the Dog, which is composed of four lines and contains the whole story of the poor dog and his inhuman master. The same occurs in the fable Jagnie i wilcy (The Lamb and the Wolves), also told in four lines, of which only three (the first one makes a general statement) enclose the whole little drama with the exposition ('Two wolves met one lamb in the wood'), the start of the action ('they were about to tear it up. It said: 'By what right!' 'You're tasty, weak and in the wood' '), and the catastrophe ('they ate it soon'). The fable Przyjaciele (The Friends) is constructed in the form of a dialogue between Damon and Aryst. Damon's speech occupies four lines, and Aryst's reply only three. Damon loves 'the beautiful Irene,' but he is not sure either of her feelings or of her parents' consent. He, therefore, asks Aryst to speak in his behalf. In pathetic lines Aryst assures him of his friendship and his immediate assistance. Here the dialogue ends. The pointe of the fable comes immediately afterward: . . . and he did not delay, He went, met Irene, and married her himself. In another four-line fable, Szczur i kot (The Rat and the Cat), the rat 'sitting on the altar during the mass' is convinced that the incense is burned for him (burning incense is an idiomatic expression for flattery in Polish), but when he coughed from the fumes, a cat jumped on him and choked him. Wilk pokutujqcy (The Repentant Wolf) decided to lead a virtuous life; he renounced meat, and became a vegetarian. He found it difficult, however, to carry out this pious decision; the circumstances were such that he simply had to break his promise: at one time to help someone, another to punish someone, and still another time to take pity on the sufferings of old age. As a result, the wolf 'suffering in an exemplary way the renunciation of wordly goods, was skinny when he sinned, and gained weight during his penance.' In his longer fables the poet devotes more space to the characterization of the heroes who are presented with greater detail; he makes more precise descriptions, but even here he is punctilious in the logical, compact structure which restricts the acccount to the most essential elements, A good example is found in the popular fable Przyjaciele (Friends), with its description of exquisite human types in the guise of

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different animals, who find every excuse not to help a hare that is being persecuted by dogs. To the hare's ardent plea the horse simply answers 'I cannot' and sends the poor animal to others. The bull advises him to wait a while (although the dogs are right behind him) because he (the bull) has an appointment with a cow. The goat would be only too happy to help him, but he claims to have a hard back on which the hare would be very uncomfortable. The sheep maintains that although he could carry the hare, the dogs would catch up with them and devour them both. Finally the calf evades the question in a truly calf-like manner: 'How can I take you, when the elder ones wouldn't?' The fable ends with a sentence which became proverbial: 'Among cordial friends the dogs devoured the hare.' Wilk i owce (The Wolf and the Sheep) begins with the following aphorism, which contains the ironic moral of the fable: Though it is sad, one must suffer, though it hurts, one must forgive, If only one can find a good explanation; Here follows the story of a wolf who made a treaty with the sheep which guaranteed their safety. The sheep considered themselves so well insured by this treaty that they had no fears. A few days later the wolf ate one lamb in the field before the eyes of the rest. Hearing the sheeps' protest, the wolf 'explained' that there was no word in the treaty about lambs. Shortly thereafter he choked a grown sheep to death; the reason: 'it had come to him itself.' In a similar way he justified all his other crimes, for instance, 'other wolves tore the sheep to pieces, I only helped them," until finally he had eaten all the sheep in spite of the treaty. The style and versification of the fables are in perfect harmony with their structure. The style is simple and clear; it avoids all unusual expressions, but makes precise use of the common words and phrases of Polish. This exact sense of language enabled Krasicki to construct within the slim framework of the fables complete and substantial stories and dramas. The verse structure is characterized by the same purposeful precision. Whether the rhythmic pattern is uniform (a great number have the thirteen-syllable line) or varied, it always fulfills its structural task, which is to bind the individual sentences firmly together and stress the important words by accent, rhyme, and caesura. In the Satyry (Satires) 5 Krasicki perfected on Polish ground a genre already known in antiquity and cultivated in Poland and in the West for many centuries. They are generally long, sometimes reaching several s

Part I, 1779; the remainder appeared in later collections of his works.

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hundred lines, and give a more elaborate picture of human life; each satire concentrates on one human trait or vice such as drunkenness, greediness, cheating, hypocrisy, debauchery, card-playing, usury, avarice, prodigality, snobbishness of fashion, and the like. In the satire entitled Pijanstwo (Drunkenness), two friends meet in the street. One of them, who is so weak and has such a headache that he can scarcely walk, gives an account of how he got drunk the day before. His narrative reveals an excellent psychological picture of drunkards and the gradual process of addiction which becomes second nature. The day before was his wife's name day, which had to be celebrated gaily; the guests had to be entertained, there was a great deal of good wine, everybody drank a lot, and the celebration lasted until dawn. So far the situation is not very grave, and even a strict moralist would not be provoked to indignation; such things can happen in the best of families. But the drunkard continues with his account of the day following the feast, when he wakes up with a terrible hang-over, suffering from a headache, a cough, and nausea. He does not listen to his wife when she advises him to drink tea. By chance he passes by the medicine cabinet, where he is struck by the smell of aniseed liquor. Following the method of all drunkards, he decides to taste it, thinking that a little could not harm him. A little, however, did not help, and a great deal had to be drunk before his soul felt lighter. At that moment two companions of yesterday's feast arrive; he feels obliged to treat them to a drink. How can one treat others and not drink oneself? In this new company he gulps down three vodkas and only now begins to feel comfortable. They sit down to dinner. At first they do not touch the bottle, but when one of the participants suggests that wine relieves indigestion they consent and begin to drink anew. A free talk now begins, with political discourse about the reform of the country, projects for new wars, and the discovery of silver and gold mines. The bottle is slowly emptied, followed by another, then a third, then a fourth one, and, before they have noticed, a sixth and a seventh until ten bottles have been emptied. Finally a quarrel breaks out, a typical drunkards' quarrel about nothing, the imaginary defeats of King Jan Sobieski. Naturally, the quarrel ends in a fist-fight. After hearing this story, the friend tries to explain to the drunkard the evil of addiction to alcohol and its moral and physical effects. He gives a long tirade with forceful examples and becomes very heated, while the drunkard is silent and calmly listens; his friend thinks he has succeeded in making him see his own point of view, and finally begins to demonstrate the good effects of sobriety: good health, cheerfulness, ability to work, a

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wise command of one's fortune, and so on. This discourse is suddenly interrupted by the drunkard who exclaims: . . . 'Good-bye!' — 'Where are you going?' — 'Out for a drink!' In another satire, entitled Zona modna (The Fashionable Wife), Krasicki traces a broader picture of the troubles of a young nobleman married to a fashionably educated young lady, brought up in the French taste, who despises everything domestic, is lazy and whimsical, and thinks only of parties and travel, depreciating and exploiting her husband. Even in the pre-marriage contract she set the following conditions: that she will live in the city under the care of a French nurse whenever she might be ill; when healthy, she will be in the country, on condition, however, that she may visit the city every winter. She must, moreover, have a comfortable house with guest apartments and her own carriage. After the wedding the young couple are preparing to go home. The bride demands a special coach with the best springs. The husband buys such a carriage from a young aristocrat who has gambled away all of his money. Finally they depart; the lady sits down with her favorite little dog. The coach is loaded with innumerable boxes, parcels, bags, a huge hat box, a cage with a canary and another with a magpie, a dish with food for them, finally a cat with kittens and a mouse led on a chain. There is no room for the bridegroom. He somehow succeeds in settling down in the carriage, with the dog on his lap and the cage in his arm. On the way the lady inquires about the cook and explains to her husband that if they are to lead 'an honest life' they must have 'foreign chefs, fashionable chefs de hors d'oeuvre, and also pastry cooks.' Upon their arrival the lady is dissatisfied with everything; instead of a fence she would prefer a railing; she rejects the old steward, Francis, and misbehaves towards the parish priest; she considers the dining room too small because it cannot accommodate forty guests. She believes that the drawing room cannot be combined with the dining room, and is indignant at the mere suggestion of a common bedroom. She requires separate rooms 'for sleeping, for the wardrobe, for the books, for music, for private parties, and for maidservants.' Her ladyship starts to hold sway and turns evertyhing upside down; after two weeks the house is unrecognizable, and 'I sit in the corner and I cry and cry.' The worst evil is the luxurious social life the young lady so adores. When guests come, it is a veritable Sodom and Gomorrah: a ball, masques, trumpets, kettle drums, bands, noise, and drinking. After supper the guests begin to shoot fireworks, and on one such occasion the barn

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catches fire. The host is pictured busily putting the fire out to the sound of the gay trumpeters. Exhausted at last, he returns to the house to be exposed to teasing, jokes and mockery. When he remonstrates with his wife that all this is too expensive, she mentions 'her four villages, although even eight would not be enough.' The work ends with a sad sigh: 'What should I do? It is idle to regret when the damage has been done, as the proverb goes.' Both these satires are written in the form of a dialogue; but in both one character is set in the foreground: in the first the drunkard, in the second the unfortunate husband of the fashionable lady. Their interlocutors play a secondary part, which is somewhat larger in Drunkenness (the last tirade) and slight in The Fashionable Wife. Within this general framework other reported dialogues take place, particularly the conversations, which are so well individualized linguistically, between the young couple, and vivid, amusing scenes are presented. Krasicki also wrote some satires with a different structure, in which the account is given either directly by the author, or in a series of sketches devoted to various human types, or in the form of ironic congratulations. The characters are necessarily drawn only in outline, but they are very much alive, set in a slightly ironical light, and treated in a way which exposes brilliantly their comic characteristics. The language of the satires is the same as that of the fables: clear, natural, and flowing. The verse moves with equal ease and fulfills its structural function. Krasicki's satires resemble the satires of Horace and Boileau with regard to the subject matter and the universality of the human types portrayed. Their themes, however, have their own local color, and although some motifs are borrowd from foreign authors, their elaboration is as original as that of the fables. Krasicki also wrote two long 'mock-heroic' poems, a genre which was already known in antiquity (Batrachomyomachia, formerly attibuted to Homer), was later cultivated by the Italian poet of the sixteenth century, Ariosto, and enjoyed great popularity in France during the Age of Enlightenment. In an epic and heroic manner these poems present insignificant, comic characters and events, the contrast between style and subject matter producing the humor. An example of this genre is Krasicki's Myszeis (Mousiade, 1775), a poem about mice, in the epic style, as the title suggests, of the Iliad or Voltaire's Henriade. Written in octaves, Krasicki's poem possesses elements of both a parody and grotesque, yet with something of the fantasy found in Ariosto. Krasicki associates his subject with the Old Polish legend about Popiel and the mice who ate

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him (a legend which probably originated from the wars between a legendary prince with a tribe called Mice), and describes a war between the mice and the cats, the latter being supported by Popiel and his daughter. The allegory concealed behind the poem is obscure to us today and has received different intepretations, though some allusions to contemporary Poland are clear and intelligible; they refer to the Diet, the quarrelsome characters of the representatives, the lack of royal authority, and to a variety of Polish customs. In addition to many really comical scenes, the poem displays an extraordinary lightness of style, wit, and cheerful plas of fantasy in parodizing everything. Taken as a whole, however, it is redundant and suffers from monotony, a vice common to many worky of this kind. Krasicki's second work in this genre, Monachomachja czyli Wojna mnichow (Monachomachia or the War of Monks, 1778) is artistically superior. It is characteristic of the Age of Enlightenment that a distinguished member of the Church, a bishop, should write a satire on monks and monastic life. The enlightened mind believed in its natural right to criticize everything, and delighted particularly in attacking traditional taboos. Krasicki did not hesitate to expose the laziness, drunkenness, pride, superstition, and ignorance of the monks, and worked out his theme, in accordance with his poetic talent, in the form of an ironic satire strongly inclining toward parody. The principal thread of the story is the 'learned' dispute between the Dominicans and the Carmelites, who are both completely ignorant. The dispute soon changes into an ordinary fist-fight, which the author describes with considerable relish and which ends only when the prelate calls for the 'vitrium gloriosum,' that is, a famous drinking cup of huge proportions. At this welcome sight the quarreling parties come to an agreement, and they settle down to a drinking bout. Within the outline of this story Krasicki elaborates a series of pictures and scenes in which various types of monks appear: the lazy, the stupid, the superstitious, the gourmets, the drunkards. These sketchily treated portraits are well observed and wittily conceived, and there is a lively air to the whole panorama of monastic life. The style is, of course, predominantly satirical and ironic. The prior, for instance, 'saw the dawn for the first time in his life' only when 'the witch of discord' floated over the monastery and started an 'uproar.' 'The brethren kneel down before the row of wine-glasses.' One of them takes hold of a glass 'in the sweat of his brow' and drinks 'its contents with his reverend lips.' When during t h e disDUte ' b r o t h e r Cleofas rane t h e d i n n e r b e l l , t h e v all r u s h e d awav as

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though they had been chased.' When one of the brethren suggests that it would be best to resolve the conflict with the Dominicans by way of a drinking contest, Father Hilary warns him against it on the basis of the strong argument that 'we drink well, but they do it even better.' The work is written in the style of such well known Western mockepics as Le Lutrin by Boileau, Vert-vert by Gresset, and La Guerre Civile de Geneve by Voltaire. As in his other works, Krasicki is original, borrowing only the general concept and the style of parody. As might be assumed, a part of the Polish public received this book with indignation and condemned the author. The attacks were so vehement that Krasicki considered it appropriate to explain his attitude; he did it in the poem Anti-Monachomachia (1780), in which he stated simply that he did not criticize the monasteries as institutions, only bad monks. His underlying principle was: 'Let us respect wise, exemplary, and laudable monks, but let us laugh at those who are stupid, although most reverend.' Accordingly, he did not revoke in the second poem anything said in the first; on the contrary he saturated it with similar elements of irony and parody. Krasicki's novel, entitled Przypadki Mikolaja Doswiadczynskiego (The Adventures of Nicholas Doswiadczynski, 1776),6 occupies an important place in the development of this genre in Poland. Until then Polish literature had had no novel in the modern sense of the word. The so-called Old Polish romance of the sixteenth century was not original, and what was written later in a similar genre amounted to no more than some poor, chiefly 'fantastic,' tales devoid of literary value. Krasicki's Doswiadczynski gives us the first modern Polish novel and, strictly speaking, sets the date for the rise of this literary genre in Poland. It is a novel of contemporary life. Unlike its predecessors, it is not devoted to exotic 'emperors,' monarchs, or the fantastic adventures and exploits of incredible characters (though there is still fantasy in some of its adventure). Its hero is a contemporary and life-like person, a Pole whose life and exploits at home and abroad are described. It is written in the form of a diary and composed in three parts. The first treats Doswiadczynski's youth. He came of an average noble family; his father is described as a 'good soul,' but a perfectly ignorant Sarmatian of the 'Saxonian' type, and his mother belongs to the same class. Doswiadczynski's ecudation was also Sarmatian, that is, he remained at home 6 Doswiadczenie means experience in Polish. Doswiadczynski may be translated as Experience-hunter.

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until the age of seven, under the guidance of his mother and surrounded by women, all of whom readily enthused over everything he said and did and fed him on incredible superstitions and ghost stories. Against his parents' will and under the influence of a progressive uncle he was sent to school, from which he profited little and never graduated, because after his father's death he had to return home. At that time he came under the tutelage of a Frenchman, Damon, who was a common cheat and rogue but taught him 'good manners,' the art of conversation, and fed him on French novels. Because of an adventure in love, Nicholas's mother sent him to the city with Damon, where they indulge in wild parties and card playing until, having cheated his pupil, Damon suddenly disappears, and Doswiadczynski is forced to return home. Here he is bored and longs continually for city life. After his mother's death he goes to Paris, where he lives even more thoughtlessly and extravagantly than in Poland and is finally forced to flee from his creditors. He sails from Amsterdam for Batavia, his ship is wrecked, and our hero, holding on to a large board, is hurled by the waves onto some unknown coast. From this short summary we can see that the first part of the novel is biographical, narrating the life of the hero 'from the beginning.' Its secondary function is to represent the life and manners of contemporary society, and many of the scenes, subsidiary characters, and topics of dialogue are by design representative of their time. Its didactic purpose is carried out by telling the hero's life story in such a way that the events in it illustrate the fatal effects of bad education. Krasicki's excellent prose, so full of subtle irony and wit, his tolerant humor, his keen observations, and his powerful characterizations, always very much alive though at times verging on caricature, combine to lend the novel its distinctive value. The second and third parts are quite different. The second introduces the Utopian element which was popular in contemporary Western European literature. Krasicki may have shared Rousseau's view that the decadence of humanity is to be blamed on civilization and that primitive peoples alone have true virtue and morality, or he may simply have wished to lend variety to his novel with some unusual motifs, for in the second part he introduces the imaginary island of Nipu, where Rousseau's ideals are brought to life. There is equality, people are not handicapped by any state institutions but are their own rulers and judges; there are no books, because the people are illiterate, but the whole population is intrinsically good and sober. The three years Doswiadczynski spends there have a beneficial effect upon him, both physically and morally, and even intellectually. From the sermons of the Nipuan sage, Xaoo, he

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learns many things about virtue, ethics, and true patrotism. In this way Utopia is combined with didacticism. A t last the hero begins to long f o r home, and he sets out in a small rowboat. Here the third part o f the novel, the adventure story, begins; it is devoted in large measure to Doswiadczyriski's incredible adventures in various parts o f the world.

Having

finally reached home, a much changed, much improved, much wiser young man, Doswiadczyriski devotes himself to the affairs o f his estate, to bettering the lot o f his peasants; he is even elected representative, but because the diets are constantly being adjourned, there is not much w o r k f o r him there.

H e returns soon again to his countryside, marries, and

lives happily f o r many years. Krasicki's second novel, Pan Podstoli

(Pantler o f the king's household),

published in 1778, is, strictly speaking, a treatise on morals and customs, dressed up in the f o r m o f a novel. Life of a Nobleman

It may be compared with Rey's

with the difference that Krasicki's work preserves at

least the outward appearances of a novel. But its hero is nothing more nor less than the nobleman o f the eighteenth century, a portrait of the perfect human being and citizen as Krasicki imagined him.

His conception o f

this ideal is typical o f Krasicki and reveals his attitude toward

con-

temporary Polish problems. Krasicki's sense o f moderation and restraint is reflected throughout; he always looks f o r the 'golden mean' and stresses the importance of cultural work above politics; he does not require spectacular exploits f r o m people, but, like Rey, believes in the virtue o f a homely, down-to-earth, day-to-day existence on the family land, where reasonable traditions and customs should be preserved and also reasonable reforms accepted.

Krasicki's ideal is neither a statesman nor a knight,

but a landowner whose chief concern is his estate, which he wants to maintain on a high level and a sound e c o n o m y ; he is thus socially rather than politically effective, caring f o r his peasants, building decent quarters and founding schools f o r them, even freeing some f r o m serfdom and rewarding them with land after they have served him well f o r many years. In this way he prepares the peasants f o r freedom, as it were, believing that immediate and total emancipation o f all the peasants would be harmful. In other matters M r . Podstoli is also on the side of moderation and slow evolution.

H e detests mere aping o f French fashions, though he does

not, like so many o f his countrymen, hate foreign mores as such; on the contrary he has his children learn French and introduces improvements in his estate that are modeled on foreign examples. O n general national and political issues he has little to say ; probably feeling that this is not his field. H e is, as it were, a precursor of that 'basic' (economic and social)

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or, as it was called, 'organic' work, which was to become the slogan of the Polish positivists a hundred years later. History Divided into Two Books (1778) is more interesting both in its conception and execution. The hero of this novel is named Grumdrypp, after one of the immortal Struldbrugs from Gulliver's Travels by Swift. Nor is the name of the hero the only thing this novel owes to the author of Gulliver.1 The Polish Grumdrypp is endowed with one faculty that the Struldbrugs lack (and are for that reason very unhappy); namely, he can become young again. Under various disguises and in different epochs he travels all through history; he lives in Ancient Greece and Rome, among the Indians, the Carthaginians, the Galls, the Chinese, and the Germans, and he makes two trips to Poland. His adventures, experiences, and opinions on various peoples, personages, and historical events, make up the substance of the novel. The traditional views of history are radically revised, in order to expose many common errors of interpretation and degrade the objects of customary praise. The author puts in the mouth of Grumdrypp opinions which match Gulliver's discoveries on the island of Glubbdubrib, were he interviews the ghosts of famous dead men. Thus as in Swift Homer was not blind but enjoyed exceptionally good eyesight and Alexander the Great was not poisoned but died from overdrinking, so in Krasicki Alexander did not learn much from Aristotle, Diogenes lived in a barrel merely to attract attention, Seneca lent out money 'at 15 percent and reckoned nine months as one year'; the legendary Polish Wanda did not reject the German Rytyger, because he did not exist at all; she did not throw herself in the Vistula out of despair, but drowned because her boatman was drunk. These are some examples of Krasicki's 'revision' of history, conducted, as we see, in a predominantly humorous, ironic, and Voltairian tone. It does not matter whether this revision really corrects errors of accuracy or information ; the essential thin g is that it poses, in a bold and witty manner, the problem of a sober, critical attitude toward traditional historical opinions. To be sure, the Polish Grumdrypp does not merely criticize; he also praises all those who have contributed to learning, enlightenment, art, and peace; he speaks with sympathy for primitive people and deplores the fall of Ancient Rome. In general he sees the same virtues and the same vices in people of different periods, despite the differences in their degree of civilization; he advocates moderation in all things, praises the ideal of 'aequa mens,' and sees evil in all unnatural excess. We have discussed only Krasicki's more important works, and it should '

See W. Borowy, O poezji polskiej, pp. 139 ff.

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be noted that he wrote much besides in other genres: for instance, an epic poem on the Polish-Turkish wars, poetic Epistles, a very popular genre at the time, comedies, and popular scientific articles on different subjects. Another outstanding poet of the Stanislavian period was Stanislaw TREMBECKI ( 1 7 3 5 - 1 8 1 2 ) . His character combined many of the less attractive traits of the epoch. He frankly described himself as 'one of the boldest trouble-makers, one of the most assiduous drunkards, one of the most zealous lovers, and one of the best gamblers.' It is also known that when he had dissipated his own fortune, he was ready to enter the service of any man — the king, the rich Polish overlords, the Russian envoys in Poland, the Confederacy of Targowica, and Catherine the Great. Nevertheless, this man was endowed with a great poetic gift. Mickiewicz said that his style displayed 'a willful but felicitous control over the language,' by which he meant that Trembecki was a complete master of the language and at the same time had a truly creative sense for language. And it is true that Trembecki drew from his wide reading of foreign literatures, both ancient and modern, and of Old Polish literature, a great wealth of vocabulary and expression, reviving obsolete and forgotten words which he found colorful and effective. He drew heavily on the language of folklore and even made use of the old baroque style, but always with a keen eye to its proper value and effect. Mickiewicz further said that Trembecki 'was a true Greek of the age of Pericles, or a Roman of the period of Augustus. The Slavic people may acquire a real knowledge of the style of the ancients from Trembecki's works.' Unfortunately, this born poet handled his talent altogether carelessly, writing spasmodically and as circumstances dictated. He took little trouble over his works, and often left them unsigned; he did not consider poetry as his profession, but as an amateur pursuit on the side. Considering his great capabilities, he left behind relatively few, mostly small, works. These amount to some ten 'poetic epistles,' several circumstantial poems, a few anacreontics and 'obscoenas,' eleven fables (the majority of which are adaptations from Lafontaine), and finally , three descriptive poems, of which only one, Sofijowka, exceeds five hundred lines. The quality of his work is quite uneven, often didactic, often distastefully panegyrical, and sometimes verging on journalese. On the other hand, there is an extraordinary control over the language and verse, the style is highly original, compact, and striking; it is sometimes garish, but always rich. Characteristically enough, as Waclaw Borowy observed,8 Trem« Ibid., pp. 192, 195.

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becki's imagination delights in the powerful and sometimes horrible forces of nature, and in everything that is exuberant, luxurious, and strong; and, at the same time, he takes great pleasure in the subtle, in charm and elegance, and in the artistic. Many examples of the former trait may be found in Sofijdwka (the description of a magnificent park, built by the Polish magnate, Szcz^sny Potocki, for his wife, Sophie); and as many examples of the latter may be found in some smaller poems, such as Do Kossowskiej w tancu (To Kossowska Dancing), where the movement of the dance, its agility, and charm are masterfully presented. Another of Trembecki's characteristics is his highly original and impressively ingenious elaboration of familiar subjects or his direct adaptation of other authors' works. He wrote, for instance, a fable entitled Wilk i baranek (The Wolf and the Sheep) with the same subject as Krasicki's The Lamb and the Wolves (see p. 150). The moral sense of both fables is the same: whoever wishes to commit a brutal action, whether in private, public, or international affairs, will always find some way of justifying it. But the difference in presentation is great. Krasicki devotes four lines to the problem and condenses a whole little drama in them. Trembecki develops the story more broadly, particularizing the characters in the fable more closely and presenting in greater and more paradoxical detail the arguments of the wolf, his insolence, and the lamb's helplessness. They meet at a spring, where the little lamb has come for a drink. The wolf immediately accuses the lamb of muddying the water. Trembling with fear, the lamb replies that it is standing downcurrent from the wolf and therefore cannot possibly muddy the wolf's water. The wolf, however, does not take the logic of this reply into consideration, but accuses the lamb of lying to his face; he further accuses it of having insulted him a year ago. The lamb assures the wolf that it is still a suckling and that last year it was not even born. But, of course, this does not help. 'Whether it may have been you, your brother, or some relative of yours,' the wolf replies, 'it's all the same; I must therefore take an ostentatious revenge.' And the conclusion we already know. The dialogue is couched in forceful terms, and picturesque expressions are drawn from everyday speech or from folklore, regardless of the fact that such vocabulary is out of keeping with classical poetics and unheard of in Lafontaine. Trembecki's deviation from the original is even more obvious in his frequent amplifications and alterations. The same kind of changes are made in the fable, Myszka, kot i kogut (The Mouse, the Cat and the Rooster, adapted from Lafontaine's Le Cochet, le chat et le souriceau). This is a longer story, and it tells of

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the danger which befell a young and inexperienced mouse. The fable is in the form of a narrative given by the mouse, and ends with a warning spoken by its mother. During one of its excursions into the world the small mouse was greatly fascinated by two animals. The mouse describes them in a naive, but colorful way. One of them is 'gentle and servile,' with fur and a tail just like a mouse and ears of a similar kind. The mouse liked this animal very much and wanted to get more closely acquainted with it, but was prevented by the second animal. This was 'a puffed-up roisterer' with its tail turned up and a piece of flesh on its head that looked as if it had been cut out with a chisel. The creature flailed its sides, and when it saw the mouse about to approach the first animal, it started thrashing around so that the poor mouse ran away to its cave. The mother mouse listens to this account with horror and explains to her daughter that that apparently so modest creature was 'a beastly cat, the perdition of our nation,' and the other a rooster, whose threats are meaningless but whose meat is a delicacy. The old mouse ends its discourse with the following maxim: 'Do not judge anyone by his looks or you will commit a blunder.' The bishop of Smolensk, Adam N A R U S Z E W I C Z (1733-96), was also an industrious poet. He wrote odes, eclogues, satires, and reflective and circumstantial poems as well as fables. 9 His poetry inclines to be heavy; his odes are often panegyrical, pompous in style, filled with conventional literary devices, rhetorical, and didactic. The eclogues are modeled on second-rate French works and on Salomon Gessner, a German poet of the eighteenth century, and they repeat the dull, sentimental style of their models. A characteristic trait of Naruszewicz's style is his elaborate, often strange combination of adjectives; he puts neologisms side by side with archaisms, makes innovations in syntax, and in his eclogues is much given to sentimental diminutives. The eight satires are more interesting, although half of them are adaptations of Boileau. The themes, the character studies, and the moral and social problems of these works are the familiar stock in trade of both foreign and Polish satirical literature. Nevertheless, Naruszewicz's satires show a great deal of originality in their adaptation of foreign motifs to Polish circumstances as well as in amplications and changes. The language is generally simpler than in Naruszewicz's other works, and often more forceful than in Boileau; it stresses the elements of raillery and jeering, and gives strong expression to Naruszewicz's sense of mordant irony, ' Lyrics, in four books, collected edition, 1778, Satires, 1778; Eclogues written in the 1770's.

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indignation, and even grief. Unfortunately, Naruszewicz's customary weaknesses sometimes intrude — his conventionalism, didacticism, and bombastic rhetoric. The best known and most popular of his satires is Chudy literal (The Emaciated Literatus), which describes the hard lot of a Polish writer at a time when there was a small reading public and an even smaller bookbuying public, when an average nobleman was satisfied with an almanac, a book of dream analyses, or at the most 'something comical' (and comic in a considerably more common vein than the fables and satires of Krasicki or Trembecki). This portrait of a Polish writer is truly sad. He wears the same coat for two years, although 'his fame has covered the earth and the clouds'; his apartment is near a hill, but a dunghill, not Parnassus; he feeds on the inspiration of Apollo, but hasn't a penny for other food, and he is irretrievably in debt. Naruszewicz's chief merit is not as a poet. He is known today as a historian; history was his favorite field of scholarship. Besides writing a textbook of ancient history and translating Tacitus into Polish, he was also the author of an excellent biography of Jan Karol Chodkiewicz, one of the distinguished warriors and commanders of the seventeenth century. His principal work is Historja narodupolskiego odprzyjgcia chrzescijanstwa (The History of the Polish Nation from its Conversion to Christianity), which marks a new epoch in the development of Polish historiography. Little progress had been made in this discipline since Dhigosz, that is, since the fifteenth century. During the sixteenth century there were some imitators of Dlugosz, and some valuable historical monographs; historical source material began to be published in the eighteenth century (one important source was the Volumina Legum published by the Piarist Order), but there was no work covering the entire history of Poland and based on the new historical methods which had evolved since the time of Dlugosz. Hence one of king Stanislaw August's great achievements was to persuade Naruszewicz to undertake this task, and he did everything to facilitate it. Naruszewicz worked with great diligence and published the first volume of his work in 1780 (he postponed writing about the preChristian era, considering it the most difficult, and his work on this subject was not published until after his death); in the following six years he published five more volumes (Volume VI appeared in 1786), but still his history did not progress beyond the marriage of Jagiello and Jadwiga in 1386. Naruszewicz's history marks a great step forward in that he collected and made use of the largest possible number of historical sources (these

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were collected for him even from archives abroad); his analysis of them showed a greater sense of critical detachment and scientific method than could have been achieved by Dhigosz. Naruszewicz's concept of history was not confined merely to the accounts of kings, their reigns, wars, and the like, that is, to so-called political history, but extended to the general life and culture of the nation, its material civilization, its manners and customs, its learning, art, education, and all the other aspects, both material and spiritual, of the country's growth. Although he relegated his observations on culture to extensive footnotes while the main text was occupied with the stories of dynasties and politics, it is clear that the actual conception of history had undergone a great change. Among other things, Naruszewicz's new attitude is seen in his rejection of all myths and legends which had been sanctioned not only by the older chroniclers but also by Dhigosz; he eliminated all the legendary accounts of Popiel, Krakus, and Wanda and so on, without questioning their beauty; he considered Ziemowit, the predecessor of Mieszko I, to be the first Polish prince whose reign 'may be founded on historical certainty.' Although he naturally believed in Providence and its rule over the world, he tried not to abuse its name for the explanation of matters which could easily be explained through the inherent laws of nature. That is why his history lacks that mass of supernatural events and miracles which appears in the work of Dhigosz and his imitators. Naruszewicz realized that history should be not only critical but also pragmatic, that is, it should elucidate the causes and effects of historical events, it is to this end that he tries to throw some explanatory light on events and people, and if he does not always succeed in getting to the heart of the matter and discovering the underlying, especially social, basis of historical evolution, he shares this deficiency with the foremost contemporary foreign historians. This kind of pragmatism was to be the achievement of the nineteenth century. Naruszewicz held 10 the old principle, 'nistoria — magistra vitae'; his work consequently is full of didactic and moralistic elements. There are many just observations on the progressive spirit of the age, on the oppression of the common people and the evil effects this has on the state at large, on anarchy and the necessity, especially under the conditions existing in contemporary Poland, for law and an authority able to enforce obedience, in fact, for a strong royal power and a hereditary throne. The fact that Naruszewicz tended to adore the system of monarchy as such and his own king, who was his benefactor and friend, may be attributed to the general tendencies of the century and the author's personal feelings towards the king, feeling which were quite sincere and devoid of any

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selfish motive. In this respect Naruszewicz was far superior to many of his contemporaries. The Stanislavian Period also witnessed a lively revival of the theater and dramatic writing. After his coronation Stanislaw August brought a French theater company and an Italian opera company to Warsaw to replace the old opera. The Polish National Theater was first founded in 1765, though its existence was several times interrupted by a variety of obstacles. Only in 1779, on the king's initiative, was a new theater building erected in Warsaw, where Polish plays were also presented. The development of the Polish stage was greatly advanced by Wojciech Boguslawski (1757-1829), who was not only an actor and director but also a playwright. He worked in Warsaw during the Stanislavian Period, in the Duchy of Warsaw (see p. 197), and later in Lwów; he traveled all over the country with his company, performing Polish and foreign plays popularizing the theater and raising the dignity of the Polish actor, who had long been thought of as something between a circus acrobat and a juggler at a country fair. Among Boguslawski's numerous works, the majority of which are translations and adaptations, the most popular, which was being still performed on the Polish stage not long ago, was the musical comedy entitled Cudczyli Krako wiacy igórale (The Miracle, or Krakovians and Mountaineers), a pleasant, unpretentious folklore play with strong patriotic and social overtones, and some realistic characterization of peasant figures. Other playwrights supplied dramas for the Polish stage before Boguslawski. One of the first was Father Franciszek Bohomolec (1720-84) who, in his comedies, written at first for school theaters and later for the Warsaw stage, generally imitated Molière; he showed considerable dramatic sense, could write lively and substantial dialogue, and knew how to portray dramatically effective characters, particularly of the comic sort. One of his most popular plays is Malzenstwo z kalendarza (Marriage by the Calendar), which satirizes ignorance and superstition in the nobleman Staruszkiewicz, who consults the calendar and the book of dream analyses to guide his choice of a husband for his daughter, who has two suitors; he has besides the strangest ideas of the Polish gentry's superiority over all foreigners. Amont Bohomolec's other comedies are Czary (Sorcery), a satire on superstition, and The Drunkards. There are also plays with social implications such as Dobry pan (The Kind Lord), which contrasts two types of land lords : a terrible tyrant who oppresses the peasants and his servants, and a good man who wins the peasants' love through his

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kindness, the good care he takes of them, and his recognition of their human dignity. Bohomolec edited the magazine Monitor, comparable to the English Spectator, which was published for twenty years (1765-84) and contributed greatly to the cause of enlightened progress in Poland. Polish comedy found a more talented exponent in Franciszek ZABLOCKI (1754-1821). This prolific writer produced many eclogues, satires, fables, lampoons, farces, and comedies; almost everywhere he revealed a keen intelligence, an open mind, a considerable poetic gift, a lively senstitivity to pertinent issues, and an ability to transform them into literature. His lampoons and polemical leaflets against traitors and hirelings who handicapped the work of the Four-Year Diet were well known in Warsaw. He wrote them anonymously, in order to avoid persecution at the hands of the influential lords who were supported by the powerful Russian ambassador; but he still gave proof of his courage, and particularly his political integrity, when he thus indirectly supported the efforts of the patriotic party. Although he realized that 'the lampoon is not becoming to a decent pen,' he considered that, since the life of those traitors 'was a lampoon altogether', he might fight them with the appropriate weapon. He was unscrupulous in his attack, enumerating the names and the crimes of members of prominent Polish families, and directing against them his raillery mixed with deadly accusations. He was particularly successful in revealing the true nature of their misdemeanors. Among his skits and lampoons there are others directed not so much against individuals as against certain general manifestations of public life. With regard to the army, for instance, the Diet voted that its strength should be raised to a hundred thousand men; as we know, this significant bill was, unfortunately, never carried out. Zablocki mocks bitterly: Now Poland will resound all over Europe! There is an army of a hundred thousand soldiers. Glory be to God! Where are they? Where? On paper! Let us give everything to the army . . . everything . . . at least half. Thank God! There is money for the soldiers' pay. Some people are weeping, others are laughing. There are millions. But where? In everybody's pocket. Passages full of a robust humor are to be found, such as the one about the king's famous 'Thursday 'dinners where the intellectual elite gathered and . . . Where half of the company is silent, the other half dozing, Where the king has to make up for all the deficiencies of wit, education, wine and m e a t . . .

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ZaWocki wrote many comedies, though not all of his total of fifty (or more) plays have been preserved. It is not to be expected that, writing so much and in haste, his work should be always good. Some of ZaWocki's plays are undoubtedly weak, and carelessly put together, though one can always recognize the stamp of the born dramatist who knows his art and the stage and has a feeling for the requirements and possibilities of the theater. Like so many Polish and foreign writers of this and earlier periods, ZaWocki did not hesitate to use foreign sources for his comedies, chiefly second and third-rate French authors. It has been proved that none of the plots of his comedies, not even those which seem most Polish and Sarmatian, are his own.10 But this fact only goes to show once again how much more important is the genius for original interpretation of known motifs. ZaWocki frequently introduced familiar male and female characters, and even made them take part in familiar events and situations; but he gave an original and essentially Polish character to these borrowings. He expands or abridges his material as he sees fit. He gives the characters a specifically Polish personality, and transfers the action into the setting of contemporary Polish society with all its familiar characteristics. He introduces national problems and issues into the action and develops a style suited to his characters, at once vigorous and alive, full of purely Polish idioms, phrases, and proverbs and drawn from the contemporary speech patterns of various classes in society. One of Zablocki's most interesting and most popular comedies is Fircyk w zalotach (The Fop Suitor, 1781), based on Romagnesi's play, Le Petit maitre amoureux. The title character of the comedy is a fashionable youth of the end of the eighteenth century, a type which had many representatives in the Polish capital of the time. Te son of a sheriff, he spends his time at parties, dances, and cardgames, at making love and squandering money. He is handsome, gay, witty, and popular with women ('flirtatious women, pious women, devour him with their eyes'). When we first meet him he is looking for a wealthy wife because his mean father does not give him money and does not want to die either, and it is difficult to live and to enjoy life on the changing luck in cards. He has found a suitable match in the young rich widow, Podstolina (wife or widow of a Pantler). He had courted her once before without success, and now he follows her to the house of his friend, Aryst, intending once more to try his skill at conquering the female heart. It seems that this light-hearted man feels a kind of attachment to Podstolina and that he is not attracted merely by her wealth. There follow several scenes at Aryst's 10

See Ludwik Bernacki, ¿rddla komedyj Zablockiego (Lw6w, 1908).

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home, in which a number of other characters are introduced, among them Aryst's wife and two indispensable valets, Pustak and Swistak. The hero's plans with regard to Podstolina do not progress smoothly, although she is undoubtedly interested in the Fop. The dialogues between the young couple, between the Fop and Aryst's wife, who is Podstolina's friend, and the card-playing scene when the Fop wins 300 ducats from Aryst are among the most lively scenes of the play. By way of several rather complicated misunderstandings Podstolina is convinced that the Fop has given her up and intends to marry someone else. Jealousy achieves what other devices had failed to accomplish, and the Fop finally succeeds in gaining the object of his desires. The action of this comedy is concentrated on the Fop's marriage. It is neither very intricate nor rich in any extraordinary conflicts, but the character of the Fop is in itself excellent, and it symbolizes a type that is in Polish called a 'blue bird' — a common enough figure of the time. There is besides interesting and vivid characterization of some of the other figures. The style of the dialogues is full of humor, wit, and even refinement, and the whole work is entertaining and well suited to the stage. We find the same characteristics in Zablocki's other comedies. Sometimes he concentrates on one or two main characters, after the fashion of the so-called comedy of character created by Molière and imitated all over Europe. This is true, for instance, of Zabobonnik (The Superstitious Man) who believes that Nothing happens by chance, every event Is brought about by the devil or destiny. Dogs, crows, ravens, owls, magpies, eagle-owls — Are all envoys from hell or prophets from h e a v e n . . . Other comedies emphasize the plot, which is usually not very complicated, is helped forward by valets or chambermaids (another characteristic of many French comedies), and involves all kinds of misunderstanding, concealment, disguise, coincidence, and whatever else may occasion a witty and humorous situation. In one of his most popular plays, Sarmatyzm (Sarmatism), Zablocki introduces a social theme : he ridicules and condemns those traits in the Polish gentry which typify the Sarmatian. Two ignorant, backward Sarmatians are presented in this play : Marek Guronos and Jan Baptysta ¿ugota. They are envious, suspicious, they dislike each other although they are neighbors, they quarrel constantly and denounce each other over trifles, such as their wives' seats in church. The chief motive of the strife which breaks out between them is the eternal cause of conflict between many fanners in Poland, namely the annexation

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of a piece of land by a neighbor. The play ends happily, thanks to the intervention of the sensible Skarbimir, and the children of the conflicting parties marry. As a comedy, Sarmatism is a combination of both genres mentioned above, with the characterization of the heroes predominant through some long dialogues with the mediator, Skarbimir, in which they express a series of dull-witted opinions on such questions as the different origins of noblemen, coats of arms, the merits of their ancestors, and so on. The actual events are limited to a foray by Guronos on ¿ugota, which was the traditional way of solving boundary disputes. Even this play is not without its foreign source (Hauteroche's Les Nobles de province), but Zablocki wove into it so many scenes of Polish life and customs, and presented his material with so much more vivacity than had been displayed in the original, that the work reads like a purely Polish comedy. Besides the poets of the Stanislavian Period whose poetry tended to be of a rationalistic nature, there were others who followed the classicist mode of sentimentalism. The former tendency, as we saw, expressed itself in such poetic genres as the fable, the satire, mock-heroic and circumstantial poems, and, dramatically, in contemporary comedy. The sentimental poets delighted in the lyrical genre, not excluding, however, the eclogue, a genre which was well suited to the contemporary manners and taste of the court and was cultivated in all European literature. One of the writers of this lyric-sentimental trend was Franciszek KARPINSKI ( 1 7 4 1 - 1 8 2 5 ) . He came from an impoverished noble family, but was better educated than was usual in such circumstances; he not only graduated from secondary school but also from the Jesuit Academy in Lwow; he traveled abroad and knew French. He took up a number of different occupations with varying degrees of success, dreaming always of a career of great public distinction — for which he was probably not suited. He complained a great deal of his unfortunate lot, but he was far from being altogether unsuccessful. He was called the 'poet of Justyna' after his love song, Do Justyny, tqsknosc na wiosng (To Justyna, Longing in the Springtime), which was very popular both in his day and later. This song depicts the feelings and moods of a lover who longs for his beloved. The song is constructed on an effective parallel drawn between the growth of nature in the spring and the absence of the beloved, which enables the poet to emphasize the contrast between the surrounding world and the emptiness of the heart. (The sun had turned round so many times, but his own light does not shine: 'the corn has grown up high,' but his

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grain is invisible; the whole wood resounds with the song of birds, but his own bird is not singing; the meadow is alive with such a rich variety of color, but his flower is not budding; the poem ends with a plea to spring, that it should bring back his 'dear crop.') The simplicity and purity of the language, the calm rhythm of the verse, and the straighforward rhymes lend the poem a characteristic charm and naturalness. Such graceful and delicate tones had not been heard in Polish poetry for many years — in fact, not since the time of Kochanowski, Szymonowicz, and Szymon Zimorowicz. The same naturalness is lacking in Karpinski's numerous eclogues, in which the weariness with contemporary civilization and ostensible longing for the primitive simplicity of shepherds' life in the heart of the countryside were expressed. Such eclogues, both Polish and foreign, were accused of being 'unnatural' and unrealistic, and of presenting under the guise of 'shepherds' merely elegant and refined courtly ladies and gentlemen who had nothing to do with real rural life. The criticism is largely true, but mistakes the point. The aim of the eclogue writers was not to represent the real country folk, its speech and customs, its way of life and manner of feeling, but indeed to transport the feelings and longings of the cultured and refined segment of society into the imaginary setting of a pastoral existence, and to create a new and ideal type of shepherd rather than to imitate the existing ones. Nevertheless, Karpinski's eclogues show a great deal of mannerism, conventionality, and sentimentality, although they occasionally strike more sincere and forceful tones. One of his most popular eclogues was Laura i Filon (Laura and Philon). It was soon after set to music and was sung for many generations to the accompaniment of clavichord or flute. It is composed in the form of a dialogue between lovers, with some interruptions by the author who adds a comment of his own. It begins with the words of Laura, who is preparing for a nocturnal rendezvous with Philon 'under a maple tree'. She takes with her a basket of raspberries, and a wreath of roses with which she is to dress Philons's head; 'she flies through the wood as if she had wings.' When she arrives at the tree a terrible disappointment awaits her: The maple tree is there, but the beloved is absent! I see that I am betrayed! He is laughing at my love, And I love my fickle Philon!... These conclusions are premature, though perhaps natural in a young lady who is accustomed to immediate devotion. Besides, the code of

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love since the time of Ovid has reckoned tardiness on the part of the lover as a major crime. In spite of the momentary thought that 'some accident' may have detained Philon, Laura in despair breaks the basket and tears up the wreath. During this scene Philon emerges from the bushes. He also falls into despair which is expressed in exclamations: 'Oh, you impetuous creature! Careless that I am' and so on. He swears that he had waited for her for an hour, clapped his hands in their usual signal, and finally deliberately hid in the bushes to see her and hear what she would say about him (he had expected something other than what he heard). Finally he begs her not to lead him to 'perdition' for his guilt. Moved by Philon's devotion, Laura forgives his crime and from that moment they spend the night in a harmony of bliss. A small scene caused by Laura's jealousy of Doryda, in whose company she sometimes sees her lover, cannot be avoided ; but when he assures her that he will never again speak to Doryda, this little cloud is blown away and Laura expresses her ecstasy in the following manner: Is love always the same As it is when one is eighteen? If there is no relief, Then how can man stand love? When they say good-bye, she cannot forbear to mention Doryda once more. May the moon not shine on the night when her Philon should meet Doryda. We find the same tone throughout Karpinski's other love poems, sometimes colored by sensual, 'realistic,' or humorous motifs. Karpinski also wrote numerous religious songs, some of which are very popular and are sung to this day. These include: Kiedy ranne wstajq zorze (When the dawn is rising), Wszystkie nasze dzienne sprawy (All our daily tasks), and the carol, Bôg siç rodzi (God is born). Their language and verse are very simple and express a sincere, equally simple feeling of faith, humility, and adoration of the greatness of God. Karpinski's patriotic songs 11 were written principally under the influence of the misfortunes which befell Poland. Zale Sarmaty nadgrobem lygmunta Augusta (The Laments of a Sarmatian over the Tomb of Sigisnund Augustus) is a particularly moving poem, written in 1796, one year after the last partition of Poland. The theme of patriotic suffering is 1

Karpiftski's most important works are collected in Zabawki wierszem i prozq, seven volumes (1782-87); the later collected edition: Dziela wierszem i prozq, is in four volumes, (1806).

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sometimes blended with social motifs, or the latter are treated more fully in separate poems. He writes effectively of the misfortune of those who, 'born in a miserable hut,' have poverty as their life's companion while they are constantly made to work 'like cattle' (Zebrak przy drodze, The Road-side Beggar). Karpinski also wrote stylized folk songs, like Piesn dziada sokalskiego (The Song of the Old Man), Mazurek, Piesn mazurska (The Song of the Mazurs), and poems which resemble the later romantic ballad (Duma o Lukierdzie, [The Ballad of Lukierda], for instance); these poems make Karpinski to some extent a forerunner of the new trends which were to prevail in Polish poetry only a few decades later. It is not surprising to hear Mickiewicz emphasize this resemblance in his lectures on Slavic literature. Karpinski tried to break away from the prevailing theories and canons, not only in his poetry itself but also in his views on poetry, for instance, in his treatise, O wymowie w prozie albo h> wierszu (Eloquence in Prose or Verse, 1782), where 'eloquence' means literature. He came out against the 'laws' observed by the French poets and theoreticians, who modeled their works on ancient examples but frequently interpreted them in a narrow or even false manner, as, for instance, Aristotle's theories. One of the most important theoreticians of the seventeenth century was Boileau, whose Art poétique became a kind of code for the poets of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, though for second-rate poets rather than for geniuses. While Boileau's work contains many true and helpful observations which are pertinent to this day, it also tends to an excessively rationalistic and logical definition of poetry, its genres, and means. Karpiriski's attitude was not fundamentally revolutionary, like that of the later romanticists ; it might be more accurately called a revisionist attitude, and what he wished to revise particularly was the relation of contemporary to ancient poetry. He reacted against the blind imitation of the ancients and their foreign imitators, although he recognized the value of'beautiful models' — not only ancient but also more recent ones. He maintained that, to fill Polish poems on no matter what subject with ancient mythology and endless references to Apollo, Mcrcury, Mars, Pluto, and Cupid, has nothing in common with true poetry, not even with the spirit of Ancient poetry, but is a purely external and meaningless 'decoration.' Slavish imitation of the ancients, in this and other poetic devices, brings nothing to the development of modern poetry; indeed it may even handicap its growth. Poetry must be given freedom, though not absolute freedom ; it must be controlled by the requirements of clarity, common sense, and good taste. Karpinski emphasizes the emotional aspect of poetry and

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devotes much attention to the role of the creative imagination, in which he differs from the neo-classical theoreticians. Karpiriski's Memoirs (published only in 1844) are valuable for the picture they give of the customs of contemporary Poland and of the author's personal life. His account of his father, of his education at home, of the relations between the children and their parents, of his 'career,' first in law and then at the overlords' courts, gives us considerable insight into Polish life at the time, seen through the eyes of a man who, though with talents superior to the majority of his society, also possessed many of its traits. Another 'poet of feeling' of this period was Franciszek Dyonizy Knia£nin (1750-1807). His life and work were closely linked with the court of the Czartoryski family in Pulawy, a court which played an important part in Polish cultural life at the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth, providing a home for many poets, literati, and scholars and a focal point for many new ideas in literature, edcuation, and art. Kniaznin's work, particularly his lyrical poetry, was overshadowed by that of Karpinski, by comparison with whom he was always thought of as a minor poet. Closer investigation, however, 12 has shown that Kniaznin's lyrical poetry is not only as good as even Karpinski's best works in the same genre, but actually surpasses them in richness and variety, in linguistic value, and in structure as well as versification. His love poems are perhaps his finest, though many of his patriotic, religious, and contemplative poems are also of great merit. His Erotyki (Love Poems, two volumes, 1779) treat a wide range of experiences. Their themes are, of course, perennial in that they have been sung in every age, but they are eternally new in the hands of an original poetic talent. Almost all of Kniaznin's poems bear the stamp of fresh artistic expression. The poet sings of the happiness of mutual love; of the joy which comes from seeing, indeed from the mere existence of the beloved; of the delight in winning her; of the dreams and plans she inspires, and of the unique and all-absorbing experience of love. And he tells besides of the accompanying sorrows and doubts and bitterness, of sad despair and reflection upon his own condition. These feelings are expressed with a subtlety which is rare in earlier Polish poetry, and which exhibits Kniaznin's poetic sense for the verbal nuances required to convey the more delicate shades of emotion. These poems also display a variety 11

See W. Borowy: 'W cypryjskim powiecie,' Prace historyczne i literackie ku czci Ign. Chrzanowskiego (Krakow, 1936); and O poezji polskiej h\ XVIII (Krak6w, 1948),

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of motifs describing the woman, her behavior, her coquetry, her anger and complaints, and all her various ruses, whims, and quaint desires. The poetry is strewn with the imagery traditional to the theme — Venus and Adonis, Cupids and Nymphs, bolts, chains, fetters, blows, poison and sweetness, the flames of hell, and the fire of heaven. 13 A charming and subtle poem O Elizie (On Elisa) describes the surprises which befall a man in love, because of the changing moods of his mistress and the inner conflicts of feeling they produce. 'Yesterday Elisa hurled a sharp glance . . . she threw her wreath down in fury with her white hand, she bit her lip five times.' Knowing that there is no way of appeasing her anger, the unfortunate lover does not even try to mollify her but leaves sadly and spends a sleepless night. The next day Elisa calls him with her beautiful voice and glances at him favorably. This fills him with joy again, but at the same time he fears what may be his fate tomorrow. This is a small example of what the French call 'les dépits amoureux.' Kniaznin's works express also some more pessimistic sentiments on love. He looks beyond the immediate sorrows, complaints, and melancholy, to see the unavoidable end which every love must reach. 'Sweet love thrills us at first,' but its end is sorrowful; after sweetness it brings bitterness and sorrow. It flows like a swift brook, but ultimately it falls into 'the depths of the sea' and is lost forever. Kniaznin took as his literary model the love poetry of Anacreon and his later imitators, whose works are generally known as anacreontics; he translated and paraphrased many such poems. Their style is far from the linguistic simplicity we saw in Karpiriski ; it comes closer to seventeenthcentury baroque, and some of Kniaznin's concepts are reminiscent of A. Morsztyn. He began to achieve true simplicity only in his later poems. 14 But Kniaznin always took great pains over his style, as may be seen from the numerous corrections he made in the texts of his own works ; attention to detail and, at the same time, variety can be seen in his versification. In his later works Kniaznin treated patriotic and religious themes in addition to the subject of love, and he also showed himself proficient at the occasional writing so popular at the time, a form which drew on familiar topics of court aud social life for its material. Some of Kniaznin's patriotic songs became very popular, such as Matka-obywatelka (The Mother-Citizen), a lullaby which tells of a mother who dreams about her son's future and imagines him as a virtuous and famous leader 'both in heart and mind.' Suddenly her heart is grieved w

"

Borowy, 'W cypryjskim powiecie'. As stated by Borowy, ibid. See Poezje, complete edition, Vols. I—III (1787-88).

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by the thought that the future may bring a worse fate and that her child may grow up to be 'his fatherland's traitor and criminal, who may even shed his own brothers' blood.' This allusion to many real traitors and criminals and the suffering caused by them is made poignant in the expression of the mother's grief. Another poem of this kind, Do Ojczyzny (To the Fatherland), expresses with equal strength and in a direct manner the same feelings of pain and horror at those who have betrayed and humiliated their country and themselves in these difficult times. Many important contemporary events are related in Kniaznin's lyrical poems, such as the Four-Year Diet, the Constitution of the Third of May, the KoSciuszko Insurrection. Besides patriotic feeling, they display a highly developed social conscience. Kniaznin also wrote a humorous but tender Oda do wqsdw (Ode to the Mustache) — the long, curled mustache cultivated by Poles in the older days; under the influence of French fashion, 'the effeminate nation' is now reacting against it. 'The god of love' used to sit on this mustache, and the girls whispered to one another that 'they would give their life for that mustache.' The German girls said about King Jan Sobieski, savior of Vienna, that he looked beautiful with his mustache. The poet concludes by proudly defying the fashionable trends of the present which scorn the mustache as much as valor itself:'. . . and because I am still a Pole, I shall curl my mustache.' Religious devotion is expressed in Kniaznin's paraphrases of the psalms, and in some lyrical poems which are full of profound faith and confidence in divine justice. Kniaznin's courtly poems, connected with his sojourn at the Czartoryski estate, consist mainly of eclogues, 'operas,' and numerous occasional pieces of varying length and value. Another patriotic work of Kniaznin is the dramatic sketch, Matka Spartanka (The Spartan Mother), performed by the princely family at the court theater in Pulawy. It presents the ideal Spartan mother, as known from an ancient myth; she sends her son back to the battlefield after he had come to tell her that victory is swaying to the side of the enemy. And she says to him: 'They sent you? So you are good enough only to bring bad news? You have only legs and no heart? O disgrace!' In one respect Kniainin was also a forerunner of certain later romantic tendencies: he drew his subject matter from the life of the peasants and from folklore and legends. His three-act play Cyganie (The Gypsies), which includes much singing and dancing, is characteristic of this trend. For the first time, members of that unfortunate, despised, nomadic tribe

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are presented in Polish poetry. They are treated objectively by Kniaznin, even with a certain sympathy, and they awake in him a considerable aristic interest by their colorful life, customs, language, songs, and superstitions. The plot of the play turns around the traditional motif of two 'white' children kidnapped by the gypsies, and ends happily when the children return to their parents. With regard to folklore legends we find Kniaznin making use of them to great humourous advantage in his 'poetic epistle' Babia gdra (The Baba Mountain), in which he warns his friend of horrors, ghosts, witches, and the like, with which he may be threatened during his excursion in the mountains. Many of the later romantic poets treated these folk motifs in a similar half-humorous, half-serious way, using them rather as an adornment for their ballads. The political literature of the period is rich both in quality and quantity, comprising hundreds of treatises, pamphlets and books that deal with general and particular issues connected with the reform of the state and the work of the Four-Year Diet. The foremost political writer of the time was Stanislaw STASZIC ( 1 7 5 5 - 1 8 2 6 ) , a burgher from Wielkopolska and spiritually a descendant of Modrzewski, Skarga, and Konarski. He had received a thorough education at Leipzig, Gottingen, and Paris and was well acquainted both with his own and with other European countries. We have already spoken of the emergence during the Stanislavian Period of a new type of cultured Pole with a European mentality, universal principles, broad liberal and democratic views, and a reasonable but genuine patriotism; these characteristics apply perfectly to Staszic, who was indeed one of the most representative figures of the age. Staszic's life was interesting and intense, and during his career he engaged in a variety of pursuits. He was first connected with the home and family of Andrzej Zamoyski, having tutored one of his sons and lectured at the Zamoyski Academy. Before the third partition of the country he devoted himself chiefly to writing and socio-political work; afterward he became president of the Warsaw Society of the Friends of Science (founded in 1800); as a scientist and geologist he made expeditions all over the country in search of minerals. Poland has him to thank for the reorganization and growth of the coal mines in the D^browa mining district, as well as the metal mines in Olkusz. He also worked to improve the organization and scope of education in Poland, particularly professional education, to which he attached great importance. He was the first in Poland to further the principles of the cooperative, and he founded the Agricultural Society with the aims of improving the cultivation of the

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soil, introducing a more scientific basis for production, developing an agricultural market, and raising the cultural level of the peasants. In 1824 he divided among his peasants his entire estate, which he had acquired solely by his own efforts, thus setting an example of personal sacrifice which was, unfortunately, all too rarely imitated. However, he never expected such philanthropy to provide a solution to the peasant question, and in his writing he demanded the legal granting of land to the peasants. The most important of Staszic's works are: Uwagi nad zyciem J ana Zamoyskiego (Comments on the Life of Jan Zamoyski, 1785) and Przestrogi dla Polski (Warnings for Poland, 1790), in which he exposes his general attitudes towards society, the state, the rights and duties of the citizens, and develops a detailed project for the salvation of Poland. Staszic's fundamental principle is the conception of society as 'one moral entity, the members of which are citizens.' This idea probably came to him through his reading of the French Encyclopedists, and particularly Jean-Jacques Rousseau; but he proceeded to formulate and elaborate it until it became the cornerstone of a whole system in a way which is undoubtedly original. In his definition he emphasized the moral, that is, spiritual, foundation of society, the very seed from which the state must grow, and he therefore broke with all earlier theories which considered society as something lower than the state, a mere tool to serve the 'higher' dynastic, imperialistic and other purposes. Although in Poland the society of the gentry depended on no authority, indeed was endowed with every privilege and freedom, it comprised only 10 percent of the population, and the state it created was weak and inefficient. Thus the major part of Polish society was in a state of subjection and had no control over public affairs or government. When Staszic writes about society he looks at it as a whole, seeing not just the top layer but every stratum, and important consequences result from this new conception. The moral consequence, as Staszic sees it, is that the citizen members of this 'unified entity' should identify themselves with it, they should 'offer their will and strength to the whole society.' The consequence concerning polity is that, in relation to society, which is the original unit, the state and all its attributes are derivative, secondary, and dependent phenomena which society establishes by its own will and which are to serve society. It is a social rather than a political ideology which inspires Staszic, and the same is true also of Rousseau and other Western European writers. All fetishism toward the state or idolatry of its representatives, whether they be emperors, kings, or princes, was foreign and despicable to Staszic.

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The state, then, is the servant of society. Its first duty is to establish conditions in which the individual and society as a whole can live freely and develop prosperously, both in their physical and spiritual existence. The state should not appropriate any other prerogatives for itself. Society knows best what it requires to be happy, and the state has only to furnish it with the opportunity and the means to achieve that purpose. Staszic further discusses these conditions and means necessary for the development of society, including education, which should be public rather than private (a condition which, incidentally, had already been partly achieved in Poland by the Commission for National Education). In connection with these ideas Staszic emphasized the significance of the teaching profession and its important role in the education of the younger generation. In order for society to achieve its aims, the state must be well organized and efficiently governed; further, it must be strongenough to defend society f r o m all external attacks and in its internal policy must respect an objective standard of justice toward all its citizens regardless of origin, race, or religion. (One must not forget that what today seems self-evident to us was an almost revolutionary innovation at the time of Staszic). Staszic was an adherent of the republican system as the most desirable polity, a logical result of his general views on society and its relation to the state. In contemporary Poland, however, he thought a monarchical regime necessary, both because of the age-old danger of anarchy and because of the proximity of such strong absolute monarchies as Russia, Prussia, and Austria. He thought of monarchy in Poland as a temporary measure which, to be efficient, should be hereditary and not elective; the elective system was the cause of too much confusion and corruption. This recommendation was a concession on the part of Staszic's own convictions to the plain facts of immediate political necessity. However, his distrust of monarchy is seen in his stipulation that the future king of Poland should have very limited powers; he would even deprive the king of the right to appoint officials, since they, in his opinion, should be elective (again a very advanced idea). The Diet, on the other hand, which should be permanently in session, should be endowed with great authority, both legislative and executive. A strong and permanent army was needed in order to strengthen the state so that it might defend its frontiers effectively. We know that this issue had been among the chief concerns of the Four-Year Diet and that many factors prevented a practical solution. One of the chief obstacles was lack of money, resulting partly from difficulties in the organization

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of an efficient system of tax collection in a country where the wealthiest class had, in the course of centuries, 'lost the habit' of paying taxes. Staszic realized all these difficulties. He knew that the creation of an army was impossible without the introduction of universal taxation, a system which in this case meant putting pressure primarily on the gentry, since the other classes were already paying as much tax as they could. But even this provision would not have been adequate. The state can depend effectively on taxation only when there is sufficient wealth in the country to be drawn upon; otherwise, the population will simply be impoverished and the state itself will gain little. Much could be gained from the gentry, but that class comprised only a small fraction of the population, while the majority, the burghers and peasants, were too poor to pay much. What was the solution? The only way of solving the problem was, of course, to raise the prosperity of the underprivileged social classes. How could that be done? By abolishing all the limitations imposed upon the burgher population; that is, by abolishing the laws which prohibited the burghers from purchasing land and gave the gentry the monopoly on tariffs, and further, by admitting the burghers to public offices (clerical, civil, and military) and enabling them to take a more lively part in trade and industry. As regards the peasant question, Staszic was in tune with the spirit of his time when he demanded that land be given to the peasant with the right of inheritance, that serfdom be abolished together with the peasant's enforced attachment to the land, that, in short, the peasant should be emancipated. However, so many class prejudices still prevailed among the Polish gentry, and the general cultural and social level of the peasants remained so low that Staszic could not develop his plans very far; that is, he could not demand full equality of rights for the peasants, representation for them in the Diet, or any right to hold public office. Staszic fought for the broadest possible conception of freedom, and where he limited the freedom of the individual it was only for the greater good of all; but he continually repeated that freedom without justice is merely an illusion and can never be entirely materialized. Freedom is only a reality when it is grounded in social justice which guarantees the freedom of all social estates and all citizens, and not merely the privileges of a fortunate few. The points which we have tried to render systematically are treated throughout Staszic's writings in a rather disarranged manner. He wrote zealously with a passionate faith in his ideas, but he lacked the power of construction, and his ideas are not logically integrated. He jumped from

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subject to subject and sometimes fell into what at first sight appear to be contradictions. His style tends on occasion to be ponderous and obscure, and it is full of neologisms. For all that, Staszic is a powerful writer with a wealth of feeling, imagery, and lyrical pathos at his command, especially when he has to speak of social injustice and national disgrace. Taken as a whole his work has the great charm of freshness and vivacity, of ideas trying to find their verbal expression; and it is remarkable besides for some of the original concepts it introduces, the brilliant formulation of complicated problems, and the new interpretation of questions to which the old ansers had too long been taken for granted. Here are some samples of this style from Warnings for Poland-. [A picture of peasant poverty] . . . Five parts of the Polish nation are in front of my eyes. I see a million creatures, among whom some are half-naked, and the rest covered with skins of animals or coarse russets; they are all withered, miserable, hirsute, and blackened with soot. Their eyes are hollow and sunken, their breath is short. Morbid, benumbed, stupid, they feel and think but little, which is their only good fortune; one can scarcely find a rational soul in these people. At first glance their external appearance resembles more that of an animal than of a man. 'Peasant' signifies the ultimate in degradation and public scorn. Their food is bread of the coarse flour and for one quarter of the year nothing but weed; their drink — water or vodka, which burns up their insides; their homes — caves or sheds scarcely raised above the ground; the sun never shines into these dwellings which smell of smoke, that kind of smoke which deprives them of light so that they see their suffering less clearly and thus suffer less; suffocating them both at night and during the day it shortens their miserable lives, killing many in infancy. In this abyss of stench and smoke the tired farmer rests on a mouldering pallet; his naked children sleep on the same resting place, together with the cow and its calf and the pig with its little ones. My good Poles! This is the lot of this part of your countrymen on whom the fate of your Republic depends. The men who feed us. That is the condition of the Polish farmer. [The overlords] The perdition of Poland lies with the magnates! . . . Who teaches the citizens treason, deceit, corruption and violence at the dietines? Who cheats, bribes, and lulls the innocent gentry with drink, that petty gentry, who most decently and most sincerely want the good of the Republic? The Overlords! Who, for a centuiy, has paralyzed all legislative power willfully by breaking Diet sessions? Who turned the courts of law into a

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public market, a place of drinking, bribing and violence? Those same lords! Who, time and again, has sold the crown? The lords! Who, as often, has bought the crown? The lords! Who brought foreign armies into the country? The lords! The lords have led our dear fatherland into decline, weakness, and humiliation, from which the gentry itself now has to rescue it despite the many obstacles placed in their way by those same lords. Staszic also tried his hand at poetry. He translated works of Voltaire and the entire Iliad; he wrote a long poem of his own (17,000 lines) entitled Rdd ludzki (The Human Race), which is in fact a historic-philosophical treatise, tracing the principal stages in the development of human civilization. This poem is imbued with the philosophy of Enlightenment, a belief in salvation by way of reason and education, and proclaims the fight against political despotism and all manners of superstition, including those of religion. The work is written in the spirit of Voltaire, the French Encyclopedists, and Volney. But although Staszic at times used truly poetic images in his prose, his poetry is no more than heavy, rhymed prose. Another outstanding political writer and leader of this period was Father Hugo KOLLATAJ (1750-1812), the 'soul' of the patriotic party of reform and an experienced, skillful, and moderate politician who had a broad and scholarly mind and was at the same time an ambitious man who sought power. Psychologically he differs greatly from Staszic, who was a thinker and dreamer rather than a practical politician and was devoid of any personal ambitions. Consequently, Kollataj achieved much more in the practical field than Staszic, exerting a direct influence on contemporary politics, on the activity of the Four-Year Diet, and on the laws enacted by that Diet, especially the Constitution of the Third of May. From the very beginning, together with a patriotic group, he took part in the deliberations on the reform of the state, and he finally became the author of the reform program. He formulated the claims of the burghers in an excellent memorandum which they presented to the king, and it was through his efforts that the Diet granted broader rights to the burghers. Together with the distinguished statesman Ignacy Potocki, he was the author of the Constitution of the Third of May. As we know, he had reformed the Jagiellonian University even before the national reforms. After the enactment of the Constitution he was appointed vice-chancellor of the crown; during the Kosciuszko Insurrection he was minister of the treasury and took an active part in the work of the insurgent government. After the failure of the Insurrection he was imprisoned by the Austria

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for several years, and he then returned to Poland during the period of the Duchy of Warsaw. A new field was now open for his activity; unfortunately, in these altered conditions KoU^taj no longer played a major political role. Probably one of the main reasons for his withdrawal was the fact that he encountered animosity among the persons now in power, and an open campaign directed against him by his enemies, who, because of his ambitious character, were all too numerous. He was also reproached for certain of his activities earlier in life; some of these accusations were libelous and false, but there had been such unpleasant events in Koll^taj's career as his ambiguous attitude towards the Confederacy of Targowica. The force of popular discredit was such that the services of this outstanding man were lost to the country at a crucial time. Koilqtaj's fundamental political work is Do Stanislawa Malachowskiego Anonima listdw kilka (Letters by an Anonym to Stanislaw Malachowski, 1788), written in the form of letters to the Speaker of the Four-Year Diet. They contain a complete program for the reform of the Republic. KoH^taj's basic ideas are the same as those of Staszic and other statesmen of the time, but he differs from Staszic both in the way he presents and justifies his program and in the actual, sometimes detailed, projects for reform. Koll^taj realized clearly that Poland had to have a more exactly defined polity and not something uncertainly balanced between a republic and a monarchy, with a fragile competence of powers and an indefinite separation between them. Like Staszic, he supports a strong constitutional monarchy with a hereditary throne, strictly enforced social justice for all estates, the abolishment of the liberum veto, and universal taxation. But, as a practical politician, he is more concerned with real possibilities, is more cautious and moderate in his program, which he is careful to make logical and consistent. So, for instance, he reasons that if there is to be a king he should not be a purely representative and symbolic figure, or he would not differ at all from the Polish kings of the past; he must, on the contrary, be endowed with some real prerogatives and some measure of authority. Unlike Staszic, Koll^taj endows his king with limited power to appoint senators and control the executive authorities. His distinction between legislative and executive power is also important; it is one of the axioms of state law, but in Poland it could not be enforced because of the autocracy of the Diet. In this issue Staszic, as we know, followed not so much the voice of tradition as his own strict and uncompromising democratic principles and wished to concentrate legislative and executive power in the Diet. In Kottqtaj's projects, which were introduced in the Constitution of the Third of May, executive power was given over to

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separate ministries or 'commissions.' The issue of representation at the Diet gave Koll^taj much difficulty; on one hand his democratic principles told him to give the right of representation to at least the entire gentry and the burghers. On the other hand, he realized that the poor gentry was neither intellectually nor politically prepared to assume responsible legislative functions; being economically dependent on the rich lords, the small gentry would become an instrument of intrigue and disorder in their hands. Koll^taj then chose the road of compromise, establishing a census of assets, which eliminated from representation all those who owned less than 300 acres of land. This provision appears very undemocratic, but it was prompted by the urgent necessity of introducing order in the Diet and in the state; this achievement would habe been impossible if too many inexperienced and untrained persons had been admitted to the legislative institutions. Besides, Kott^taj clearly emphasized that he considered this provision as a temporary expedient. He had no reservations with regard to the burghers, considering them to be a more cultured element; but, again taking into consideration the sensitivity of the gentry on this issue, he proposed two separate Diet chambers, one for the gentry and one for the burghers. The problem of the army was also acute. Like other patriots, Koll^taj knew that the largest possible armed force was necessary to save the country and that an army of only 100,000, as proposed by Staszic and others, was not sufficient; here too, however, he had to reckon with the financial facts and poor taxation: he thus cautiously suggested 60,000 for the time being. Many other of Koll^taj's measures are characterized by this same caution, common sense, and expediency. Had he been too zealous and radical he would never have attained so much influence nor been able to carry through the majority of his plans. The plans which in Letters by an Anonym possess a general and synthetic character were more carefully detailed and systematized in Kollqtaj's Prawo polityczne narodu polskiego (Political Law of the Polish Nation, 1790). This work was prepared for the deputation elected by the Diet to frame 'the constitution of the Polish government.' Kotl^taj's third important work, written in collaboration with Ignacy Potocki and Franciszek Dmochowski, is entitled O ustanowieniu i upadku Konstytucji polskiej 3 Maja (The Enactment and the Fall of the Polish Constitution of the Third of May, 1793). It is a kind of polemical history, recording the activity of the Four-Year Diet and at the same time defending it against the recriminations of its opponents and accusing them of destroying that whole monumental work.

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In the last paragraphs of this book KoH^taj expressively elucidates the significance of the Constitution and foresees the role it will play in the future as a kind of political and social signpost for the coming generations. The profound warning of Rousseau had been observed; he had admonished the Polish nation: 'Poles! If you cannot prevent your neighbors from devouring you, try at least to prevent them from digesting you!' KoH^taj's writings reveal great clarity and precision of language, logical thought, thorough consistency, and compact structure. In the following passage taken from the speech 'To the Illustrious D e p u t a t i o n . . . , ' which precedes Political Law of the Polish Nation, he justifies the necessity of granting rights and freedom to the oppressed: Elected delegates . . . I trust . . . that in your laws no place will be given to artful hypocrisy, nor to base fear, and still less to injustice motivated by private interest. The human being and his safety, the citizen and his happiness, the country and its integrity will be the only guiding principles of your labors. But caution, the noblest attribute of human reason, is likely to suggest to you this consideration that the time is not yet come to disclose the truth in all its fullness to the Polish people. Yet that same caution never admitted of thoughts so despondent: the services of caution in legislation are needed only for finding the means by which the truth may be revealed to the people, not for concealing it, nor for the violation of rights of justice and humanity for the sake of consideration of prejudice. There is no time in which, or consideration of time for which, it would be fitting to violate the rights of man, or to refuse redress to those violated. That nation may not call itself free where man is unhappy; may not be free that country where man is enslaved. For no legislation is justified being silent on the rights of man; no society may sacrifice men to men. Such caution should give itself the name either of injustice or of fear. And to say that unenlightened people may not have their rights restored to them in their entirety, is to speak against the rules of caution and of justice. Whoever tries to impose the yoke of slavery upon the unenlightened, may he turn to his own heart, may he ask himself whether he would consent to be deprived of his inherent rights if chance placed him among the common people? To be deprived of his personal security and of his property? Or can we say that our nobility, to which Polish law guarantees not only freedom but also equality in the government, is enlightened in its entirety? Such caution then which refuses to restore human rights to man because he is not enlightened would be just as cruel and inequitable, as that which for the very same reasons would rob the poor nobleman of his civil rights. True, not only Poland admits such inequity . . .

French

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isles, Dutch and English colonies treat much more cruelly the Negroes, those unfortunate inhabitants of two continents, whose tears besprinkle the products which sate and enrich prosperous Europeans. But can one justify the violation of natural rights by inequity in other countries or by antiquated prejudice?... But would it not be better first to educate the common people and to prepare them cautiously for the acceptance of the sacred gift of freedom? No, I answer, that would not be better; indeed he would truly be the worst legislator who would wait for the people to be educated before restoring to them their freedom. There is nothing more terrible for human nature than being an enlightened slave; he feels then all the weight of inequity oppressing him and thinks only of recovering his inherent rights, turning all his thoughts to seeking vengeance against the one who until then held his property unjustly, keeping up the flame in his heart to make it strong enough for the fiercest retaliation. Let no one be surprised by the cruelty of the people of which we may have to read or to hear; for the fruit, of which oppression is the father and slavery the mother, must surpass in venom and cruelty whatever plunder and murder we can picture to ourselves in our minds. . . . Repugnance which is so deeply rooted in the people will merely be dulled by the cruelty of swords, which, however, will never succeed in extinguishing it. The more he is modest, the more the slave subdues the moans that rise to Heaven, the more cruel are the feelings buried in his heart; and in due time they will explode in fierce hate against the iniquitous usurper of his liberty... Koll^taj also wrote a number of political pamphlets and speeches on issues of immediate concern. He also organized a group of politicians and social leaders which came to be known as the 'Koti^taj Smithy.' It included such men as T. S. Jezierski, a radical and very acute writer, Father Ks. Dmochowski, a theoretician of poetry and, in his political works, a spokesman for progress, as well as many others. They wrote brochures, leaflets, lampoons, satires, and treatises in the spirit of KoH^taj, and all aimed at the reform of the Republic. The literary and political work of Juljan Ursyn NIEMCEWICZ ( 1 7 5 7 - 1 8 4 1 ) falls in that period between the last years of independence and the postpartition era. Here again is an exalted, noble, and moving figure, one of those who combined the finest traits of the Polish Age of Enlightenment. By glancing at the dates of his birth and death we see what times and events he lived through. He was born in free Poland and then experienced all three partitions, the Kosciuszko Insurrection, the Duchy of Warsaw,

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and the Congress Kingdom, later the November Insurrection of 1830 and, after its fall, exile in France. He was no passive spectator during these eventful years of change, but everywhere took an active part and contributed personally and actively to the character of each of these periods. He was educated at the Military Academy; afterward he was aide-de-camp to Prince Adam Kazimierz Czartoryski and made many trips abroad which acquainted him with European conditions in general and gave him the desire to raise his own country to the same level. At the time of the FourYear Diet he was representative for Livonia, that borderland province in the northeast of the Republic (now part of Latvia), and an active member of the patriotic party. He spoke at the Diet in defense of its projects, popularized its program, and influenced public opinion by editing the Gazeta rtarodowa i obca (National and Foreign Gazette), the first political periodical in Poland. After the victory of the Confederacy of Targowica he went abroad, but soon returned home in order to take part in the Kosciuszko Insurrection as the commander's secretary and aide-de-camp. After the battle of Maciejowice he was taken prisoner together with Kosciuszko and spent two years in a Russian fortress. After his liberation by tsar Paul he went to America with Kosciuszko, where he married an American woman and lived for many years. After his return to Poland he devoted himself chiefly to literary work, without oceuying any public position. When the November Insurrection broke out, Niemcewicz, who was then over seventy went to England on a diplomatic mission to persuade the Western powers to intervene on behalf of the Insurrection. Like so many others, this mission failed because of the unwillingness of the European governments to provoke Russia or meddle in its 'internal affairs.' Finally Niemcewicz settled in Paris together with the majority of Polish émigrés, and he continued to work incessantly for the Polish cause. He was respected by men of every political trend, as the patriarch of patriotic and liberal movements, as the representative of the 'testament' the Republic left behind, and as an honest and disinterested man with great integrity of mind and culture. Niemcewicz's literary work is scattered through all the periods of his life. As a poet he was mediocre, but unusually sensitive to all literary stimuli coming from outside. He was a true literary experimenter who assimilated various foreign literary genres and forms into Polish literature. Most of his work in this direction belongs to the post-partition period, and we shall speak of it in our subsequent chapters. Before the partitions he wrote many shorter works: lampoons, occasional poems, fables, historical plays, one 'political' comedy, pasquinades about the Confed-

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erates of Targowica, and elegies. Most of these works have a marked topical interest, serve some public cause, elucidate some contemporary issue, or propagandize for some immediate project. His fables, for instance, have little in common with the classical fable; they are long, frequently redundant, and devoid of any pointe; they do not treat universal issues, but immediate Polish problems. His play, entitled Kazimierz Wielki (Casimir the Great), was written to celebrate the enactment of the Constitution of the Third of May. His comedy, Powrot posla (The Deputy's Return), was intended to prepare the public for the reforms of this Constitution and to explain its character. The same is true of his satires, which deal with contemporary political events, and are often no more than pasquinades — bold, but lacking the power of true literature. Even the 'ballads' he wrote at the time (a genre which comes close to that of The Songs of Ossian and frequently imitates them), as an early experiment, are not without some allusions to immediate questions. It is therefore not surprising that his works do not possess any major literary value, especially the works of this period; their significance is limited to their cultural and educational role. This is also true of his masterpiece of that period, The Deputy's Return. Although this is an original comedy, that is, its subject is not drawn from any foreign source but from the author's own observations of Polish conditions, its originality is, unfortunately, limited exclusively to these conditions alone rather than to any of the more important elements of comedy which go to make up dramatic art. The Deputys Return lacks any dramatic spirit or feeling for the stage. There is a meager plot, based on the familiar motif of love contending with obstacles: a rival is supported by the girl's parents. On the other hand, the play is significant as propaganda by contrasting the characters who represent the patriotic party with the reactionary Sarmatian gentry. It is noteworthy that the Sarmatians are dramatically more lively in their ignorance than the patriots whose virtues and wisdom are rather dull. The propaganda value of the play, however, which gives a popularized defense of the reform program, must have done more to persuade the hesitant than many a political brochure. We should add that the style of the comedy is simple and witty, with an effective vein of satire and parody in the portrayal of the Sarmatians. The play is written in verse which is flexible and ingenious. Architecture of the Saxonian Period continues the same as that of the preceding period, but with some variations. Several beautiful churches in the baroque style were built in Warsaw (the churches of the

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Holy Cross and of the Visitant Sisters), in Wilno (St. John), and in Lw6w (the church of the Dominicans and the magnificent Uniat Church of St. George). At the same time a new style, the rococo, which was a variation of the baroque, penetrated into Poland from Saxony. The Saxonian Palace in Warsaw is built partly in this style, as is the so-called 'Palace under tin' and several palaces in the provinces. Painting was best represented by Szymon Czechowicz (1689-1775), a religious painter who spent many years of study in Italy, after which he worked at home, chiefly in churches, monasteries, and manors. He left behind a fair number of good paintings and portraits (for instance, the scene of the martyrdom of a Christian with the features of the Madonna). Czechowicz also founded a private school of painting. Another better known contemporary painter was Tadeusz Konicz (Kuntze, 1731-93), who was also educated in Italy, principally Naples. One of his distinguished paintings which is still preserved is the allegorical 'Fortune,' which represents the traditional female figure with eyes covered who leans lightly with her foot on a sphere and throws treasures around her to a large crowd. The influence of French art may be observed in the development of miniature painting, beautiful examples of which are kept in Polish museums. Work in secular music was centered around the Warsaw Theater, which performed Italian operas of the Neapolitan school. Because of Poland's close relations with Dresden, the seat of the Polish kings of the Saxonian dynasty, Warsaw was visited by distinguished musicians, singers, and conductors. It is worthwhile to mention that Johann Sebastian Bach received from King August III the title of official composer of the court 15 . Following the king's example many wealthy Polish lords maintained an opera at their courts, as, for instance, Oginski, author of the popular polonaises. Polish elements began to be more strongly felt in religious music, which was cultivated in monasteries, but there were no outstanding composers in this field. The Stanislavian Period brought with it an increased interest in art, in which the king, as we know, was the leader. He contributed greatly to the growth of a new, neoclassic style which began to reign in Polish architecture of this period, replacing the eariier baroque and rococo styles. He collaborated actively and creatively in the plans for several u A letter of Bach of February 12, 1737, to the town councii in Leipzig is signed: 'Compositeur von Konigl[icher] Maj[estiit] in Pohlen Hoff-Capelle.'

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buildings and for his summer residence, the "Lazienki Palace'; this was a beautiful example of the neoclassic style, erected in a park. The interior of the Royal Castle was also of his design. The Palace of the Czartoryskis in Pulawy, with the famous Temple of Sybille, and many other palaces of wealthy noblemen were built in the same style. At this time a Protestant church in the style of the Pantheon was built in Warsaw. Italian as well as Polish architects directed and supervised this work. Painting was still controlled by the Italians, such as Canaletto, who executed the excellent 'Warsaw landscapes,' or Bacciarelli, director of the royal buildings and the school of painting, who decorated the halls at the Castle in Warsaw and the 'Lazienki Palace' and painted the portraits of the king and other dignitaries (for instance, the portrait of King Jan Sobieski as a Roman warrior). Many other Italian artists like Lampi and Grassi, as well as the Frenchwoman, Vigee Lebrun, were active in Poland. The Frenchman Jean-Pierre Norblin became an outstanding Polish genre painter; he remained in Poland until 1804, and even when he returned to France he continued to paint Polish types. Many Polish motifs may also be found in the fine drawings and etchings of Daniel Chodowiecki, who was a Germanized Pole from Gdansk. Among the Polish painters, we should mention the Stroinski brothers in Lwow, Aleksander Kucharski, and the landscape painters, J. B. Plersch and Jan Scislo, in addition to Kazimierz Wojniakowski in Krakow, and the religious painter Smuglewicz, who later became a professor in Wilno. Tadeusz Kuntze and the religious painter, Czechowicz, who have already been mentioned, continued their work through this period. The richest and most valuable gallery of paintings belonged to the king. He was generous with funds for the collections of art pieces; his agents bought paintings for him in Italy and the Netherlands, among others the famous 'Polish Nobleman' and six other paintings by Rembrandt. Some magnates followed the king's example by collecting works of art, though on a smaller scale and probably with less competence. Church music, which had been relatively well developed, now disappeared almost completely. Secular music consisted predominantly of operas, cantatas, and songs. The first Polish opera has the symbolic title, Misery Rewarded, with the libretto written by Bohomolec and the music by Maciej Kamienski, a Slovak by origin, who introduced Slovak folk melodies, in combination with Italian and German motifs, into Polish music. A Czech named Stefani, the official violinist of the court, composed the music for Boguslawski's play, Cracovians and Mountaineers.

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By looking at the history of Old Polish culture and literature as a whole we see that one of its significant traits is that it developed sporadically, so to speak, which means that it did not develop slowly, systematically, and durably, preserving the achievements of one period and building new values upon them, but rather it went forward at an uneven pace, sometimes with large strides which were followed by stagnation and a neglect of what had already been attained. 16 An outstanding example of this 'rhythmic' development is the relationship of the period from the midsixteenth century to the mid-seventeenth century with the epoch from the mid-seventeenth to the mid-eighteenth century. During the first epoch the evolution was considerable in nearly every domain, in this case preceded by preparatory work of the earlier century, at times quite impressive, as in poetry and political and social philosophy. Unfortunately, the men of that period left no successors; neither Kochanowski, Modrzewski, nor Skarga had any heirs, so that everything they created seemed to have been discarded during the second half of the seventeenth century and the Saxonian Period; all was forgotten, and the general level of culture dropped. A sudden upheaval occurred during the Stanislavian Period. Again excellent talents appeared in various domains; culture again reached an impressive level, but this time it was even less general than in the sixteenth century, limited only to certain intellectual groups rather than extending to the wider circles of the gentry. The Saxonian Period had thus reaped its vengence. No nation can without penalty interrupt its cultural progress and sink into passivity, leaving the whole work of civilization to individuals, heroically though they may strive for higher levels. Such heroism is very noble and valuable, but it cannot replace the collective work of a whole society. Poland had many heroes and geniuses, not only in that period but later, however it lacked masses which should have been educated and prepared for a continuous, durable, ever-progressing effort toward civilization and culture. This affected Polish culture and its evolution negatively, both then and later. This also distinguished it unfavorably from the cultural progress of the Romance, Anglo-Saxon, and Germanic peoples. Another characteristic feature of Polish culture is that, although it spread rather broadly in the country, it did not reach deeply enough. It had a rural rather than urban character, unlike the cultures of Western Europe, which during antiquity had concentrated in big cities like Athens and Rome and later in the Italian cities, Paris, and London. In Poland, cities like Krakow, Lwöw, and Poznan lost their significance rather early. "

A. Brückner writes about this in his History of Polish Culture, Vol. I.

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Warsaw gained it only towards the very end of the existence of the Republic. Beginning with the seventeenth century, the Polish cities were in decline and therefore could not become focal points of intellectual endeavor or centers of general culture. Naturally, during periods of cultural upheaval, there existed smaller centers which radiated on individual provinces, but they could not replace a general center. Finally, the culture of the Republic during its epoch of independence had predominantly the character of the gentry; that is, in fact, an aristocratic character which excluded not only the burghers and the peasantry but even the wider circles of the gentry. The gentry's merits were great in the creation of that culture, and nobody can deny them; great was also the vital force of a nation which produced so many outstanding men under unfavorable conditions existing before and after the partitions. Nevertheless, the fact remains that this high culture did not reach down to the masses; it failed to transform or raise them, and the contrast between the educated and the ignorant classes was greater in Poland than in other countries, a condition which, in the end, contributed to the decline of the Republic.

CHAPTER VI

AFTER THE PARTITIONS: CLASSICISM AND PRE-ROMANTICISM

The tragic feature of the partitions of Poland was the fact that the state ceased to exist at a moment when Polish society was beginning to undergo a rapid spiritual and moral regeneration. Thirty years of intensive work during the Stanislavian Period had accomplished a great deal. If Poland had been given the opportunity of continuing that work undisturbed for a few more decades, she would certainly have gained a sound basis for a complete political and social renaissance. Unfortunately, internal weakness as well as external aggression made this impossible. We emphasize 'external aggression,' for this was at least as much a cause of the downfall as was internal anarchy. It would not have been easy for even a strong and economically well organized state to resist the joint aggression of three such mighty, imperialistic, and unscrupulous powers as were allied against Poland. It was a fortunate fact in this tragedy, however, that the catastrophe of the partitions occurred during the Stanislavian Period, after an era of broadly conceived reforms, the awakening of the national and social consciousness, and after the Constitution of the Third of May. It was only then that the value and significance of the Stanislavian Period, not only for the last years of the Republic but also for the entire further course of Polish history, was realized fully. This epoch had awakened in the nation a moral and spiritual force which provided the basis and outline for a program of action. This program consisted of a few basic points: the regaining of political independence, the organization of the state along the lines indicated by the Constitution of the Third of May (with, cf course, the necessary supplements that the creators of the Constitution could not introduce), alliance with all peoples struggling for freedom, and the maintenance of the patriotic idea on a universal level rather than within the frame of

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narrow Sarmatism or nationalism. This was the direction taken by the political activity of a number of subsequent generations. Naturally, the struggle for freedom and independence came to the forefront as the basis for all further action. This struggle of the Poles, not only for their own freedom but also for that of other nations, and their presence wherever a fight was waged against persecution and tyranny, became proverbial: in the Napoleonic wars, in the American Revolution, in the insurrections against tsarist Russia, against Austria and Prussia, in the revolutions of 1848 and 1905, and finally in both World Wars. The Poles thus acquired the sympathy of some, and the name of Don Quixotes among others. From the point of view of those elements which aspired to the stabilization of European affairs at any price, even that of wrongdoing and lawlessness, the Poles represented the most 'unquiet' element in nineteenthcentury Europe; they were always protesting, they never agreed to slavery, and they seldom resorted to compromise with the enemy. A result of the elimination of Poland as a European state was the fact, most detrimental in its future effects, that she lost the entire nineteenth century in respect to political, civilizational, and social development. At a time when all the larger and smaller European countries were consolidated and strengthened, when an extraordinary technical growth raised European civilization with considerable speed, when social conditions underwent basic alterations, when the middle class gained its power, when industry and commerce developed — the Polish nation led an unnatural life in three different, foreign political organisms, was forced to adjust to them and unable to shape its destiny independently or to solve its internal problems. It was others who acted for the Polish nation, and they did so in different ways, depending on their own interests. Hence the lack of uniformity in the development of the various provinces and the considerable differences among the three territories occupied respectively by Prussia, Austria, and Russia. Such is the general picture of the life of the Polish nation in slavery. In our further presentation of the history of Polish culture and literature we shall have to take into consideration this state of affairs under the three different occupations. The Russian-occupied territory comprised the whole former Grand Duchy of Lithuania and Volynia up to the line formed by the river Bug, the cities of Brzesc and Grodno, and the river Niemen. After the initial confiscation of lands, deportations, and the plundering by military rulers, a certain softening of Russian policy took place. Although the school

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system established by the Educational Commission was abolished, the Polish monastic schools were kept; the Jesuits, the abolition of whose order Catherine II did not recognize in order to 'spite' the pope, enjoyed special privileges. The Polish judiciary, which was run on the basis of the old Lithuanian Statute and whose members were elected according to the old tradition, was also maintained. On the other hand, the conditions of the peasants were greatly worsened. Many were chosen for compulsory military service lasting more than a dozen years. The peasants were taken from under government protection and surrendered to the disposition of landowners. The urban middle class was deprived even of those modest rights provided by the Constitution of the Third of May. Nevertheless, in this darkness there were also brighter spots. One of the brightest was the University of Wilno. especially in the period beginning in 1815. The former Academy of Wilno, founded in the time of Stefan Batory, had — as we have seen — undergone a certain reorganization by the Educational Commission. Mathematical studies were introduced, but the institution was still not a full university, for it lacked the faculties of law and medicine. It was not until 1802 that a sounder reform and the reshaping of the Academy into a four-faculty University were completed. This work was directed by Adam Jerzy Czartoryski (the son of Adam Kazimierz), a man of great merit who did much for Polish culture. He had gained important influence at the Russian court and belonged to the confidential circle of Alexander I at the time when the latter was toying with liberalism. In 1802 Czartoryski became the viceminister of external affairs and the curator of the educational region of Wilno. In this latter capacity he undertook a thorough reorganization of the Wilno Academy, making it the most important scholarly and pedagogical center in Polish territory for a long time. The University acquired four faculties and a wide internal autonomy. The professors were appointed on the basis of competition; they were given freedom in lecturing and an opportunity for research work. Among them there were Poles, some of the most illustrious being Jan and J?drzej SNIADECKI and LELEWEL, as well as foreigners: Frank, (doctor of medicine) Szpicnagel, Becu (Juljusz Slowacki's stepfather), Bojanus, and Groddeck (the well known classical philologist and future teacher of Mickiewicz). The University also supervised the schools in the entire educational region. It was quite well equipped, with supplementary institutions, laboratories, clinics, and a library. There was also a chair of fine arts of which the painter Smuglewicz and his pupil Rustem were distinguished incumbents. At the same time another educational and pedagogical center was

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created in Volynia. Although organized on a smaller scale, it was of equal value for the southeastern provinces of the former Republic. This was the Lyceum of Krzemieniec, founded and directed by Tadeusz Czacki, historian and lawyer, one of the foremost political writers of the Stanislavian Period. The Lyceum had seven grades: the four lower ones were comparable to a preparatory 'gymnasium' course, while the three higher ones, each lasting two years, were to give higher education on the university level in the fields of philology, mathematics, law, and some aspects of medicine. There was also a professional course for engineers. Czacki intended to reorganize secondary and elementary education on a larger scale in the new Volynian, Podolian, and Kievan provinces (Russian gubernii), but because the Lyceum existed only until 1833 he did not have time to carry out his plans even in part. At any rate, in this period those provinces saw the creation of five district and about 150 elementary schools. One should also mention the Jesuit Academy in Polock. It had faculties of theology, humanities, and law, an impressive building and rich collections. It existed only until 1820, when the Jesuits were expelled from all Russia. In the course of the three partitions, Prussia took all of the western Polish provinces and the central part of Poland with Warsaw. The Prussian policy, unlike the Russian, went immediately in the direction of denationalization and Germanization. First of all, the whole school system of the Educational Commission was abolished and in its place German education was introduced. Furthermore, city and country self-government was abolished, while everything was subordinated to the rule of centralized bureaucracy; the place of the former Polish courts was occupied by German ones. There were, however, some favorable features of the Prussian rule, such as the improvement of the conditions of the peasants, who were taken away from under the personal jurisdiction of their landlords and placed within the judiciary power of 'justiziaries'; the peasant remained a serf, but his duties were controlled and his work for the landlord limited. Furthermore, the Prussian government was concerned for the material culture of the country, especially for agriculture, and attempted, with a large measure of success, to win the favor of the landowners by grants of material assistance. On the other hand, German colonization of the Polish lands began at once. From the capital of a state Warsaw became a provincial city without any major role in the life of this part of the country. But the old spirit did

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not die completely. In 1800 the Towarzystwo Przyjaciol Nauk (Society of Friends of Learning) was founded in Warsaw; its purpose was to foster learning and the national language and to publish yearbooks and scholarly works. The character of the Society was not strictly scholarly, but it brought together outstanding representatives of the Polish intelligentsia and possessed a symbolic significance as the only cultural post of this province, as well as the effective significance of maintaining interest in national history and culture and encouraging the foundation of similar scholarly societies in other cities such as Lublin, Plock, and Krak6w. The Krakow Society, incidentally, was later transformed into the Academy of Science and Arts. The Austrian occupation embraced the southern part of the Republic: the regions of Krakow, Sandomierz, Lwow, Lublin, Chelm, and part of Podlasie. The Austrian government did not differ at all from the Prussian in its Germanizing tendencies; what made it even worse than the Prussian was the fact that it did not care at all for the recently acquired country; it exploited and robbed it, treating it as a 'colony,' giving it nothing in return, and not even attempting to raise its material level or to encourage its economic development. That is why 'Galicia,' as it was called, remained the poorest and, in the economic sense, the most backward region of Poland until the First World War, although it enjoyed greater political freedom than did the other regions. Of course, the Polish systems of education, jurisdiction, local selfgovernment, and the like were also abolished under the Austrian rule. The Austrian bureaucracy, which took over the rule of the country, was even more narrow in outlook than the Prussian, and at the same time extremely greedy and corrupted. Its backwardness, maliciousness, and stupidity became proverbial. Compulsory military service in the Austrian Army also played a large role in bringing damage and humiliation to the Polish people. Though the governments of Russia and Prussia followed the same policy, and though military service in those countries was even harder, the extent of the draft in Austria was far greater. To it were subject not only Polish and Ukrainian peasants, but also the former Polish soldiers and officers who had come from other provinces to seek refuge here, misled by the initial 'polite' behavior of the Austrian authorities. Now they were unconditionally drafted and incorporated within the Austrian ranks. The intellectual and cultural life of this region remained dormant for a long time, in spite of the existence of the decimated University of Krakow.

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It was not until basic constitutional changes in Austria itself were made and the Polish people acquired more freedom that a cultural revival could take place, leading to a flowering of Polish learning in this region in the second half of the nineteenth century. In spite of the hard conditions prevailing in all the Polish lands, the struggle for freedom and independence was hardly interrupted for a moment. Even before the third partition numerous Polish leaders began emigrating to France and Italy, and attempts were made to secure help for Poland from Western Europe, chiefly from revolutionary France. It was a difficult and ungrateful task, filled with innumerable complications because of the constantly changing political 'market possibilities.' But this action was not without effect; first of all it maintained the Polish question on the surface of political life; furthermore, it kept the morale at home high. Finally, in 1796, the Polish Legions were formed under the command of General Henryk D^browski and attached to the French Army in Lombardy. From this time on Poland began to cast its lot with France and Napoleon. There was a difference of opinion about this Polish collaboration with Napoleon. The home front was not at all unanimous on the question (Czartoryski advocated rather an understanding with the Russia of Alexander I); outstanding Poles like, for instance, Kosciuszko had no confidence in Napoleon and refused to cooperate with him. A considerable percentage of Poles, however, believed that, by joining France, they were entering into friendship with a nation which had just gone through a revolution of universal significance, whose armies carried on their banners the slogans of freedom, equality, and fraternity. (The legionnaires of D^browski wore on their arms the inscription: 'Free men are brothers.') In this way the Polish cause embraced universal causes. These ideals were worth fighting for, and it was possible to hope that the struggle would bring freedom also to Poland. Napoleon's organization of the Duchy of Warsaw in 1807 could have been considered as the first step in this direction. Needless to say, it did not satisfy the national aspirations, for the Duchy contained only a very small part of the former Republic, its autonomy was greatly limited, and its financial situation difficult; but, in any case, this was no longer Russian, Austrian, or Prussian slavery. Frederick Augustus, king of Saxony, became the Grand Duke of Warsaw. The Duchy received a separate constitution which is said to have been 'dictated' by Napoleon in one hour. It concentrated in effect all the power in the hands of the Duke, though a Diet and a Senate existed nominally. Otherwise the

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constitution was liberal, as was also the code of law, the so-called Code Napoléon, which prevailed even later in the Congress Kingdom. The Constitution provided for equality of all before the law and freedom for the peasants. Since, however, they were not granted land at the same time, their freedom was of little use to them. It was jokingly said that Napoleon had taken the chains off the peasant's feet, but had also torn off his boots. The Duchy of Warsaw became something of a military post or a 'bridgehead' for Napoleon's further military plans. Two years after the creation of the Duchy, in 1809, Polish forces, 60,000 in number, under the command of Prince Jôzef Poniatowski, took part in the Austrian campaign, liberating Galicia. Then came the year 1812, the Russian campaign, the defeat of Napoleon, 'the Battle of the Nations' at Leipzig and the death of Prince Jôzef in the waves of the Elster river, the deportation of Napoleon, his return to France, the period of 'the hundred days' of his renewed rule, and finally his defeat at Waterloo and his ultimate eclipse. In connection with the chaos which raged in Europe at the time of the Napoleonic wars, the Polish question was also subjected to fluctuations which must have seemed incomprehensible and absurd to the Polish people. But the old order of Europe, though not entirely overthrown, was at any rate seriously shaken. This was also reflected in the fate of Poland — in the social conditions, the spirit of the youth and the new intellectual movements which began to prevail in the so-called Congress Kingdom created by the Congress of Vienna in 1815. The Congress Kingdom contained only one seventh of the former territory of the Republic and less than one fifth of its population. The Code Napoléon was still in force; so was the administration created at the time of the Duchy, with the one difference that the French prefectures were replaced by Polish provinces. The full power rested in practice in the hands of the Administrative Council, composed of ministers and councillors of State. The Diet and the Senate existed, but still with a very limited sphere of action, that is, they could discuss bills introduced by the Council and send in petitions and complaints against the ministers. The Kingdom was joined with Russia through a personal union; the Russian tsar was at the same time king of Poland, a title used by the Russian emperors until the last days of their existence. One of the important achievements of the new Kingdom was the ordering of finances which — as we know — were in terrible condition at the time of the Duchy. The minister of the treasury was Prince Ksawery Lubecki, a peculiar type of self-taught financial genius, who in the course of two years not only balanced the national budget but even

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brought about a surplus. In addition to that he helped the landowners to pay their debts, founded the Rural Credit Society and the Bank of Poland, and accomplished the abolition of prohibitive tariffs to Russia, thus increasing the export of goods. Lubecki was ideologically a conservative and loyalist who favored collaboration with Russia, but he struggled courageously and effectively with Russian bureaucracy in defense of the interests of the Kingdom. On the other hand, there was no visible improvement in the burning peasant question, although the peasants numbered 3 million as against three hundred thousand of the gentry and over eight hundred thousand of the urban population. Voluntary agreements between the peasants and the lords, which were, incidentally, interpreted in various ways, did not alter the basic fact that the peasants still had no right to the land; they were only entitled to rent it in perpetuity or for a time; even this right was not extended to all the peasants. The work on the landlord's soil continued to be very hard, especially on smaller estates, while on national estates, former Crown's lands, the conditions of the peasants were generally better. Before 1815 there was no university in Warsaw; there were only higher courses in law and medicine with the practical aim of training lawyers and medical doctors. It was only now that a University was founded with all the faculties and 46 chairs, occupied by Poles exclusively. This University, however, during the sixteen years of the existence of the Kingdom did not develop sufficiently to equal that of Wilno, which was at this time in full flower. Simultaneously the first Polish polytechnical school began to be organized in Warsaw, consisting of various technical schools that had been founded by Staszic. Care was given also to the development of secondary and elementary municipal education, which also represented steps along the lines of the activities of Staszic. Rural schooling not only did not improve at the same rate, but the number of rural schools even decreased somewhat. The Polish army, even at the time of the Duchy of Warsaw, represented under the command of Prince J6zef Poniatowski a considerable and well organized force. Tsar Alexander named as its commander his brother, the Grand Duke Constantine, an ambitious and barbarous degenerate infatuated with military parades and very remote from Polish traditions and even from concepts of human dignity. The rule of Constantine was hard and humiliating. This provoked in the army, and especially among the officers, a spirit of discouragement and irritability. Suicides even occurred among the officers who were persecuted by the 'chief' and abused

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by him publicly during the famous parades on the Saxonian Square. The army was not alone in its difficulties. The general political situation in the new and artificial state offered no hope of permanence. The joining of the Kingdom to autocratic Russia through a personal union was unnatural and fatal. The Russian tsars and Polish kings in one person, as well as their representatives, such as the notorious Novosiltsov, neither understood the constitutional freedoms guaranteed to the Poles nor intended to respect them. Alexander's policy was in this respect quite two-faced, but his successor, Nicholas I, took an openly negative attitude toward the Kingdom. Russian bureaucracy worked frankly for the limitation of constitutional freedoms; it mixed into the internal affairs of the country, obstructed the work in every domain, and aspired to the incorporation of the Kingdom into Russia as one more 'gubernia.' In such conditions the heroic efforts of the Administrative Council in defense of autonomy met with unsurmountable obstacles and proved less and less effective in the course of time. The collaboration-minded members of the Council, the generals of the military staff and a number of political leaders and writers of merit attempted in vain to persuade the nation that it must accept its lot and bear the Russian persecution with patience. Secret societies, plots, and conspiracies were formed; they were composed of those young, lively, warm elements of the nation who, without regard for practical possibilities, set themselves wide national and social aims. In this atmosphere an explosion had to come. It took place on the night of the 29th of November, 1830. The literature of this period is of a transitional character. The traditions of the Stanislavian Period are still alive, manifesting themselves in a naturally somewhat changed form in the so-called Warsaw Classicism, which embraces the most influential writers of the older generation. On the other hand, new currents from the West begin to penetrate to Poland and start forming so-called pre-romanticism; this movement prepares the background for a new period in Polish literature, which begins with the appearance of Mickiewicz on the literary scene in 1822. Before we discuss both currents more broadly, we must devote a few words to the direct reaction provoked in Polish literature by the catastrophe of the partitions. Just as in other literatures it has frequently happened that major historical events have failed to inspire equally great literary works, at least immediately, so also in Polish post-partition literature there is, until the times of Mickiewicz, no work that expresses with suitable forcefulness and artistic quality the tragedy of the fall of a

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nation. This tragedy, however, did not pass unnoticed in literature. The echoes are few but characteristic. One of them is represented by the poem Bard polski (The Polish Bard) by Prince Adam Jerzy Czartoryski (1770-1861), a man who later reformed the University of Wilno and became president of the National Government during the Insurrection of 1830-31. This poem possesses little poetic worth, although it is written by a man of high literary education; it is, however, characteristic and important because of the date of its writing, 1795, the atmosphere which reigns in it, and the thoughts it expresses; these thoughts are undoubtedly the expression of all the more sensitive Polish souls at this historical moment. The structure of the poem is somewhat reminiscent of Dante's Divine Comedy. Just as in that work Dante makes a journey to hell in the company of Virgil, so in this case the Polish poet, accompanied by a bard, goes through the Polish land and deplores the national catastrophe. Everywhere he sees 'a grim change,' ruins and embers instead of the former flourishing quiet life. Emptiness is everywhere, people have abandoned their homes, the windows of huts are nailed up, and smoke rises from the rubble. Such is the poetical-symbolic image of Poland after the partitions. These scenes are woven into memories of recent history, especially of the Insurrection of Kosciuszko. Later the wanderers meet three figures: a girl, a young man, and an old man, who tell them about their experiences connected with the national catastrophe. The work ends with a farewell to the homeland, which expresses the personal feeling of the author, who was at the time going to St. Petersburg as a hostage. Niemcewicz, who always sensed the momentary mood of his nation and always took it as the subject of his works, is the author of the elegy Wiosna (Spring, 1793), written after the second partition. It also expresses some thoughts and feelings typical for a generation that has lost its country. A significant trait of this expression is the identification of the loss of state with the loss of fatherland. Even Karpinski in his ¿ale Sarmaty (A Sarmat's Sorrows) cried out: 'Oh Wisla! The one who drinks your water is not a Pole!' Niemcewicz speaks of the loss of the fatherland in the meaning of 'state,' and of the fact that Poland is called by a foreign name (further, he prophetically predicts the fratricidal fights of Poles incorporated into foreign armies). This attitude was natural in those days, just as it is common even today among Western European nations. Only long captivity has taught the Poles to distinguish between the concept of 'state' and that of their fatherland, Poland; it has taught them to have faith that the fatherland exists, as long as the Poles exist, even if they are

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citizens of foreign countries. A strong expression of this idea was to be given in the first words of the Polish national anthem ('Poland is not yet lost'), which was written in 1797. The author of this simple legionnaires' song, which was only later to become the national anthem, was J6zef WYBICKJ, a soldier and companion of D^browski, a political leader of merit. The song was created abroad, in Italy, at a time when the Polish Legions expected a quick return home through the Balkans and Rumania to the Austrian occupied part, and then to Warsaw and Poznari. Unlike the mournful elegies then written at home, Wybicki's song, in a simple but forceful way, gave expression to the faith of the young generation that Poland continued to exist and that 'that which foreign power has taken away from us, we shall regain with our sword.' One must understand that these words contained the simplest program of action, understandable for all Poles, and one which united everyone: taking back what has been taken away by force and chasing the enemy out of the country. In other words, these lines summarized the program of independence, the first and foremost postulate of all Poles of the entire period following the partitions, regardless of their political or social convictions. In this lies the significance of Wybicki's song. There were also other legionnaires who cultivated poetry even to a larger extent than Wybicki. Among the most popular are Cyprjan GODEBSKI, author of Wiersz do Legjow polskich (The Poem to the Polish Legions) and of the interesting novel, Grenadjer-filozof (The GrenadierPhilosopher), also Kantorbery TYMOWSKI, and others. Their works naturally did not have any great literary importance, but they are interesting and significant historical documents which allow one to penetrate the atmosphere of the young Polish generation which then made history on all the battlefields of Europe. At home, in the meantime, the group of classicists enjoyed great respect and the representative position in the country. They are called 'classicists' for two reasons: first of all because they cultivated poetry modeled upon ancient poetry as well as on French poetry of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; and because, considering ancient and French literature as the summit reached by poetic creation, beyond which it was impossible to go, they fought categorically, sometimes even very sharply, against all the new literary currents which penetrated Poland, slowly and timidly at first but, after the appearance of Mickiewicz, with great vigor and force. They were on the whole people of high literary culture and discriminating taste, educated, well read, judging highly their poetic profession, endowed with a great feeling of literary responsibility;

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they gave much care to the purity, clarity, and precision of the language, the correctness of versification, and the dignity of poetry. A number of considerable talents may be found among them, but they lacked originality, vivacity, and an individual, personal approach to literary problems. Hence their works often give the impression of something very respectable and interesting but stiff, solidified within well known, traditional forms. They must not, on the other hand, be considered as soulless 'writers of verse,' who hammered out their lines in hard labor and in the sweat of their brows, as the young romantic generation, and with it many of the nineteenth-century literary historians, branded them in its zeal. Indeed, they had great writing experience, and if they took long to polish, to caress their poems, they did it not only because their master, Horace, ordered them to do so, but also because of their sense of literary responsibility for their works. They were not always capable of producing poetic wholes on a high level, but, on the other hand, they never offered anything incompletely thought out, hurried, or 'dashed off.' That was a great and undisputed quality. Something of a patriarch of this movement was Kajetan KOZMIAN (1771-1856), a wealthy country gentleman, senator of the Polish Kingdom, in his political attitudes a strict conservative, legitimist, and loyalist, in literary conviction a stubborn, unyielding classicist. He is the author of two beautiful and sublime odes: Na zawieszenie orlow francuskich w Lublinie (On the Occasion of Raising the French Eagles in Lublin) and Na zawarcie pokoju (On the Occasion of the Peace Treaty, both connected with the Polish-French-Austrian Campaign of 1809), which may be considered as models of truly classical language and verse. Also, for more than twenty years he worked on a large descriptive and didactic poem, Ziemianstwo (Georgics), which, though overlong and monotonous, contains excellent descriptions of nature and household occupations, since its aim was the glorification of life and work on the land. The long epic poem, Stefan Czarniecki, was less successful; on the other hand, his Pami^tniki (Memoirs) are very interesting and possess great value. Written almost throughout his life, they faithfully and sincerely reflect the opinions about public questions of that class to which Kozmian belonged. The second coryphaeus of classical literary taste was Ludwik OSINSKI (1775-1838). His odes, especially Oda na czesc Kopernika (The Ode in Honor of Copernicus), are, from the point of view of classical perfection of language and verse, on an even higher level than Kozmian's. However, he wrote far less than did his friend, as he was busy directing the Warsaw

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theater after Boguslawski's death and teaching comparative literature at the University. On both these fields he achieved great merit. For the theater he translated plays chosen from the huge French repertory, particularly the tragedies of Corneille; Osiriski's translations of these are among the best. As professor of literature he tried to be objective toward the new literary movements; he lectured about Schlegel, Schiller, and even about Shakespeare, who was considered a barbarian genius by the more zealous classicists. Osinski was also editor of a serious periodical as well as one of the founders of the so-called Society of X's, whose members wrote articles and reviews in various Warsaw periodicals, signing them with the letter 'X,' and making them stand out by the particular sharpness of their satire against literary opponents. The already mentioned Stanislaw POTOCKI, minister of education and Grand Master of Polish Masonry, was no less important a figure in the world of literature. He is the author of the basic work, O wymowie i stylu (Rhetoric and Style), a treatise on poetics from a classical point of view, modeled on ancient and French examples, as well as O sztuce u dawnych czyli Winkelman polski (The Art of the Ancients or the Polish Winckelmann), an enlarged adaptation of the work about ancient art by the famous German scholar, Winckelmann. Excellently written, filled with sharp, subtle humor and irony is Potocki's Podrôz do Ciemnogrodu (The Journey to the Dark City), a kind of satirical novel portraying various backward types and kinds of ignorance, especially among the clergy and the backward gentry. In the field of drama Alojzy FELINSKI (1771-1820) distinguished himself considerably. He was active already at the time of the Four-Year Diet, as the secretary of Czacki, then in the same capacity with Kosciuszko; finally he was professor of literature at the Lyceum of Krzemieniec. He was the author of small poems, of the hymn Boze, cos Polskç (God, who for P o l a n d . . . , Poland's national religious anthem), which at the time of its creation had a somewhat different text than it has now, as well as of excellent translations of Homme champêtre by the French poet Delille, and a number of French tragedies. However, he won fame and significance with his own tragedy, Barbara, in which he gave Poland undoubtedly the most classical of her classical tragedies. It is, of course, a play in the French style, based on the finest models, thought out with care and precision, as is usually the case with the classicists, well constructed, written in a beautiful, sublime style and an impeccable verse. The subject of the tragedy is the unfortunate marriage of King Zygmunt August (sixteenth century) with Barbara Radziwill, which for a long time occupied

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public opinion and even the Polish Diet and Senate. The theme is the conflict between the duties of the king, who, according to the tradition of the times, could not marry a commoner, and his ardent feeling of love; there is a similar conflict in the soul of Barbara, who represented the cause of the struggle between the king and the representatives of the nation. The struggle itself and its various phases contained a great deal of excellent dramatic material which attracted some Polish writers before and after Felinski. Felinski took advantage of this material as far as his talent, devoid of creative imagination, and the law of classical poetics permitted. He managed to set up the dramatic conflict distincty and clearly, to concentrate the action around one major conflict, and to develop it with an able intensification of dramatic effects; the solution, however — the Diet's recognition of Barbara as Queen, and then her poisoning by a courtier of Bona, the king's mother — fails to carry the mark of dramatic necessity; the conflict is not a tragic conflict in the strict sense of the word, that is, one from which there is absolutely no issue and in which some great moral value must perish. The fact that the solution is not authentic from the historical point of view is a much smaller literary fault. Among the other classicists we should mention Franciszek W g Z Y K , author of the descriptive poem, Okolice Krakowa (The Region of Krakow), and an interesting and, for those times, 'progressive' treatise, O poezji dramatycznej (On Dramatic Poetry), in which, among other things, he speaks with great warmth about the 'immortal Shakespeare.' The work of the already mentioned Niemcewicz is characterized during the period following the partitions by great variety, though it never lost its basically eclectic and experimental character. Thus he continues to write dumy, attempting ever different motifs, the echo of which will later be sounded among the works of the young romanticists. It is to him that Polish literature owes its first historical novel after the manner of Walter Scott. This novel, Jan z Tqczyna (Jan of T?czyn, 1825), does not display any great artistic values, but it is interesting in its conception of the past (in this case, the Jagiellonian epoch), which is new in Poland; it is in the spirit of Scott, showing an even excessive interest in social background, the customs, entertainment, costumes, interior decoration, etc. — in a word — in all the external accessories of an epoch, without any pretense of rendering its spirit, much less of creating some artistic vision of the past. Niemcewicz was one of the first writers in fiction to call public attention to the Jewish question. With his journalistic sense Niemcewicz saw in the Jewish world not only an interesting, semi-exotic subject, but

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also an important social and national problem. In his novel Lejbe i Siora (Leybe and Syora, 1821) he presented on the one hand the frightful ignorance and backwardness of the Jewish masses, the superstitions which reigned among them, and that entire mysterious and gloomy world in which these masses lived, apart from Western European civilization; on the other hand, he portrayed the aspirations of the more cultured Jewish individuals, struggling against the ignorance of their own environment, wishing to break away from it, and considering themselves members of European and Polish civilization. These circles are represented by Leybe and Syora, a pair of unfortunate lovers who find the obstacles of organized superstition and ignorance in the way of their marriage. The point of the novel is, of course, to indicate the source of the evil, that is, the alienism of the Jewish masses and their inimical attitude to the Christians, as well as methods of doing away with this evil. Such methods would include, first of all, forming a better acquaintance with the Jews and supporting the progressive elements among them, not to speak of abandoning the basically negative, disdainful attitude towards the Jews. These humanitarian traditions continued to be advocated by the Polish novel of the nineteenth century. Leybe and Syora is written in the form of letters of the two lovers. Another novel of Niemcewicz, Dwaj panowie Sieciechowie (The Two Gentlemen Sieciech, 1815) is in the form of two diaries, parallelly kept by the representatives of two gentry generations: the Sieciech of the Saxonian epoch (beginning of the eighteenth century) and the Sieciech of the postpartition period (beginning of the nineteenth century). The basic difference between these two Polish types is interestingly and very sharply caught; these are, as it were, two different worlds. The soul of the gentry has been upturned through the Period of Enlightenment, the Stanislavian literature, the education initiated by the activity of Konarski and continued by the Educational Commission — such are the conclusions the reader must draw from this novel, and that is probably what the author had chiefly in mind. One of Niemcewicz's most popular works of this time was his Spiewy historyczne (Historical Songs, 1816). The creation of this collection of songs, accompanied by music, illustrations, and historical comments and describing great men and great deeds of the past, was also dictated by an idea of civic duty rather than one of literary art. The question was to make this nation, so depressed by the fall of the country, as one of the consolations possible at the time, aware of the illustrious past, and to inspire the nation with faith and confidence in the future. Thus the

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Songs were written as a 'morale builder.' Destined for the widest possible reading public, put into a very simple, if not downright primitive, form, an easy, 'melodious,' verse, they offered pictures which were close to the people's hearts and intelligible to all. No wonder that they enjoyed tremendous popularity; a number of Polish generations sang these songs and with their help fixed in the memory the lives and deeds of great Poles. A completely different type of man and writer is represented by Jan Pawel WORONICZ ( 1 7 5 7 - 1 8 2 9 ) , descendant of a family of senators; he was bishop of Krakow at the time of the Congress Kingdom, and toward the end of his life archbishop of Warsaw and primate of Poland. His poems are characterized by a patriotic-religious mood with a certain tendency towards mysticism and messianism. The latter element comes out in his works in a very moderate form, but just the same there is talk in them of a special Divine vigilance over the Polish nation; there are such expressions about the Poles as, for instance: 'Virtue is our element, glory our profession.' The author, furthermore, delves into the legendary and heroic past, building a special philosophy of history on its foundations. All this represents minute deposits of what was later to grow into whole theories and systems in the works and 'philosophy' of Poland's romantic poets. In this way Woronicz is a spokesman for the new moods that were undoubtedly provoked in the nation by the downfall of the country. They would have been impossible before the partitions. But they had existed in another epoch of defeat, namely in the seventeenth century, though they had been of a somewhat different kind then. These new moods are expressed in Woronicz generally in traditional, semiclassical forms, which do not help to lend them a powerful effect. They would undoubtedly have been more impressive, had they found for themselves a suitable expression in prose, as, for instance, in the sermons that Woronicz delivered at the time of the Duchy and the Kingdom. Of his poetic creations the best known are Hymn do Boga (Hymn to God, 1805) and Swiqtymia Sybilli (The Temple of Sibyl, 1 8 1 8 ) ; the latter is a descriptive historical poem, containing a survey of Polish history in the form of memories and visions, evoked by the souvenirs of the museum in Pulawy, founded by Princess Isabelle Czartoryska and known as the Temple of Sibyl. The transitional character of this literary epoch expressed itself also in its attitude toward the new intellectual and literary currents which began to come in from the West at that time. These new currents were of various kinds, coloring, and intensity; almost all, however, pointed to the changes which were taking place in Europe. As usually happens at turning points of literary epochs, the new currents existed side bv side with 'old' ones

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which were considered as representative; they thus slowly prepared the ground for a complete change of the spiritual face of the period. In France in the second part of the eighteenth century Jean-Jacques Rousseau, one of the pioneers not only of the new literary but also of the new social epoch, began his writing career. His novel. The New Heloise, written in letter form, portrayed 'romantic 1 love and showed a keener sensitivity to nature as an autonomous factor in the spiritual life of the heroes. His 'Social Contract' (Le Contrat Social) was the first significant shot fired against the existing political and social system, based on authority and the 'divine right' of kings. Another French writer, Chateaubriand, in a series of works in novel or treatise form, expressed reaction against rationalism and a longing for a renascence of Christianity and religious feelings. In his lengthy work, The Genius of Christianity, he analyzed the Christian idea from the point of view of sentiment and beauty. Before him the German poet Klopstock had laboriously composed a very heavy poem, enlivened by an ardent religious feeling, entitled The Messiah, in which the life, activity, and death of Christ are described. Thus the first manifestation of the change was the awakening of a sentimental and religious life as a reaction against the 'dryness' and rationalism of the Age of Enlightenment. Other manifestations followed; such was the attack upon the foundations of classical poetics by the outstanding German writer, Lessing, in his work Hamburgische Dramaturgie; such was also the interest in folk poetry, which was so different from classicist poetry in subject and form. In England attention was given to the ancient Celtic and Scottish poetry; the songs of the supposedly ancient bard, Ossian, edited by the Scottish poet, James Macpherson, introduced the reader to a completely new world of an ancient epoch of hero-knights, a world full of mystery, fantasy, and folk beliefs in the hereafter. The German poet and philosopher, Herder, published in his own translation a collection of folk songs of various nations. In this way the folk element — also one of the basic elements of subsequent romanticism — penetrated literature. It was also in this new spirit that the writings of Walter Scott were developed. He wrote not only historical novels which created an entire novel-writing school in Europe, but also works of poetry known as ballads and tales in verse, hitherto unknown to classical poets and their imitators. The ballads were short, descriptive, lyrical works, penetrated by elements of fantasy, miracle, and supernatural power. The tales in verse were, as their designation indicates, an epic fictional genre, written in verse on historical, adventurous or fantastic subjects. Later it was Byron who excelled in

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them and was imitated by innumerable European romantic poets. These are perhaps the most notable foreign writers who produced in the period of so-called pre-romanticism. Here should be added the early work of the two German poets, Schiller and Goethe, who, though they neither then nor in their later work belonged formally to the 'Romantic School,' in their youth took part in a certain kind of literary 'revolution' called in German literature the period of 'storm and stress' (Sturm und Drang Periode), which shared some traits with the other manifestations of the reaction against classicism and rationalism. These currents came to Poland through a number of channels. First, through periodicals which published translations of foreign works already famous abroad, as well as information about new poets and the movements represented by them. Besides, in its search for an interesting repertory, the Warsaw theater could not limit itself to classical works, but had to look for newer ones in English and German literature; here the progressive attitude of Osinski, its director at the time, was of importance. Works of Shakespeare were performed; though Shakespeare wrote in the seventeenth century, it was not until now that he was 'discovered' anew and became the master of the pre-romantic and romantic generation. Although his plays were for the time being performed in French adaptations which tried to 'polish' them and to suit them to the moderate classical taste, even in this form something of the original Shakespearean spirit came through to the spectators. In addition, works by Lessing and Schiller were played, and these not in adaptations but in more or less faithful translations. The poet, literary critic, and professor of literature at the University of Warsaw, Kazimierz BRODZINSKJ (1791-1835) attempted to explain this whole new movement theoretically. Because he was born under Austrian occupation and was forced to go to school there, he learned the German language well and was thus able to study German literature in the original. He learned it thoroughly, especially that of the more recent period, and he became enthusiastic about some of its tendencies. Of the German theoreticians the one who influenced him most was Herder, to whom Brodzinski's theoretical works owe a great deal; they often simply paraphrase Herder's opinions. For Brodzinski was not an original and autonomous intellect, nor did his writings contain any of the sweep of the outstanding literary reformers. His works had rather an eclectic, moderate, and compromising character; his literary program was very general, fundamentally not new, and quite narrow in details. His principal treatise in this domain was the work O klasycznosci

i romantycznosci

tudziez o duchu poezji polskiej (On

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Classicism and Romanticism and on the Spirit of Polish Poetry, 1818). In it he attempted to present both these currents as well as to conclude what is and what should be the 'spirit' of Polish poetry. He fulfilled his first task somewhat confusedly, especially in relation to romanticism, presenting this movement as reaching way back to Greek times and arbitrarily dividing various literatures into classical and romantic. In defense of Brodzinski it should be said that this question was difficult and complicated. Even today, having at our disposal a far larger material and more perfected methods of research, we cannot very well manage to define strictly such movements as romanticism and others because of their variety in different countries and even in the works of different authors; no wonder then that Brodzinski, who did not have all these means of investigation, and who was, furthermore, right in the midst of the movement, could not possess a suitable historical perspective. He did not, to be sure, possess great talent for synthesis nor the ability for exact reasoning. This last deficiency is well proved, for instance, in his tracing of a 'program' for Polish literature. Brodzinski would have liked to reconcile, as it were, classicism and romanticism, recognizing the virtues of both and maintaining the position of 'the golden mean.' He would have liked Polish poetry to conserve the classical 'form,' pouring into this traditional form a new 'content' drawn from 'romanticism.' But it should draw primarily from its own, original, national spirit. The demand for originality and nationality in poetry is, of course, correct, but originality cannot consist of a combination of old forms and new contents, for the mark of all originality in literature is the fact that it creates a new artistic expression even of the oldest and most used 'contents.' Originality, then, could not in this case be achieved by the introduction of romantic or national motifs alone, if it were not accompanied at the same time by a new expression of these motifs. Brodzinski confused the matter even more, considering the 'pastoral' (or 'idyllic') to be the principal trait of the Polish soul, and its expression the eclogue (or 'idyll'). This signified a considerable limitation and narrowing of the national literature, though it falls in line with the critic's disposition and his own poetic creation. In spite of these deficiencies, this treatise of Brodzinski, as well as others devoted to related problems, possessed a certain significance as a reaction against an excessive domination of the imitation of Ancient and French models, also as an indication and partial explanation of the interrelation between romanticism and classicism, and finally as documents which raised, if they did not solve, the question of the road Polish poetry should take in relation to those two opposed currents.

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In his poetic creations Brodziriski tried to carry out his theoretical postulates; that is why he wrote chiefly pastoral eclogues, such as his Piesni rolnikow (Songs of Farmers). These are respectable, sometimes even sweet and charming; usually, however, they are insipid, monotonous, sugary works, which do not differ much from the classical eclogues (just because they are dressed in classical 'form'), and which are far beneath similar works of Kochanowski, Szymonowicz, or Zimorowicz. The same features characterize his largest and most popular poem, entitled Wieslaw, an optimistic idyll taken from the life of peasants of the Krak6w region, with a very simple, uncomplicated plot and very simple and uniformly respectable characters and feelings. Its folklore flavor consists only in the poet's description of some rituals and entertainment and his introduction of peasant songs and dances. Research in folklore and through folklore became also the passion of an interesting amateur collector, Adam CZARNOCKI, who wrote under the penname of Zorjan Dol?ga-Chodakowski. He devoted much of his time to wandering through Poland and Russia in search of monuments of preChristian Slavic culture, preserved in mounds, songs, legends, and traditions of the peasants. Not having had suitable training, he could not perform this work in a scholarly fashion; nevertheless, he collected a great deal of interesting material. His activity is quite characteristic of tendencies at that time among the Polish people to sink into the past, seeking in it not only consolation but also a durable and essential basis for contemporary life, something which lies deep in the national and folklore tradition and is independent of any diplomatic and political combinations. In connection with this the life of the peasants assumed a different significance and value in the eyes of the younger generation; it became that treasure which, transmitted from age to age by generation to generation, kept the traditions, beliefs, thoughts, and feelings intact. This attitude was to become typical of the young romantic generation and be reflected not only in literature but also in social activity. Simultaneously with the literary and cultural manifestations discussed above we must note interesting happenings in the field of the development of the Polish novel. We already know that the first modern Polish novel, deserving of the name, is The Adventures of Mikolaj Doswiadczynski by Krasicki. After this book there was a rather long break, if one does not count such works as the already mentioned Grenadier-Philosopher by Godebski, The Manuscript Found in Saragossa by Jan Potocki, and similar attempts which only externally belong to the fictional genre. The first quarter of the nineteenth century, however, brings far more interesting

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attempts. Among these are, for instance, the 'Gothic' novels of Anna Mostowska (née Radziwill), who was called the 'precursor of romanticism,' because similar motifs, though generally external and decorative, also appear in the early Polish romanticism. We also have the sentimental novel, descended from Richardson and The New Helolse of Rousseau. Here Ludwik KROPINSKI distinguished himself with his novel Julja i Adolf czyli nadzwyczajna mitose dwojga kochankôw nad brzegami Dniestru (Julia and Adolph or the Unusual Love of Two Lovers on the Banks of the Dniester, written in 1810, but not published until 1824), in which he traces the 'tragic' history of the love of a poor gentleman for the daughter of a magnate, crowned by Adolph's suicide and Julia's death in despair. Nierozsqdne sluby (The Unreasonable Vows, 1820), by Feliks Bernatowicz, stands on a higher level from the literary point of view; written in the form of 'letters of two lovers who dwell on the banks of the Vistula,' the novel possesses a plot similar to that of Kropinski's work. The most interesting, however, is the novel of Maria, the Duchess of Wittemberg, née Czartoryska (daughter of Adam Kazimierz and Isabelle and unhappily married to the German Prince, nephew of Frederick II), Malwina czyli domyslnosc serca (Malvina or the Sagacity of the Heart, 1816). The plot of this novel is fairly complex, based on the story of twins who misleadingly look like each other, thus causing various improbable but intriguing complications. The author ably maintains the atmosphere of mystery, and she intrigues the reader by the possibility of a number of different solutions. She also reveals a relatively considerable ability in the psychological analysis of moods of love, their nuances and subtlety. The fact that these feelings belong to the sentimental, sugary type is the result of the fashion of the time on one hand and of the deliberate artistic intensions of the author on the other. Her novel is one of the most notable of its kind in Polish literature.

CHAPTER VII

POLISH ROMANTICISM BEFORE 1830 A D A M MICKIEWICZ

As a movement, romanticism affected not only literature but also certain other domains of intellectual and cultural life. As already indicated, in different countries and among many writers of the same epoch and of the same general literary direction, the movement revealed a variety of facets. If we take such representative romantic poets and writers as Byron and Shelley in England, Novalis, the brothers Schlegel, Tieck, and Kleist in Germany, Victor Hugo, Lamartine, Musset, and Vigny in France, Manzoni in Italy, Mickiewicz and Slowacki in Poland, Lermontov in Russia, and so on, we notice that each of them represents a distinct creative individuality, a distinct creative style, although the problems they touch upon, and even their literary forms, may be the same or similar. Nevertheless, all of them appear to possess something in common, something which it is difficult to define and which is usually figuratively called the 'spirit of the epoch' or the spirit of a literary or cultural movement. One of these common traits is the claim to creative freedom, which had been propagated earlier and was by now considered basic. This freedom, of course, makes itself felt first of all in its relation to classicist poetics. Romanticism advocates the liberation of art from the chains and limitations imposed on it by classical poetics, especially the strict division between literary genres and the manner of their treatment. During romanticism literary genres do not so much cease to exist — certain general frames and requirements of the drama and lyric and epic poetry are and must be respected — as they begin to mingle together, to penetrate one another and form various new combinations which were unknown to or avoided by the classical poets. More than anything it is the lyric element that transforms the traditional forms. The lyric element appears even in the dramatic and epic genres; dramas were imbued with lyricism, while epic poems not only displayed strong lyric elements but abounded

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in long personal confessions, comments, opinions, invectives, accusations, and so on. Pure lyric poetry, which the classicist poets either neglected or cultivated rarely, now occupied a leading position; at the same time its basic character was altered to become more intensive, more tender, sometimes more explosive. Creative freedom was rooted in a deeper, more general foundation; namely, that of individualism — the feeling and recognition of the rights of the individual, of the truth and holiness of his inner world, and of his opposition to all the limiting social demands. The individual was conceived not as a member of a certain collective, subject to its laws and duties, but rather as a value raised above the collective and distinct from it. The attitude toward the collective, towards the masses, was at best critical; most often it was negative, disdainful, inimical, mocking. By virtue of its structure, in which ordinary people, ordinary 'bread-eaters' (as Slowacki expressed it) compose the majority, the world can neither understand a higher individual nor grasp the tasks, aims, and destination of the poet. Hence pessimism, bitterness, and a fundamental discord with the world were the chief motifs of many romantic poets who led lonely and isolated spiritual lives. That same disharmony with the world found a different outlet among more vigorous individuals, those who felt the need for actively carrying out their ideals; rather than resorting to introversion or placing barriers between themselves and the world, they resolved to fight it, in an effort to refashion according to their own beliefs. One of the outstanding representatives of just this type of romantic personality was Adam Mickiewicz, 'the eternal revolutionary,' a destroyer of old forms and orders, always seeking a new, dreamed-of order in things, while keeping pace — especially in the last period of his life — with the most radical political and social movements. The separation from classicism was accompanied by a complete rejection of rationalism. It is clear that the general attitude described above could not tolerate allegiance to 'reason' as the highest authority of control over the instincts and feelings of the human spirit. Quite to the contrary, the romanticists declared war on reason thus conceived. Sensing (perhaps subconsciously) that reason was their most dangerous foe, they waged war in all possible and impossible ways; they elaborated peculiar, fantastic theories and doctrines in order to win human minds and to push them in a new direction. What was that direction? The romanticists answered this question in various ways: frequently with splendid poems and at times with strange treatises in which they tried to combat reason with its own weapon — reasoning. On the whole, they tended to contrast 'feeling' and

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'reason,' conceiving of the former in a very general and 'foggy' way; they also spoke of intuition as something apparently incompatible with reason. Furthermore, they introduced the domain of the 'infinite' which is the realm of inspiration, spiritual ecstasy, revelation — a domain allegedly unattainable to reason. The mysteries of the inner life of the soul as well as those of the world — not of the earthly, physical world, but the one beyond the earth, the supernatural, the one ungrasped by the senses, the world of eternity and the infinite — were the chief attraction for the romanticists. They searched for eternal matters, for the essence of things, the quintessence of life. Minor, ordinary, fleeting matters they disdained. This sent them back to the Middle Ages, to ancient beliefs, and folk superstitions. It led them into the world of magic and witches, ghosts and spirits, the world of the dead, and of the secluded cemeteries and chapels. It also frequently led them to mysticism and belief in the most fantastic and incredible faiths. They found a deeper meaning in all this; for them the most vulgar superstition could take on the shape of a symbol of some hidden truth until then unknown; they saw mysterious emblems of those hidden truths everywhere, as they surrounded themselves with a world of premonitions, riddles, mysteries, and symbols. The artistic embodiment of this spiritual world was of various kinds. Not only the minor poets but sometimes even the outstanding ones stooped to romantic mannerisms which, from the point of view of artistic effects, were not different from classical mannerisms. In such cases the magic, fantastic, or mystical world became a mere piece of stagecraft, a cheap decoration, which closely resembled the neoclassic personifications of ancient divinities. Ghosts, corpses, spirits, or the science of magic, expressed as little as did the personified Wars, Discords, and Loves. Problems involved in romanticism are thus comparable to those of other literary movements. In its general character it undoubtedly expressed the spirit of the epoch — and it expressed it powerfully and profoundly or poorly and grotesquely, depending on its representatives in poetry. Its durable values lay where, overcoming a momentary, passing mood, it rose to universal and eternal problems, giving them a new and artistically forceful expression. The romantic epoch of Polish literature begins with the year 1822. It is the date of the publication of the first small volume of poems by Mickiewicz in Wilno. The twenty-four-year old poet was at once accorded a position in the forefront of the Polish literary movement and remained there for many years to come. Nearly every new work of his

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was a milestone in the development of Polish literature. Mickiewicz was a poetical genius of such stature that he was able to raise Polish literature to its position as one of the first among the Slavic literatures and insure it a notable place in world literature. The personal history of Mickiewicz is as interesting and moving as is his career as an artist. The story of his life reveals such a rich, many-sided, vital, and sparkling individuality — a splendid and profoundly human type of man — that it deserves detailed treatment. Both as man and poet, Mickiewicz was spokesman for the most essential values of Polish culture; his work was a magnificent testimony to its living power and imperishability. He was both the producer and product of that culture — a sculptor of the Polish soul for many generations to come. Mickiewicz was a native of the territory of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania, an area rich in age-old Polish culture, the cradle of many great Poles. The social class that gave him birth and upbringing was the middle gentry of the kind that could until recently be seen in those regions (there are still several Mickiewicz families). The place of his birth was probably Zaosie, a village situated at a small distance from Nowogrodek, where his father, a lawyer at the Nowogrodek court, owned a small piece of land. He was born on December 24, 1798, three years after the last partition of the Republic, already in captivity; the conditions and circumstances prevailing then, however, were quite similar to those of the last period of independence. As already indicated, Russia had at first permitted some freedoms to the Poles living under its occupation and maintained a few of their former autonomous institutions. Thus at the time of Mickiewicz's youth there were still Polish courts, municipal and rural offices, and schools. According to the custom of the time, he was first educated at home; he later studied at the parochial school of the Dominican Brothers in Nowogrodek. He preserved very pleasant memories of it. His parents spent most of the year in a house they owned in Nowogrodek, both because of the official duties of the poet's father and the children's education. Mickiewicz's 'idyllic and angelic' childhood — as he himself later called it — ended in the indelible impressions connected with the year 1812. The first was the march of Napoleon's armies, Polish divisions among them, on their way to Moscow through Nowogrodek in the Spring of that year. This marked the beginning of a campaign which awoke great hope in the Polish nation and made a deep impression on the fourteen-year-old Mickiewicz. Too soon the joy was turned to sadness and despair, when in the winter of the same year, after the disaster in

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Russia, that same Nowogródek witnessed the return of the remains of Napoleon's once magnificent army. Its defeat was also the defeat of Polish hopes. The second event to strike the poet was the death of his father, also in the year 1812. It greatly worsened the financial situation of the family and forced them to manage by themselves. There are testimonies that, as a student of the Nowogródek school, Mickiewicz helped his mother by giving private lessons. In 1815 Mickiewicz entered the University of Wilno. We know that the University was then at its height and numbered many outstanding scholars among its faculties. Also, being the capital of a large province of Poland, Wilno was at the time a lively, busy city which sparkled with a worldly atmosphere and attracted the regional gentry. The intellectual movement was maintained not only by the University but also by scholarly and literary societies, and by excellent newspapers and periodicals to which outstanding authors contributed. The young Mickiewicz thus found favorable conditions at the University for the development of his great innate talents. He studied under the faculty of the humanities, devoting himself particularly to Polish literature and the ancient languages and literatures as well as to history. His teachers were Leon Borowski, a well-educated and conscientious scholar of Polish, Ernest Groddeck, of German origin, an outstanding expert in classical philology, and Joachim Lelewel, at the time an assistant professor of history, but eventually Poland's most distinguished historian of the nineteenth century. Mickiewicz's studies were serious, extensive, and deep. What he learned at the University of Wilno gave him a solid basis for further self-education. That these university studies were thorough is supported by the fact that twenty years after his graduation from the University, after the difficult and stormy period of his life when he had no time for systematic studies, Mickiewicz was invited by the University of Lausanne to teach Latin language and literature and fulfilled his task with excellent competence and great success ; a year later he occupied the chair of Slavic literatures at the Collège de France. However, other things absorbed the young Mickiewicz besides his studies. He manifested a social instinct and the need for social action quite early. In Wilno he found an opportunity for activity in the student organizations, in which he soon achieved a leading position. On the 1st of October, 1817, that is, two years after Mickiewicz's arrival in Wilno, a secret society was founded under the name of the Society of Philomats or friends of learning. It initially possessed a 'scholarly' character, or

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rather, the character of a 'self-educational' society, in that its purpose was mutual help in academic work in order to supplement the knowledge received at the University. Gradually, however, and especially thanks to Mickiewicz, the aims of the Society began to broaden, embracing the moral and patriotic education of the youth; eventually they were to widen still further by taking in even the older population, and establishing contact with the conspiratorial political organizations in the Congress Kingdom. This expansion of the aims of the initial 'self-educational circle' is quite characteristic for its founders and principal exponents, as well as for the general situation of the country, which seemed to impose an organization on a wider scale. In connection with this developped the organization of the Society. In this domain the Philomats, and particularly Mickiewicz, gave proof of an extraordinary sense of organization, of energy in carrying out their projects, and an ability for conspiratorial work as well as first-rate executive talent. The basis of the organization was simple, but very clever. The point was to maintain utter secrecy as to the existence of the Society of Philomats and at the same time subject the largest possible number of university youths to its influence. For this purpose the Society of Philomats admitted to the 'inner circle' only outstanding and trustworthy young men, united in friendship and devotion to the cause. For the others, the less experienced and less trustworthy youths, the Philomats founded separate societies, some secret, others open and legalized by the university authorities. The organization of those additional societies was not as strict; membership was not so restricted. These societies were to serve a double purpose: to furnish new members to the Society of Philomats, which was known only to the Philomats, and to organize youth according to the slogans and ideals of the Philomats. Thus were created the Circle of Friends, the Society of the Philarets or the Friends of Virtue, and others. These societies were informed neither about the existence of the Philomats nor even of the fact that they were directed by the Philomats; it was always one of the Philomats who founded a minor society, as a completely independent one, and it was he who acted either as its president or as a member of the administration. Sometimes several Philomats entered the executive board of a minor society. The advantages of such an organization were obvious. It kept the Society of Philomats from the danger of being 'discovered'; even in case of discovery by the authorities of one of the minor organizations, their kernel and principal power remained untouched. Such is in brief the skeleton of the organization of the Wilno youth, planned and partly executed by a small group (nineteen) of outstanding

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young men, devoted to their cause and taking their work seriously, sometimes even excessively pedantic in matters of statutes and laws. On the other hand, they were healthy, gay boys who liked to have fun and to take a drink when there was an occasion; they frequently organized gay parties or excursion to the country, and so on. This entertainment did not disturb them in their intensive scholarly and social activity. The relations between the Philomats were warm and intimate, but without exaggeration or excessive sentimentalism. Among the outstanding Philomats we should mention Tomasz Zan, the leader of the Philarets, Józef Jezowski, first president of the Society, Franciszek Malewski, son of the rector of the University, and Jan Czeczot, the closest friend of Mickiewicz in his youth. It is in connection with the Society of Philomats that Mickiewicz's literary activity begins. As the chairman of the literary division of the Society he wrote and read aloud many literary treatises and reviews; it was also during the reunions of the division as well as at social gatherings of his colleagues that he presented his first poetic works. There are among them gay, carefree songs written on the occasion of birthdays — products of the moment; there are also more serious works, written in classical style, under the influence of Polish classical writers and of Voltaire. One of these works, the highly classical Zima miejska (City Winter), was printed in the Tygodnik Wilenski (Wilno Weekly) in 1818. Others remained in manuscript form, though there were works among them much more worthy of printing, such as, for instance, an excellent adaptation (Darczanka) of one of the songs of La Pucelle d'Orléans by Voltaire, written in a racy, colorful language, in an easy, smooth verse. To all these experiences and adventures a new one was soon added: his first great love. In the summer of 1818 Mickiewicz met Maryla Wereszczakówna, daughter of an aristocratic and wealthy family; this acquaintance turned into love, unfortunately an unhappy love because of the excessive social difference between the poor student and an heiress to large estates who had been destined by her parents for a different matrimonial career. Much has been written about the history of this love; but most of it is based on Mickiewicz's poetic confessions rather than on facts. It is almost always disappointing to draw biographic conclusions from poetic confessions. We may, at any rate, conclude, basing ourselves on facts, that this feeling, which was not too absorbing at the beginning, intensified and strengthened at the moment when Maryla married, while the lonesome poet lived in Kowno, far from his beloved Society, his activity in it, and his friends.

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Mickiewicz was educated in Wilno as a fellow of the University, in return for which he was obliged after his graduation to work for a few years as a teacher in a gymnasium. When he finished his studies in 1819, he secured a position as teacher in Kowno. Though life was difficult and lonely for him there, he fulfilled his task conscientiously, even attempting to introduce new methods of teaching. His stay in Kowno, however, was important chiefly from another point of view. Here the poet devoted himself to the study of the more recent English and German poetry; he went through periods of — as he expressed it himself — 'Britannomania' and 'Germanomania'; he entered an entirely new poetic world, in connection with which his own creativeness began to undergo a transformation. As early as 1820 the Oda do mlodosci (Ode to Youth) and Romantycznosd (Romanticism) were written, the latter being a programmatic poem of the Polish romantic movement; then followed a scries of poems which filled Mickiewicz's small volume published in 1822. Most of the space in it was devoted to ballads and romances, the character and significance of which are explained by the author in a preface. They prove how impressed he was with these new forms of West-European poetry and how eager to transplant them to the Polish poetic soil. The volume contained eleven ballads (among them a translation of Schiller's Der Handschuh) and two 'romances.' There was a kind of poetic introduction (Primrose), a poetical 'program' (Romanticism), three 'nixie-ballads,' three of a humorous character, one child-like tale and one folksong. It is true that even before the appearance of Mickiewicz, ballads of all kinds had been written in Poland (for instance, ballad-like dumas with lyric-reflective, historical, fantastic and folklore elements), but none of them, not even the best, could equal any of the ballads of Mickiewicz. Therein lies their principal significance. He at once placed this poetic genre in Poland on a high artistic level, which easily equalled that of the West-European masters of the ballad, Schiller and Goethe. It should be added that, far from imitating foreign models, these works, though conceived in a 'ballad' spirit, were quite original both in their motifs, their descriptions of nature, and their use of native folklore elements, not to speak of language and verse. Let us, for instance, take, the following formulation of Romanticism: You delve among death truths, to men unknown, The world you see in dust and specks of light; But Truth you know not, miracles disown — Look in your heart, that still may see aright! This simple, but condensed quatrain, addressed to the 'wise man,'

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contains profound problems of the relation of 'dead,' 'scientific' truths to 'live' truths of the sentiment — the relation of the world of thought to that of 'miracles.' And how often, even in these earliest works of Mickiewicz, do we come upon first-rate beauties, extraordinary poetic formulations, and hearttearing scenes of the native land. One may also find in the ballads a considerable number of passages which are products purely of the epoch in which they were born, elements of a certain passing fashion in Polish and foreign literature. These are unavoidable phenomena in any older poetry. But even those elements — as we shall later see in Dziady (Forefathers' Eve) — gain a new, moving expression in Mickiewicz's work. This is true in Forefathers' Eve of certain beliefs and rituals of the peasants, which constitute merely an external decoration and are not yet taken seriously in the ballads. Now let us look at a work which will unveil another facet of Mickiewicz's talent; it is the O D E TO Y O U T H 1

Und die alten Formen stürzen ein. Schiller Here, heartless, spiritless, throng skeletons in sorry plight! Youth, give me wings, that I may rise Above this dead world, curst and bare, Into the realms of dreams and light For ardor brings forth marvels there, Strews each new dream with blossoms rare, And dresses each in golden hope's fair guise. Let him whom age makes dark of mind, His stupid brow, care-furrowed, bending low, Only such near horizons know As he with hopeless, dullard eyes can find. Above these plains, youth, thou must fly — As far above as doth the sun — And with vast, all-seeing eye View all humanity as one! Look downward! Where eternal mists make dark Chaotic wastelands flooded o'er with sloth, Behold, that is the earth, repulsive, stark! 1

Poems by Adam Mickiewicz, translated by various hands and edited by Georges Rapall Noyes (The Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences in America, New York, 1944).

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Look, there upon its stagnant seas Some shell-clad mollusc takes its ease. It for itself is ship and sailor both; Pursuing smaller molluscs for the sport alone, It rises now, now sinks from sight; The wave cleaves not to it, it cleaves the ocean's might, Then bubble-like, it breaks against a stone: None knew its life, none care that it no more exists. Such are all egoists! O youth, to me life's ruddy, sparkling wine Is sweet but when I share its ecstasy: For joy gives drink to souls inspired and free When golden threads bind them with love divine. Young friends, together heed my call! The aims of all are in the joy of all. Strong our unity, mad yet discreet, On! On! young friends, nor fear to fall! He too knows joy and gladness, he who fell, If his prone body at their feet Aided his friends to mount Fame's citadel. Together, friends, fear not its towering wall! Though steep and slippery the path, Though spineless hatred bar the gate, Let strength meet strength and wrath fight wrath, And let us learn while young to spurn the weakling's hate. Who, yet an infant, crushed the serpent's brow, In youth will choke the centaur's breath, Snatch victims forth from hell below, And win heaven's laurels after death! Brave youth, reach outward far beyond thy sight, Crush what mere human reason cannot harm! For like an eagle's is thy lofty flight, The strength of thunderbolts is in thine arm. Arise! United stand! With chains of harmony Let us encircle the vast world, Our thoughts into one mightly focus hurled, Our spirits unified, yet free. Thou earth-bound human clod, away! We point thee a more lofty goal, Till, freed from moldy bark, thy soul Recall its long-lost, verdant day. And as in realms of chaos and of night, Beset by elemental war,

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One 'Let there be' of God's transcendant might Gave to the universe its form — Once oceans surged, once roared the storm, Now stars shall shine forever more: So in our human realms night rules the skies, Still war the human passions of desire — Lo, love will breathe on them with fire! From chaos will the spirit world arise! Youth will conceive it in her fertile womb And friendship nurture it amid the gloom. Numb, icy hearts are rent by love's decree, And lifeless, blind beliefs that dim the light. Hail, hail, thou dawn of man's new liberty! Salvation's sunrise will disperse the night! This poem is an extraordinary phenomenon in Polish poetry of the time. Since ancient times odes have been written all over the world; many were written in Poland, especially in the period of classicism. But against the background of the Polish acquest in this field the Ode to Youth rises as a young, powerful oak above the crowns of other trees. Conserving the general character of the classical ode — expressed in the 'sublime' subject, the weighty rhetorical elements shown in the formulation of slogans, in the invocations and exclamations, in the periphrases, the sophisticated epithets, and personifications — this ode yet represents a thoroughly new work. It is imbued with the new spirit, which shines not merely in its audacity and the revolutionary turn of concepts (the idea of humanity and of universal happiness, the cult of liberty, fraternity, and disdain for materialism), but primarily in the strength, the elan and the conciseness of poetic expression accorded these concepts. The uneven, broken rhythm, the lengthening and shortening of the rhythmic line, which sometimes contains only two words, the rejection of regular stanzas and their replacement by uneven parts of the poem, a free use of rhymes quite distant from one another, the sublime and pathetic but at the same time vivid and concrete language — all these taken together show the Ode to Youth to be a product of an already mature art. Another mature work of this period is the poem Zeglarz (Sailor), an expression of strong individualism, of the idea that the individual is both the sole reality and represents a world in itself to which nobody, 'except God,' has access. Forefathers'1 Eve, the two parts of which (designated as II and IV) appeared in Mickiewicz's next little volume of poetry, published in 1823,

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is a lyric-dramatic poem in the romantic style. The title is drawn from an ancient folk ritual, celebrated in White Russia on All Souls' Day for the purpose of honoring the memory of the dead forefathers. These rituals took place secretly and at night in abandoned chapels or cemeteries (since the clergy prohibited this semi-pagan custom) and involved 'evoking' the ghosts of the dead and serving them food and drink. According to testimonies, similar rituals, though in a somewhat different form from that presented in the poem, still took place in Lithuania at the time of Mickiewicz's youth. It is therefore probable that Mickiewicz could have witnessed such a ritual personally, as he summarily states in the preface to the poem. The poem is composed of three dramatized ballads: about children in Purgatory, a cruel landlord, and a proud, unapproachable shepherdess — all presented against the background of the ritual which takes place in an abandoned graveyard chapel. These ballads are thematically connected by the idea of the necessity of suffering on earth (more generally speaking, of 'a true and full human life'), which alone can open the road to better worlds. Thus the children cannot reach heaven because they have not suffered bitter fate on earth; the cruel landlord has to suffer tortures from the ghosts of the peasants he had mistreated; the ethereal virgin, who has rejected the homage of suitors and died without even knowing sorrow, is condemned to float eternally between heaven and earth. This idea itself would not possess any original quality, were it not presented in a new, impressive way. The poet achieves artistic suggestion by evoking an atmosphere of gravity, mystery, and horror in the presentation of the extraordinary ritual and by skillfully contrasting characters: first he introduces the suffering but innocent children, then the severe, pitiless village lord, finally the insensitive virgin and the ghost of a young suicide. He also achieves it through expressive symbolism, the rhythm of choirs (a connection with the operatic form), 8 spersed among the utterings of the acting characters; in all this the language and verse are adapted to the general atmosphere. Part IV of Forefathers' Eve conserves some external features of the ritual, but reaches farther in its visionary character and symbolism. Its principal character is probably the ghost of the young suicide, whom we have met toward the end of the preceding part, and the principal motif is the picture of a passionate, insane, typically romantic, erotic love, which is literarily related to The New Heloise by Rousseau and The Sufferings of Young Werther by Goethe, but which is intensified and expressed with greater force of passion and the complete frenzy which fills the whole being * Shown also in duos, arias, and recitativos.

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and leads to insanity and suicide. The entire work has the character of a half-dream, half-vision; thus it artistically justifies all that which is unusual in the hero's monologues, appearance, and behavior; it also justifies the fantastic weirdness of certain scenes, the symbolism (not always clear) of others, and the mysterious connection between the character and the ritual of Forefathers' Eve. It may easily be said that this was the first time in Polish literature that the feeling of love was expressed with such force and artistic truth in such a tremendous scale of nuances, with such a passionate intensity, with such great, almost metaphysical loftiness, and at the same time with such deeply human accents. Neither of these parts of Forefathers' Eve has, of course, anything to do with the traditional dramatic genre. If in the first one we can still find traces of some elements of drama, the second is completely deprived of them, at least as regards plot or dramatic conflict. The entire struggle is within the mind of the hero, Gustav; the whole work is one long monologue (monodrama), only from time to time interrupted by the utterances of a simple rural Uniat priest to whose house Gustav's ghost has come at night to confess his experiences. Some fragments of the abandoned first part of this poem surpass even the fourth part by their mature and brilliant artistic values, their deep insight into human problems. This applies especially to the monologue of the 'Wizard', an impressive symphonic poem in which motifs of sadness, resignation, despondency, and hopelessness follow one another and express the vanity of human efforts. The 'Lithuanian Tale,' Grazyna, also included in this volume, deviates from the two preceding poems both in atmosphere and in poetic devices. It belongs to the genre of tales or novels in verse, created by WestEuropean romantics, but differs from them in its complete lack of any exoticism, fantasy, supernatural elements, and the like. It is rather preserved in the style of a semi-classical epic narrative about the Lithuanian prince, Litavor, his beautiful wife, Grazyna, his intentions of joining the Teutonic Knights against the odious Duke Witold, and the foiling of those intentions by the valorous and patriotic Grazyna. Dressed in her husband's armor, she leads the Lithuanian knights into battle against the Teutons instead of accepting their assistance against her compatriots. We see even from these few motifs of the subject that the 'tale' possesses a dramatic character; it is full of complications and a certain mystery (Grazyna's changing into the knight's clothes, the night scenery, the battle with the Teutonic Knights); its strong Lithuanian 'local' and historical

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elements, as well as the patriotic element in the fight against the Germans may also be noticed. Some of these elements descend from the spirit of romanticism; they put Grazyna in harmony with the spirit of the time. The poet himself did not attach any major importance to this work, confessing to his friends that he had written it 'invita Minerva,' that is, without inspiration. Mickiewicz lived in Kowno for three years, with one interruption during the academic year 1821-22, which he spent in Wilno working on the publication of his poetry. At that time the sky above the Society of the Philomats and the subordinated organizations began to cloud. These organizations had grown so large that it was difficult to preserve absolute secrecy about them. The University authorities found out about the existence of certain student societies; they organized an official inquiry, but soon suspended the proceedings. This happened in 1822. Soon, however, a relatively minute event, which had no connection with the student organizations, provoked a renewed inquest, this time a more dangerous one, for it was not conducted by the authorities of the University but by the notorious Russian senator, Novosiltsov, a high official at the side of the Grand Duke Constantine in Warsaw. He arrived in Wilno with the definite intention of making a big political issue out of a little incident, the writing on the blackboard by a gymnasium student of the words: 'Long live the Constitution of the 3rd of May.' He was inspired by a desire to discredit the University and its authorities, and especially its curator, Prince Adam Czartoryski, whose ardent enemy Novosiltsov was. Mass arrests began among the youths; they were followed by long and fatiguing inquests, during which the existence of the Philomats was not discovered, but a trace of the Philarets was found. Since the Society of Philarets included some outstanding Philomats, they were also arrested and condemned; among others, there were Mickiewicz, Zan, Jezowski, Malewski, and Czeczot. In relation to the gathered proof of 'guilt,' the verdict was very severe; it condemned a number of students, such as Zan and Czeczot, to prison in a fortress, and others, among them Mickiewicz, Jezowski, Malewski, to deportation to Russia; this was officially called 'placing them at the disposal of the ministry of education' for the purpose of employing them as teachers in gubernii very distant from Poland. The general phrasing of the verdict was that the defendents were condemned to this punishment 'for spreading nonsensical Polish nationalism.' On the 25th of October, 1824, after half a year spent in prison, Mickiewicz left for St. Petersburg, where his fate was to be further directed. He probably did not think then that he was leaving his native country forever.

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Mickiewicz's stay in Russia lasted almost four years. One must not imagine this stay as one of a prisoner or a deportee in a concentration camp. His 'transgression* was not of a serious type, even in the eyes of the central Russian authorities. His deportation only meant isolation from his country; otherwise he was granted relative freedom. After a few months in St. Petersburg he left for Odessa, where he was to become a teacher at the so-called Richelieu College. It did not come to that, however, because the Russian authorities again changed their plans for him. By the time his permission to reside in Moscow arrived, the poet had spent several months in Odessa, where — in his own words — 'he lived like a pasha,' chiefly in the company of two beautiful Polish ladies, Sobanska and Zaleska, who had a deep interest and, as it is said, even deep feeling for him. The society in which he now moved had a worldly, cosmopolitan character, quite different from what he had known in his Wilno and Kowno life. No wonder then that he surrendered to the charm of this hitherto unknown way of living; he let himself be drawn into its whirl and enjoyed life and love to the fullest. In the summer of 1825 he made a trip to the Crimea in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Sobanski and the future novelist, Henryk Rzewuski. The fruit of his Odessian period was his volume of Sonety (Sonnets), published in Moscow in 1826 and composed of love sonnets and Crimean sonnets. They point to a basic change in the poet's creative work at least for a time. He turned away from the world of Forefathers' Eve (though, as we shall see, he did not break with it completely), the realm of obscure mystery, mystical moods, romantic witchery and ghosts, turning to the charms and beauty of the outer world, to the charm of earthly love, one which gives satisfaction and delight rather than despair and insanity. In the sonnets which he now wrote some traits, some aspects of his talent, already visible in his earlier works, appeared in their full glow and magnificence: great precision and expressiveness, an almost absolute control over poetic language, and infallibility in the choice of expressions and phrases. Hence, the unusual clarity of objects and intensity of colors and light. An 'oriental' tinge of style is provided by the use of foreign, Turkish and Tatarian names and words. To this he added mastery of the difficult form of the sonnet, a precise, compact structure, careful rhythm, and impressive final pointes. Almost every one of the Crimean sonnets is composed of two parts which are closely joined and constitute a compact whole. In the first part we usually have a description of the splendid Crimean landscape, traced in broad but forceful strokes; against this descriptive background in the final tercets appears the lyric element: feeling, memory,

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thought, discreetly but distinctly expressed. There is no trace here of charactistic romantic redundance, eloquence, or carelessness of structure, which, incidentally, are made impossible by the very form of the sonnet. Everything is compact, concentrated, single in its expression. These qualities characterize masterpieces, and the Crimean Sonnets undoubtedly are masterpieces — and not of Polish poetry alone. Polish verse had never before risen to the degree of originality and perfection which may be seen in even these few examples in translation: 'I SPEAK U N T O MYSELF' 3

I speak unto myself, say things inane; My breathing halts, my wild heart seems to race; Sparks blind my eyes and pallid grows my face, While strangers ask aloud, 'Is he in pain?' And others whisper, hint I am insane. Daylong I am tortured, then would sleep embrace To soothe my fevered mind, but in its place My heart kindles strange fancies in my brain. I run, I start, I murmur words that bite With which to curse your cruelty untold, Composed and lost before another night... And once again when thee I may behold, I am calm, as cool as flint at thy mere sight, Only to burn again, be silent as of old. T H E AKKERMAN STEPPES

4

I sail a sea where waters never ran; My wagon like a boat with plunge and dip Cuts waves of green and floods of flowers, to slip Past rosy isles of wild cornelian. Night falls. No road or hill — My eyes must scan The stars by which the sailor guides his ship. That distant cloud, the Dniester's gleaming strip; That star, the evening lamp of Akkerman. We halt. How still! I hear the cranes that pass So high the falcon cannot see. I hear The butterfly that rocks upon the grass, The slippery-breasted serpent where it crawls. So still it is, a voice might reach my ear From Lithuania — Onward! No one calls. '

4

Noyes, Poems, pp. 147-48.

Ibid., pp. 153-54.

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6

(from the heights of Tarkankut) The flag on the pavilion barely stirs, The water quivers gently in the sun Like some young promised maiden dreaming on, Half-waking, of the joy that shall be hers. The sails upon the masts' bare cylinders Are furled like banners when the war is done; The ship rocks, chained on waters halcyon, With idle sailors, laughing passengers. O sea, among thy happy creatures, deep Below, a polyp slumbers through the storm, Its long arms ever lifted, poised to dart. O thought, the hydra, memory, asleep Through evil days, in peace will lift its form And plunge its talons in thy quiet heart. In November, 1825, Mickiewicz arrived in Moscow, where he was given a position as a minor employee in the office of the governor. But while official Russian circles destined the poet for only a lowly office, the intellectual and literary circles, as well as the highest Moscow society, accepted Mickiewicz with great cordiality and hospitality. As in the past and in the future, the Russian nation did not then know much of the conditions prevailing in Poland; the Russians were not aware of the policy of their government and, on the whole, treated the Polish residents in Russia very cordially and favorably, as if they were their own compatriots. We can well imagine how they must have received such a Pole as Mickiewicz, who was already an outstanding poet with an impressive education, a thorough knowledge of literature, history, art, and foreign languages. He soon became the favorite of the Moscow salons, and he also established close relations with distinguished Russians in Moscow and later in St. Petersburg, during his longer stay there. Among them were the poets Alexander Pushkin and Zhukovsky, some outstanding literati such as Prince Viazemski, Pogodin and Polevoy, and young Russian revolutionaries such as Ryleyev and Bestuzhev, the later 'Decembrists' (organizers of the unsuccessful revolution). He also became friendly with Princess Zeneyda Wolkonska, a sincere admirer of the poet, who was a patroness of literature and art and kept the most frequented literary salon in Moscow. Mickiewicz thus acquainted himself well with various groups in Russian society: the official, the literary, and '

Ibid., p. 154.

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the underground. He made definite conclusions about official Russia, which he later expresses in literary works and in action; but he found a great deal of value in unofficial Russia which he commended in, among others, the poem Do przyjaciol Moskali (To My Russian Friends). Furthermore, in Moscow he found a numerous Polish colony, which included the illustrious Polish pianist, Marja Szymanowska, and a group of his friends from Wilno, among them Jezowski and Malewski. Life in both Russian capitals was thus interesting and rich in impressions. The conception of his new work, Konrad Wallenrod, occurred during his stay in Moscow. It marks a return to the grim and despairing 'romantic' atmosphere, from which the poet had temporarily freed himself in the Sonnets. A tale in verse in the style of Byron, different in mood and style from Grazyna, more closely resembling its model in the looseness of its structure, the explosiveness of the lyricism, and the timely allusions and digressions, Konrad Wallenrod traces the history of a Lithuanian of the fourteenth century, who was forced by tragic fate to become a Teutonic Knight. Behind this mask, however, one detects the modern man with his internal conflicts, moral crises, spiritual storms, and hopelessness. Wallenrod's fate is tragic, in the essential meaning of the word. Kidnapped by the Teutonic Knights from his native Lithuania, he spends long years in captivity, thinking only of wreaking vengeance upon the enemies of his country. Once during a battle between the Teutonic Knights and the Lithuanians he flees to the Lithuanian side, where he is received by the Duke Kiejstut and marries his daughter, Aldona. But the Teutonic Knights attack Lithuania again and inflict a terrible defeat on the country. Wallenrod runs away, fights in different parts of Europe, and finally enters the Teutonic Order. He wins gradually higher positions until he finally becomes the grand master. He organizes a big campaign against Lithuania and conducts it deliberately in such a way that he causes a horrible defeat of the Teutonic Knights. His vengeance is fulfilled, but he himself, morally broken, dies by suicide. Such is, quite schematically, Wallenrod's problem. His tragedy consists of the fact that he is forced by circumstances, by the cruel fate of his country, to perform deeds which are simultaneously good and evil; they are good in that they serve his country, but evil in that they are performed with the help of deceit and treason. In this originated Wallenrod's moral problem, which condemns him to eternal torture and from which there is no escape, for its contradiction cannot be solved. The only solution is death. Wallenrod therefore dies a suicide's death after performing his deed, fully conscious of the tragic, insoluble conflict.

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The structure of the poem is loose; the plot does not follow traditional epic patterns either in chronology or in motivation. Such was the poet's intention, partly under Byron's influence, partly with the aim of conceiling from Russian censorship the patriotic spirit of the poem. And it is an ardent, zealous patriotism, one which requires absolute sacrifice, a desperate and tragic patriotism that fills the entire work, especially its lyrical passages. Some characteristic stanzas of the 'Song of Wajdelota' follow: Saga! thou ark of that most holy plight Between the years of yore and after years, In thee the folk lays armor of its knight, Fabric of thoughts, blossoms of joy and tears. 0 ark, no power can break thee, while thine own Take heed of thee! O folk song! thou dost stand On guard before the nation's inmost shrine Of memory, and wings and voice are thine Of an archangel — but not these alone, For an archangel's sword is in thy hand. The flames will gnaw away a painted tale; The fruits of conquest, vandals will despoil: But song unscathed springs from the murk and moil And, if the sordid souls who hear it fail To give it food of grief and drink of hope, It cleaves to ruins, seeks the rugged slope, And thence mourns ever for the ancient days. Thus flies the nightingale before the blaze And on the burning gables fain would rest; When fall the roofs, she flees to wooden hills, And over graves, from her sonorous breast, The pilgrim's lonely path with mourning fills. 1 have heard songs: a peasant, bent and gray, His plowshare turning up forgotten bones, Has paused, upon his willow flute to play A requiem, or with impassioned tones To raise a chant for you, O ancient sires, Who have no sons to tend your altar fires! The echoes made responses far and clear: I grieved the more, that I alone should hear. As the archangel on the day of doom Calls forth the dead past from its sunken tomb, So, at the song, the bones beneath my feet Fused into giant forms; from heaps of stone Columns and ceiling rose again complete,

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A thousand oars stirred the deserted lake, Wide open were the doors of castles thrown: There did the minstrels sing, the maidens dance, The light from princely crowns and armor glance — Bravely I dreamt, and cruelly did awake. Gone are the forests, gone the ancestral peaks; Thought, flying back, her wonted refuge seeks, As homes the wearied dove upon spent wings. In listless hands the lute no longer rings; Seldom the voice of old can I divine Through Lithuanian lips, that but repine. But still the sparks of youthful ardor glow, Deep in my breast, and often kindle there The flames that warm my soul and brighter show The scenes of old. For memory, like a rare, Crystalline globe of intricate design, Though filmed with dust and scratches, if one set A candle in its heart, again will shine With limpid color; once again will throw On palace walls a fair and delicate net, Though somewhat blurred and darkened, radiant yet. If only I could pour out mine own fire Into my hearers' breasts; could I inspire A second life in phantoms of old time; Could I but pierce with ringing shafts of rhyme My brothers' hearts — in that one moment when Their fathers' song aroused them, they might know The ancient stirring of the heart, the old Elation of the soul; one moment then Might they be lifted up, as free and bold As lived and died their fathers, long ago.' At first the poet speaks about folk poetry, which is, as it were, an ark, the most holy collection of the thoughts and feelings of the common people, preserved from generation to generation. Gradually, however, this folk song grows into a symbol of poetry in general, the most durable and sublime fruit of the human spirit, which can be destroyed neither by fire nor war and which links the past with the present and the future. Intense patriotism bursts forth in the last stanza; though formally concealed under the words of the wajdelota (a Lithuanian priest) about the dead past, it was intelligible to every Pole of that time. Konrad Wallenrod was published in St. Petersburg in 1828. In April of that year the poet appeared there personally and, as in Moscow, his 4

Noyes, Poems, pp. 192-94.

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charm, intellect, and poetic talent conquered the hearts of the Polish and Russian residents of the capital. There are authentic testimonies as to the profound impression made by his improvisations, recitations of poetic works, sometimes entire plays, on subjects suggested by those present at the gatherings. The historian, Mikolaj Malinowski, then a resident of St. Petersburg, who kept a careful diary of the events and experiences of his life, described the unforgettable moments when Mickiewicz, overcome by a passionate, almost superhuman inspiration, improvised magnificent poems with astonishing ease and facility. It was also in St. Petersburg in the year 1828 that the poem Farts was written; it is the apotheosis of power and individual freedom, put into the image of an extravagant ride through the desert of an Arab horseman who conquers many of obstacles. In spite of the general respect he enjoyed and the favorable, cordial atmosphere, Mickiewicz was drawn to see the farther and wider world; he had already dreamed of acquainting himself with Western European culture during his Wilno and Kowno days. In 1828, having collected some funds from his publishers, he decided to carry out his old plans. Thanks to the help of influential Russian friends, he secured permission to go abroad (which was not easy in Russia for anyone, even less so for a political deportee) and in May, 1829, he started out on his journey. He first visited Germany, where he attended lectures of Hegel, which, however, did not impress him; he also met the great German poet, Goethe. He went then to Bohemia, where he met with the Czech literati; finally through Switzerland he reached Italy. After visiting Milan, Venice, and Florence he settled in Rome for a prolonged stay. The Eternal City made a profound impression upon him. 'The cupola of St. Peter covers all other Italian monuments (with its body,)' he wrote in one of his letters. It was, however, not merely a question of artistic impressions. Slowly, under the influence of various factors, a religious crisis began to ferment in him; this crisis was to lay a sound basis for his faith for his whole life, to make it unshakable, though subject to various fluctuations and undergoing changes. Among the factors which caused this crisis, or rather this strengthening of faith, one should mention the company of Father Stanislaw Choloniewski, priest and writer then residing in Rome, to whom Mickiewicz owed — as he himself confessed — 'a new view of the world and of men.' It was probably through him that the poet became acquainted with the works of Father Lamennais, an excellent writer and apologist of Catholicism, whose Essai sur l'indifférence en matière de religion was one of the most famous of the time. Also, among his

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companions in Rome, Mickiewicz had examples of deeply believing and devout persons. Rome, the capital of Catholicism, must have also influenced him. This 'new view of the world and of men* expressed itself in poetic production by a series of religious lyric poems which belong among the masterpieces of Polish poetry and would probably occupy a high place in lyric poetry of the world if it were possible — as indeed it is with no poetry — to translate it with equivalency into other languages. These poems are characterized by a special attitude toward God, one which is not frequently found even in religious lyric poetry, but which seems to constitute the essence of true religiousness. It is the feeling of personal humility, insignificance, and nothingness in the face of the power and greatness of God, a feeling of boundless joy and gratitude for the mere fact that He is, that He exists, that man may feel His presence within himself, may 'receive Him as a guest in the little home of his soul.' Accusations, complaints, grief, revolt, or even personal claims to God, so numerous among the works of other poets, are absent here. The only complaint expressed in these poems is the complaint that man always keeps crucifying his God in his heart, that he always wounds Him and makes Him suffer because of his 'evil.' The only accusation, reproach, or revolt is the accusation, reproach, and revolt against himself, against the pretenses of human pride, and against the efforts of the human mind to embrace the Mystery. It is easy to imagine that this sort of feeling and spiritual state could not be expressed by Mickiewicz in any other than the simplest, and at the same time most spiritualized, purest language and verse. This is indeed ideally 'pure' lyric poetry in the sense that its components are 'pure' feelings devoid of any intellectual conceptions; it requires hardly any elements taken from the external world. There are few poems of this type in world poetry. The religious lyric poems of Mickiewicz represent this type to perfection. EVENING DISCOURSE

I With thee I speak, who art in heaven the king, As thou within my spirit-house art guest; When midnight buries all in her dark ring And only sleepless grief can find no rest, With thee I speak, yet have no words to bring! Thou rulest far and wide; thou knowest best

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My thoughts; thou reign'st a king in heaven on high And in my heart, as crucified I cry. And all good thoughts, like rays of light, return Anew to thee, as to the gleaming sun, And floating back, anew within me burn. I send a gleam, and then new light have won, While all my good desires thy praises earn And thou in paying me art never done. Oh, may thy slave, thy child, as thou above, So glitter through this world, dispensing love! Thou art my king, and yet my subject too! My each base thought is like a keen-edged spear That opens thine unhealed wounds anew. Evil desires like vinegar will sear Thy lips, a sponge held forth by one untrue. My sordid nature laid thee on thy bier And thou a slave wert sold, all suffering knew. As thou upon the cross, thy child and lord Should suffer and for evil good reward. II When my sick soul unveiled before men's sight The gnawing cancer doubt that in me lies, The sinner saved himself by instant flight; The good man wept, but turned away his eyes. Mighty physician, thou who knowest all Mine ills — their horrors do not thee appal! Before my friends within my soul doth rise A voice more piercing than a scream of pain; A stricken voice in hellish torture cries — The voice of guilty conscience, stilled in vain. Dread judge, stirring the flames that purify My guilty conscience, thou hast heard my cry! Ill When I seem calm unto the common crowd, I hide a stormy soul from worldly eyes; Indifferent pride, like a protecting cloud, Then cloaks the thunder that within me lies. Only at night — gently — into thy breast The storm pours forth; mine eyes with tears are blest!7 7

Noyes, Poems, pp. 238-39.

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T H E POLISH ROMANTIC SCHOOL BEFORE 1830 Though Mickiewicz was the leading and most important poet of this early romantic period, he stands by no means alone; a large number of minor poets wrote in the same spirit. We also find in these years the beginnings of romantic literary criticism. Among the poets, the first place after Mickiewicz is occupied by Antoni Malczewski (1793-1826). He came from a wealthy but prodigal family, and studied at the Lyceum of Krzemieniec, where he ranked among the best students; he served for a time with the Polish Army of the Duchy of Warsaw, after which he spend a few years abroad. He led a gay and lighthearted life and was little in contact with literature. This situation changed drastically when, around 1820, he returned home and settled in Volynia as a tenant. There he involuntarily became entangled in an unfortunate love affair with a sick and wildly emotional woman who led him to complete material ruin and finally to death in poverty at the age of thirty-three. Malczewski is the author of only one poem, Marja. This single work, however, is comparable to Mickiewicz's work of this period. Marja belongs to a group of Polish poems which are not only the fruit of considerable talent but also show thorough thinking out of the most minute details. It is a mature, perfectly constructed work of concentrated dramatic power, written in original, completely individual language and verse. Published in 1826 after the two volumes of Poems by Mickiewicz and after his Sonnets, it is quite distinct from anything produced before that time and brings entirely new values into Polish poetry. Its subtitle is A Ukrainian Tale. The story itself is drawn from a real event which had occurred in the second half of the eighteenth century, namely, the story of Gertruda Komorowska, wife of Szcz^sny Potocki. She was drown in a pond by henchmen of her husband's father, who had opposed the marriage. This plot forms only a skeleton, which the poet fills out with universal elements, giving a moving picture of the catastrophe which befalls a group of completely innocent and ardently loving persons: the physically and spiritually beautiful Marja, her husband, and her father, the Sword-bearer, 8 one of the most expressively portrayed of all the Old Polish characters in poetry. It is clear that, in a picture of the world and people thus conceived, an atmosphere of gloom, drama, and at times even of tragedy must prevail. But this atmosphere is not artificially created or * Miecznik (Swordbearer), one of the offices at the royal court held in Old Poland by noblemen; later they were only honorary titles.

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imposed, as is the case in so many romantic works. Malczewski does not utilize any of the usual pseudo-romantic devices (with the exception of one mysterious, symbolic 'page-boy' toward the end of the poem); rather he achieves his artistic effects in expressive characterization, development of the plot from within the spiritual conflicts, and condensation of dramatic elements. He uses nature in connection and harmony with the spiritual moods, and imposes upon the work an artistically logical structure, concentrating the events into a period of twenty-four hours, with economical and, at the same time, forceful means of expression. In this respect the primary role is played by the language and verse. At first glance one might think Malczewski's language heavy, difficult, artificial, and filled with neologisms, and his syntax awkward. Upon closer analysis, however, all its richness, originality, and power of suggestion become apparent. 9 His language, like the other elements of the poem, is excellently harmonized with the whole; it is undoubtedly difficult and unusual, but it is also expressive and far removed from current speech; having nothing in common with prose, it so much better serves poetic purposes. Even the seeming linguistic 'errors' result chiefly from a conscious desire to avoid all that is common and easy, to seek a new and powerful expression with the help of abbreviations, syntactical changes, and inversions. The same is true of Malczewski's rhythm and rhyme. Even here there is none of that 'melody' easily caught by the ear, which so often turns into monotony; on the contrary, a real effort, usually successful, is made to create a rhythm regular but diversified by a variety of accents and pauses. There are no commonplace rhymes; not only are the so-called grammatical rhymes lacking, but the majority of the rhymes are very difficult, unusual, and audacious. Thus Marja belongs among the most noted Polish tales in verse even if we include those of Mickiewicz and Slowacki. Of course, even in Marja tribute had to be payed to the spirit of the times and to that of Byron (Mickiewicz said that Malczewski was the only one who could compete with Byron), but these ties do not affect the originality and the value of the poem. Pessimism is not of a whimsical nature here; nor does it result from boredom; it comes from a basic conception of the world, a tragic fragment of which is presented in this poem. An entirely different type of life and literary production was that of Severyn Goszczynski (1801-76). He was born into a very poor family which had settled in the Ukraine, and there the poet early experienced • This was proved by Aleksander Brückner in the introduction to his edition of Marja (Lw6w, 1925).

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the misery which continued to be his lot until the end. This gave him resistance, hardness, a severe view of the world, and also a deep understanding of the lot of the simple peasants among whom he had been brought up and to whom he became very close. He was by birth a patriot-revolutionary and a social leader of very radical convictions. Even as a very young man he belonged to the secret society of the Free Brothers Poles; he was persecuted and forced to hide. He was later among the active members of the November Insurrection, the so-called 'Belvederians,' those who in the night of the 29th of November, 1830, started the outbreak by attacking the Belvedere, the residence of the Grand Duke Constantine. After the fall of the Insurrection he was for a time active in Galicia, spreading radical democratic ideals and finally he went into exile in Paris. In general, Goszczyriski was a very noble man of action and unbroken principles, straight forward and incapable of any compromise with his own conscience. Unfortunately, this grand and impressive man was a rather mediocre poet. Even before 1830 he wrote quite a number of respectable lyric poems, which are all ardent and noble, but literarily weak. From time to time there shines through them a more original and vivid feeling or description of nature. The same is true of his larger poem, Zamek Kaniowski (Kaniowski Castle, 1828). At a later date, writing about this work, the poet himself characterized its motifs in the following way: 'seduction of a virgin, vengeance, murders of all kinds, a Polish nobleman with the crimes of a tyrant, the chatter of night-hawks predicting death, one hangman, two insane women, one gang which murders the Poles, another gang which, as it were, punishes the murderers, torrents of blood, a crowd of satans, etc.* Such is the atmosphere of this poem; its action is set at the time of the so-called Human massacre 10 and harmonizes excellently with those horrible events. But the accumulation of these motifs of crime alone would not in itself represent a literary crime; what is worse is that the means of their presentation, the language and verse display a lack of literary taste and polish. True, there is the Ukrainian common people, presented even too 'realistically,' there are his beliefs and superstitions, in a word, all things which until then were absent from Polish poetry in this form. There is also a strong emphasis on the social antagonism of the classes, a pointing out of the source of the massacre in the inhuman treatment of the peasants by the Polish lords. But this is not sufficient to produce a work of art. 10 Ic the year 1768, when the Cossacks attacked HumaA and assassinated thousands of people.

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The third poet of the so-called Ukrainian school, which, incidentally, was not a 'school* in the strict sense of the word, was J6zef Bohdan Zaleski (1802-86), called 'the Ukrainian nightingale.' He owed this name to the song-like character of his short poems which he called 'dumki' or 'szumki' (little ballads). Indeed their distinctly syllabic metrical structure and their simple, uniform (even monotonous) rhythm, often lively and dance-like, seemed to ask for a tune. The poetic world presented in these 'dumki' is the realm of Zaleski's 'idyllic and angelic' childhood, which he spent in much better conditions than did Goszczynski. Zaleski too was brought up among the Ukrainian peasants, but he saw them through the eyes of a child who does not realize the real conditions of the peasant's life. Although he wrote as a mature young man, Zaleski had not ceased to look at his poetic world with the eyes of a child (this trait characterizes even his later works). Everything in it is carefree, calm, gay, bright, in delightful colors and sounds, but quite simple and primitive. His 'programmatic' poem, Spiew poety (The Poet's Song), possesses the same character: like a butterfly or a little bee, the poet floats over flowers and meadows, gathering balsams, pigments, and little tunes for his poetic repertory. He draws the subjects for his works from both the past and present of the Cossack Ukraine, selecting them in such a way as to make them harmonize with his general attitude towards the world. It is clear that the atmosphere in his works is diametrically opposed to that which reigns in the works of Goszczynski. Without a doubt they possess a certain particular charm and also some historical merit by introducing into Polish romantic poetry certain new tones of a peculiarly conceived 'Ukraine-ness.' Ignoring other minor poets of this period, who did not bring anything new into romantic literature, we must pause to consider romantic literary criticism. Its most outstanding representative was Maurycy Mochnacki, (1804-34) a very talented young man, very temperamental, closely resembling Goszczynski in the radicalism of his social convictions; he was very active, especially in writing, at the time of the November Insurrection. As a literary critic, he was widely read in the more recent German literature and philosophy; he also displayed independence in his judgment of literary problems. His philosophical and sociological attitudes from which he tried to draw the main programmatic theses for Polish literature were less independent and clear. He published a large number of articles devoted to theoretical problems as well as to discussion of individual works, not only in the domain of literature but also the domains of music and art. In the article O duchu i irodtach poezji w Polsce (On the Spirit and

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Sources of Poetry in Poland), impressed by the theories of German romanticism, Mochnacki propagated 'the feeling of the infinite' as the most important source of true poetry; but he did not disregard other minor sources, advocated by other romantic theorists, such as the Slavonic past, Scandinavian mythology, and the spirit of the Middle Ages. His longer work published in 1830, O literaturze polskiej wieku XIX (On Polish Literature of the Nineteenth Century), was more important. For the first time in Polish criticism the author develops and tries to prove the idea that literature is the consciousness of the nation, or — as Mochnacki expresses it — through literature the nation should reach 'the recognition of itself in its essence.' Mochnacki was not in this instance concerned with a definition of literature, but rather with the designation of its socio-philosophical significance and the role which it should play in the spiritual life of society. He thus touched upon an essential and important problem, and although he solved it in a slightly confused way, the posing of it alone was significant for Polish critical literature, which was quite unprolific in works of a more general character. Literature — which, in the classical theories recognized until then, was considered partly as a diversion, partly as applied pedagogy — here gained the meaning of a spiritual force, making society, the nation, and humanity conscious of what they are in their 'essence,' that is, in their deepest being. This is not an attitude entirely new in this era, for Shakespeare's famous definition of poetry as the 'mirror' placed by the poet in front of the nation had a similar general sense, but that does not belittle the significance of its appearance on the Polish literary scene at this time. Mochnacki's book also includes interesting discussions of the works of Mickiewicz, Malczewski, Zaleski, and Goszczynski; they abound in audacious, original, frequently pertinent judgment, expressed with zeal, in ardent terms, in a vivid and forceful style. Michal Grabowski (1804-63) was another literary critic who offered some promise in his My s!i o literaturze polskiej (Thoughts about Polish Literature) and his study, O szkole romantycznej w Polsce (On the Romantic School in Poland); but, unfortunately, having remained in Poland after the fall of the Insurrection and having lost thus contact with the Western European intellectual movement, he fell into narrowmindedness and provincialism.

CHAPTER VIII

POLISH ROMANTICISM AFTER 1831

The November Insurrection has been evaluated differently by the various Polish historians. It seems, however, to have been a historical necessity; it is, therefore, quite useless to argue whether it followed the path of a realistic and practical policy. It was a historical necessity since an artificial state such as the Congress Kingdom could neither exist nor grow normally and successfully in a personal union with Tsarist Russia, as has already been indicated. Furthermore, it was difficult for the Polish nation to consent to the status quo, to feel satisfied with one-fifth of the territory of the former Republic, or to forget about brothers on the other side of what were now Russian, Prussian, and Austrian frontiers. There was then sufficient ground for dissatisfaction and embitterment; there was also a well-grounded belief that Russian policy would continuously and consistently push toward a gradual limitation of the autonomy of the kingdom until finally that autonomy would simply become nominal. It is to these conditions and circumstances that one must look for the genesis of the November Insurrection. It was a spontaneous outburst, an ill-prepared and ill-directed one, started by ardent, inexperienced youths who too eagerly mistook the fire of their own hearts for that of the whole country, and believed that the entire nation, and particularly its official leaders, thought and felt the way they did. The Insurrection soon came under the leadership of the Administrational Council, which was composed of highly respected men who were not possessed of the spirit of insurrection, many of them being downright sceptical about the possible success of an armed movement. Hence the long conferences with the Grand Duke Constantine, who was then camping at a village near Warsaw; hence the waste of a few valuable months and the negative attitude toward the universal mobilization (the calling of all the peasants under arms) which Mochnacki and the Democratic Club demanded. At

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last the Polish-Russian campaign of 1831 came; the army fought very well, as usual, but the military leaders did not always maintain themselves on the level of their task. The campaign sparkled with a few impressive Polish victories, but its result was defeat, the capitulation of Warsaw in September, 1831, and the retreat of the Polish Army to Prussia and Austria, the laying down of the arms, and the emigration of the flower of the Polish intelligentsia to the West. Simple soldiers, on the other hand, were unceremoniously sent back by Prussia and Austria into Russian hands, turned into 'saldats' (the Russian term for 'soldiers') and sent to distant 'gubernii.' Such was the end of that patriotic outburst, which — according to the opinions of military writers — might have presented great chances of victory in the war with Russia, had it been properly organized and conducted. The émigrés now took upon ihemselves the lofty but difficult task of saving the national spirit, of acquainting themselves and the nation with the errors of the past, and of working out a new Polish ideology. The émigrés' efforts in this direction were enormous and impressive. This period marked the splendid flourishing of Polish poetry, thanks to the production of Mickiewicz, Slowacki, Norwid, and Krasiriski, as well as the growth of Polish democratic ideology, connected with the activities of the Democratic Society in Paris (see p. 254). Meanwhile the enemy triumphed at home. Having succeeded in crushing the Insurrection, Russia energetically began to abolish the autonomy of the kingdom and to incorporate Poland into its own empire. A Provisional Government was organized, composed of Russians and of Poles who had remained faithful to the tsar, but the real governing was done by the Russian police and gendarmerie. The Polish Army ceased to exist. Mass trials of the insurgents began, ending with death sentences, deportation to Siberia, to katorga (hard labor), or to prison compounds. The University of Warsaw was already shut down in 1831, and the courses in education and law which were set up in its place soon suffered the same fate. The University of Wilno was also closed and the majority of the professors sent away, while only an academy of medicine and theology remained. The faculty of theology, however, was soon transported to St. Petersburg, and the academy of medicine was closed in 1842. The Lyceum of Krzemieniec and all the Polish secondary schools in the seized territories, Lithuania, Podolia, Volynia, and the Ukraine, ceased to exist. The level of education, morality, and prosperity was rapidly going down. Demoralization and loss of national dignity spread

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mainly among the gentry. Its most valuable citizenry had either emigrated to the west or had been deported to the east and north. Those who remained belonged generally to the type of minorum gentium — weak characters, weak heads, or often even downright disloyal opportunists. The situation of the peasants, which was not very good in the periods of the Duchy and the Kingdom, had grown worse. Peasant poverty grew, while agriculture in general went down. This situation could be remedied only partly by the activities of Andrzej Zamoyski and the more cultured gentry organized by him, who exerted their efforts in the direction of freeing the serfs, a reasonable cultivation of the soil, cattle and horsebreeding, the founding of agricultural banks, etc. The economic situation of cities was slightly better. Polish industry began to improve, and as a result of heavy exports to the Near and Far East, the Russian-occupied territory eventually became the most industrialized province of Poland. The Catholic Church was persecuted along with other Polish institutions, but in a less brutal way. Church land, however, was confiscated, in return for which the clergy received salaries; the bishops were prohibited from entering into direct contact with Rome; the majority of the monasteries were abolished, and so on. The Greek Catholic denomination was finally abolished in Lithuania and the Ukraine in 1839. The 'Uniats' were forced to accept orthodoxy. The Austrian-occupied territory suffered an equally hard fate, though of a different kind. Germanization took place through the schools, Austrian colonizers, foreign priests, and officials. There were very few schools, and the University of Lwow had only three faculties: philosophy, law, and theology. All the educational institutions required German as the language of study. The level of education was extremely low. Stupid censorship persecuted every symptom of independent thought, not to mention Polish patriotism. Germanization was also greatly assisted by compulsory military service which, until 1845, lasted fourteen to fifteen years; after that date it was reduced to from eight to ten years. The Church was not persecuted, for Austria itself was Catholic; but the government made strong attempts to make out of priests, especially those occupying higher executive posts, the sort of officials typical of Austrian bureaucracy. The peasant question was settled in an 'Austrian' way, that is, halfheartedly and bureaucratically. Though serfdom was abolished, work on the landlord's farm remained; furthermore, the landlord's manor and his village was surrounded by a labyrinth of bureaucratic, administrative

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rules which poisoned life and deepened the already existing abyss between the estate and the village. In order to avoid competition with the Austrian countries, the government deliberately prevented the growth of industry in Galicia. This was one of the most serious handicaps of this region, which was not industrialized until Austria disintegrated. Not caring for Galicia at all, spending on it only as much as was absolutely necessary, the Austrian government led the region to even a greater ruin by imposing excessive taxes which were several dozen times higher than they had been during the time of the Republic. Although a Galician Diet existed, organized by estates and composed of representatives of the magnates, gentry, and clergy, and two representatives of the metropolitan city of Lwow, its rights and duties were so limited that it could not achieve much. It had the right to hear government bills, and it was generously allowed to bring petitions to the emperor, although they were hardly ever taken under consideration if they involved important questions. In spite of these restrictions the Diet tried to do whatever was in its power, especially in the second half of century when people like the brothers Badeni, A. Goluchowski, and Leon Sapieha, the brother-in-law of Czartoryski, became its members. Under their influence the Galician gentry, who until then had not allowed any discussion of the peasant question, began seriously to think about reform. Proposals of regulating and even of abolishing peasant labor on the lords' estates were heard. Although, because of the government's resistance, these proposals were not soon put into practice, they were evidence of a basic change in the attitude of the gentry. There were also other consoling factors which proved that Polish culture had enough vitality to grow and to create durable things even under such apparently hopeless conditions. It was here that the poets Aleksander Fredro Ujejski and Pol lived and wrote; it was also here that the historians August Bielowski and Karol Szajnocha promoted their fruitful activities and the National Ossoliriski Institute, the 'Ossolineum,' in which whole generations of scholars gained their knowledge about Poland, gathered treasures of Polish literature and culture. Thanks to the foundation established by Count Stanislaw Skarbek, a permanent Polish theater existed in Lwow. In spite of Austrian censorship, Polish periodicals were published: Rozmaitosci (Variety), Lwowianin (The Lvovian), Dziennik mod paryskich (The Journal of Parisian Fashion, the title mentioned fashion deliberately to mislead the censorship). Furthermore, Galicia for many years to come remained the seat of the under-

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ground patriotic movement which saw to it that the spirit and will to fight survived. A number of organizations worked in this direction energetically, productively, and with extraordinary sacrifice ; it was from here that the preparations for the armed movements of 1846 and 1848 came. Since 1815 Krakow had existed as an independent and neutral 'free city'; it was also called the Krakow Republic, and it possessed its own miniature Diet and Senate, its own official institutions, courts, and militia. Of course, the powers participating in Poland's dismemberment saw to it that the freedom of the city was greatly curtailed. They had their own representatives, the so-called residents in the city and peopled it with innumerable spies and provocateurs. Meanwhile the city developed quite well economically. Furthermore, it became the scene of congregation for all kinds of political émigrés, who, enjoying greater freedom, could here organize activity both for the Kingdom and for Galicia itself and maintain contact with the émigrés abroad. These activities as well as the outbreak of the Krakôw revolution in 1846 led to the annexation of the city by Austria. In the territory under Prussian occupation, the policy of Germanization which had been begun right after the partitions was consistently continued. Polish estates were bought up and German colonizers imported; the powers of autonomous institutions (a Diet, district dietines, community self-governments) and the Polish language in schools and offices were limited. Education, however, was not destroyed as it was under Russian occupation ; indeed, new schools were systematically founded. The social evolution took a different direction from that in the other two parts of Poland. First of all, the Prussian government settled the peasant question in a relatively rational way. The procedure of giving the peasant land had begun at the beginning of the century and was drawn to a conclusion around 1860. The gradual execution of this reform prevented an economic crisis which had later been the result of such reforms under Russian occupation; it also created a strong class of middle-rich, educated peasants; their national consciousness was maintained by the activities of the clergy and the more democratically disposed gentry. The second characteristic trait of the social development in the Poznan province was the rise of a strong Polish bourgeoisie. The Germanization of schools and the barring of Poles from public offices caused a gradually increasing trend towards crafts, commerce, and the free professions. Great credit in the organization of the Polish bourgeoisie is due to Dr.

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Karol Marcinkowski, who set forth an economic program for enriching the society by taking industry and commerce out of German hands, the establishing of shops and work-shops, and the creation of lending and savings banks. The fight of the Prussian government against the Catholic Church and clergy expressed itself in the confiscation of all monastery property and the conversion of monastery buildings into army barracks, prisons, or schools. It was with great difficulty that Polish bishops could maintain Polish theological seminaries, which were constantly exposed to Prussian persecution. With the coming to the Prussian throne of Frederick Wilhelm IV, a temporary softening of the Prussian extermination policy took place. German colonization had stopped, the Polish language was recognized in schools and courts, and the supervision of elementary schooling was given over to the clergy. Economic and cultural activity also improved in the period following 1840. The prosperity of all social classes increased, and the standard of living and culture rose. A number of Poles studied at German universities, where they acquired a thorough education. Edward Raczynski and Tytus Dzialynski established libraries in Poznan and Kôrnik; the number of serious periodicals increased with such publications as Rok (The Year), Orçdownik naukowy (The Scholarly Patron), Tygodnik literacki (The Literary Weekly), and others. Outstanding people appear: for example, Karol Libelt, a student of philosophy and esthetics, a publicist, a sincere and liberal democrat; Jçdrzej Moraczewski was his collaborator, a lawyer, historian, and social leader. These men stood at the head of the democratic segment of society in the Poznan region. Along with them, however, there existed a strong and influential conservative-clerical party, represented by Marcinkowski, Mielzynski, Chlapowski, and others. In spite of the more advanced democratization of the Poznan population, the conservative party lent the general flavor to public opinion in this region both then and later, acting in close contact with the clergy, which had almost unlimited influence over the peasants. The radical democratic ideas of the émigrés did not catch hold in the Poznan region; the theories of such young revolutionaries as Edward Dembowski or Henryk Kamienski, temporarily residing in Poznan, did not receive much attention. Such were the conditions under the three occupations after 1830. In spite of the very hard circumstances, the frequently inhuman persecution, great bloodshed, and material ruin, political activity directed toward freedom and independence had not stopped since the November Insurrec-

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tion. Apart from the energetic activities of the émigrés, at home, either in connection with the émigrés or independently, underground organizations gradually rose under different names in various parts of the country, each with the main purpose of preparing the nation to armed fight. The attempts to rise to arms were dangerous, sometimes mad, but they occurred and probably had to occur, both as a proof to the world that the nation did not give up its rights and as a means of maintaining the nation in constant vigilance and readiness. As early as in the year 1833 we have the expedition of Zaliwski and his friends, who came home from France to provoke an uprising; there are also the similar attempts of Szymon Konarski and Father Piotr Sciegienny. Even in exile, in Siberia or in the Caucasus, wherever a group of Poles was to be found, conspiracy and plotting immediately set in. The story of the so-called Omsk Association, for instance, sounds incredible: it was organized in the Russian army among the Polish prisoners near the Caucasian border and was designed to cause an uprising among all the Poles in Siberia, to lend assistance to the Cherkess people who fought for the freedom of the Caucasus, and to cross through the Caucasus to Europe. Then came the year 1846, with its insurrection in Krakow and Galicia, and 1848, with revolutionary movements under Austrian and Prussian occupation and the revolution in Hungary, where the revolutionary Hungarian troops were led by Polish generals, Jôzef Bern and Henryk Dembinski. The same year marked the revolution in Italy and the creation by Adam Mickiewicz of the Polish Legion to fight against Austria. These are only a few significant dates, typical of the militant spirit which, since the partitions, has enlivened subsequent generations of Poles.

ADAM MICKIEWICZ The outbreak of the November Insurrection found Mickiewicz in Rome. The poet's attitude towards the Insurrection at that time is not exactly known, but it was probably not enthusiastic. Many suppositions have been made on this subject and many psychological hypotheses construed; the poet was accused of passivity, but also defended against this accusation, but none of the suppositions or accusations were based on concrete facts. One of the few facts is that Mickiewicz left Rome only in April, 1831, that is, half a year after the outbreak of the Insurrection. He first went to Paris, possibly in order to gain information about the national and international situation. From there he went to the province of

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Poznan. Having settled in a certain Polish estate right on the frontier of the Kingdom, he decided to cross the frontier in order to join the insurgents. But this was difficult, maybe quite impossible at that time, because of the careful inspection of the frontier by the Prussian authorities. The poet, therefore, had to give up his plan; furthermore, the insurrection was about to end. After a stay of another few months in the province of Poznan, Mickiewicz in March, 1832, went to Dresden, where a consideraale number of émigrés had gathered to be received hospitably by the Saxonians. Here he met a few of his Wilno friends, the young poet, Stefan Garczynski, with whom he had become friendly while still in Berlin, and numerous participants in the last campaign, from whom he learned the details of its course and downfall. These people, their tales, this whole new atmosphere in which he now found himself, the realization that another period in the history of Poland had ended, leaving a dark and grim future — all these awakened new thoughts and feelings in the poet, which had to be expressed in poetry. Part III of Forefathers' Eve was written. As the title indicates, the poet alludes in his new work to the two parts of Forefathers' Eve which he had published in Wilno. The new part indeed resembled the preceding ones in its general character as a lyric drama, its reminiscences of the ritual, and in the fact that its action was transported to Wilno. But the spirit of the poem was different, distinct especially from Part IV. The nine, loosely connected scenes preceded by a prologue, comprise in symbolic images and poetic short-cuts the martyrology of Poland, the last act of which was played in 1830-31. In a group of realistic-historical scenes he presented one by one the imprisonment of the Philomats and the Philarets within the walls of the Basilian Monastery in Wilno, the unfavorable and light-hearted attitude of the corrupt higher circles of Polish society, gathered in the 'Warsaw Salon,' toward the revolutionary-patriotic activities, the servility of those circles before the Russian government, and, finally, the action of the Russian satrap, Senator Novosiltsov, in Wilno at the time of the inquisition against the university youth. These scenes incorporate features of reality, such as the names of places, people, and a few of the facts, but the whole is transformed by a powerful poetic imagination for the purpose of artistic suggestion; its concern is not for historical but rather for artistic truth. We must, therefore, not look to these scenes for information about the true conditions in Poland. They are rather poetical symbols, which, through their forcefulness and horror, are to give a picture of the martyrdom not especially of the Wilno youth but of the whole nation during the

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entire post-partition period. This is then a synthesis of Polish martyrdom and not a local Wilno scene. This is attested to by other scenes in the poem, in which the national question is transported to an unearthly, cosmic setting where a battle takes place between Konrad, the hero of the poem, and God himself over the happiness and future of the nation; it is a battle 'of the hearts,' one of the most magnificent outbursts of Prometheanism in world literature, where, further, the salvation of Poland and her resurrection are shown in a mystical vision. These scenes are enclosed in a number of others which have a fantastic character, even more synthetic and symbolic than the preceding ones, because they lack any of the realistic accessories. Good and evil spirits appear in various shapes, evoked either by the coarse folk tradition, by the Middle Ages, or by the meditations of the mystics. This whole supernatural world takes a direct and active part in the human action; it influences and directs it. The organic union of these two worlds is a special romantic-medieval concept, so complete that one rarely finds similar examples in world literature, unless we turn back to Dante. The Polish poet does not hesitate to utilize the most glaring contrasts to emphasize the idea of the union between the earthly and unearthly worlds; nor does he hesitate to avail himself of the most primitive folk demonology. The magnificent Promethean rise, the climactic outburst of the patriotism of Konrad, who demands that God give him the rule over souls so that he may make his country happy and astonish the whole world, the climax of the scene of the so-called 'Improvisation' (when in a fury of inspiration and bitterness Konrad is about to throw a blasphemous accusation at the Lord that he is not the Father of the world but its tsar, and when, not finishing his blasphemy, he faints) — all this is followed by a scene, unique in its kind, of chasing the 'devil' out of Konrad, who is possessed by satanic pride. This scene is done strictly according to the medieval ritual to which have been added folk conceptions of the devil, who squeaks and groans inside of Konrad, who writhes under the words of the exorcism, who speaks in many foreign languages, and so on. The contrast between these scenes is so strong as to make it seem too difficult to be assimilated by a normal esthetic sensitivity. The final scene of the poem reverts to the folk ritual of the 'Forefathers' and contains the image of bloody vengeance over the hangmen of the Polish nation. To the drama is added a series of poems, under the general title Digression, which are devoted to Russia, her land and people, to the description of St. Petersburg, and of the monument of Peter the Great (including a homage to Pushkin); there is also a picture of a military

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parade in St. Petersburg and a very significant poem, To My Russian Friends. The whole is not connected with Part III of Forefathers' Eve (unless we treat it as a further development of the fortune of Konrad deported to Russia), and it is not pure epic. The descriptions are imbued with satire, bitterness, and wrath, especially in passages concerned with official Russia. We thus see that a variety of elements contributes to this work. They are fused neither by distinct realistic ties of structure, nor by the person of the hero, nor even by the development of a problem or event, but rather by the heat of lyricism which permeates the whole and which is displayed in a very rich range of emotions and moods. The language and verse sparkle with the colors and luster of the highest art of poetry, particularly in the 'Improvisation' scene, the scenes of the visions and dreams, which also stand out by their contrast (the vision of Father Piotr, of the Senator, and Eva), in the narrative of Sobolewski in the first scene. The variety and wealth of Mickiewicz's poetic devices are displayed here in his equally masterful use of different poetic 'techniques,' delineating the personalities of the various characters and the kinds of problems treated. Let us first look at Sobolewski's narrative about the deportation of the youths to Siberia: It was as I returned. I begged the guard To stop a moment, so he let me stand Hiding behind the pillars of the church While mass went on; and there were many folk — But suddenly they tumbled forth and left The service for the prison. At the door I stood and saw the nave stripped bare. The priest Alone remained beyond the chancel rail With chalice raised, and his boy acolyte. Outside, the people, dense and motionless, Watched as if celebrating some high feast: Soldiers stood armed and ranged in two long files; And in between, kibitkas. From the square The captain of police came riding up — He looked a great man holding triumph here, The triumph of the tsar o'er — little boys! A drum beat, and the jail doors opened wide. I saw them then. Behind each one walked guards With bayonets, behind these wasted lads, Sickly and small and all like new recruits With shaven heads and chains upon their legs. Poor boys! The youngest, only ten yeais old, Complained he couldn't lift his heavy chains

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And showed his foot all flecked with blood and bare. The captain then rode up to see to this — So kind and just, himself would test the chains! T e n pounds, quite right; that is the weight prescribed'. They brought Janczewski out: I saw him there, Disfigured, black, but strangely noble too. A year before a gay, engaging boy, Today he gazed from the kibitka as That emperor from his island rock. His eyes Were proud and dry and calm; and now he seemed To cheer the comrades of his slavery, And now he smiled upon the crowd, a smile Gracious and kind for all its bitterness, As if he said, 'The pain is not too much.' And then it seemed to me he met my eyes, Not seeing that the corporal held my coat, And thought that I was freed; he kissed his hand, Nodding that he rejoiced at my good luck — And instantly all eyes were turned on me. The corporal pulled at me to hide myself; I only pressed the nearer to the church And watched each slightest stir the prisoner made. He saw the people weeping at his chains — He shook them, showing he could bear the weight; And then they lashed the horse, the wagon rolled Along; he rose and waved his cap, and thrice He shouted, 'Poland has not perished yet!' They vanished in the crowd, but long that hand Against the sky, that cap like funeral plume, That head which shameless tyranny had shaved, A head unashamed and proud, were seen afar, Telling of innocence and infamy; And rising from the nuddle of black heads Like dolphin from the sea, that tells of storm, That head and hand are printed on my heart And shall be while I walk my way in life, A compass pointing me where virtue leads. If I forget them, then may God forget Me too! . . . . . . Meanwhile the rest of the kibitkas, ranged In one long gloomy file, were moving off. I cast a look about the close-packed crowd, Then on the army — all were white as death, And such dark stillness lay upon the throng That I could hear each step, each clank of chains. How strange, that though all feel such punishment

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Inhuman, common folk and soldiery Alike are silent, they so fear the tsar! They led the last one out; he seemed to be Resisting them — but, no, he could not walk. Poor lad! he swayed, he started down the steps, And fell full length. 'Twas Wasilewski, he Who was our neighbor but two days ago. They'd flogged him at the inquest so that not One drop of blood remained to flush his face. A soldier raised his body from the ground And bore it to its place, while he himself With furtive gestures wiped away his tears. T w a s not a swoon, the prisoner did not hang All limp, but just as he had fallen, straight, Stark, like a column being borne along, His arms outstretched across the soldier's back As if he had been taken from the crosss. His eyes were dreadful, white and staring wide. Then all the people opened up their lips And from a thousand breasts one sigh was torn, A deep and subterranean sound of dread, As if the graves beneath the church had groaned. Swiftly an order drowned it with the drum: 'To arms!' and 'March!' They started. Down the road Like lightning flashes the kibitkas flew. In one we did not see the prisoner; but His hand, stretched deathlike toward us from the straw, Shook in the hostling cart as in farewell. They passed, but, caught a moment in the crowd Before the whips had quite dispersed the throng, The dead man stopped before the empty church. I heard the bell and glanced inside and saw The priest about to elevate the host. And then I cried: 'Lord, who to save the world Didst shed by Pilate's judgment guiltless blood, Accept this sacrifice of children from The judgment of the tsar: 'tis not so great Nor holy, but it is as innocent.' 1 Here is a picture of the suffering and the persecution against not only the Wilno youth; it constitutes a symbolic vision of the terrible fate of entire Polish generations. It is a picture taken from reality, drawn from concrete events with the use of authentic names. The poetic devices are in accordance with this; it is an epic narrative with a strong lyric base, but one which operates with concrete, 'realistic,' details. Let us now glance at Ewa's Vision: 1

Noyes, Poems, pp. 260-63.

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A rain as gentle and as still as dew — Whence comes it? All the heaven is so blue, So clear and blue! The drops are rainbow-bright! And nosegays wound Of roses and of lilies wreathe me round! Sweet dream, Flow on forever like a sleeping stream! O roses filled with light, Pure lilies, milky-white, You never knew This earth, beyond the fleecy clouds you grew! Narcissus, with your snowy glance, And you, blue flowers of memory, Like eyes of innocence, I know you all; but yesterday I watered you in my garden there And plucked of you a sweet bouquet And crowned the Holy Mother where She gleams above my bed, so mild! O miracle, O Virgin! She Bends and gazes downward. — See, Now she gives the holy child The wreath, and Jesus, smilingly, Throws the flowers down to me. They have grown more fresh and fair And multiplied a thousandfold; Floating, flying on, they find One another in the air. Of themselves a wreath they wind, Of every bloom! Lord, how good Thou art and kind! 'Tis heaven in my room. Rose, narcissus, eyes of snow, Hovering ever o'er me, so Gazing on your hearts, may I Fall asleep and die! . . . 2 This is a vision of a pure, innocent girl. Its chief elements are flowers, spiritual, symbolic, mystical, unearthly flowers, their colors, their fragrance, the garlands formed in the skies; the feeling is one of delight, ecstasy, and intoxication with unearthly happiness. This fragment lacks concreteness; it lacks all earthly, real elements; everything here is a marvelous, colorful, scented dream. From Dresden, Mickiewicz went to Paris, that chief center of Polish émigrés. We have already mentioned the émigrés' activities and merits. •

Ibid., pp. 290-91.

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There were in these activities some momentary and passing things, but there were also durable values which have outlived the émigrés and which live in the national consciousness to this day. So are some works of the great émigré poets, the idea of Polish democracy which had then been worked out and the character of Polish patriotism. As a whole, the émigrés were preoccupied by the idea of the fight for freedom and the regaining of independence (almost all of them were convinced that it was a question of a relatively short time), but their individual factions differed among themselves in their attitudes toward Poland's past and its recent insurrection, as well as on the road which would lead to freedom and — not least — the organization of the future Poland. Three main trends operated: the monarchical-conservative, the republican-democratic, and the first nucleus of the socialist idea. Each of these currents attempted to work out its ideology and program; each published periodicals and pamphlets; each tried to influence the émigrés and the people at home, and to win adherents. As a result, an atmosphere of great activity, which in miniature was reminiscent of the period of the Four-Year Diet, developed. The monarchists pursued chiefly a policy of diplomacy, of negotiating with foreign courts and governments, and seeking foreign intervention in the Polish question. The democrats, on the other hand, saw the road to the independence of Poland in alliance with the peoples of Europe, burdened by absolutism or semi-absolutism; they saw it in universal revolution in the name of freedom and fraternity of all peoples and in the organization of the new world on these bases. There were also basic differences in the attitudes towards the future polity of Poland between the representatives of the conservative aristocracy and higher gentry on the one hand (whose social program was very moderate and quite distant from 'Jacobinism') and the democrats and socialists on the other, who, though they too were of noble origin, voluntarily and readily gave up their gentry privileges. They considered those privileges a sin and crime against the people and the fatherland; they wished to repent for the faults of their ancestors, openly putting forth a radical and uncompromisingly democratic program, advocating the power of the people and the 'melding of the gentry into the people.' Such was to be the program of the Manifesto of 1836 of the Democratic Society, one of the most important documents of Polish political and social thought, always a vivid source of healthy and noble ideas for the future generations of the struggling Polish democracy. This was the situation Mickiewicz encountered upon his arrival in

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Paris. We know of his reaction to it from his pamphlet, entitled Ksiqgi narodu polskiego i Ksiçgi pielgrzymstwa polskiego (Books of the Polish Nation and Books of the Polish Pilgrims), published in Paris in the same year as Part III of Forefathers'1 Eve, that is, in 1832. What shocked him particularly in the public life of the émigrés was first of all the struggle between parties and various 'committees' (these struggles were very ardent and serious at the time), the disunity among the émigrés, the debates about the recent past, the search for those guilty of the downfall of the Insurrection, the wrangles, quarrels, and fights. He maintained the compatriots must have placed before them one simple and distinct aim around which to gather. Thus he gave in his Books of the Polish Nation a very simple and easy synthesis of Polish history with an emphasis on all its bright and beautiful moments, almost entirely omitting the negative ones. This was done with a conscious pedagogical design. Mickiewicz was anxious to preserve reverence for the past, to keep 'the Polish spirit', and not to let Poles disperse nationally among foreigners. The very risky treatment of the Poles as bearers of a higher morale than foreigners, the stressing of their spirit of sacrifice as a contrast to the selfishness and materialism of Western Europe also probably served this purpose. In these and other ideas expressed in the Books there sounds the tone of messianism; it conceives Poland as endowed with a special universal mission, and calls upon it to carry true Christian culture into the realm of international relations. Books of the Polish Pilgrims, which follows Books of the Nation is a kind of 'catechism' for the pilgrims — a collection of moral teachings, illustrated with parables in the style of the Bible. They were to explain the émigrés' national and moral duties and make it plain that, as the true, though not official, representatives of the Polish nation in exile, the émigrés must be exemplary models of morality and uncompromising patriotism. Mickiewicz advocated harmony and tolerance for the mistakes made; he urged mutual forgiveness, warned against denigrating the distant or recent past, and advised the preservation of national traditions and customs. In the parable about the dead mother he comes out against those who wish to see her resuscitated only in a given 'system.' The whole work is permeated by a deep Christian and Evangelical spirit; from this spirit there emerge somewhat politically colored ideas of propagating alliance not with the kings, not with the 'liberalists' of Europe - those modern Pharisees and Sadducees - but with the peoples penetrated by the same Christian spirit. In this respect Mickiewicz came close to the democratic ideology of the émigrés, though in many others

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he undoubtedly differed from them. On the whole he did not attach a great deal of importance to strictly political activity, considering politics a secondary domain and making it depend on the moral rebirth of the man. He detested detailed political programs, maintaining that they come from the spirit of rationalism while, in these matters, feelings, instinct, and inspiration should be decisive. Generally, Mickiewicz's work posed a certain general moral program rather than a political one. It was designed for the masses of the émigrés rather than for their political leaders. It could not achieve the political unification of the émigrés, but it was accepted cordially by apolitical circles. It literally awoke enthusiasm in the French liberal-Catholic circles, which united the cause of Catholicism with that of the peoples and which wanted the Holy See to become the spokesman for the cause. The most outstanding representative of this neo-Catholic trend was the already mentioned Father de Lamennais and his friend, the Count Montalembert. The latter quickly arranged for a French translation of the Books and published it under his name with a warm, enthusiastic preface. Having acquainted himself with the first proofs of the translation, Lamennais acclaimed Mickiewicz's work as 'a book of the whole humanity.' He claimed that he had never read anything more original and moving and recommended that it be translated into other languages. What is more, he was so moved by the Books that in his Paroles d'un croyant, published a year later, a definite influence of the Books may be observed in the ideology, as well as in the imagery and style. 3 This is one of the few cases of the influence of a Polish author on a foreign one. Lamennais's desire to disseminate the Books throughout the world was satisfied, for it was soon translated into more than a dozen European and non-European languages. The Books was not the only work of Mickiewicz in the moral-political field. Wishing to continue to influence public opinion he began in 1833 to edit a periodical, Pielgrzym polski (The Polish Pilgrim). It did not serve the purposes of any defined political trend; however, it advocated progressive, sometimes even revolutionary, ideas, but always on the basis of moral rebirth and Christian fraternity among peoples. The poetry of Mickiewicz did not have a quiet, regular line of development ; it rather proceeded in certain leaps and jumps, springing from one style to another, unveiling always new sides of his talent, but at the same ' See M. Kridl, Mickiewicz i Lamennais (Warsaw, 1909) and 'Two Champions of a New Christianity: Lamennais and Mickiewiez,' Comparative Literature, Vol. IV, Nr. 3, 1952.

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time conserving some constant traits. In the year when Forefathers' Eve, Part III, and the Books were published, he began to write his last great poetic work. This was Pan Tadeusz, 'a story of the gentry in twelve books written in verse' which represents the only true modern epos in world literature. The modern epoch has not achieved such a work, although there have been many attempts since the eighteenth century. The fact is that Mickiewicz's poem possesses some of the basic traits which we ascribe to the ancient epos, although, naturally it does not satisfy all the 'requirements' which later classical poetics has set up for this literary genre. What counts, however, is the spirit of the genre rather than the strict imitation of models which was the characteristic trait of the attempted epic poems of the modern poets and which is also one of the reasons for the failure of these attempts. The spirit of Pan Tadeusz is most purely epic on the highest level. The poem presents the whole Polish society in Lithuania during a critical historical period, that is, the time of Napoleon's campaign on Moscow in the years 1811-12. This period was known to the poet in his childhood, and as we know, it conserved to the fullest all the old human types, customs, traditions, in short, the whole typical life of Old Poland. This is an epic subject par excellence: catching and portraying a historical period in which the most characteristic traits of a given nation appear most expressively and fully. This was the case of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey and of Virgil's Eneid. This is again the case of Pan Tadeusz. Because Polish life — as we know — was from the oldest times concentrated in the country rather than in cities and because Polish culture had first of all a rural, agricultural character, the action of Pan Tadeusz develops in the country among rural people and is set against the background of magnificent descriptions of the life of nature and animals. All classes of the gentry are presented: the wealthy, the aristocratic, the middle-class, and the poor gentry; there are representatives of the various old offices, such as chamberlain, voyevoda, pantler, cup-bearer, seneschal, judge, notary, assessor, bailiff of the tribunal; there is also the Polish army in the final scene. Furthermore, there are representatives of other classes and nationalities: the peasants (on the whole quite fragmentarily presented), a Jew, the Russians. The fair sex has no outstanding representative, but in those times outstanding women were exceptional. Those are the principal human types of the Polish epic. As a born epic writer, Mickiewicz draws with equal care and with the same interest the environment in which these people live. Here is earth and nature, in description which has no equal in the whole of Polish poetry: the woods,

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meadows, ponds in various times of the day or night, in different light and innumerable colors, the rising and setting of the sun, foggy mornings and starry nights, rains and thunderstorms, and the world of plants and animals, drawn with amazing competence and observation. Here is also a nobleman's mansion, depicted from outside and inside, the ancient castle of a magnate, a provincial gentry cottage, the inn, various household buildings, farming occupations, hunting parties, picking of mushrooms, feasts, quarrels, duels, reunions, and even a battle. The plot of the poem is composed of two principal motifs: the love of Tadeusz for Sophie (Zosia) and the dispute between two enemy families, the Soplicas and the Horeszkos, over a castle. These two motifs are connected, as Tadeusz is a Soplica and Sophie a Horeszko, and as the father of Tadeusz has killed Sophie's grandfather. Later a third problem is introduced, which is of a political nature; it is represented by an emissary of Napoleon, who turns out to be no other than Tadeusz's father, unrecognizable under the guise of a monk, Father Robak. Mickiewicz's epic gift, which we have already observed in some of his earlier works, appears here in great intensity. His vision, full of sentiment but controlled by the sober moderation, necessary to the epic, penetrated the details of this life of yesteryear, both great and small, even common; he managed to make these details autonomous, yet deeply involved in the whole picture. Care for precision, exactness — in short, 'the epic spirit' — reigns here in the purest form. The breadth of the tale, the slow-moving, sedately flowing narrative, the bright humor with which minute matters and phenomena are treated, the life of people against a background of nature, and the life of that nature next to them and within them — these are the characteristic traits of this poem. Mickiewicz is not, however, tied by the epic spirit to such degree that he would not introduce into the poem purely lyrical fragments or even personal memories. At the very beginning of the poem, after the invocation to the fatherland (instead of to the Muse, as was the custom in ancient epics) he ties general matters with purely personal ones. Here is a prose translation of the opening lines of the poem: Lithuania, my country, thou art like health; how much thou shouldst be prized only he can learn who has lost thee. To-day thy beauty in all its splendour I see and describe, for I yearn for thee. Holy Virgin, who protectest bright Czenstochowa and shinest above the Ostra Gate in Wilno! Thou who dost shelter the castle of Nowogrodek with its faithful folk! As by miracle thou didst restore me to health in my childhood — when, offered by

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my weeping mother to thy protection, I raised my dead eyelids, and could straightway walk to the threshold of thy shrine to thank God for the life returned me — so by miracle thou wilt return us to the bosom of our country. Meanwhile bear my grief-stricken soul to those wooded hills, to those green meadows stretched far and wide along the blue Niemen; to those fields painted with various grain, gilded with wheat, silvered with rye; where grows the amber mustard, the buckwheat white as snow, where the clover glows with a maiden's blush, where all is girdled as with a ribbon by a strip of green turf on which here and there rest quiet pear-trees. Amid such fields years ago ,by the border of a brook, on a low hill, in a grove of birches, stood a gentleman's mansion, of wood, but with a stone foundation; the white walls shone from afar, the whiter since they were relieved against the dark green of the poplars that sheltered it against the winds of autumn. The dwelling-house was not large, but it was spotlessly neat, and it had a mighty barn, and near it were three stacks of hay that could not be contained beneath the roof; one could see that the neighbourhood was rich and fertile.4 A Polish critic5 called Pan Tadeusz the immortalization of 'Polishness,' meaning the eternization in poetry of those traits of the national character and mores which had evolved in the course of centuries. In this respect the poem is indeed a kind of historical document, with the necessary reservation as to inevitable 'poetization' and symbolization. The characters of Pan Tadeusz are, on the whole, placed on a rather high cultural and social level; they are attached to all that is Polish; they are industrious, practical, good farmers, humane toward their subordinates, possessed of highly developed family feelings, moderately religious, moderately liberal; they have an optimistic 'philosophy' of life which is not burdened by an excessive baggage of learning and theoretical thinking; they are selfish and uncompromising in matters related to material interest, especially concerning the land (a trait all rural people, regardless of their social condition, hold in common), but capable of sacrifice when questions concerning the common good are at stake. They are frequently quarrelsome and hypersensitive in private affairs but capable of solidarity in case of danger to the national cause; born soldiers, they are less diligent in studies; they are gay, witty, lovers of play and entertainment, but without extravagance; they are impetuous and violent by nature, but 4 A. Mickiewicz, Pan Tadeusz, trans, by George Rapall Noyes (London, Dent & Sons; New York, Dutton & Co.; 1930). ' Bronistaw Chlebowski: 'Artystyczne uniesmiertelnienie polskosci w Panu Tadeuszu,' Sprowozdania Tow. Nauk. Warsz. Wydzial I (Bulletin of the Warsaw Learned Society, I Dept.), 1913.

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easily make peace after they recover from anger; they are extremely attached to liberty and personal freedom and jealous of them in both private and public relationships. Such are the main traits of the Polish psychological type, naturally looked upon with leniency, through the generous eyes of an epic poet, and characteristic for the more cultured circles of the gentry of that period. The historical period in which these people live has, of course, left its imprint on them. It was the period of Napoleonic wars, during which the map of Europe, and with it that of Poland, kept changing. Although, as we know from history, the majority of the Polish gentry in Lithuania distrusted Napoleon, we also know that a good part of the enlightened gentry bound the fate of Poland to his. Mickiewicz himself was among Napoleon's admirers, as may be seen in his later prose writings; he therefore chose for his poem characters who shared his feelings, although he has also admitted those who voiced opposition. One of the most outstanding characters in Pan Tadeusz is the previously mentioned Father Robak, emissary of Napoleon, who is anxious to organize an insurrection against Russia in Lithuania before the Emperor's armies arrive. One of the most joyful and sublime scenes of the poem is the final one, in which, on a quiet Polish country estate in a remote locality, a detachment of the Polish army under the command of the Generals D^browski and Kniaziewicz is feted. This detachment constitutes one section of the great Army of Napoleon on its way to Moscow. The enthusiasm is general; the faith in Napoleon's victory and the rebuilding of Poland are unshakable. Toasts, cries of joy, and the traditional polonaise performed on the lawn are the expression of the general mood. It is with this optimistic chord of belief and hope — which, though not realized at that time, still possesses a symbolic meaning — that the poem ends. Pan Tadeusz was the last of Mickiewicz's large poetical works. His later efforts include fragments of further parts of Forefathers' Eve, and a few beautiful short lyric poems, also two plays in French, Konfederaci Barscy (The Bar Confederates) and Jakob Jasinski, which, however, have never been performed and of which only fragments are left. The creation of a larger work, to measure up to the earlier ones, was never realized. The years following the publication of Pan Tadeusz (in 1834) are among the saddest in his life. Although he married in July, 1834, taking as his bride Celina Szymanowska, the daughter of Marja Szymanowska, the distinguished pianist whom he had met in Russia, a family life could not compensate for his diminished literary activity. He continued writing, but with difficulty, and there was no opportunity for public activity.

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Soon he also suffered financial reverses. The French plays, mentioned above, were written partly with the intention of securing a source of income. When this failed the poet began to look for a permanent occupation which would permit him to live peacefully and without poverty. At last, in 1839, he was appointed professor of Latin literature at the University of Lausanne in Switzerland. He moved there with his family in the autumn of that year and began his lectures, which won for him the admiration of his students as well as the respect of the authorities of the University. The latter repeatedly informed the Swiss Ministry of Education that the Polish poet possessed excellent knowledge of the Latin language, literature, and art, as well as the inner life of the Romans, that in his classes he revealed 'a striking ability to penetrate the individual character' of the Latin poets and orators, that he treated ancient literature comparatively, bringing in various modern literatures, that he had an excellent mastery of the French language, and knew how to lend 'a fresh and novel color to this apparently exhausted subject.' As a result of all this — the report of the University continued — Mickiewicz's lectures enjoyed an ever growing popularity, 'drawing more students daily, delighting those who are most competent to judge them'. Unfortunately, his stay in Switzerland lasted only one academic year. In 1840 the French Government decided to create a chair of Slavic literature at the Collège de France — one of the oldest and most respected institutions in Paris. It was only natural to offer this chair to the most outstanding living Slav, that is, to Mickiewicz. This was a great honor for him, but also a cause of internal conflict, for it was difficult for him to decide to leave Lausanne. Finally he accepted the offer, probably because the chair in Paris gave him a wider field in which to work; in that position he could speak of things Slavic and Polish to the entire intellectual world and, in this way, serve more effectively the Polish cause. Mickiewicz started his course at the Collège de France in 1840. His first lecture was a feast for all the émigrés and the poet's numerous French friends. The audience was numerous, as Mickiewicz, speaking from memory in excellent French, sketched the program of his courses, the aim of which was to make the students feel that 'zeal,' with which the literary works of the Slavic nations were created, in other words, to give a penetrating interpretation of these works, based on deep understanding and sensitivity. Mickiewicz was well prepared to fulfill this task through his thorough knowledge of Polish and Russian literature, his studies of the other Slavic literatures and history, through his startling memory, and, primarily, through his inborn sensitivity to and under-

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standing of poetry. In spite of that, the task was not easy. First of all, he had to compel his artistic temperament to systematic work over lectures; secondly he had great difficulty in gathering the necessary material and books. At the time, literary history did not exist in our sense of the word, particularly not the history of Slavic literatures; there were no auxiliary works such as bibliographies, monographs about individual authors and periods, and the like. Mickiewicz was in for very hard and tiring work. He started out on this work with great enthusiasm and with his characteristic spiritual energy, conscious of the burden of his reponsibility. As a result of this work, Mickiewicz gave in the first two years of his lectures a highly interesting and original picture of the more important Slavic literatures, presented against a wide historical and cultural background, containing excellent characterizations of epochs and movements as well as individual, especially the Polish and Russian, authors. From the point of view of scholarly worth his course stood on the whole on the level of the contemporary studies of Slavic literatures, which offers one more proof of the broadness and volume of the poet's mind. There were, of course, some small defects and lacks, especially in the part about 'Slavic antiquity' and linguistic-etymological theories; there was a certain dose of subjectivity in the judgment of literary phenomena, especially in the more recent Polish poetry (Slowacki was mentioned only in passing, whereas several lectures were devoted to Krasinski alone), but the first of these defects resulted from the insufficient contemporary knowledge of the field or from its inaccessibility to the poet. As for subjectivity, it is not astonishing in the case of a great poet, who had his own attitude toward poetry and its tasks and could, therefore, not remain objective in relation to literary phenomena which went against his own ideas. Gradually, however, the character of his lectures began to change. Instead of speaking only about literature, the professor began to digress entering other domains. Even speaking about literary works, he chose and emphasized those which corresponded to his new ideology, his new spiritual conditions. The cause of this change was the emergence in Paris of the mystic, Andrzej Towiariski, and the influence he exerted on Mickiewicz. One may read various things about Towianski and his role in the lives of Mickiewicz and Slowacki: warm apologies which make a great man out of him, and severe criticisms which present him as an abnormal and pernicious person.® Looking at the matter from an • The latter attitude is represented, for example, by T. Boy-2eleAski, O Mickiewiczu (About Mickiewiez), 2d ed. (Warsaw, 1949); the former by A. Baumfeld, Andrzej

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impartial point of view, one must state that Towianski was certainly not an average individual, but neither did he possess the qualities of greatness. His mystic doctrine is a conglomeration of fantasy drawn from various sources; his moral teachings, based on truths as old as Christianity itself, are presented in a cabalistic manner. As for his methods of organizing his adherents into small circles and preparing them for the future mission of saving Poland and the world, the subsequent testimonies of Mickiewicz and Slowacki themselves unmistakably prove that these methods were demoralizing, for they were based on spiritual terrorism and moral exhibitionism. The fact (though difficult to explain) remains that Mickiewicz became an ardent adherent of Towianski and his mission in the course of one night which he spent talking with him. From that night on he offered his services with all energy and zeal to the idea propagated by Towianski, or, more exactly, to his own interpretation of that idea. For a number of years the poet was busy with the organizational work which fell entirely on his shoulders, since Towianski, soon expulsed from Paris, moved to Switzerland from where he only sent messages to his 'brothers.' Mickiewicz wore himself down spiritually in this arid work. Worse, he began to pronounce his ideas before his audience, turning the lectures on Slavic literature into propaganda. One cannot, therefore, be surprised that the French Government, irritated by Mickiewicz's propaganda (on behalf of, among other things, the 'Napoleonic idea,' one of the specialties of 'Towianism') suspended his lectures in the fall of 1844. It was in this unfortunate way that Mickiewicz's professorship, which under other conditions could have been very profitable, ended. The lively and active nature of the poet could not bear the stuffy and mouldy atmosphere of the circle of Towianists for long, however. By 1846 a considerable difference of opinion between him and the 'master' was felt, and in 1848 an actual breach occurred, the direct cause of which was a different attitude toward the European revolution and the role of Poles in it. Towianski believed that the time for the 'materialization' had not yet arrived; Mickiewicz, on the other hand, believed that wherever a battle for freedom was waged, Poles should take an active part in it, for in this way they will also fight for the liberation of Poland. This may have been an impractical attitude, but it corresponded to the tradition of the Polish wars for independence and to the idea propagated by the poet in the Books of the Polish Pilgrims a n d in the articles of the Pilgrim. Towianski i towianizm, (Krakdw, 1907), and A. G6rski, Monsalwat, 3d ed. (Warsaw, 1919). The older generation of literary historians treated him rather with reservation.

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Furthermore, all the émigrés were electrified by the revolutions which broke out in various countries of Europe and they did not intend to watch them inactively. The consensus was for the provocation of an insurrection at home. Mickiewicz had a different view: he believed that the Polish cause had to be united with that of another nation or other nations who fought for freedom; it would thus be easier to organize a Polish armed force and to transfer it to Poland at an appropriate moment. He did not believe that such a force could be created at home in the conditions of the time. Therefore, when the revolution in Italy broke out and the Italian nation prepared for a war with Austria, Mickiewicz considered the moment ripe for the creation of a Polish legion attached to the Italian army. It was with this plan in mind that he left for Italy, going first of all to Rome, where he obtained the blessing of Pope Pius IX. He began immediately to organize a legion among the Polish youths then living in Italy. At the same time he published a manifesto which defined the aims of the legion and sketched the polity of future Poland. This manifesto, known as the 'Set of Principles' or 'Political Symbol,' is a very characteristic combination of messianic-religious ideas with an extremely radical social program : a regenerated Catholicism materializing the ideas of Christian ethics in social life; Rome as the leader of the peoples who strive toward liberation from political and social slavery; a new Poland as the precursor in this work of rebirth, a fortress of liberty, equality, and social justice, living in brotherhood with all nations, and particularly with its 'older brother,' Israel, the first nation chosen by God. Thus we see in this manifesto very popular contemporary trends toward a renaissance of Christianity on a social basis together with revolutionary tendencies and the budding socialist idea (one of the provisions of the 'Set of Principles' was common property). Having gathered a group of youths, mainly students from the Italian academies of plastic arts, Mickiewicz proceeded with them through Italy and up to Milan. This was indeed a triumphal procession. Wherever the Poles stopped they were received with enthusiasm and joy, showered with gifts, and greeted as heroes. Mickiewicz delivered many speeches to the crowds on the topics of the fight for freedom and the fraternity of peoples. Italian testimonies of the time all agree that there was something fascinating in the poet's appearance, in his voice, and in his unshakable faith and zeal. The fraternity between the Italian and Polish nations was sealed and poetry materialized in life, fulfilling one of the basic postulates of romanticism. However, Mickiewicz's Italian expedition was not just a fantastic poem. After his arrival in Milan, his

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group increased considerably by volunteers from Poland and France as well as by Poles from the Austrian army. The new Polish Legion under the command of Polish officers took part in the Austro-Italian war. In the meantime, revolutionary events were taking place in France. Mickiewicz left for Paris in order to continue to work there for the cause of revolution and Poland. Together with a group of fellow editors of various nationalities he founded in 1849 a magazine published in French, La Tribune des Peuples; he became the chief of an editorial committee with republican and revolutionary leanings, composed of representatives of the enslaved nations. This is again a proof of the popularity and trust the poet enjoyed in these circles. The Tribune was radically republican and democratic; its chief aim was the defense of the Republic and the republican idea, as well as of all the political and social gains brought about by the February Revolution. Mickiewicz himself published more than a hundred articles on such timely topics in this magazine. Some of them were so extremely radical that they brought to his name the designation of socialist, not only at the time but even later. 7 In fact, although Mickiewicz marched in the first ranks of the republicans and revolutionaries, to whom, naturally the socialists also belonged, and although he had much in common with the latter as to the so-called 'minimal' program, he differed from them basically in that he always brought to the forefront the religious-moral element as the basis in the structure of the new world. Furthermore, even here, he advocated the idea which he himself called 'Napoleonic,' that is, a strong faith in great men, a belief in them as the creators of history and the leaders of the masses. This stood in direct opposition to the socialist ideas which recognized only the leadership of the masses. Moreover, Mickiewicz accepted the idea of common property, so basic in all socialist theories, only in part. Although he wrote in the Set : 'Every community must be given a common land under the protection of the nation,' he also established at the same time another principle: 'Every family must be given a private land under the protection of the community.' During the period of renewed reaction in France, La Tribune des Peuples was suspended. The revolutions of 1848 brought none of the expected results either for Western Europe or for Poland. Deprived of the opportunity to work on a wider scale, Mickiewicz again retreated from public activity. He did not return to the Collège de France, but 7 See Artur Sliwinski, Mickiewicz jako polityk (Kraków, 1908), and Emil Haecker, Introduction to the edition of Mickiewicz's articles in Tribune des Peuples (Kraków, Bibljoteka Narodowa, 1925).

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was offered the position of librarian at the Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal. But he was not to rest very long. The year 1855 came, and with it the Crimean War. The poet's lively and watchful spirit immediately sensed that where war was waged against Russia a place must be found to display the banner of the Polish cause. He thus went to Constantinople to organize a Polish Legion attached to the Turkish army. This was again a new 'incorporating of poetry into deed,' only this time under conditions much more difficult than those in Italy. Nevertheless, again in Turkey a Polish military formation was organized. Although it was unable to transfer the scene of battle to Poland, this formation proved once more the unwavering determination of the Poles to fight for the liberation of their fatherland at every opportunity. This was the last deed of the life of Mickiewicz. Having caught a germ of cholera, which then raged in Constantinople, he died on November 26, 1855, far from home and from his beloved France. In December of that year the poet's body was brought to a French warship with full military honors and transported to France. It rested at the Montmorency Cemetery in Paris until 1891, when it was solemnly transported to Kraków and placed in the royal tombs in the ancient castle of Wawel. To honor the Polish poet and man of action, who had also fought for the cause of France and was one of the most outstanding poets of the world, the French nation erected a monument to him on the Place d'Alma in Paris, the work of an excellent French sculptor, Bourdelle, who was an avid reader and admirer of Mickiewicz's works. According to the consensus of Polish opinion, Mickiewicz is Poland's greatest poet, and the one who is closest to the nation. He is regarded not only as a great artist but also as a great educator of the nation ; a man who, in a trying period of its history, not only kept up the morale of the nation, soothed its sufferings, and instilled into it a faith in a better future, but one who also, at a time when Poland was forgotten and crossed out of the ranks of living nations, made the name of Poland known all over the world thanks to his poetical works, as well as his social, political, and moral activity. There is a real foundation of truth in this 'voice of the people,' especially in relation to Mickiewicz the poet. His significance for Polish poetry cannot be overestimated. In this respect only Kochanowski, who was the creator of Polish poetry, can equal him. But Mickiewicz surpasses Kochanowski by the range and wealth of creative imagination, by the scope and extent of his production, its originality, its significance in European literature, and the influence he exerted. The fact that he was

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the leader of Polish romanticism and its actual creator is not so significant, because romanticism was, after all, a transitional movement; but he produced within romanticism, and beyond its limits, new and original poetic works, and whatever the form he touched (ballads, tales in verse, romantic drama), it always, or nearly always, grew under his pen into a new and fresh work. He gave to Polish literature, and to world literature, a number of works of lasting value. They place Polish literature on a high level, especially among the Slavic peoples, in whom Mickiewicz's influence manifested itself to a marked degree. Thanks above all to Mickiewicz Polish literature entered the orbit of world literature. Such are the merits which make Mickiewicz one of the greatest Poles. His influence in Poland has continued to this very day. In the realm of poetry it is revealed not only in the adoration bestowed upon him by almost every succeeding generation of poets, but also in the actual influence he exerts on their production. In the moral sphere, in the field of certain established feelings and opinions, the spirit of Mickiewicz continues to hold sway over the nation. This is the case, for instance, of the attitude of Poles toward official Russia, which has been shaped to a large extent under the influence of his excellent lampoon, published under the title The Digression, as a supplement to Part III of Forefathers'' Eve. This is also the case of Polish patriotism, which foreigners may consider excessively 'romantic,' too idealistic, and fantastic. The Poles have learned this patriotism primarily from the works of Mickiewicz; he was first to inspire that 'religion of the fatherland,' which has given whole generations an armor to help them survive and fight. It is not a question of the individual or particular teachings of Mickiewicz. There are among them some which possess a permanent value; but there are also others which have passed away with the epoch that gave them birth. It is rather a question of the spirit which created them, the interior rhythm of Mickiewicz's life, and his attitude toward the world. As a human being, Mickiewicz will always remain amazing through his unexhaustible, lively, and alert store of spiritual energy, and the wide horizons of his beliefs and emotions which always embraced all of humanity, never confined to the exclusive affairs of Poland alone. He was devoid of chauvinism and, even in 'messianism,' always united the Polish cause with that of humanity in its struggle for a better future, rejecting all separatism and selfishness in relations among nations. This noble and sublime idealism, these ideas of love and fraternity, freedom, and equality, confirmed and sealed by his whole life, make Mickiewicz one of the most steadfast heralds of a future better world.

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JULJUSZ SLOWACKI The life of Juljusz Slowacki (1809-49), the second great Polish romantic poet (and the most romantic of all), was not so rich, exuberant, or dramatic as that of Mickiewicz. There were few external events in it, and no outer activity at all ; his whole life was concentrated on poetic production and devoted to it. Contrarily to Mickiewicz, he was brought up from childhood in an intellectual and literary atmosphere. His father, Eusebius, was a professor of literature, first at the Lyceum of Krzemieniec, then at the University of Wilno. His mother, Salomea, née Januszewska, had a strong liking for literature ; she was well educated and possessed a deep, though somewhat sentimental, sensitivity. He was born in Krzemieniec, in Volynia, and spent his childhood there ; this town and its environment later became for him what Nowogrôdek and the Wilno region had become for Mickiewicz: an object of great love and eternal, never satisfied, longing. After the death of Euzebius Slowacki, the poet's mother married a professor at the University of Wilno, Dr. Bécu, and removed to Wilno with her son. There Slowacki began his studies at a secondary school. He was brought up chiefly in the company of women, that of his mother and her two step-daughters, Alexandra and Hersylia Bécu, and he was loved and spoiled by them. He studied exceedingly hard and progressed swiftly, but to the detriment of his health. In 1825 he entered the University's faculty of law, surrendering to the wishes of his mother, who aspired to a civil career for him. Needless to say, these studies awoke no vivid interest in him, for he was absorbed mainly by literature ; he read much, not only in Polish but in French and English as well. About that time he experienced his first, unhappy, and very 'romantic' love; the object of his affections was Ludwika Sniadecka, daughter of a professor, Jçdrzej Sniadecki, and several years Slowacki's senior. At the same time he zealously wrote poetry. With the Philomat movement, which had given Mickiewicz so much, he had nothing in common; this was, first of all, because the society was closed when he was still in secondary school, and also because he never, either then or later, displayed any tendency to work collectively. He lived his own internal life, which was so rich and intensive that it satisfied and engulfed him completely. After his graduation from the university in 1829 he was sent to Warsaw, where he became an employee of the Department of the Treasury. One can easily imagine that this occupation bored and tired him. He found his consolation only in intensified poetic production. He had no contact with the conspiratorial political movement. That is why the outbreak of

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the November Insurrection must have taken him by surprise. But it was also an experience for him, a fact proved by the poems about the Insurrection which he was then writing and which made him popular among the revolutionary youth. His personal attitude toward the Insurrection and the duties it entailed was probably quite indefinite. Frail and physically weak, nervous and over-sensitive, he was not well suited to be a soldier. Nevertheless he reported at the National Government, offering his services. It is possible that it was in this connection that he left Warsaw in March, 1831, for Dresden, whence, as a diplomatic envoy of the Government, he went to London carrying urgent letters which probably dealt with the Insurrection. Having fulfilled that mission, he went to Paris where he settled at a time when the Insurrection was practically finished. Slowacki's first two volumes of poetry appeared in Paris in 1832. They contained a number of tales in verse and two dramas. Almost all of these works were written in Warsaw, and they constitute the fruits of a fairly youthful poetic talent. They cannot equal the first volumes of Mickiewicz, though they stand on a level much higher than the contemporary works of Goszczynski, Zaleski, and the other minor romantic poets. Even in these early works a certain characteristic trait of Slowacki's may be seen, namely, that he draws his impulse to write from literature - Polish and foreign literary works. This is not simple imitation, however, but a distinct and perhaps conscious working over of literary motifs which are known from elsewhere. We have in these first volumes of Stowacki a kind of anthology of the contemporary romantic motifs 8 taken from Malczewski, Mickiewicz, partly also from Zaleski and Goszczynski, and all conceived in a morbid Byronic tone. Next to Konrad Wallenrod, these are the most Byronic verses in Polish literature. However, an extraordinary nascent talent is visible even here. The short poem, Godzina mysli (An Hour of Meditation), is full of subtle, soft tones, dimmed colors, delicate feelings and the profound problems of the romantic psyche. It constitutes at the same time a homage to his first love and to the early friendship which the poet had enjoyed with his schoolmate, Ludwik Spitznagel. Simultaneously Slowacki was trying his hand in the field of drama. His tragedy Mindowe maintains on the whole a classical form, but in Marja Stuart the author is seen to begin breaking away from that form to a search for his own type of structure and dramatic technique. • See Bronistaw Chlebowski, 'Juljusz Slowacki,' Wiek XIX, Sto lat mysli polskiej, Vol. IV (Warsaw, 1908).

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The next larger work of Slowacki is Kordian (1834), intended as the first part of a dramatic trilogy, which, however, was never written. This work is evidence that the poet had begun to turn away from experimentation with the romantic motifs, which he had practiced until that time, toward the national-psychological problems of the day. But at the root of its genesis lies a literary work, namely, Part III of Forefathers' Eve. Of course, the aim was not — as older literary historians used to believe with excessive simplicity and ease — to place a new figure, Kordian, *a hero of action,' against the Konrad of Forefathers' Eve, that 'hero of feeling,' an aim which Slowacki apparently did not achieve. What he did was to take up, to pose and interpret in a basically novel way, the question of the contemporary Polish generation, its psychology, its attitude toward national problems and its ability to act.* This question was connected with that of the recent insurrection, which occupied all the minds at the time. But it was set against a broader background, and the manner in which it was posed and solved concealed a polemic with the attitude of Mickiewicz as expressed in the latter's last dramatic work. Kordian was, therefore, not an 'imitation' of Mickiewicz, but an original work of a subtle and critical mind which could not agree with the apotheosis of Poland exposed in Forefathers' Eve. In the symbolic figure of Kordian, Slowacki presents other psychological facets of the contemporary Polish generation, important and basic ones, according to him, namely, the spiritual dichotomy, a lack of strong will and decision, a sickly imagination, sudden impulses and equally sudden discouragement and apathy, a search for truth and aim in life, accompanied by an innate skepticism in relation to everything, a momentary passion for some idea without the internal faith in it, the desperate sacrifice for a cause without inner conviction, and the search for death as the liberator from internal torture. Those are the characteristic stigmas of a generation forced by fate to play an active and heroic part but devoid of the ability to do it. Slowacki's drama contains, furthermore, a sharp and venomous criticism of the leaders of the Insurrection as well as a negative characterization of the insurgents and of the stupid Warsaw mob. The messianic idea of Forefathers' Eve, the idea of leadership and salvation of the nation by an individual, is satirized in the prologue. Moreover, Slowacki opposes to the Catholicism of Mickiewicz's poem a sharp criticism of the Pope's policy toward the November Insurrection (in the Vatican scene). The structure of Kordian is reminiscent of the contemporary romantic dramas. The three acts are composed of fairly loose scenes designed to •

See J6zef Ujejski, Kordian Slowackiego (Lw6w, 1909).

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portray the spiritual development of the hero through relations with various persons, the observation of various matters of this world, and the search for an 'aim.' The scenery necessarily changes very frequently, while the individual scenes and characters are treated sketchily. 'Action' proper takes place within the soul of the hero. Some scenes are presented with great power of dramatic expression, for instance, Kordian's intended murder of the tzar, where personalized Fear and Imagination take hold of Kordian's sickly mind and prevent him from carrying out the deed. The words of the third person in the prologue forecast, as it were, Slowacki's new poetic program. This person chases from the the stage not only the prophet and the messianist but his opponent as well, stating that he himself will reach into the past, to the essence of the national tradition after previously cleansing it of the 'rotten mortal shrouds', and will pull the true Polish idea out of the past. These words throw a certain light on almost all of Slowacki's subsequent production, which was indeed devoted to the past and to the search in the past for positive and durable values and, at the same time, to a sharp and acute criticism of the present. Kordian was written in Switzerland, where the poet had moved near the end of 1832. One of the reasons for leaving Paris may have been the publication of Part III of Forefathers' Eve, in which Slowacki's stepfather, Becu (who appears in Mickiewicz's work merely as 'Doctor'), is presented as a traitor, and his death by a stroke of lightning as Divine punishment. From his letters to his mother we know that Slowacki was greatly offended by this poetic vengeance and that he was even thinking of challenging Mickiewicz to a duel in defense of the honor of his mother's husband. It never came to a duel, however, but this fact, together with other, deeper motives, spoiled the relations between the two poets completely. In his Swiss solitude, surrounded by kind and loving people (he stayed in Geneva in the boarding house of Madame Pattey, whose daughter, Eglantine, professed apparently more than friendship for him), the poet devoted himself entirely to poetic work, which was interrupted only by long letters to his mother; in them he described his life in detail, and confessed all his literary plans to her. These letters are not only a beautiful testimony of his filial love, but also an excellent source of information about his psychology and his creative projects. The first version of the drama Mazepa, which was later to be rewritten, was created at this time. In addition to several smaller poems, he wrote Balladyrta and fragments of Horsztynski. Balladyna is a dramatized ballad about a poor mother and her two beautiful daughters, Balladyna and Alina. A magnate, Kirkor,

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falls equally in love with both of them; unable to make a choice, he decides to leave it up to fate: he will marry the girl who will first bring a pitcher of raspberries from the wood. Fate was favorable to Alina, but the jealous Balladyna kills her in the wood, robs her of her raspberries, and becomes Kirkor's wife. This crime carries further crimes with it, as well as Balladyna's death from a thunderbolt at the moment when, having surmounted all obstacles, she becomes queen. The work possesses a certain beauty and charm of legend, but it also reveals a great deal of play and machination with dramatically uncoordinated motifs. There is also an excessive number of literary echoes, especially of Shakespeare's plays — A Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth, and King Lear. Horsztynski, on the other hand, is a far more independent and artistically mature work, but unfinished. Although even here the poet has been tempted to present something of a Polish Hamlet, it is an originally conceived Hamlet, placed against the background of the period of the Russo-Polish campaign of 1792. The dramatic plot revolves around four major characters: Szcztjsny Kossakowski — son of a well known traitor, burdened with the curse of his father's treason, who now finds himself in an insoluble position, for he can only act against his father or against his nation — his sister Amelja, an old gentleman named Horsztynski, and the latter's wife, Salomea. The conflict is drawn in an impressive manner, and the characters are portrayed forcefully; unfortunately, the work is unfinished, and we do not know how the conflict would have been developed and solved. Slowacki's acquaintance with the Wodziriski family, who lived in the same boarding house, his excursions with them into the Swiss Alps, and his deeper interest in Miss Marja Wodziriska have to some degree influenced the writing of his poem In Switzerland, a beautiful, pastelcolored, airy idyll of love, which was completed during the poet's subsequent stay in Italy. The idyllic character of this poem is revealed in the kind of feelings described as much as in the manner of their description. It is filled with subtlety, delicate allusions, hints, half-expressed feelings. The characters of the poem seem to force one to treat them, not as real, live people, but as delicate china figurines posed in rococo fashion. This pose is perfectly matched by the style and verse of the poem, its descriptions of nature and of internal experience. The poet thus achieves an unusual uniformity of tone, quite rare in his other works. On the whole, the classical genre of the idyll has been transformed in Slowacki's hands, made ethereal, presented in a new shape, and fortified by a new artistic

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life. This is a proof that poetry knows no obsolete or dead genres; the hand of a true poet can give new life to any of them. The years 1836 and 1837 were exceptionally agitated in Slowacki's life. At the beginning of 1836 he left for Italy, going to Rome, where he met his uncle, Teofil Januszewski, with his wife Hersylja, née Bécu. Far more important was Slowacki's encounter with Zygmunt Krasinski, already the author of The Undivine Comedy and Irydion (see pp. 295-301). This encounter and the friendship which ensued constituted a great consolation and joy in Slowacki's life, at least for the next few years. He suffered much from the facts that he had no close, cordial friends, tha his contact with Mickiewicz, which he had long wished for, had failed and that he could not achieve Mickiewicz's recognition for his creative effort (Mickiewicz called the first two volumes of Slowacki 'a church without God,' and later he offended Slowacki with the use of the character of the Doctor in Forefathers' Eve). On the whole, Slowacki was misunderstood and spiritually lonely. Krasinski was younger in years, but older in intellectual development, knowledge, and inner experience; he understood Slowacki's spiritual conflicts and tried to inspire him with faith in himself and in his poetic mission. Thus his friendship became a real treasure for Slowacki. In numerous works and letters, also in dedications of his works, Slowacki expressed his gratitude to this new friend and emphasized how highly he valued his friendship. During his stay in Italy, Slowacki had the opportunity of making a trip to the East with two Poles, Brzozowski and Holynski. He eagerly took advantage of it and started out in 1836 on a journey which was to bring him many new and strong impressions and a rebirth of religious feelings, thereby contributing to the creation of a number of new poetic works. He visited first Greece, then Egypt and Palestine; in Jerusalem he spent a whole night at the tomb of Jesus Christ. Having separated from his companions in Beyrouth, he retired to the mountains of Libanon, where he spent more than a month in meditating and writing at the monastery of Betcheshban. He returned to Italy in the middle of 1837. The poetic fruits of this trip were considerable. The first was a kind of diary in the form of a poem, entitled Podróz do Ziemi swiçtej (A Journey to the Holy Land) ; one of its parts, Grób Agamemnona (Agamemnon's Grave), was later published separately. In addition, Slowacki has written other works : one of his most beautiful lyrics, Hymn, a poem in prose Anhelli, in many respects a very important work, and a number of shorter and longer pieces. Agamemnon's Grave is in some way connected with the 'poetic program'

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announced in the prologue to Kordian. Under the influence of meditation about ancient Greece and the comparison of her heroic struggle with the last Polish insurrection, the poet explodes with invectives which can be compared only to Dante's words about Florence. It is an outburst of bitterness and indignation brought about by the failure of the insurrection; furthermore, it points out the causes of the defeat both in the history of Poland and in the character of the Poles. It is to this that the poet refers when he speaks of Poland as 'the peacock and parrot of other nations,' its 'angel's soul' imprisoned within the nobleman's 'coarse skull.' He insists in the necessity of rejecting that skull and of rising once more in a completely new form ('new, naked, bathed in the slime of the Styx, sculptured in one piece of clay'). In his subsequent writings the poet kept looking for the 'angel's soul' of Poland, and he tried to present it in various figures and forms. In the Hymn a subtle feeling difficult to capture - 'the most inexpressible,' as 2eromski calls it — the feeling of sadness, found the most perfect artistic expression possible. The continuously repeated epiphora ('I am sad, my Lord') makes the whole piece an eight-fold variation on one basic motif ; each stanza is constructed in two parts, the first a description or confession, the second the formulation of the main motif. This work contains some of the best internal organization and structural coordination to be found in Slowacki's lyric poems. Written in the Lebanese monastery, Anhelli in a symbolic-poetic manner touches upon some basic questions: the question of the nation and of the émigrés, and the relation of an outstanding individual to the collective — the role as well as significance of spiritual beauty and purity and of'the sacrifice of the heart.' There exists a certain connection between Kordian and Anhelli\ this connection is expressed in the treatment in both these works of analogous subjects, for Kordian is also a drama about the contemporary Polish generation and the role of a prominent individual, while the character of Anhelli himself may be considered as the further evolution of Kordian. However, the background, conception, and nature of the problem had been altered in the later work. Kordian had acted and fought at home, while Anhelli is a deportee in Siberia, that second fatherland of the Poles, where he has arrived with a thousand other deportees condemned to poselene (enforced settlement). The situation is therefore more desperate, almost hopeless. What can this unfortunate crowd do to save itself for the sake of Poland and to contribute to the resurrection of the fatherland? What can be the action of Anhelli himself, a person different from his compatriots, distant from all

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earthly matters, and not made to be an organizer and leader? Those are the questions the poem is to answer. The situation of the deportees appears quite hopeless in respect to the concrete results of their existence and activity. Judging by some of their traits — their quarrelsome, petty character, ardent political fights, a division into three main political parties (that of Count Skir — the monarchial aristocrats, that of Skartabella — the democrats, and that of Father Bonifat — the religious movement), than the killing of the leaders, the crucifixion of representatives of the various ideologies to prove which one will live longest (that is, whose cause is right) — the deportees of Anhelli represent not only those who have been deported to Siberia but also those who have voluntarily emigrated to the West and constitute the bulk of the Polish émigrés. In this way the problem is broadened and acquires an up-to-date character at the same time. By contrast with the Books of the Polish Pilgrims, where the émigrés are destined to save Poland and the whole world, Slowacki's poem condemns them to annihilation; the only thing they can do is to preserve their faith in Poland and its resurrection. We see that even here Slowacki takes up a question already treated by Mickiewicz, but he interprets and solves it in a basically different manner. The solution is extremely pessimistic. However, looking at the émigrés and their possibilities from a historical angle, we must admire the depth and, we may even say, the prophetic power of the conception of the poet who had realized and poeticized so early that general truth that émigrés, no matter how spiritual or how moral, cannot 'save' a nation from a distance or by proxy, and that the work of liberation must be undertaken by the nation itself at home. This was the essence of the tragic illusion of the émigrés: they suffered, tortured themselves, made all kinds of programs, confident that their tortures and programs would bring freedom to the nation. Today we know that they could not achieve it. But we also know that, thanks to the work of the émigrés, the Polish idea was saved and so was the faith of the nation in itself. The émigrés have transmitted to the subsequent generations not only a testament of struggle and perseverance, but also far-reaching directions for the future organization of Poland, so as to find happiness and justice for all in it. This truth is also announced in Slowacki's poem when he assures the deportees that they 'will be beautiful' if they perish with faith in Poland. As for the character of Anhelli himself, it expresses profound and unshakable faith in the essential value of disinterested suffering and sacrifice. Anhelli is chosen for this sacrifice. His teacher, Shaman, prepares him for it, picking him out of the crowd of deportees, ordering

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him to leave it and to observe carefully 'all the calamities of this country,' to take them into himself, and then to die in solitude in an icy desert. Anhelli indeed dies alone, but his death is not fruitless. After his death a knight on horseback appears in the fire of the aurora borealis and announces the beginning of a universal revolution, the resurrection of nations, and a new epoch for the life of strong men. But Anhelli is already dead. This ending perhaps contained the grim prophecy that the contemporary generation would not live to see a free fatherland (a prophesy which was fulfilled), perhaps also the hope that the sacrifice of Siowacki himself, and his work as a poet devoted to the nation, would not be wasted in this work of rebirth but would contribute to the resurrection. If such were the hopes which animated the poet's heart, we may state that they were fulfilled, as much as his other visions in Anhelli. Like Mickiewicz, Siowacki too shaped the Polish soul by the pure, noble, exalted beauty of his works. These sad and grim truths are offered in Anhelli in the form of poetic prose of high artistic value. It stands out by its great, consciously practiced simplicity, its biblical tone, enhanced by a competent archaization of the language, by a most beautiful rhythm of sentences and versets, avoiding all strong expressions, phrases, or sounds. Everything seems quiet, toned down, with the exception of the impressive colors of the northern sky — the aurea borealis, the stars, and the moonlight. Among the ice and eternal snow flows this moving narrative about a people, destined to death, about a silent sacrifice of the heart and terrible suffering of the prisoners in the mines and settlements of Siberia. Having returned from the East, Siowacki settled in Florence and began to complete and prepare for publication his numerous works, created either in Switzerland or in the course of his journey. They came out one by one in Paris: Anhelli (1838), Trzy poemata (The Three Poems, 1839): Ojciec zadzumionych (The Father of the Pestilent), Waclaw, In Switzerland — and Poemat Piasta Dantyszka o piekle (The Poem of Piast Dantyszek about Hell, 1839). The Father of the Pestilent is a moving tale about an unfortunate father whose wife and seven children have perished from a pestilence, while he alone was saved. Structurally it is a kind of poetic tale, but quite different from Slowacki's former tales and from those of the master Byron himself. As in the poem In Switzerland, Siowacki has transformed the classical love idyll into something new and fresh, so here the then banal poetic tale was given a new character in the eight successive narratives concerning the death of the loved ones and the emotional reactions of the father and husband. Through imagination and poetic

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intuition the poet felt the father's pain, the various shades of despair and horror; he thus proves distinctly and irrefutably that a true poet needs not live personally through certain feeling and moods in order to portray them magnificently in poetry. The third poem, Wat-Jaw, represents rather a return to the Byronic tradition, a return which proves the influence exerted by that poet on the contemporary generation, even among great creative minds. As for the poem about Piast Dantyszek, which was to be a Polish variation of Dante's Inferno done over in a coarse country-gentry manner, it failed. The combination used there resulted in cacaphony, although the poem contains several powerful scenes. In December, 1838, Stowacki moved back to Paris, where he settled for the remainder of his life. This life continued to be filled with intensive activity. In 1839, in addition to the works already mentioned, he published Balladyrw., dedicated to Krasiriski. Other works went on simultaneously in his poetic workshop. The new version of Mazepa constituted an attempt at stage drama which on one hand considered the requirements of the contemporary stage and could not afford excessive fantasticromantic extravagance, and which on the other had to consider the demands of a theatrical performance, which must be done in a period of a definite number of hours and to contain in this temporal frame a distinct, clear dramatic plot and its artistically logical solution. Mazepa is the story of a jealous, senile governor of a province (voyevoda), his unfortunate wife who is unjustly accused of unfaithfulness, and Mazepa, a Cossack bon vivant. This play has been called the most 'realistic' of Slowacki's dramas, although it has little in common with true realism. Psychological motivation frequently is insufficient; some situations are 'unnatural'; the heroes are characterized quite coarsely and sharply, without 'psychological shading.' These are sins against 'realism'; they are also transgressions against dramatic art on the whole. Nevertheless, in performance Mazepa possesses some virtues: it presents a colorful, turbulent picture, excellent for the display of good actors (it was performed until recent times on the Polish stage), and the expressive Old Polish language lends itself to Slowacki's smooth verse. Several unfinished or fragmentary works and a number of lyric poems were written in this same period. In 1840 a new tragedy, Lilla Weneda, was published. The idea for it was drawn from two sources; the first is Byron's note in Childe Harold about Julia Alpinula, who tried vainly to save her father from imprisonment; the second was a contemporary historical theory which maintained that the Polish state was created by

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way of invasion of a settled Slavic tribe by foreign knights, who, having conquered the land and created a political organization, gave rise to the Polish gentry. This theory supposedly proved that the gentry was of different origin f r o m the native Polish people. It is from these two sources that the double plot of the tragedy arises : one is the story of Lilla Weneda (the Julia Alpinula of Slowacki's version) and her father, Derwid; the second is the story of the fight of the Wenedi with the invaders, the Lechites. These two plots are related through Derwid, who is the leader of the Wenedi and is captured by the Lechites. Lilla tries to liberate him, for the Wenedi depend on his playing of the harp to spur them to victory. In this way the 'family' motifs join with the 'national' ones. What grows out of them is the basic subject of Lilla Weneda : the tragedy of a perishing nation. 1 0 In Slowacki's interpretation it becomes true tragedy, for the fate of the Wenedi is unavoidable and irrevocable, and at the same time a great value perishes. This nation is meek, kind, cultured, poetical (symbolized in the h a r p players who encourage the knights in battle); it is defeated by invaders who are on a much lower level in every respect, and are endowed with many traits of the future Polish gentry. A m o n g these traits the poet mentions 'a liking for shouting, dill pickles, and coats of arms.' In this way a distinction is also made between the Polish people and the gentry w h o rule them. The structure of this tragedy is in the realm of the new and experimental for Slowacki. H e employs some classical forms — prologue, chorus, and the concept of inevitable doom which hangs over the heroes. On the other hand, however, he has modernized the classical structure considerably ; he has dispensed with the unity of action and time and has introduced 'Shakespearian' motifs (the comical characters of Gwalbert and Slaz; the figure of Derwid who resembles King Lear at times, and of Gwinona who is reminiscent of Margaret in Henry VI), and up-to-date allusions which touch upon conditions in Poland after the Insurrection. T h e chorus of harp players fills the play with tones of deadly fear for the fate of the nation, and the whole conception of the tragedy is imbued with dark foreboding about the future of Poland. Once more in this work, as in previous ones, a voice of warning and despair falls in the midst of the émigrés who are intoxicated with faith and hope — a menacing memento for the compatriots who so easily let themselves be swayed by their own illusions. Slowacki's writings, up to this time, had not been accorded recognition 10

See J. Kleiner, Juljusz

Slowacki,

Vol. II (Lwow, 1923).

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among the émigrés. This will not appear strange if we take into consideration the fact that the main interest of these people was concentrated on political matters, that there was a relatively small number of literarily educated persons among them, and that there was almost no literary criticism being written. Those who cultivated this domain in periodicals, treated poetry from the moral-political point of view rather than from the broader literary angle. Who could then explain to the émigrés the beauty of Slowacki's works? Who was to impress upon them the need for poetry and for a spiritual life on a higher level, even in an environment which was absorbed with the most timely matters? Slowacki deplored this situation — as we know — and at times was irritated and revolted by this indifference, even ill will, which revealed itself in either complete silence or the appearance of brief malicious notes about his works. He therefore decided to descend from the heights of Anhelli and Lilla Weneda, which were not understood, to the everyday life of the émigrés; to descend, not as a member, but as an observer and critic. This he did in his new poem Beniowski, which he began to write immediately after Lilla Weneda. The first five books of this poem were published during the poet's life time (in 1841); the more extensive part was published posthumously. In Beniowski, Slowacki offered Polish poetry something new — a poem after the manner of Byron's Don Juan. The Journey to the Holy Land had already been conceived in this form, but Beniowski became a new reincarnation, artistically far more mature. The previous poem had been a description of a trip by boat to Greece and across Greece and, as such, was well suited to numerous digressions, expressions of opinions about people and problems, interruption of the description to take up a timely problem — be it a matter related to the émigrés, rumors, or even gossip — and disclosure of impressions, ideas, and projects. In Beniowski there is a different aspect. Formally it has a main 'subject': the history of Maurycy Beniowski, a Hungarian nobleman, soldier, traveler, adventurer, and other characters connected with him. It was difficult to interpolate into this kind of tale all sorts of'parentheses' and to place within them digressions which had no connection with the main plot. But, if one could not do these things, what would then be the use of the law of romantic freedom which imposes no rules, which follows inspiration alone, and which lets itself be drawn wherever 'the spirit moves'? Slowacki, therefore, did not hesitate to break structural laws; he indeed made the breaking of all laws of structure his own structural principle for the new poem, just as Byron had done in Don Juan. Thus was written a work in which — as Norwid later expressed it — 'the parentheses are the principal aim.' while

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the epic narrative plays a secondary role. As he progresses into the poem, the reader gradually relinquishes his interest in the adventures of Beniowski and his acquaintances; not because it is difficult to keep them straight or to maintain the continuity throughout the constant breaking of the thread of action, but in order to abandon himself with delight to the poet's unusually agile thought and vivid fantasy which constantly cause surprise. The reader is hurled from object to object, amidst cascades of poetic images, moving confessions and statements, sharp, satirical invectives against everybody and everything, extremely ingenious characterizations of people and timely problems, outbursts of the most varied feelings that can fill a human being, and high comedy juxtaposed with a profound conception of the basic problems of life. In one word, the poem sparkles with an unheard of wealth of elements, motifs, matters, and problems the like of which cannot be found in any other single Polish work. The language and verse match this wealth. For sheer virtuosity of language, rhythm, and rhyme, Beniowski is probably surpassed only by King Spirit, Slowacki's last work. But in Beniowski too the poet achieves the summit of what can be done with the poetic language, the maximum of absolute control over it which permits him to make experiments at times bordering on virtuoso feats. It was characteristic of the émigrés (perhaps of any such group) that it was Beniowski that brought Slowacki the recognition and fame which he had sought in vain with his other works. Certainly the artistic merits of the poem were not instrumental in bringing about this fame; only Krasinski recognized them. The poem made Slowacki famous because it was filled with attacks on émigré personalities and satirized certain groups, movements, and periodicals. Since the poet inflicted his blows right and left, sparing almost no one, nearly all the émigrés could find in the poem something which flattered their personal or political animosities. Reviews, praises, words of appreciation and even enthusiam followed profusely. One of the critics who was ridiculed in Beniowski challenged Slowacki to a duel. In short, a great furor rose about the poem. In his heart, the poet had dreamed of a different kind of'fame,' a deeper recognition of his work, and an influence on émigré society; but, for the time being, he had to be satisfied with notoriety. Judging by his letters, he was really quite pleased. He did not rest on his laurels, however, but continued to work, even though few of his subsequent works were finished and published. That is a pity, since among those unfinished things there are at least two which, though incomplete, represent some of his best work. The first of these is a fragment of a play entitled Zlota czaszka (The Golden Skull), a work full

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of serenity and excellent, though gentle humor. It is a sketch of Old Polish life, probably based on memories of his childhood days in Krzemieniec. The action takes place in the seventeenth century, during the period of the Swedish wars, but for his characters the poet took people known to him from his childhood (his grandfather, for instance). The same is true of their environment: the country mansion, the monastery, the inn, all are drawn from Slowacki's own reminiscences of Krzemieniec. The other play, more nearly finished, was left without a title; it was published posthumously under the title Fantazy. It is Slowacki's only play set against the background of contemporary conditions in Poland. The action takes place at the mansion of Count Respect and his family, Polish-Ukrainian magnates, who, though financially ruined, continue to live on a grand scale; in order to recover their fortune they are willing to sell their daughter, Diana, to the rich Count Fantazy. The latter decides to marry Diana from boredom rather than from love; but this decision is followed by unexpected complications, masterfully composed by the poet, though somewhat hastily and melodramatically resolved. Diana's former fiance, Jan, to whom she remains faithful, returns from exile where he was forced to serve in the Russian army. At almost the same time the Respect mansion is visited by Countess Idalja, who is in love with Fantazy and wants to prevent his marriage. The complication is thus two-fold and highly exciting, considering the various psychological levels on which the conflicts take place: two psychological wrecks, Fantazy and Idalja; two simple young people who love each other sincerely, Jan and Diana; the even simpler Russian major, Jan's friend; and the completely corrupt old Respects. The subsequent, somewhat unusual, development of the action becomes more intelligible in the light of these characters. In order to get rid of Idalja, the major behaves in a soldierly manner: he has her kidnapped and driven away. By accident another woman is kidnapped instead of Idalja. Fantazy challenges the major, and a duel, in which lots are drawn, follows. Fantazy draws the fatal lot and therefore must die. Idalja decides to die together with him, which gives the poet the opportunity to paint a splendid cemetery scene between the two pseudoromanticists. The major, however, does not permit this double suicide; he kills himself, again acting in a simple, soldierly manner, leaving his fortune to Jan. He thus disentangles the conflict, enables the young ones to marry, and deprives Fantazy and Idalja of their opportunity for an unusual, romantic death. The value of this play lies in the sharp and cunning observation of the pseudo-romantic hypocrisy in the characters of Fantazy and Idalja, and

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in the presentation of the moral atmosphere of the gentry mansions which Polish poetry usually idealized. It also lies in the sharp contrast between false romanticism and simple, sincere feeling, not just the feelings of Jan and Diana, but primarily those of the Russian major, who is a rare and unusual character in Polish literature. The play is characterized by concise and purposeful structure, especially in its first two acts, and excellent dialogue. Meanwhile the wave of mysticism and 'Towianism,' which gravely affected the last years of his life and his late poetic works, was beginning to approach Slowacki. In his search for outstanding émigrés, capable of supporting his weak authority, Towiañski also approached Slowacki. He had a long talk with him on July 12, 1842, the result of which was the poet's conversion to 'Towianism.' His conversion, though equally astonishing, is perhaps more understandable than that of Mickiewicz. Slowacki had until then been a solitary man; he had never taken part in any collective activity, yet he had longed for some echo in the collective, a recognition of his worth, and a role in the common work. Of course, we do not know what Towiañski told him during that memorable talk, but, judging from Towiañski's notorious methods of conquering people by making them believe in the 'mission' they must fulfill, judging also from some implications of the poem Slowacki wrote the next day, we may suppose that a crisis occurred in which Slowacki was influenced by the 'mission' and Towiañski's assurance that the poet was 'called upon' and 'destined' for it. This conviction represented the high price of Slowacki's surrender to Towiañski and his entrance into the Circle. The poem, Tak mi, Boze, dopomóz (So Help Me God), in which he expresses his new disposition, is beautiful and lofty, regardless of the motives which prompted it; it traces the feelings of a man who has found faith and certainty, solved all his internal conflicts, and attained peace of mind. Thus it possesses a universal character rather than a specifically 'Towianistic' one. However, it is one thing to accept the principles of a new faith and another to collaborate with its followers. Slowacki did everything he could to force himself to this collaboration. He conquered all his personal animosities, even his bitterness toward Mickiewicz. In fact, he placed himself under Mickiewicz's authority, for it was he who performed Towiañski's duties in the 'master's' absence. Sooner than Mickiewicz, however, Slowacki discovered the true character of the Circle's activity; sooner than Mickiewicz he sensed its oppressive atmosphere and immorality. He thus again gave proof of acute intelligence and the subtlety of his psychological and moral sense. Having realized that he could not remain

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in this atmosphere, he did not hesitate to break with the Circle and to return to his solitude. This happened in November of 1843. But his present solitude was of a different nature. Abandonment of the Towianists did not mean renunciation of the new mission. Indeed, he decided to carry it out by himself and to create his own doctrine, based in part on Towianski's. Just as Mickiewicz's lectures and writings of this period contain his own philosophy, which had only certain points in common with Towianski's, so it was with Slowacki's. He created it from his own soul and imagination, in solitude and without contact with the Circle. Only once did he send a note of sharp protest to the Circle, opposing the dispatch the Circle intended to send to Tsar Nicholas I. That which for Towianski, author of this and many other unfortunate ideas, represented only one of those 'spiritual exercises' given to the brothers to teach them love for even their enemy, was for Slowacki a hideous aberration of the moral trend of all the émigrés ; their chief principle was never to treat with the enemy, nor to ask any favors or amnesties from him. It would seem from Slowacki's letters of that period and from his numerous utterances in prose that he felt happy for the first time in his life, having acquired true inner peace and faith in his mission. On the other hand, one cannot resist the impression that in this last epoch of his life he was a man deeply unhappy, perhaps even more deeply than before, though in an altered manner. This impression is based not only on what may be read between the lines of his letters or in the lines of some notes and confessions, but also on the circumstances of his life: he was now even lonelier than before. Previously, at least one person had understood him and been his absolute friend — his mother. (His relations with Krasinski had for various reasons deteriorated.) At present even she was separated from him spiritually; his new world was strange and unintelligible to her, and his fiery letters could do little to win her to his point of view. This was one reason. In addition, the poet's entire spiritual strength was now directed toward building his own 'philosophical system,' a new 'alpha and omega of the world.' This unusual, superhuman effort exhausted him spiritually. One can observe in Slowacki's manuscripts of this time the tortures of the intellect, as it tries to explain the riddle of existence and universe and to put reasoning in a concise and logical form. One may also see a very painful thing, namely the complete sterility and hopelessness of these efforts, based only on imagination and dreams. It is difficult to suppose that, with his keen intelligence, Slowacki did not, at least in part, perceive this hopelessness and experience moments of terrible, painful doubt.

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The first poetic reaction to the 'new faith' is represented by two dramatic poems: Ksiqdz Marek (Father Marek) nad Sen srebrny Salomei (The Silver Dream of Salomea), written in quick succession in 1843. They possess the character of something transitional, insufficiently digested, chaotic. Father Marek, hero of the Bar Confederacy (see p. 133), was to represent the power of the spirit which overcomes every moral and physical obstacle and which expresses itself in miracles and supernatural happenings. In The Silver Dream of Salomea the new mystical demonology triumphs. Formally it differs little from early romantic demonology, but it acquires here a different, 'deeper' meaning. The downright baroque juxtapositions and contrasts constitute another characteristic trait of both plays. As though in the first bewilderment about the new idea, the poet seeks a new poetic expression for it in the short, octosyllabic verse, the long tirades (which become separate epic or lyric poems), and the extra-ordinary characters, such as Kossakowski and the Jewess, Judyta. The latter are representatives of coarse and wild spiritual forces which must first be liberated and purified. The work abounds in weird happenings connected with prophetic dreams, premonitions, and visions; they too are supposed to represent a superior spiritual life. This was, so to speak, an introduction to a new period in Slowacki's creativity. It was followed by a long series of works in prose and poetry, most of which remained unfinished and were unpublished during his life. We shall not investigate the poet's treatises in detail. Their dogmatic aspect has some importance only insofar as it may constribute to a better understanding of the ideological background for Slowacki's poetic works during his mystical period. This ideological background, however, does not affect the artistic value of the works. One would harm them by treating them only as poetic illustrations of some 'philosophical' system. Regardless of the system, they possess their own values, while the 'philosophy' itself must be treated as fantasy, which has its rights in a literary work. Having thus rejected mystical baggage and cabalistic speculation, we may enjoy the esthetic experience to the fullest. A few words about Slowacki's teaching suffice for general orientation. Its leading theory is based on the principle that 'everything is created by the spirit and for the spirit, nothing exists for physical aims.' It is on this absolutely spiritualistic basis that Slowacki explains the creation of the universe in his most finished work in this domain: The Genesis from the Spirit. In it he also traces the evolution of shapes and forms from inorganic matter to man, stipulating that the evolution cannot finish with man, for its aim is 'the spiritual force of Christ's nature' and the approach of

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man to Christ. In connection with his theory of evolution the poet advocates the idea of metempsychosis, that is, a reincarnation of the same spirit in gradually higher (or lower) bodily forms. In this work of growth humanity needs leaders, whom the poet calls 'king spirits.' Sometimes such spiritual leaderhip is bestowed upon whole nations rather than on individuals. This leadership is now given to Poland, who, purified by suffering and tortures, is to advocate and realize the 'new Gospel' on earth and lead the world to the Heavenly Kingdom, that is, to 'global angelhood.' Slowacki's most important poetic work of this period is the long poem, entitled King Spirit, the first 'rhapsody* of which appeared in 1847, while the much longer remainder was published after the poet's death. The basic concept of the poem is the reincarnation of a powerful, 'kingly' spirit in prehistoric and historic characters who personify Poland and carry out its 'genetic work.' The first incarnation is that of Her, the 'Armenian,' who in Hades embraces the idea of Poland and is reincarnated in the form of the legendary Polish prince, Popiel. The next reincarnations are those of Mieczyslaw (that is, Mieszko), Bolestaw the Bold, Michael of Tver, and Jagiello. The other row of reincarnations, that of King Spirit's great opponent, is represented by the lives of Zorian, a Polish bard, Piast, and St. Stanislaw, the Bishop. The lives of the individual national leaders are filled with partly fantastic, partly historical events, which, however, the poet interprets in a special manner to bring out their hidden 'genetic' meanings. Old Polish legends appear in a new guise. For example, the legendary Popiel's cruel actions are presented as purposeful deeds of the Providence, designed to make the nation resistant to the most horrid sufferings and tortures and to make of Poland 'a rock against pain.' Piast's life symbolizes the 'idyllic' elements of the Polish spirit; his fate is bound with the soil and agricultural work. In Mieczyslaw this spirit is cleansed and raised in Christianity, while in Boleslaw the Bold it falls under the weight of pride and crime to be reborn again in Jagiello, after going through the foreign reincarnation of Michael of Tver. Even from this short review of motifs we see that, if we treat King Spirit as a fantastic tale about the history of Poland rather than as a revelation of new genetic truths, we shall not encounter excessive difficulty in understanding it. Of course, mysterious things occur in the poem, and allusions to obscure theories are frequent. But such things at times occur even in poems which have no complicated philosophy to propound. The obscurity and confusion of Slowacki's poem are amply compensated with outstanding beauty and power such as Polish poetry seldom possesses

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during its whole existence. This poem clearly demonstrates that even the most abstract and strange theory may become a vital force in poetry if it is applied in a truly poetic manner by a great poet. This is definitely the case of King Spirit. One of its completely original and highly suggestive characteristics is the thorough, perfectly organic union between the earthly and supernatural worlds; the union is even more integral than in Part III of Forefathers'1 Eve. This results from the theory of'spirits,' which all mystics hold in common; it may even originate in 'the columns of spirits,' about which Towiariski said 'they press on man from all sides.' In Slowacki's poem, however, this theory was transformed into a powerful poetic tool. The inner life and deeds of each character, the events which occur in the poem, and even the phenomena of nature are thus tied, by means of invisible but strong threads, to the supernatural world, to eternal matters, and to the fate of the nation molded in its historical development. The action of King Spirit thus achieves a distant, heavenly, 'global' perspective, permeated by a breeze of infinity, because the genetic evolution of the nation does not end until it reaches the distant horizons of Gods Kingdom on earth. In Polish poetry there is no work of such character, while among foreign works King Spirit may be compared, in this respect, only with some parts of Dante's Divine Comedy. We have said that the language of Beniowski reaches the summit of poetic virtuosity. About the language and verse of King Spirit one would be tempted to say that they have been freed (as far as is possible) from all earthly ties and from physical-material traits to become spiritualized to the highest possible degree. In accordance with the general symbolicsupernatural character of the poem, the individual words, designations, phrases, images, and descriptions, generally do not stand for any physical, material objects but are symbols of distant and eternal things. Not only the characters' feelings and experiences, which by nature must be of such a character, but nearly every description, apparently purely epic, is imbued with this symbolic light of the hereafter. King Spirit was the first 'epic poem' of this kind in Polish poetry, and it may not be compared with anything in foreign literatures. It is a unique kind of lyric epos — an epic about the history of a nation, presented as the experience of a spirit who is incarnated into that history conceived as phases of his evolution, as he marches toward infinity. We speak here of King Spirit as it reached us in his published first rhapsody and a number of manuscripts which were later arranged by editors into further rhapsodies, without certain knowledge of the poet's intentions. Thus we speak of a work unfinished by the poet himself, a

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work which he perhaps might never have finished, so gigantic was his conception for human capacity. Our judgment cannot therefore apply to the whole, which does not exist, but rather to fragments. But what was left represents a magnificent, gigantic torso, as those splendid torsos of ancient Greek sculpture which, though mutilated and disfigured, reveal genius in all their fragments. Such beautiful 'torsos' — such parts and fragments of splendid conceptions — are frequent in the last period of Slowacki's creativity. One of the most finished is the play, Samuel Zborowski. The problem of this sixteenth-century rebel, decapitated at the time of Jan Zamoyski's chancellorship, is here — like the problem of King Spirit — transported onto the ground of eternity — to heaven and before Christ's court. And again the poem is not concerned with historical truth, as the action is played in cosmic rather than in earthly dimensions. Rather than living people the characters of the poem are their spirits, while the place of action is the universe, not Krakow, the authentic scene of the historical event. The defendant is Chancellor Zamoyski, not Zborowski; Zborowski's counsel is Lucifer, while Christ is the judge. The whole geneticmessianic ideology of the play is again without any basic significance. It represents Zborowski as a spirit who raised Poland and suggests that his decapitation also signified the 'decapitation of Poland,' as it arrested the country's ascension towards the Kingdom of Heaven. After the elimination of these elements the drama about Samuel Zborowski — just as King Spirit — will appear as a dramatically daring and theatrically advanced concept of the transposition of historical and earthly matters to a cosmic level. The historical Zborowski and his problem disappear, leaving room for the eternal problem of crime and punishment, which is here presented in an entirely novel way; what is left also is the problem of the strength of the human spirit, whose growth may take place through falls and crimes. The question of man's right to arrest this growth, about whose individual phases and ultimate destination man knows nothing, also emerges. These are some of the perspectives opened by the drama, a play conceived in the spirit of romanticism and mysticism, but surpassing both these trends artistically. It opens new possibilities for dramatic and theatrical art, going beyond the devices of subsequent realism and even symbolism. Not until the present day has it met with understanding and a suitable stage interpretation, as was seen in its performance in Warsaw under the excellent direction of Leon Schiller. The dramatic fragment, Ksiqzf Michai Twerski (Prince Michael of Tver), introduces the great destructive spirit in the person of Uztek Khan,

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whose mission it is 'to mow like grass all the peoples unnecessary to God' and who is, as it were, a magnification of Popiel of King Spirit. In another fragment, entitled Agezylausz, the poet goes back to ancient Sparta to trace the efforts of the young king, Agis IV, to regain Sparta's old splendor. Here, again in an original way, Greek and Polish elements are joined together (in the chorus), a motif which was later to become powerful in the dramatic production of Stanislaw Wyspianski. Slowacki's production of this period has a feverish and uneven character. The poet frequently begins a work without finishing it only to sketch another; then he returns to the former or abandons both for something entirely new. His power of invention and the creation of gradually newer ideas is intensified with every year. Unfortunately, he has neither time nor strength to cope with them all. Among the relatively finished works there are numerous lyric poems, which in number, and sometimes also in value, surpass what Slowacki had until then written in this genre. Among them there is a longer poem written as a reply to Krasinski's Psalmy przyszlosci (Psalms of the Future, see below) ; in it Slowacki opposes the ideology exposed in the Psalms ad attempts to formulate his own political, very revolutionary and democratic, ideas. Slowacki's poem contains fragments of first-rate force and beauty, which alone make it rank much higher than Krasinski's, which is poetically weak. The revolutionary movements of 1848 made Slowacki abandon his solitude for a time and take active part in the émigré meetings and deliberations about Poland's stand and part in the revolution. Contrary to Mickiewicz's opinion, Slowacki was inclined to share the view of the émigré majority, according to which the movement should be started in Poland rather than transported home from abroad. But a confederacy, suggested by Slowacki, in which all the Polish parties should join in a common effort, was a failure. The poet therefore left for Poznan with a group of his friends, intending to take an active part in the organization of the insurrection. There he experienced bitter disappointment, for the attitude of the inhabitans of Poznan could not match his genetic-mystic-messianic dreams. The insurrection in the Poznan region soon subsided, leaving the poet in threat of arrest. He went to Breslau. Here his old, ardent wish was fulfilled; he met his mother after eighteen long and hard years of separation. The mutual love and joy of the meeting must have compensated for the mother's lack of understanding for the poet's new ideas. Happiness did not last long, however. On order of the Prussian authorities they had to part again after two weeks. The poet returned to Paris in very bad health His health had never beer good, but during the last years it had deteriorated considerably. Inefficiently

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treated tuberculosis was beginning to make frightening progress; hemorrhages and high temperature weakened him rapidly. Nevertheless, Slowacki continued working intensively, almost to his last moment. That moment came at the beginning of April, 1849. He died quietly and cheerfully in the company of his friend, Szcz^sny Felinski (later archbishop), to whom in a failing voice he gave directions for the copying of King Spirit. His body rested in the Montmartre Cemetery in Paris until it was brought to Poland and buried in the vaults of the Wawel Cathedral in 1927. According to Krasinski's brilliant characterization in his article Kilka slow of Juljuszu Siowackim (A Few Words About Julius Slowacki), Slowacki's works are at once a contrast and complementary to the works of Mickiewicz. They provide contrast in the sense that Mickiewicz's genius is expressed as a 'centripetal' force which creates a base and foundation and builds on them solid, homogeneous edifices, concentrating the individual elements with tremendous synthetic power, while Slowacki's imagination is revealed in a 'centrifugal' tendency — a force which, instead of acting from the outside toward the center, acts from the center (or from several changing centers) toward the outside. This is a dispersing rather than a concentrating tendency, which attempts to comprise the largest domain possible, to reach the farthest horizons, and to try the most varied methods and means of conceiving phenomena and molding them into artistic forms. It is in this trait of Slowacki's imagination rather than in 'imitation,' as was formerly thought, 11 that the unusual variety of his production lies — those infinite poetic genres and forms, changing as in a kaleidoscope. This variety poses difficulties and even riddles, as in the apparent chaos the critic tries to find a solid basis, a fundamental direction, or at least a trace of a line of evolution. Many attempts in this field have been made, but none has yielded satisfactory results. Therefore — following Krasinski — we must accept that centrifugal force as the leading 'principle' of Slowacki's creation. It helps ut to see our way in this maze, frees us from the arid search for a 'leading idea' (which is disappointing in the case of many poets), because the 'radiation' of Slowacki's production in various directions naturally produces a series of 'ideas' and 'centers.' A definite contrast to Mickiewicz, Slowacki is also his complement, as he represents the other side of the spirit of poetry, one which is neither less important nor less basic. From this 'thesis' and 'antithesis,' to use Hegel's terminology, in which Krasinski's contention was conceived, a synthesis 11

Consult studies by the older literary historians: A. Maiecki, S. Tarnowski, and A. Tretiak.

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of the spirit of Polish poetry of that time is created. In this synthesis a suitable place will be found for two more poets of this epoch, Krasiriski himself and Norwid. As it encompasses the natural and supernatural worlds, Slowacki's poetry sparkles with all the colors of the rainbow; it embraces a world of national and universal feelings and thoughts in its elevation of the national cause to a universal level; it takes that cause to the gates of heaven and with beauty tries to revive the dead fatherland. Slowacki believed profoundly in the power of beauty to create and to transform. Throughout his life he fought for the recognition of this truth by a society which still held the view that poetry was either entertainment or teaching; he fought also for the recognition of his freedom as an artist, his right to that freedom and to his role and significance in society. He gave to Poland a new type of artist, conscious of his vocation and means and deserving of recognition. Conditions and circumstances led this great and independent artist, who followed his inspiration and imagination wherever they led him, to embrace the national cause of his own free will. The majority of his works were devoted to the national past, according to the program expressed in Kordian. In this past he saw two sides of the national character: the angelic soul and the coarse skull. It is in this angelic soul that he sought the 'Polish idea,' sharing the lofty illusion of many contemporary Poles that his own noble dreams and fantasies corresponded to reality. In the poem, Poeta i natchnienie (Poet and Inspiration), which belongs to his last period, Slowacki describes a moving scene in which two birds try to restore life to their little one which had fallen to the ground from the high nest. They carry the young bird by the wings and fly with it, hoping to reawaken life. The poet reacts in this manner: Before I believe in the fatherland's death, as it lies in the coffin, I shall first put her on the wings of my song and fly her towards heaven and God. I shall let her loose, and if she is alive, she will fly by herself. This is the basis of the relation of Slowacki's poetry to the nation and of his faith in his mission: to raise the dead country on the wings of song, to 'shake' her with song in a noble effort to bring her back to life with the beauty of poetry. And the poet did bring her back to life, not materially or bodily, but in the domain of the spirit. In his poems and plays Poland was resurrected in all the beauty of her land and people, but also in the sins of her sons. Indeed, she was immortalized and revived in song, though her body remained in the grave.

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The characteristic differences between the poetry of Mickiewicz and that of Slowacki are best seen in their language and verse. Mickiewicz was a master in his simplicity, precision, and clarity of style. Taken separately, his words are simple, common, current, and understandable to all. Only the proximity of other words, their distribution, succession, rhythm and rhyme combinations lend them poetic expression, making them unusual, giving them a new sparkle, and revealing them in a new, startling form. Slowacki is different. His vocabulary is in itself unusual, poetical by birth, as it were, and often difficult and 'artificial'; it abounds in neologisms, created with brilliant linguistic intuition, and changes in structure, declension, and syntax. The later his production, the more distinct and intense this trait becomes; it reached its summit in the period of Slowacki's mysticism, when his works required a special language all the more. In those works his linguistic inventiveness and creativeness surpassed everything that has ever been done in Polish poetry. All the known means of poetic expression — the poetic image, description, symbol, metaphor, simile, to mention only the principal ones — assume a new shape. The metaphor joins very distant clauses, symbolism penetrates every description and image, colors operate in the most unusual combinations, and the world of sound intensifies the voices of nature, making them unusual. The poet's exclamation in Beniowski — 'And mine will be victory beyond the grave!' — was fulfilled in the third generation of Polish poets. 'Young Poland,' at the end of the nineteenth century, acknowledged him as its master, placing him at the very pinnacle of Polish poetry. His influence was strongest in that epoch, but even the one which followed was not independent of the fertile force of his poetry. It had entered the blood of creative Poland, and lives on; it will continue to live as long as poets are b o m on Polish soil. ZYGMUNT KRASltfSKI Krasinski (1812-59) was usually ranked alongside Mickiewicz and Slowacki as the third great poet of the Romantic era, who forms with them a 'trinity of seers.' This is due mainly to his Dawn and other related poetical works, in which 'prophecy' does play a significant part. For the history of Polish literature, however, two other of his works possess far greater significance. They are Nieboska Komedja (The Undivine Comedy) and Irydion, two romantic dramas written in prose and only indirectly connected with Polish questions. Furthermore, one should state that,

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although Krasinski's influence on the spiritual life of the nation was strong (there were more editions of Dawn than of Pan Tadeusz), it was not as lasting as that of Mickiewicz or Slowacki. He had little influence on Polish poetry of subsequent periods. In short, he did not create great poetic values which could bring weight to bear on the growth of Polish literature. Krasinski's life abounded in profound experiences and dramatic events, though it did not possess that 'active' character of Mickiewicz's life ; it was rather contemplative, 'interior,' in this respect resembling the life of Slowacki. His life was devoted to literary work and to a transformation of self and the world through constructive thought, which is characteristic particularly in the second part of his life. As the only son of rich and aristocratic parents — Wincenty, a Napoleonic general, and Maija, née Princess RadziwiH — he was brought up and lived in excellent material conditions. He was predestined by his education and preparation to strengthen the glory of his family and to occupy high positions. His father especially tried to inspire him with ambition, for he himself was a very ambitious man, desirous of respect and fame. The hopes which he placed in his only son were not fulfilled, both because of the nature of the father's intentions and because of the son's disposition. Krasinski was not attracted by eminence or high rank, especially after the fall of the November Insurrection when favors could be obtained only through the St. Petersburg court. General Wincenty Krasinski was a stern legitimist, like the majority of the higher Polish military, who after the fall of Napoleon believed it their honorable duty to fulfill the oath of allegiance given to the new 'Polish king,' Tsar Alexander I. This was not the only thing that influenced the action and policy of the old Krasinski ; there was also his innate, aristocratic animosity against all conspiracy, plotting, and 'illegal' activity in general. Thus, when in 1828 a trial (the so-called 'Diet Trial') of the members of the Patriotic Society (charged by the Russian authorities with treason) took place in Warsaw, General Krasinski was one of two judges who supported the Russian charge, while the majority of the court acquitted the defendants. This extreme loyalty of the General provoked common indignation, even among his former friends. It is likely that he considered himself a hero, but the episode had a disastrous effect on his son. The following year the president of the Diet Court, Bieliriski, died; against regulations, the university students decided to take active part in his funeral. On his father's orders Zygmunt Krasinski did not join in the demonstration but instead went to his classes, where he was probably the only student on that day. On

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the following day he was publicly insulted by his colleagues. One may easily imagine the moral shock experienced by this delicate, spoiled, seventeen-year-old boy, who was convinced he was owed respect because of his origin. It must be said that, being so blindly attached to his father and having such deep trust in his judgment, Krasinski probably shared his father's views at the time. More painful experiences were still in store for Krasinski. In the autumn of 1829 he went to Geneva to continue his studies, and he spent his time there pleasantly and fruitfully. It was here that he met his future friend, an intelligent young Englishman, Henry Reeve, and became infatuated with a young Englishwoman, Henrietta Willan. He attended courses at the university, read a great deal in various fields, and made frequent trips to Italy. Then the news of the outbreak of the November Insurrection fell upon him. He was even less prepared for it than Mickiewicz or Slowacki; furthermore, his father informed him about the insurrection in a biased manner. The old Krasinski presented this insurrection as a social revolution with very bloody and Jacobinic intentions toward the rich. Gen. Krasinski himself left Warsaw for St. Petersburg, believing that, as an aide-de-camp of the emperor, he should be at his side at that moment. This time, however, the son could not behave uncritically toward his father, nor could he view the insurrection through the General's eyes. The atmosphere of loyalty with which he had been surrounded at home could neither destroy his normal patriotic feelings nor blur a normal attitude towards the tsarist government. To this was added a desire to prove, if only to those who had insulted him, that he was neither a coward nor a traitor. He thus found himself in a very difficult position. He could not return home at once, first of all because his father forbade him to do so, threatening him even with police action to make the return impossible. Also, many doubts and inner complications remained. How would the country receive a traitor's son? Could he join those who condemned his father? Would not the mere fact of his participating in the Insurrection speak for his own contempt for his father? As a result, Krasinski remained abroad, suffering, despairing, and writing morbid letters and equally morbid literary works. The father had once more won a victory. This was no to be the end, however. His father's spirit and will to direct his son's fate according to his own liking weighed heavily on almost all the life of Krasinski. Situations kept arising in which the father gave him suggestions and orders which the son satisfied reluctantly and against his own convictions. The next proof of his father's care for him was to recall Krasinski home in the spring of

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1832. His letters reveal how hard it was for him, especially then, half a year after the failure of the Insurrection, to return to Poland, 'to return where the chains are rattling, to that land of tombs and crosses.' He gave vent to his hatred of the Muscovites: 'Remember to spit on my memory,' he wrote to his friend Gaszyriski, 'if you ever hear that I have accepted anything from them or that I have ever shaken their hand or bowed to t h e m . . . ' Alas, he was forced to shake hands, to bow, and to receive tsarist favors. His father declared that he was taking him to St. Petersburg, where he intended to introduce him to the tsar and ask him to admit the young man to tsarist service. This represented a new conflict for the youth who was already miserable, suffering in addition from a chronic illness of the eyes, which kept him away from his work for long periods on end. The departure for St. Petersburg occurred in the autumn of 1832; the audience with the tsar took place with all the prescribed ceremony, and with the tsar's prescribed politeness and grace manifested to a faithful servant's son. Luckily for Krasiriski, his illness prevented his being assigned immediately to a corps of pages or some such splendid institution. As a proof of favor, he instead obtained permission to go abroad, which was not easy for the subjects of the Russian tsar, especially not for Poles. Even Krasinski's love life was affected, directly or indirectly, by his father's stern shadow. His first deep love was for Joanna Bobrowa, a married woman, mother of two girls. It is clear that under these conditions there could be no question of marriage; it is not even known whether the poet revealed this love to his father. The second woman he chose was Delfina Potocka, who was separated from her husband, a magnate from a well-known family in the Ukraine. A woman of high intellectual and artistic culture, Delfina Potocka was a perfect spiritual companion for the poet, a confidante who heard his creative plans, the first reader of his works, the object of many of his lyric poems, and his true Muse, glorified in Dawn. But even in this love there were unsurmountable difficulties barring a union between the two; according to the old custom, the poet's father himself busily looked for a suitable daughterin-law. The General was convinced that his son's marriage should be a family matter and concerned with lineage rather than a personal one. Because of the poet's resistance, his father finally set an ultimatum in the form of a definite date by which he was to settle this question. This date was 1843. When, still interested in Potocka, Krasiriski did not think about finding a wife, his father found one for him. She was presumably the richest girl in Poland, the very beautiful Eliza Branicka,

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descendent of the well-known line of corrupted Targowica Confederates. Unbelievable as the fact may seem, Krasinski again gave in to his father's will and married (in the summer of 1843) a woman almost a stranger to him and one with whom he had nothing in common. Moreover, he was at the same time still burning with unextinguished love for Delfina, to whom he had pledged eternal faithfulness and with whom he corresponded for many years after his marriage. He now began to spend more time in Poland, busy with family matters and those of his estates; yet he traveled abroad a greater part of the time, curing his various illnesses, working as much as his health and nerves would permit, and voicing opinions (always anonymously) on public questions, either in the form of treatises or poems. He died in Paris in February, 1859. Krasinski began to write very early and wrote voluminously from the start. At eighteen he was already the author of numerous works, among which there are two long novels: Grdb rodziny Reichstal6w (The Grave of the Reichstal Family) and Wladyslaw Herman ijego dwor (Wladyslaw Herman and His Court, in three volumes). For such a young man these things are interesting and unusual, but their literary worth is very slight; their historical significance is limited to the fact that they are manifestations of the influence of Walter Scott's historical novels in Poland. The many works (in both French and Polish) which he produced while in Geneva are of similar quality. Only Agay-Han — a romantic novel about a Cossack Zarucki, the Tatar Agay-Khan, and Maryna Mniszek, unfortunate wife of the two false Dmitris of Moscow in the seventeenth century — is somewhat more original in its oriental coloring, sharply delineated characters, and bloody and morbid action. Meanwhile, however, the ideas for two other works, which were to become Krasinski's masterpieces, began to mature. The conception of Irydion, the story of a Greek who takes vengeance on Rome for conquering his country, came first. Then arose in the poet's imagination the figure of a man 12 who defends the stable social order against subversive, revolutionary forces. It is easy to guess that both these ideas were rooted in the poet's preoccupation with the fate of his own country and of the social class to which he belonged, as well as with the duties of an outstanding individual in the face of such problems. From the mist of these ideas, criss-crossing each other, The Undivine Comedy sprang into being in finished form. Conceived in the spirit of contemporary romantic dramas, this work goes far beyond contemporary thought as regards its principal problem. It is composed of four parts, each preceded by a prologue — a "

See J6zef Kallenbach, Zygmunt Krasinski (Lw6w, 1904).

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form frequently used in romantic drama. The structure is twofold: the first two parts introduce the hero, Count Henry, as a husband and father tortured by poetic visions; the last two parts present him as the leader of the 'Ramparts of the Holy Trinity,' fighting against social revolution. The first two parts treat the problem of the so-called true and false poetry — a popular problem of romanticism. This is connected with the endeavor of some romanticists to rise above poetry and to carry it out in life. Hence false poetry was to be that which was expressed only in creativeness, without embracing the poet's whole spirit and entire life. 'A stream of beauty flows through you, but you are not beauty' we read in the Prologue to The Undivine Comedy, the first two parts of the play are devoted to a character quite similar to a 'false' poet, a man who is a bad husband, a bad father, a bad member of society, and who, considering himself to be a superior being, pursues poetic phantoms. In the next two parts the scenery changes, but the man remains the same. Count Henry is something like a variation of Slowacki's Kordian, who, out of despair, attempts to fill his inner emptiness and to deafen his personal contradictions by throwing himself into the whirl of social struggle. In this struggle Krasinski's hero meets with a powerful opponent, Pankracy, who appears as a contrast to his romantic weakness, but in reality is also consumed by pessimism and lack of faith. He is the leader of the masses for the same reasons that Henry is the leader of the 'aristocrats.' These two first clash in a battle of words in a dramatic dialogue in Part III, and this meeting is later followed by an actual battle. The poet confronts masterfully the two worlds represented by their leaders. The depth of his conception is revealed first of all in the fact that this struggle between nominal 'aristocracy' and 'democracy,' between the the disinherited masses and a small group of privileged people, assumes the proportions of a struggle between two worlds rather than between two political parties or factions — two worlds which are basically inimical, two philosophies of life between which there can be neither harmony nor compromise. This is a war between two cultures which cannot exist side by side; one must die so that the other may reign. In this way in the work of a Polish poet, for the first time in world literature and long before the outburst of social fight in reality, the essence of this fight — the idea of war of classes — was exposed in its deepest meaning and character. There is not only the question of material matters, rather one of a way of life and its cultural values. It is astonishing that such a truly prophetic image originated from the pen of a twenty-year-old poet, son of a family of magnates, an aristocrat. In his poetic vision, however, Krasiriski

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transcends his own world; not only does he fail to defend it, he condemns it to death. The Ramparts of the Holy Trinity, that last fortress of aristocracy, is presented with very sharp strokes as a collective of cowards and wrongdoers, who, in order to save their lives, are willing to make treaties even with the deadliest foe. Although, on the other hand, the world of the 'democrats' is also presented in an unfavorable light, Krasinski's attitude again serves as proof that in a work of art the socalled personal elements retreat to a secondary position and the poet expresses his poetic vision, which sometimes carries him far beyond his own opinions and feelings. In its last two parts, excluding the final visionary scene, the work itself traces consistently and logically the victory of the proletarian masses. In the struggle between the two worlds the old one must perish, and perish it does, at least in its representatives introduced in The Undivine Comedy. But, should all the cultural values created by that world throughout the ages — the common heritage of all, 'aristocrats' and 'democrats' alike — perish as well? That is the question with which both Count Henry and Pankracy are faced. This is new and essential problem — a further proof of the poet's brilliant intuition. If Count Henry defends the old world, he does not do so for the sake of its degenerate representatives, but for the sake of those cultural values created by their ancestors. Pankracy, who christens his followers a 'flock of slaves,' also thinks about what he will build on the ruins of the destroyed world, but he does not think about it until after his victory. And he has no definite answer to this question. Would then the victory of the masses be paid for by the destruction of all culture developed up to date? One may suppose that the answer, at least an indirect one, to this question is represented in the final vision of The Undivine Comedy, as Pankracy sees in the sky a figure, leaning against a cross, he falls dead, exclaiming 'Galillee vicisti' (Jesus, you have won!). The vision might mean — and that is how it is usually interpreted — that the victory of the masses is a physical rather than a moral victory. The latter will come only after the idea of Christ begins to reign in the world as a synthesis of the old and new cultures, a synthesis which will contain the positive values of both sides, that is, the historical merits of the past, as well as the wrath of the people against injustice and wrong. Such may be the ideological meaning of the final scene. One must add, however, that from the literary point of view this scene appears as a kind of'deus ex machina,' that is, the dramatic problem is solved by external means which until that moment had played no part in the play and do not constitute an

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essential element. The idea of Christ is never integrated in the ideology of either camp; its final symbolic victory, deriving from the intervention of a higher force, is therefore unjustified in the play itself. The poet's brilliant intuition in interpreting these problems and lending them a universal character is seen in the fact that in his own day there was very little reality which might have inspired such poetic visions. There had been the French Revolution with its social slogans, there had been the theories of Saint Simon and other social writers, there had been the bloody strike of French workers in Lyon — a menacing prophecy of beginning ferment — but these were either broad theories or phenomena significant of a budding social movement to be developed only much later. The sharp poetic insight perceived a nucleus of universal problems in those symptoms; poetic talent made of them a vision. Thus The Undivine Comedy clearly and distinctly reveals the role of anticipation in poetry, and its fulfillment of things which only the future was to carry out in life. The form of the romantic drama — with all its possibilities of operating with the fantastic world as freely as with the earthly one, of unlimited transportation of the action from place to place, without concern for the demands of stage and audience — was well suited for the artistic execution of the idea of The Undivine Comedy. This applies not only to its first two parts, where visions, ghosts, and personalized symbols appear, but also to the two final ones; the supernatural world is absent from these, except for the final scene, but the poet easily pictures the two camps by means of short, frequently changing scenes which characterize the atmosphere and feelings of the fighting parties. (This technique, incidentally, is also applied to the initial parts and in some cases yields very suggestive effects). The use of such brief, broken scenes is characteristic of The Undivine Comedy. The work possesses a loose structure, unbound by any single action or 'plot,' the only connection between the two halves of the play being the character of Count Henry and his 'evolution' from an unhappy husband and father to the leader of the conservative camp; this necessarily weakens the unity of the whole. The third and fourth parts could exist independently of the first two without losing anything; on the contrary, they might perhaps gain by it. This is not a drama in the strict meaning of the word, but rather a series of more or less loosely connected stage pictures, quite uneven in their dramatic expression. The climax of the dramatic suspense is achieved in the dialogue between Henry and Pankracy; it is a true dramatic dialogue in which words, feelings, and personalities clash; the fate of the two camps is decided,

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the spoken words and opinions are imperative, for they are soon carried out in deeds. On the whole, The Undivine Comedy is one of the outstanding Polish works of this period, all the more important and significant because it possesses universal meaning. The Undivine Comedy was published in 1833. Two years later Krasiriski published Irydion. As already indicated, the idea for this dramatic work had emerged earlier and was more closely connected with national problems. It had undergone a number of changes and corrections, which often affected its very essence.13 In its ultimate, finished form it reveals both similarities to and differences from the preceding work. The similarity is found first of all in a basic structural element. The final scene of The Undivine Comedy, in which the vision of Christ appears, is matched in Irydion by a long epilogue, added to the play as a separate part and intended to present Irydion's life after death. Like the other scene, this epilogue is an ideological superstructure of the play, very beautiful in itself, but not connected with the play by ties of artistic logic and structure. It is, as it were, a second ending, or, more specifically, the emergence for the hero's soul of new moral horizons and new tasks to fulfill. The second resemblance is in the character of the struggle conducted in both works. In The Undivine Comedy the clash between the two camps is a historical necessity and must lead to the annihilation of one of them. The Greek Irydion's struggle with Rome is also a necessity, psychologically if not historically, springing from the tradition and character of the hero. Here, however, this necessity assumes a more tragic aspect, for Irydion, like Mickiewicz's Wallenrod, is forced in his exploits to perform good and bad deeds simultaneously: in fighting to avenge his country, he must resort to ruse and treason. Furthermore, his struggle is primarily negative, since he strives for vengeance, the destruction of Rome and its rule. In a letter to his friend Reeve, Krasinski himself described Irydion as 'a work half dramatic, half descriptive and narrative.' Such is the case in reality. Even if we disregard the lengthy prologue and epilogue, which both have a narrative rather than a dramatic character, we observe many epic, descriptive-narrative elements in the four acts of the play itself. The author has gone far from the technique of brief, concentrated scenes used in The Undivine Comedy. In Irydion the scenes are rather long, flowing far more slowly and broadly, containing not only the characterization of the heroes and their conflicts, but also the historical and social background. Driving towards his goal, Irydion has to come in contact 14

See Kallenbach, op. cit.

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with all the Roman social strata of the third century after Christ. And the social and political structure of Rome is quite complicated by then. It includes the emperor, the effeminate Heliogabal, and his corrupt court; representatives of the ancient Roman tradition, who seek the rebirth of the empire and are thus Irydion's most dangerous foes; the Roman proletaries, slaves, gladiators, 'barbarians' from all parts of the country; and finally Christians, who by that time constituted a considerable force. Irydion's aim is to gain a hold over Heliogabal (he does not hesitate for this purpose to sacrifice his sister, the beautiful and meek Elsinoe, whom he marries off to the emperor), and to win to his side those who for some reason must also hate Rome; the disinherited proletaries, the barbarians, and the Christians. Gradually he succeeds in gaining control over Heliogabal and in winning nearly all his natural allies; he even succeeds in provoking a breach among the Christians, having inspired some of them with hatred for Rome and the desire to collaborate in the work of annihilation of the foe. When the adherents of Alexander Severus, candidate of the 'Ancient Romans' to the throne, start a revolution, Irydion secures full power from Heliogabal and begins to act at last. His plans, however, are thwarted by the Christians, who, dissuaded by their Bishop, Victor, in the last moment refuse to take part in this pagan action. The Christians' refusal is decisive in Irydion's defeat. He had counted on them, and he cannot replace them; his forces are too weak, and he must capitulate to Severus' army. At the very moment when the desperate Irydion wants to throw himself on the pyre on which his beloved sister's body is burning (she had committed suicide), his friend and advisor, Masynissa, who has already played a considerable part in the play, appears in his true character. He is Satan, the personification of all evil historical forces, who fights God not by hunting for individual souls but by diverting the course of history and adapting it to his own aims. At this moment Masynissa foils Irydion's suicide attempt, prevents his surrender to the spirit of the Christian woman, Metella, which floats over him. The evil one promises Irydion that after many centuries his vengeance will be carried out, and that he will then see Rome in humiliation and decay. Meanwhile, Irydion is to spend many centuries in sleep, awaiting the proper moment. The real drama of Irydion ends with the moment of the failure of his projects. What happens later — that is, from the moment he is carried by Masynissa to the top of the mountain near Rome — is a new and, as it were, supernatural chapter in Irydion's life. The transition is symbolized by his prolonged sleep. After centuries he wakens to delight in the

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sight of the ruins of ancient Rome; at last he sees in front of him that which he had desired all his life. But here heavenly forces begin to interfere: an angel in the form of Metella strives with Masynissa for Irydion's soul. Masynissa considers the soul his, for Irydion's dominant feeling was his hatred for Rome; in the face of God's court the angel defends Irydion on the ground of his love for Greece. God's verdict gives him grace and pardon; in very moving words God offers Irydion a new mission in Poland and prophesies victory for him in a new land. These words comforted many generations of Poles in days of misfortune and humiliation: Go to the north in the name of Christ. Go and halt not till thou standest in the land of graves and crosses. Thou shalt know it by the silence of men and the sadness of little children, by the burned huts of the poor and the ruined palaces of the exiles. Thou shalt know it by the wailings of My angels, flying over it by night. Go and dwell among the brothers that I give thee. There is thy second test. For the second time thou shalt see thy love transpierced, dying, and thou canst not die: and the sufferings of thousands shall be born in thy one heart. Go and trust in My name. Ask not for thy glory, but for the welfare of those whom I entrust to thee. Be calm before the pride and oppression and derision of the unjust. They shall pass away, but thou and My word shall not pass away. And after long martyrdom I will send My dawn upon you. I will give you what I gave my angels before the ages — happiness — and what I promised to men on the summit of Golgotha — freedom. 14 All of Krasiriski's early writings are imbued with deep pessimism. The atmosphere of both plays, as well as of minor works, is gloomy despite the poet's efforts to make it brighter by way of ideological 'superstructures.' Around the year 1840, however, a change may be observed; we find that what was previously a mere appendage becomes a principal theme. This was undoubtedly the result of a profound transformation of the poet's mind, achieved through his own meditations and partly influenced by the German philosophers, and of his gradually firmer attempt to overcome temporary pessimism and internal conflicts by creating a system which was to give a simple, clear, and certain answer to all the painful questions torturing humanity. Such an answer (if we consider its dogmatic formulation rather than its empiric ascertainment) could at that time have been found with relative ease, for the German idealistic philosophy 14

Translated in Monica Gardner, The Anonymous Poet of Poland, Zygmunt Krasinski (Cambridge, 1919), pp. 166-67.

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of Hegel and Schelling and the Polish philosophy of Cieszkowski, Trentowski, and Hoene-Wroriski, as well as the ideas of Mickiewicz and Slowacki and even the system of Towiariski, all worked in the same direction to point out an infallible line of development for humanity. The Polish authors also established the role and significance of Poland in this process. The construction of formulas was facilitated by the work of others, but Krasinski had first to overcome his basically skeptical, distrustful, and pessimistic attitude toward the world and people, to solve his own conflicts, and to create in himself a state of mind receptive to and capable of propagating idealistic theories. In this domain Krasiriski's performance was impressive in its breadth and intensity. One may state without exaggeration that he had absorbed all the principal currents of contemporary thought and attempted to build a system of his own on this basis. Having reached some general results and written them up in treatises in prose, he attempted to 'illustrate' them later in poetry in a form necessarily simplified and more popular. Such a form cannot contribute to the deepening of the poet's 'philosophy,' but it is sufficient to kill poetry. The cruel result was that, having found internal harmony and a new faith, Krasinski ceased to be a poet — a fact all the more paradoxical because it was only at this point that he began to use verse in his works. His development then is completely distinct from that of Mickiewicz and Slowacki. In his period of mysticism, and even before, Mickiewicz completely abandoned poetry, which had never meant 'propaganda' for him. As for Slowacki, he performed an extraordinary deed, one of which only great poets are capable: on the basis of his doctrine he created splendid poetic works which possess great literary value regardless of the mystic theories applied to them. Krasinski was incapable of either, therefore his poetic production of this period is largely an unsuccessful attempt to harmonize an 'activity' with the eternal and unavoidable demands of poetry. The first signs of the change may be found in a work entitled Trzy mysli pozostale po s.p. Henryku Ligenzie (Three Thoughts Left Behind by the Late Henry Ligenza, 1841), written in three parts: Syn Cienidw (The Son of Shadows), Sen Cezary (The Dream of Caesara), and Legenda (Legend). The first part is a typical example of so-called philosophical poetry. In digest form, and from a special point of view, it presents the history and future of humanity. The second part is a vision of the downfall of Poland, its descent to the grave, and its resurrection. Legend predicts the end of the Church of Peter and the birth of a Church of St. John in a new epoch, an epoch of love or of the Holy Ghost. Krasinski attempts to

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present and to justify similar ideas, with some variations, in a long prose treatise entitled O stanowisku Polski z Bozych i ludzkich wzglçdôw (The Position of Poland with Respect to God and Man), where he writes about the Trinity of God and the trinity of man in time and space. The common ground of this treatise with contemporary intellectual trends is expressed in the so-called adventism, that is, the forecasting of a new era of humanity, an era of the Holy Ghost and of the rule of Divine Law. This work is connected with the Polish émigré trends by its apotheosis of Poland, to which a position of leadership is given in the new epoch. This idea appears even more distinctly in Przedswit (Dawn), a long poem published in 1843. The idea itself is exposed in a prose preface and is characterized by utter simplicity. In outline the poet's reasoning is as follows : the idea of humanity is a composite of the ideas of individual nations. That is why the true and full existence of humanity and its capacity to fulfill its destination depend on the true and full existence of all component nations. The absence of even one nation from this entity takes the effect of wholeness from it, making it incomplete and denying its idea of universality. It is as a harp from which one string is missing, incapable of producing a full, harmonic sound. The premise of Krasinski's theory is the belief that the idea of humanity is ordained by Christ. Ipso facto the nations which make it up are also 'divine.' The destruction of one nation, rendering it incapable of taking part in the general 'chorus' of humanity, is a crime not only against that nation and its right to live, but also against God and the Divine idea of humanity. The partition of Poland, its exclusion from the family of nations, constitutes such a crime and is at the same time a mutilation of humanity itself. But the idea of humanity cannot be destroyed, for it is determined by God. If we accept this basic premise, we reach the absolute certainty that Poland must be resurrected and will occupy its proper place in the family of humanity. The reasoning makes a further step : the place of Poland will be that of a leader, for her death was not her fault, but rather a sacrifice for the sins of the world. Here again, as in the visions of Mickiewicz and Slowacki, the messianic concept of Poland emerges. She went to the grave for three days, but 'on the third day light will come and daytime will last for ever.' Such were the ways of the suffering Polish mind, as it sought escape from despair; such was the consolation of a suffering and humiliated people. This consolation undoubtedly fulfilled its task of maintaining faith in resurrection, but — we must admit — it also poured undesirable convictions into the Polish mind. By attributing an outstanding role in

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the world and a special 'mission' of leadership to Poland, they did much to weaken sober spirit and criticism. In various shapes and shades, they weighed heavily on the Polish intellect for a long time; they continued to appear, especially in moments of national catastrophe, proving that the messianic 'mist' had not been dispelled. As long as these ideas appeared only in poetry or other literary works they could be treated as poetic images or visions, and not subjected to logical discussion. When they were set forth as 'philosophical' treatises, lectures, or exposés, as was the case with Krasinski, Mickiewicz, and even Slowacki, then they of course had to be judged from another point of view and the accuracy of their assertions subjected to scrutiny. Even in poetry, however, they were sometimes presented in such a form that they lost their poetic character and became rhymed treatises. In Dawn Krasinski still tried to avoid this. The poetic illustration of the theories exposed in the preface does not fill the whole poem. There are in it long sections devoted to description of the Alps, and to the ecstatic feelings and moods of the poet and his Beatrice. From the artistic point of view these are doubtless the most valuable parts of Dawn. But there are also numerous explanatory and 'reasoning' elements, as, for instance, the speech of Hetman Czarniecki's ghost, culminating in the words: 'Do not seek guilt in your fathers — that is calumny and blasphemy.' In Krasinski's next work, The Psalms of the Future, the elements usually referred to as poetic — that is, images, descriptions, the implication of feelings and ideas rather than reasoning about them — almost disappear. In their place we find abstractions, rational-logical exposés, and the propagation of slogans and programs. Naturally, these slogans are lofty and noble, and the poem even contains some original formulations. However, all this is done with the help of a language and verse which, on the whole, only externally resembles true poetry. As indicated earlier, Krasinski's place in Polish literary history is assured by The Undivine Comedy, Irydion, parts of Dawn, and a certain number of beautiful lyric poems. The remainder of his work was characteristic of the unfortunate epoch which produced it and ended together with that epoch. What remains, however, is Krasinski's intellect, the character of his spiritual life, the stubborn, almost heroic, efforts to control his instincts by constructive thought; regardless of the results achieved these things not only inspire respect, but they are truly impressive. Krasinski's mind was undoubtedly outstanding, trained in thinking, achieving at times excellent conclusions, such as those in the aforementioned article about Mickiewicz and Slowacki. All of Krasinski's

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writing, including his correspondence, which is still published only in part, is filled with fine characterizations of individual persons and phenomena, historical trends and epochs (for instance, gentry Poland), literary, psychological, and general questions. It reveals the unusual liveliness of his mind and the breadth of his interests, which he satisfied with extensive reading in various domains of human knowledge. In his literary works he gives proof of the ability to conceive of phenomena in broad and universal terms, to present them in synthesis, and to grasp their essential and eternal values. Hence the all-embracing and universal perspectives of his best works. Further, he displays a deep sense of the tragic, an understanding and feeling for inevitable and unsolvable conflicts containing nuclei of destruction or death. He knew how to present and describe such conflicts. His poetic imagination delighted in extreme situations, in which there is neither hope nor solution, and from which his mind sought escape in abstract constructions. Hence his impassioned, exalted language, far from all realism, even 'romantic' realism, operates with abstracts rather than with concrete elements. In this respect it stands in perfect contrast to the style of Mickiewicz and only in appearance resembles that of Slowacki. Both Krasiriski's prose and verse — often without consideration for subject matter — have this character of hidden or open pathos, since it was in that light that he saw the world and its problems. That is also how he became accustomed to look at himself and at his relationship with the world. Even when it seemed to him that he had overcome weakness and done away with internal contradictions through a dogmatic thought, his style remained the same, for the nature of his mental life remained unchanged. But his pathos, utilized in problems other than the conflicts of The Undivine Comedy or Irydion, sounded artificial, sometimes even false, both in his poetic works and in his prose, especially in the latter works which are numerous, but by today quite forgotten. Another trait of Krasiriski's writings must be emphasized, for it links him with the most outstanding men of his time and is related to the best Polish traditions. It is the universality of his concepts, the union of the Polish cause with that of humanity, the rise of the Polish idea to universal heights, and the conception of the new Poland as truly new, spiritually and morally reborn in a new, equally reborn, world. In this light both his 'aristocracy' and 'nobility' and the fear of violent revolutions, which destroy the existing cultural heritage, assume a different, more enlightened and humanitarian, character.

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CYPRJAN NORWID Until recently, popular opinion in Poland recognized only three writers of the Romantic period as being of the first rank, worthy of a place on the poetic Parnassus as great 'seers.' While this discrimination was justified with regard to poets like Goszczyriski, Zaleski, and many others who wrote before and after 1830, it should be revised in the case of Cypijan Norwid (1821-83), who was very little known during his lifetime and later entirely forgotten. It was not until the first quarter of the twentieth century that he was accorded a literary revival — an occurrence very unusual in Polish literature. This revival was due solely to the efforts, enthusiasm, and knowledge of one man, Zenon Przesmycki, poet, editor and critic, who rescued Norwid's work form oblivion. He discovered it in forgotten periodicals, publications, and manuscripts on the shelves of public libraries and in private collections. He published ten times as many of Norwid's works as had been printed during the poet's life, giving Polish critics rich material for the study of a completely unfamiliar literary figure. As a result numerous studies have appeared, particularly by the younger generation of critics, who acknowledge Norwid to be one of Poland's most outstanding and original poets. However, since he is also one of the most difficult, it is not to be expected that he will readily achieve wide popularity. Norwid's life was difficult and sad. His parents died while he was still young, and he was brought up by his grandmother in Warsaw. He began his secondary education there, but left school at an early age to study painting, first in Poland, and later in Florence. From Florence he made excursions throughout Italy, traveled for a time in Germany, and there fell madly in love with Marja Kalergis, an international beauty of Polish origin. In 1847, while living in Rome, he met Krasinski and then Mickiewicz. He joined Mickiewicz's Italian Legion, only to leave it because he was unable to agree with its Set of Principles. Toward the end of 1849 he went to Paris, where he came into contact with Stowacki and Chopin. His financial situation grew steadily worse, and it was largely for this reason that he decided to leave Europe and go to America. He sailed for America in 1852 and there took up drawing and sculpturing for a living; after a short stay he returned to Europe, first to England and then to Paris, where he settled permanently for the last twenty-eight years of his life. Tormented by continuous poverty often bordering on destitution, he devoted himself most productively to painting and poetry. He worked in complete solitude, isolated almost as if in a kind of vacuum,

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having no contact with the émigrés or their organizations. Few people were interested in his work ; he wrote for himself and for posterity. The only volume of his poetry which was published during his life and which contains only a small fragment of his work, passed unnoticed in the world. 15 The same is true of the few prose works which were published separately. He had been able to earn at least some money by drawing, but even this became difficult. In the years 1871-72 he tried in vain to sell, for only 100 francs (!), the (according to contemporary testimony) 'magnificent illustrations' to the Polish medieval poem, Mother of God. In a letter of November, 1872, he wrote: 'I spent two days alone in pain.' In 1877 he was given free care at the Polish asylum of St. Kazimierz in Paris, where he remained until his death. His body was buried in a mass grave in the cemetery of Montmorency in Paris. 'To be a Pole is bitter bread!', Norwid had written in a letter to B. Zaleski. First place among Norwid's rich and many-sided poetic works goes to his lyric poems. Simple lyrics, such as Moja piosnka (My song), are relatively rare. But even in poems of this kind Norwid's typical devices may be found in the crystalization of things and emotions, as, for instance, in the second stanza, where a symbolic 'black thread' becomes an equally symbolic 'book mark,' 'a string' to tie flowers, and reappears on the meadows in 'autumnal weavings.' Pielgrzym (The Pilgrim) requires a deeper reading because of the greater concentration of artistic expression, which cannot be translated, much less paraphrased in prose. The picture of a pilgrim exile, deprived of home and land in the material sense, but proud of extending his soul to the skies ('I dwell in the womb of heaven') and of owning as much land as he can cover in moving forward, is conceived, with an unusual economy, in four expressive and forceful images. This kind of poetic conception is seen in many of Norwid's lyric works. One of his most characteristic poems is Bema pamiqci zalobny rapsod (To the Memory of Bern, A Funeral Rhapsody, written in 1851). It is dedicated to the memory of General Jôzef Bern, a Napoleonic officer, and one of the commanders in the Insurrection of 1830-31, who tried to organize a Polish legion abroad, first in France and then in Portugal. He was the leader of the revolutionary Hungarian army in 1848-9, and later a general in the Turkish army on whose side he wanted to create a Polish military force. According to Norwid, Bern was one of those talented Polish officers who in exile attained the stature of true knights, champions of an idea. It is to this symbol of a knight that the poet pays tribute in the poem. The poem takes the form of a poetic15

Poezje (Leipzig, 1863).

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symbolic vision of the burial of ancient heroes. The armor, sword, torches, wax candles, falcon, war-horse, banners, women in mourning and boys drumming on axes and shields — these images carry us back to the days of Scandinavian heroes. The imagery is changed in the second part of the poem as the funeral procession becomes a symbolic procession of knights (in the meaning explained above) who go out into the world with the body of a hero as their leader, in order to awaken slumbering cities, to revive 'fainting hearts,' and to open the blind eyes of nations. The verse of the poem flows in a hexameter of its own, unequaled in its majestic and evocative rhythm. The language is in harmony with the entire vision, giving images of such force, expressiveness and originality as 'broken hands' on the armor, the horse which lifts its feet up like a 'dancer,' the axes 'grown bluish from sky,' the shield 'red from the lights,' etc. Norwid, with Slowacki and Krasinski, was one of the few contemporaries of Mickiewicz who appreciated his greatness during his lifetime. Norwid honored Mickiewicz in the poem, Cos ty Atenom zrobil (What Have You Done to Athens, 1855). He compares Mickiewicz with great men of other epochs and shows how they were treated by their contemporaries and by posterity. The Greek philosopher, Socrates, was tried for 'corrupting the youth' and forced to poison himself; only long after his death was he offered a monument of gold. Dante Alighieri was expelled from his native Florence; after he was dead Florence forced Ravenna, where his grave lay, to return the poet's body so that he might be buried in his own city. The same happened to Camoens, the Iberian poet, to Kosciuszko, the Polish revolutionary hero, and, according to the poet, to Napoleon: unrecognized and even persecuted during their lives, they were appreciated only by later generations. Norwid sensed intuitively that the same would happen to Mickiewicz, even while he was writing his poem in the year of Mickiewicz's funeral in Paris. He foresaw that only posterity would understand the poet, that 'his grave would be reopened' (which occurred in 1891) and that 'tears of a second grief' would be shed. Norwid felt the genius of Chopin with equal depth and memorialized him in the poem Fortepjan Szopena (The Piano of Chopin, written 1864). He considered Chopin 'our foremost artist,' and in the poem Promethidion (1851) described his art as 'raising the inspirations of simple folk to a power which touches to the core and encompasses all of humanity.' In an obituary on Chopin he wrote: ' H e knew how to gather wild flowers without shedding either their dew or their lightest down.

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And he knew how to transform them with the radiance of art into stars and meteors and comets that shine upon all Europe.' In The Piano of Chopin the same thought is expressed in poetic images and formulations. The beginning of the poem speaks of the artist's 'days before his last' which mark the dawn of a new life. Death will not 'tear asunder' this life, on the contrary, it will 'emphasize it' and give it new meaning. The essence of Chopin's art is described in stanzas IV and V. One essential trait is its simplicity, a simplicity found in artistic perfection that is achieved only on the highest level of art. A second trait is its national quality, symbolized in the image of a country house built of larch wood, into which enters 'ancient virtue'. This is the future, ideal Poland 'taken at the zenith of absolute perfection of its history,' but still the same Poland in spite of every change, still in the Piast tradition of 'transfigured wheelwrights,' rural and agricultural, preserving the traditional features of its national character. The ninth stanza describes an incident based on actual facts. In 1863, at the time of the Insurrection, an attempt was made in Warsaw on the life of the then Russian governor-general of Poland, Count Berg. From the windows of the Zamoyski palace shots were fired at him. The Cossacks were called to the scene; they set fire to the palace and ransacked it. While doing this, the soldiers flung Chopin's piano, which had been kept in the palace, out of the window into the street. In the poem this fact is turned into a stirring symbol. The poet first depicts the Old City of Warsaw, where Chopin was brought up, with the Cathedral of St. John, the 'patrician houses' in the Old Square, and the column of King Sigismund on the Castle Square. Then follows a description of the arrival of the Cossacks, the fire in the building, and at last the vision of sacrilegious hands seizing and hurling to destruction the piano, the symbol of Chopin's art. 'The Ideal fell to the Pavement,' exclaims the poet; the great artist's instrument, which had expressed his inspiration, is destroyed and desecrated. The symbol of Chopin's art shared the fate of so many other symbols and ideas. It is the fate of everything which arouses men from slumber, provokes their anger and their will to destroy what disturbs them. This poem, like the rhapsody about Bern, reveals in its extraordinary force and fullness some basic characteristics of Norwid's poetry: it compresses a universal meaning within particular facts, conceiving them in condensed and crystallized poetic visions so that almost every word opens up limitless perspectives; it creates a new poetic language and a new versification to encompass in them the most immaterial elements.

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Norwid's poetic accomplishment reaches beyond the direct expression of simple things. The reader must work hard to penetrate the essence of Norwid's poetic world, but the labor is rewarding because it affords artistic experiences of a kind rarely offered by Polish poetry. Let us take a few examples of Norwid's ability to transpose material facts on to the level of universal symbols. He tells, for instance, of a Polish exile, Jan Gajewski, who perished in the explosion of a steam engine. This provides Norwid with the occasion for a short poem, Na smierc s.p. Jana Gajewskiego (On the Death of Jan Gajewski, Paris, 1858), in which this man's death symbolizes the spiritual redemption of contemporary materialistic civilization, represented by a steam engine. At the same time it furnishes a symbol of brotherhood between a reborn nobleman and the workers who died with him in the explosion. The following is a summary of one of the stanzas: He did not die for profit. One body composed of many bodies revealed one common face when it was buried on foreign land — a simple laborer with a nobleman, the Son of Sacrifice with the Sons of Opression. Another event used by Norwid was a massacre of Christians which took place in Syria. Hearing about this, the Emir Abdel-Kader, a Moslem, hastened on his own initiative to the aid of the Christians whom he defended for eight days before the European armies arrived. This event inspired Norwid's poem (To Emir Abdel-Kader), which builds up to these lines of great poetic impact and effect in the last two stanzas: And if in the tears of persecuted people, and in the innocent blood of virgins, and in the awakening child, the same God lives, then your tent should be larger than the forests of David because of the three Magi you were the first to mount your horse in time! We see here the same process as in Norwid's other works: particular events or facts are sublimated into universal symbols. The Christian army was late in coming to the rescue of a Christian people, who were defended by a Moslem, a man of chivalrous and humanitarian spirit. The poet compares him to the foreign Magi when they came to Bethlehem, while his deed is expressed in the suggestive metaphor 'you mounted your horse in time.' Every aspect of Norwid's lyricai production reveals fragments of astonishing, unusual, and profound conception. Here, for instance, in

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prose translation is an image of God in Litanja do Najswiqtszej Panny (The Litany to the Most Holy Virgin):

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He who is one and of infinite breadth, so fathomless on all sides of man, so terrible and all eyed that even if the merest eyelid encroached on the abyss of this brightness, it would be easier to stand up, not to fall, to sigh more openly, to beg less fearfully. He then was moved by a great Love, and the miracle of mediation, that miracle of miracles, came true. O most holy Mother of God, pray for us. The Holy Mother's role of mediation is conceived in the following way: Close to prayers through Her feminine personality, close to tolerance because of Her Motherhood, and close to all human longing because of Her purity, She gives help in everything, like a kind woman who looks from above, but glances tearfully, wealthy yet quite simple, weaving much thread from sheep's wool, being great in Her quietness, cooperating in all virtue. O Dearest Mother, pray for us. One of the most beautiful love poems in Polish forms a part of Norwid's A Dorio ad Phrygium. It is impossible to summarize it, because it contains untranslatable images and phrases of purest poetry. Its structure consists of a series of comparisons, interrupted suddenly and left without the corresponding part. In the same poem Norwid displays a true clairvoyance of the Polish countryside. The age-old existence of the country is condensed into eight lines, its very essence, its philosophy, and the biological significance of farming life. These lines are filled with the charm and beauty of the land, its life conceived in terms only of today and tomorrow (the past is simply yesterday, the future no more than tomorrow; all days are alike, occupied by the same toil which admits neither of interruption nor change, or of any dreams about the past and the future). And finally there is its slow, stately, considered rhythm, like that of nature itself, having a fit time for everything and a spiritual balance and calm without haste or feverishness. Among Norwid's longer poetical works we must mention Promethidion. In the introduction we read the poet's artistic credo and a kind of poetic definition of art. This definition has nothing in common with the classical conception of poetry as being both dulce et utile, both 'play and pedagogy.' It comes closer to romantic conceptions, but differs from them in its heavier emphasis on the social element in art. If we translate the poetic images into prose, we obtain the following outline of Norwid's position: in epochs of peace ('calm,' as the poet calls them) art is an 'arc of covenant,' a rainbow which connects the earth with the sky after 'the deluge of

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history.' In times of storms and thunderbolts art cannot act directly, but sets the tone of action, awaiting the moment when conscience is transformed into deed, 'assumes the form and concreteness of marble,' and leads the victors home to decorate with laurels the tombs of those who have fallen. The social element is expressed more forcefully in the following lines which may be considered complementary to the predecing images: And this is how I see the art of future Poland: as a banner atop the tower of human work, not as a plaything or a moral lesson. Promethidion is written entirely in the form of a conversation between several persons on the subject of art, its essence, significance, and its role. The poem thus becomes a discussion on esthetics, and the predominantly discursive tone is emphasized by numerous footnotes and a long epilogue in prose. It is not merely a rhymed treatise, of the type seen in Krasinski, for it is interspersed with magnificent poetic visions. The larger part, however, undoubtedly possesses a didactic character with many obscure and difficult points. This is unfortunately true of many other long poems by Norwid: Quidam (1863), Niewola (Slavery, 1864), Rzecz o wolnosci slowa (Discourse on Freedom of Speech, 1869), of the plays, Cleopatra and Caesar, Krakus (1863), Wanda, and of other works besides. They treat historical, social, philosophical and esthetic problems, frequently all of them together; they often contain very original and profound opinions and beautiful lyrical passages, but they do not form organic unities as works of art. Even the most beautiful individual passages cannot save the whole when it is overburdened with abstract reasoning, arguments, or specific 'philosophical theses' which attempt to prove some truth and thus provoke a logical discussion, which is not the natural reaction to poetry. In one other field of Norwid's art we find individual works which stand on a level with his lyric poems. These are his tales in prose, a specific type of short story which, however, has little in common with the established and traditional character of this genre. One of these works is the tale entitled Ad Leones (written in 1881). Its subject is the relation of the artist to his work, and the reaction of other people to the problem of art. A certain sculptor began a work which represented two Christians, a man and a woman, thrown as prey to the lions (hence the title: Ad Leones', the action takes place during the reign of the Emperor Domitian). They both hold crosses in their hands, while the lion, as though in a trance, lies down at their feet. This detail prompts the author to make some interesting remarks on the relation between material and spiritual elements in a work of art. The hand which holds the cross is a material thing

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which touches a symbol, and this occasions one of the most difficult problems in the plastic arts. For the artist must express this contact in such a way as to lend to the whole a concrete, plastic, and at the same time supernatural expression. The same problem occurs in the treatment of the heads of both figures. The aim is to construct them so that one figure looks towards heaven while the other looks at some material object, and to give to their glances an expression which will bring out this basic difference. Next we see how different spectators react to this problem. Among those watching the sculptor at work in his studio are a young tourist, a singer, and a painter, all of whom have no opinion or pass meaningless comments. A newspaper editor has a purely commercial point of view. He has found a patron who is ready to buy the work; therefore the artist must make his work conform to this patron's taste. The editor suggests that the crosses be removed from the figures' hands, for it is not known what the buyer's faith is. If he is a Jew, for instance, he naturally could not place this piece in his park as it stands. After some hesitation the sculptor agrees to this advice, removes the crosses and, at the suggestion of one of the spectators, puts a key into the woman's hand, after the manner of some Chaldean and Egyptian sculptors. The work thus completely changes its character, but those present console the sculptor, maintaining that, thanks to this change, it has taken on a more universal character. The editor explains to the patron who comes from America, that the idea of the work is as follows: it represents the pathetic image of human life; the man represents the energy of action which gives birth to work, while the woman desires to take part in it. The American has his own ideas about art. To him the mass of clay prepared for the lion appears as a trunk; the feminine figure with the key is a symbol of thrift, while the whole represents Capitalisation. When the sculptor complains about this transformation of Christian martyrs into Capitalism, the editor comforts him, saying that this is just what happens to nearly all our thoughts and feelings: redakeja jest redukejq. (This sentence, which means: 'Editing is simplification,' contains a clever play on two words of similar sound, redakeja = 'editing,' and redukeja = 'reduction, simplification.') In this tale the author condemns vulgar opinions about art, the artist's submission to equally vulgar demands, his betrayal of art for the sake of miserable American money. The work is permeated with a subtle irony and discretion throughout its treatment of the various opinions. The characters are drawn with extraordinary subtlety and assurance. The collection of tales, Czarne Kwiaty (The Black Flowers), reveals

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another remarkable facet of Norwid's talent. Here he attempts to reach the highest possible degree of objectivity, truth, and simplicity in presenting events. Contrary to his usual method, he tries to avoid the traits of a so-called beautiful style, whether in the classical, romantic, or symbolic tradition, and to let the facts speak for themselves. He tries to present them faithfully, without beautifying or ornamenting them. The title of 'Black Flowers' means that these tales are not to be colored or adorned in any way. Naturally, in this simplicity and faithfulness there is also a kind of style, and one of high artistic quality. The facts are not reported crudely, but are suitably chosen and matched so as to appear in a special light. Bur for this, these pieces would be journalistic reports. What we see in them, in fact, are examples of a completely new style in Norwid's writing. The first tale recalls the Roman catacombs. Ampullae are to be found there containing the blood of Christian martyrs. The author is struck by the thought that throughout the history of Christian martyrdom not a single drop of blood was spilled that was not honored by the fraternal prayers of other Christians. This is shown in the care they took to preserve this blood. These Christians were not afraid to shed their blood; on the contrary, they gave it generously, while knowing the high value of every drop. They cherished and husbanded what at the same time they squandered; they were capable of boundless sacrifice and had deep respect for sacrifice, the fraternal solidarity of a people destined for death. Three other tales recall the last days of Chopin, Slowacki, and the poet Stefan Witwicki. Norwid visited all three of them shortly before their death, and was thus in a position to convey to posterity the interesting though sad details of their declining days. Witwicki had a vision before he died, in which he seemed to see all around him in his room innumerable flowers known to him from Poland. But, to his sorrow, he could not remember their names, although he knew them to be very common. This simple scene sums up all the tragic nostalgia of the exile who dies on foreign soil and is visited by a vision of his native flowers, so vivid that he can almost scent their odor, but who suffers because, in the course of so many years of exile, he has come to forget their names. Norwid was impressed by Chopin's unusual beauty, which became even more striking as death approached. In Chopin's gestures, even the most ordinary, there was something majestic and accomplished. In a voice broken by coughing he conversed and even joked with Norwid. In the reminiscence of Slowacki we find many details; his appearance,

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the way he lived in two little rooms on the rue de Ponthieu in Paris, his opinions on various issues. Norwid recalls, for instance, that Slowacki professed great admiration for Krasiriski's Undivine Comedy, but described his Dawn as a childish work. Slowacki fully realized his own physical condition and particularly asked Norwid to visit him again in the course of the following week, because after that he would no longer be alive. 16 Norwid takes his place in the history of Polish literature primarily as one of its most distinguished lyric poets. The few works which have been discussed above give a general, though vague, impression of his poetry. It is unique, original, always seeking an individual mode of expression, and owing little or nothing to the great contemporary writers. One of its fundamental traits, we repeat, is that it renders concrete facts as symbols of universal significance, and does this to a higher degree than can be found in other Polish poets. Another equally rare trait consists in its condensation and fusion of artistic devices, the opening of unexpected and far-reaching perspectives on problems of the highest importance, and the rediscovery of a completely fresh form of expression for even the most ordinary and common feelings. To achieve this intellectual and emotional atmosphere, Norwid created a poetic language capable of operating just as masterfully with abstract as with concrete terms, interchanging them one with another in the most unusual combinations, a language full of neologisms and the strangest etymologies. His poetry is further characterized by the use of meters of such variety as can only be compared with the metrical forms of Slowacki's last works, or with works dating much later in the development of Polish poetry. The intellectual movement in exile was lively and creative. Scholars, literati, political and social leaders who left the country after the failure of the November Insurrection, all tried to continue their work abroad as well as conditions permitted and to publish what they wrote. Among the outstanding scholars one should mention first of all Joachim LELEWEL (1786-1861). His scholarship in the field of Polish historiography was superior to all previous work in its remarkable erudition, breadth of research, and critical sense. Comparatively speaking, Lelewel stands in the same relation to Naruszewicz, as Naruszewicz does earlier to Dlugosz. Lelewel's work marked a great step forward in historical research. He " Other of Norwid's stories of various structure and written at various times are: Menego, Branzoletka (The Bracelet), Tajemrtica lorda Singelworlh (The Mystery of Lord Singelworth), Stygmat (The Stigma).

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included in his investigation an immense amount of Polish and foreign sources critically evaluated; embraced numerous subsidiary disciplines, such as geography, numismatics, genealogy, heraldry, and jurisprudence; gave historical research a solid methodological basis; introduced a new scholarly division of Polish history into epochs, treated it against a large background of comparative history; finally he reached into prehistoric times as well as the contemporary epoch. In addition to special works, valued highly by foreign scholars, he published the more general Dzieje Polski potocznie opowiedziane (History of Poland, Colloquially Related) and Uwagi nad dziejami Polski (Remarks about the History of Poland), which present Polish history from a standpoint entirely different from that previously adopted. The difference lay in the fact that Lelewel took a critical and distrustful attitude towards the principles of monarchy. He openly detested the aristocracy and advocated return to a form of government which he called 'the Slavonic rule of the common people,' and which he believed to be based on republicanism. Lelewel's republicanism, his warm sympathy with the common people, as much as his political activity at home and abroad, earned him the name of'Jacobin' and revolutionary. Having left his country, he was deprived of all his collections and materials, as well as of the use of Polish libraries, but he nevertheless devoted himself to his work on the European middle ages. In Brussels, where he moved in 1832 and resided until his death, he led the life of a true scholar and ascetic, bearing with patience and even with pride his painful poverty, and produced (in French) such works as his Numismatics of the Middle Ages and Geography of the Middle Ages. They gained him entrance into Belgian scholarly societies and won him a lectureship at the University of Brussels. He then published a number of books in Polish, including a collection in twenty volumes of all his works concerning Polish history entitled Poland, Its History and Problems. Maurycy MOCHNACKI, whom we have already discussed as a literary critic and journalist in the years before the Insurrection, took part in the Insurrection, was wounded at the battle of Ostrolçka, and then followed others of his compatriots into exile. He spent the last three years of his brief life (1804-34) abroad writing the history of the recent Insurrection and publishing political articles in the Pamiçtnik Emigracji polskiej (Memoires of the Polish Emigrés). His Powstanie narodu polskiego w latach 1830-1831 (Insurrection of the Polish Nation in the Years 1830 and 1831), which is written in a warm and vivid style and with the passion of an active participant who opposed the official plan of action, remains surely the most interesting and best written eye-witness account of the

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Insurrection. Unfortunately, Mochnacki's work was left unfinished and does not include the 1831 campaign itself. The two principal émigré factions, the democratic and the aristocratic, each had their own publicists who wrote articles, pamphlets, and books. The most distinguished of the democratic writers were Wiktor Heltman, who contributed the larger part of the Manifesto of the Democratic Society and published numerous articles in Demokrata polski (The Polish Democrat), the official organ of the Society; Podczaszyñski ; Alcjato; and Henryk Kamieñski (his pen name was Prawdoski), author of Prawdy zywotne narodu polskiego (Vital Truths of the Polish Nation, 1844) and Katechizm demokratyczny (The Democratic Catechism). In the latter work Kamieñski propounded the democratic doctrine, 'everything for the people and by the people,' in outspoken terms, without compromise or euphemism. These were the pamphlets (threatening, among other things, to annihilate the gentry should they oppose the future liberation of the peasants) which provoked Krasiñski's reply in the first three Psalms of the Future, and which he published under the name of Prawdzicki. 17 The conservative or aristocratic party, headed by Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, had few writers during the first decades of the great exile. The most notable were Karol Sienkiewicz and Karol Hoffman, whose work fell rather in the field of history, where they collected valuable material. Towards the end of the exile the organ of the Hôtel Lambert (Czartoryski's residence), Wiadomosci polskie (Polish News), found two serious collaborators in Juljan Klaczko and Walerjan Kalinka. Klaczko was an interesting figure. He came from uneducated Jewish circles in Wilno, and by his work and talent established himself as a well-known writer, first in Polish and later in French. He was a critic of literature and art as well as a historian and journalist. He displayed his skill and temperament in his journalism, defending the principles of conservatism in Polish News and in separate pamphlets. As for his criticism of art, although his theories about the impossibility of the development of plastic arts in Poland sound rather ridiculous today, his pieces on the Italian Renaissance, Wieczory florenckie (Evenings in Florence), make interesting reading and were highly valued abroad. He wrote on Polish literary questions in both Polish and French, and among his varied work on this subject his article on Krasiñski is particularly worth mentioning; it was published in the Revue des Deux Mondes under the title 'La Poésie polonaise au XIX e siècle et le poète anonyme.' He was a regular contributor to this review, 17

Prawda in Polish means truth.

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and after 1861 began to write exclusively in French. In addition to his Evenings in Florence he also published Études de diplomatie contemporaine, Deux chancelliers (Gorchakov and Bismarck), Rome et la Renaissance, and much besides. Both his Polish and his French are characterized by considerable elegance of style. Kalinka, later the historian of the Four-Year Diet, was a constant and active contributor to Polish News during his stay in Paris, and a close confident of Czartoryski. During the same period he also published a few historical works. Although he wrote with sobriety and was not gifted with as elaborate a style as Klaczko, he was equally courageous, giving strong emphasis to his Catholic convictions. He later joined the Order of the Resurrection. The emergent idea of Polish socialism was represented in exile by Stanislaw Gabrjel WORCELL who had been a deputy to the Kingdom Diet before the Insurrection. In exile he was the leader of the radical organization, Lud polski (The Polish People), made up for the most part of workers and peasants, former soldiers of the 1831 campaign. WorcelPs theories came close to the so-called Utopian socialism, which originated in England and France. After 1840 he collaborated with the Democratic Society and became one of the organizers of Mloda Polska (Young Poland), a democratic revolutionary society which joined with similar societies elsewhere to form 'Young Europe.' The religous-moral trend abroad was represented by Mickiewicz and his magazine The Polish Pilgrim, by Bohdan Jañski and his 'little house' where people of like convictions met, and by the organization called the United Brethren. This group was associated with a similar neo-Catholic movement in France, under the guidance of men like Lamennais (already mentioned in connection with Mickiewicz's Books of Polish Pilgrimage), Montalembert, and Lacordaire. Jariski's 'little house' eventually grew into the new Order of Resurrectionists in Rome, largely as a result of the efforts of Father Piotr Semenenko and Father Hieronim Kajsiewicz, formerly a poet and soldier, but in exile an illustrious preacher. In the period after 1831 we find also a number of writers whose chief study was philosophy. They all remained more or less under the influence of the German philosophers, especially Hegel, Fichte, and Schelling. Józef Kremer from Kraków founded his system on the principles of Hegel; his works on esthetics include Listy z Krakowa (Letters from Kraków) and Podróz do Wloch (Journey to Italy). Karol Libelt, already referred to as one of the spokesmen for the democratic idea in the Pcznañ region, was the author of several valuable treatises: O odwadze cywilnej

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(On Civil Courage), O milosci ojczyzny (On the Love of the Fatherland), and other works of a popular nature but on a high level. He also wrote on philosophy and esthetics. Ferdynand Bronislaw Trentowski was educated in Germany, wrote a great deal in German, and for a time taught philosophy as a docent at the University of Freiburg. August Cieszkowski left behind a large number of works written in German and in opposition to the system of Hegel. The best known of his Polish works is his ethical treatise Ojcze nasz (Our Father), in which the sentences of this prayer become the basis for a whole historical-philosophical system. The mind of Jôzef Hoehne-Wronski, who wrote exclusively in French, followed an original path of its own; he is said to have formulated brilliant concepts in the field of mathematics, and in his treatise Podrome du messianisme he attempted to create his own variation of messianism. Though they are not of major significance in the development of human thought, these philosophic efforts prove that even this field was not barren in Poland; and in these Polish works of philosophy one may find even today many sublime, noble, and original ideas. Publishing thrived in exile. This required, of course, the establishment abroad of Polish presses and book shops. The greatest credit in this regard goes to Eustachy Januszkiewicz, an energetic man who knew his business and possessed good artistic taste, and was the publisher of nearly all the masterpieces of Polish poetry which appeared in exile. The publications which came from his office were characterized by a modest but esthetic appearance. Another well known publisher was Aleksander Jelowicki. Polish books were published not only in Paris, but also in provincial French cities, as well as in England, Belgium, and Switzerland. There were also Polish libraries, made up of private collections, of which the largest was that on the Quai d'Orléans in Paris, which still exists. Several scholarly and literary societies were also active. In 1835 the Committee of Funds for Polish Emigrés, later called the Institution of Honor and Bread, was organized in Paris. Its task was to bring material assistance to the veterans of national insurrections. Attempts were also made to found polytechnic and military schools. Thanks to the princely family of the Czartoryskis, two schools were established : 'The Institute for Ladies,' at the Hôtel Lambert (the residence of the prince), and the Polish School on the Boulevard des Batignolles, which eventually received financial aid from the French government and was granted all the rights of a public school; it acquired its own building and brought up several generations of émigré children. In 1846 the Institute of St. Kazimierz was opened in Paris with a school for children

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and a home for the aged. In addition Paris had a Polish bank, numerous Polish clubs, restaurants, and cafés, which served as meeting places for the émigrés. From this brief survey it can be seen that Polish émigrés were active in every field, leaving everywhere lasting record of their activities. Their achievement is all the greater when it is measured against the adverse conditions, both spiritual and material, under which they were forced to work.

CHAPTER IX

LITERATURE AT HOME AFTER 1831

Polish literature after 1831 possesses, as it were, two aspects; one is represented by the work of émigré writers and the other by the literary movement at home. The latter displays no writer of genius, except Fredro, whose best work, however, belongs to the period before 1836. But literary and intellectual activity did not die out completely, as might have been expected in view of the political condition of the nation. In all three of the occupied areas of Poland a variety of literary, scholarly, and publiccist work was maintained by more or less talented writers. Placing the writings of Aleksander FREDRO (1793-1876) in some definite literary period and within a certain literary environment has always been a source of difficulty for Polish literary historians. The difficult lies mainly in the fact that his work began during the period of Warsaw Classicism (in 1817) and broke off abruptly in 1835, not to be revived until more than ten years later — at a time when classicism had ended for good and romanticism was already declining. But these problems are of a chronological nature. Far more important is the question of the character of Fredro's productions as a playwright. Though they coincided with the classical and romantic epochs, his works cannot be considered typical of either of these trends. Certain traits are present which may be classified as 'classisal,' but there are also others which may, with reservations, be called 'romantic.' 1 The essential nature of his output, however, has very little in common with the distinctly drawn traits of either movement; it stands beyond them as a highly original and autonomous production. Fredro was a descendant of a rich family of magnates who received the title of count under Austrian occupation. He was educated at home 1

On the question of Fredro's 'romanticism' consult the studies of Eugenjusz Kucharski, 'Aleksander Fredro jako romantyk', Pamiçtnik literacki 1906, Nr. 3; 'Geneza 'Zemsty,' Bibljoteka Warszawska, 1909, Nr. 3.

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and did not attend any higher schools. As early as 1809, at the age of sixteen, he entered the Polish Army, serving in the cavalry regiment which was created in Lwow after Galicia was occupied by the army of Prince Jozef Poniatowski in the Franco-Austrian war. He took part in the Napoleonic wars, including the Moscow campaign. In 1814 he spent a few m o n t h s in Paris, where he profited by attending plays in French theaters and acquainting himself with the French dramatic literature. A f t e r returning h o m e he left the army and settled in the country to t a k e care of his landed estate, but without abandoning his active part in public life. This was the period of his development as a playwright. H e began with pseudo-romantic ballads, but soon abandoned them for the comedy which was more suited for his talent. Even in his first works in this genre, in the one-act play Intryga na prqdce (An Intrigue in a H u r r y , 1817) and the three-act comedy Pan Geldhab (Mr. Geldhab, 1819), lie displayed great d r a m a t i c talent. Naturally, the dramatic values in these first comedies did not yet stand on the level of mature art, but they constituted a definite prognosis that a playwright of the first class was in the making, one w h o was to raise this genre, so neglected in Poland, to a high level. Of still greater promise was his next comedy, in 1822, Mqz i zona ( H u s b a n d a n d Wife). It is, by comparison, the best of the Polish comedies written to that time. The plot is rather complex: it presents the love affairs of f o u r persons, two of whom, a man and his wife, are unfaithful to each o t h e r : she with another m a n , he with the c h a m b e r m a i d ; at the same time the other m a n is also enjoying intimate relations with the c h a m b e r m a i d . T h i s erotic contredance was used to full advantage to fill three acts with lively scenes, carefree h u m o r , and hidden satire, with seemingly incredible complications which, however, are psychologically and dramatically justified. M a n y scenes are full of paradoxical and comical situations, as, f o r instance, when the d u p e d husband teaches his wife's lover the art of cheating, or when the chambermaid cleverly flits between her lovers — the husband and the lover of her mistress — and all the characters deceive and dupe one another. O n e could consider this play as a serious satire a b o u t the customs prevailing in certain circles of the gentry (and some satrical elements are undoubtedly there), were it not for the traditions of French comedy obvious in this play. Fredro's play, one may say, intensifies and even anticipates French tradition in this respect, for it was only later that the French comedy reached such subtlety and complications. T h e excellent dialogue is one of the outstanding virtues of this play; it holds the structure together, since the 'action' of the play can only in part t a k e place on the stage.

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Fredro's first plays were followed by others, which by 1835 numbered some twenty. There were a m o n g them works of different character a n d value, some light and unpretentious, such as Damy i huzary (Ladies a n d Hussars, 1826) — which even today entertains the public with excellent h u m a n types and comical situations — and some more carefully worked out, which embrace complicated problems a n d display a greater wealth and variety of dramatic devices, such as Sluby panienskie (Maidens' Vows) and Zemsta (Vengeance). Maidens'1 Vows, written in 1827 but first produced in 1833, is different f r o m Fredro's earlier works. While in the others his m a j o r concern h a d been to create comical and complex situations, in this one he turned his attention toward the spiritual experiences of his heroes, making their psychology and internal evolution the basis of this play. The plot consists of the forcing of two girls, who have vowed never to marry (hence the title of the play), to change their views and decisions radically. The girls are Aniela and K l a r a ; their conqueror, G u s t a w . Unable to conquer Aniela's heart in the ordinary way, that is, by confessing his feelings to her (which he does a bit too prematurely a n d with too much confidence in himself), Gustaw avails himself of a stratagem: he pretends before Aniela that he has suddenly fallen in love with a n o t h e r w o m a n ; he m a k e s Aniela his confidante, confesses to her his ardent affection, which he does quite expressively; he dictates to her a letter destined for the other w o m a n , whom he also calls Aniela. By all these means, as well as by 'the magnetism of the heart,' he succeeds in making her fall in love with him. Along with this plot the a u t h o r introduces another (contrary to the classical rules of unity of action) and weaves it into the first. Gustaw wants to take vengeance on Klara, the chief initiator ot the 'vows,' who influences Aniela to be even more implacable. Klara rejects the love of Albin, a somewhat clumsy and comical y o u n g m a n ; G u s t a w urges him to pretend indifference toward her and to t u r n to Aniela with his pretended affection. Further, he talks Radost, his uncle, into attempting Klara's hand, which — of course — fills her, as well as her girl friend, with awe. Not guessing Gustaw's intrigue behind all this, Klara chooses the lesser of two evils, that is, she consents to m a r r y Albin; thus everything ends well. The atmosphere of this comedy is cheerful, full of humor, charm, a n d subtlety; the characters are distinctly d r a w n and well presented d r a m a t ically; their experiences and spiritual evolutions are artistically justified; the structure of the play is transparent and compact. F a r more complex is the plot, or rather the several plots, of Vengance,

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the masterpiece of F r e d r o and of Polish comedy in general. Here the a u t h o r went even f u r t h e r in the neglect of classical laws as he joined three or f o u r d r a m a t i c plots in a truly masterful way. The structure of Vengeance is indeed one of the most thoroughly thought out and artfully conducted in Polish d r a m a t i c literature.- The first affair is the old quarrel a b o u t the b o u n d a r y wall between the Cup-bearer (czesnik) , 3 Raptusiewicz, 4 a splendid type of an old country nobleman, and the Notary (rejent), Milczek, 5 an equally splendid contrast to the C u p bearer in character a n d disposition as well as in his methods of action. Already in the first act we witness a fight between the servants of the two opponents, which induces the Cup-bearer to challenge the N o t a r y to a duel, while the Notary files a c o u r t petition against the Cup-bearer; his petition is very ingeniously thought out and stylized with the use of all possible judiciary tricks. This matter is connected with another, namely, the matrimonial plans of the Cup-bearer, who, t h o u g h quite advanced in years, is still 'brisk' a n d has an eye on the beautiful estate of the Podstolina. 6 The Notary, with truly infernal malice, tries to thwart these intentions by attempting to match his son, Waclaw, with the Postolina, and protecting himself with marriage-contract, according to which the party who breaks the match must pay the other the sum of 100,000 Polish zlotys. Meanwhile Waclaw is secretly in love with Klara, the Cup-bearer's niece, which results in a new complication a n d at the same time a motif quite familiar in literature, namely, the love b o n d between two young representatives of enemy families. Having f o u n d out a b o u t the N o t a r y ' s plans by his f a c t o t u m , Papkin, the C u p bearer is furious, and his first reaction is to want to organize an armed attack on the Notary's home, but finally he invents a m o r e cruel vengeance. H e has Waclaw kidnapped, and he forces him to m a r r y Klara, not thinking for a moment that he thus satisfies the young ones' most ardent wishes. The ingenious and clever N o t a r y thus finds himself at bay and defeated by his o p p o n e n t ; he must accept his lot. He is consoled by the marriage-contract payment, which, however, will not be paid to him by the Podstolina, but which Klara generously promises to pay herself, which, of course, makes no difference to the Notary. F r o m the above schematic summary we see how these various affairs (and m a n y interesting episodes have been left out) join, overlap, and complicate one a n o t h e r a n d how they are solved. Fredro's mastery is dis1

See Waclaw Borowy, Ze studjdw nad Fredrq (Krakow, 1921). Cup-bearer was at that time only a honorary title held by members of the gentry. 4 The name indicates rage, fury. 4 The name indicates a silent, non-talkative disposition. * Widow of a Podstoli, that is Deputy Pantler, also a honorary title.

3

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played in this method as well as in the w a y each o f these matters goes through its own evolution, at the same time being closely connected with the others which also develop in their o w n directions. T h e spectator or the reader can never be sure what the ultimate result will be, for there are many possible solutions and almost every act leaves all these matters suspended. It is also quite frequent for an action to go in a given direction and then change suddenly, causing new complications and confusions in matters connected with it. A l l this makes the reading o f Vengeance, and especially seeing it performed by outstanding actors, an esthetic delight. Everything in the play maintains the same high level: the vivid, individualized language, which sparkles with all the jewels o f excellent Old Polish, the verse which flows freely, swiftly, and rhythmically and lends forcefulness and charm to current speech; finally the w o n d e r f u l human types, specifically Polish, not at all idealized, splendidly presented, w h o characterize themselves right a w a y in their first utterings and gestures and w h o are maintained uniformly by the author until the end. There are quite a number of other interesting comedies by Fredro, w h i c h cannot be discussed here in detail. Port Jowialski

( M r . Jovial), for

instance, though not too interesting from the point o f view o f dramatic structure, is a veritable mine o f proverbs, little sayings, anecdotes, fables, and jokes, unsurpassed in their kind. Besides w e have here a satirical portrait o f an old nobleman w h o is jovial, g o o d , gentle, kind-hearted, but at the same time strangely not serious, unproductive, carefree, and, in the last analysis, soulless, as is also that w h o l e life which surrounds him in a quiet nobleman's home, cut off from the world. It need not be added that these traits o f the c o m e d y d o not m a k e up for its structural deficiencies, for the aim o f this literary genre can not be, o f course, a simple accumulation o f anecdotes an jokes, nor even the excellent characterization o f the title character. Another comedy, Dozywocie

(Life Annuity), has

as its basis an original idea o f selling his life annuity by a y o u n g squanderer, L e o n Birbancki, to the usurer, L a t k a . T h e latter is most interested, o f course, that the y o u n g man should not ruin his health by revelry and that he should live as long as possible. He, therefore, persecutes him with excessive care, which brings about very comical scenes. The main interest and

purpose

of

the author

is centered on the usurer; he tries to

characterize him from the largest number o f points of view possible, and, for that purpose, creates situations which m a k e such a characterization plausible. W e can, therefore, justly call this play a c o m e d y o f character, modelled on many similar comedies by Molière. T h e action — which is played around the matrimonial intentions o f L a t k a and Birbancki

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toward the same woman, Rose, and the latter's victory — does not possess any major significance. The reason for Fredro's silence after 1835 was Goszczynski's article, 'Nowa epoka poezji polskiej' (The New Epoch of Polish Poetry), in which he called Fredro's works 'non-national' and full of the absurdities of pseudoclassical comedies. This bizarre judgment may be understood only if we take into account Goszczynski's violent, but immature, mentality as well as his special conception of both nationalism and poetry. He could not possibly have expected that with such an irresponsible opinion he would dry the pen of one of the finest Polish writers. On the other hand, Fredro's sensitivity, which was offended not only by this one unjust evaluation, is not quite understandable. The break in his production lasted about nineteen years,7 and when he returned to writing he offered interesting and valuable works, Pan Benet (Mr. Benet), Wielki czlowiek do malych interesów (A Big Man Doing Little Business), but they did not live up to the comedies of his first creative period. Fredro was not only a great poet, but also an excellent prose writer. This is revealed in his memoirs published posthumously under the tittle Trzy po trzy (Topsy Turvy Talk), written in the Laurence Sterne manner, showing his intellectual superiority, his ironic attitude toward men and things, a subtle sense of observation, discreet humor and brilliant narrative style. The research done by Polish literary historians (see Bibliography) has established the chief connections and affinities between Fredro's plays and the Western European comedy. As every great writer, Fredro took advantage of the age-old tradition of this comedy, especially of Molière and Goldoni; reminiscences of other French comedy writers have also been found. But these were only tools which Fredro used quite independently, which he adapted to his own artistic aims, creating entirely original Polish works which at the same time possess universal significance. Outside Fredro's work there is not much poetry of value, even where the standard is not measured by comparison with the émigré poets. The most distinguished among the poets at home was Kornel UJEJSKI ( 1 8 2 3 - 9 7 ) , who came from Galician Podolia and spent most of his life near Lwów. He owed his popularity in Galician society to his patriotic poems, like Maraton, in which the deadly fight between the ancient Greeks and the Persians is seen only as a pretext for ardent patriotic invocations and '

See E. Kucharski, Chronologja komedyj Fredry (Kraków, 1920).

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apostrophes, or his chorale Zdymem pozarów (With the Smoke of Fires), written after the Galician massacre of 1846.8 This poem soon became the national anthem, at least in Polish territory under Austrian rule. Combining partiotic strains with a biblical style, Ujejski wrote a cycle of poems, entitled Skargi Jeremiego (The Laments of Jeremiah, 1 8 4 7 ) , which are closely connected in their ideology with the messianic poetry of the émigrés, especially of Krasinski. This theme, though inherently lofty and noble, tended to become somewhat primitive in its expression; and it was rarely treated with sufficient originality for it to add much of importance to the store of Polish poetry. Slowacki, who met Ujejski in Paris, described his creativeness justly in the poem, 'Do Kornela Ujejskiego' (To Kornel Ujejski), which depicts him as a 'sheep,' who complains about the pains and suffering of the fatherland in sad and frail tones. This figure was not meant offensively, but rather as an expression of sympathy for 'a younger brother* in poetry, who, inspired by warm and lofty feelings, could not develop a stronger voice. Nevertheless, Ujejski's poetry possesses a certain historical significance during a period of considerable poetic stagnation at home. The Galician poet second in popularity was Wincenty POL ( 1 8 0 7 - 7 2 ) . Though he struck a different chord from Ujejski, he expressed something equally dear to the Polish heart. In his Piesni Janusza (Songs of Janusz), published in 1835, he described people and episodes from the last insurrection in a plain and unsophisticated manner which provided a simple patriotic literature for even uneducated readers. These poems have the charm, directness, and gusto of military songs, their simple and sturdy 'philosophy,' their optimism and faith. ('Beautiful is All This Land of Poland,' and 'The Cannons Are Pounding at Stoczek' are the titles of two of his most popular songs.) These qualities even earned the approval of Mickiewicz. Later when Pol tried to write in a more elaborate and sophisticated style, assuming the pose of a historian philosopher and apologist of the old-fashioned gentry, he revealed the weakness of his poetry and the crudeness of his poetic devices, not to speak of his unusually narrow outlook. Mohort ( 1 8 5 5 ) represents the best of his later work; it is a rhymed tale about a Polish knight from the Ukraine during the last epoch of the Republic. Teofil LENARTOWICZ ( 1 8 2 2 - 9 3 ) , native of Masovia, has lived in Polish literature as the poet of the Masovian countryside and people. Such 8 The massacre of the Polish gentry by the peasants was instigated by the Austrian government which in this way wished to paralyze preparations for an armed insurrection.

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poems as ' D u c h sieroty' (The O r p h a n ' s Spirit), 'Jak to na Mazowszu' (That's H o w It Is in Masovia), ' K a l i n a ' (The Guelder Rose), ' D o mego grajka' (To M y Musician), ' D u m k a wygnanca' (The Ballad of the Exile), and especially 'Zloty k u b e k ' (The Golden Cup) are at a much higher poetic level than similar works by Pol or J. B. Zaleski. His simplicity, however, often verges on the primitive (on what Norwid would have called 'vulgarity'), where peasant inspiration has not been given universal appeal. But within this limited scope Lenartowicz's pieces are not only pleasant and charming, but frequently possess poetic merit. Unfortunately, like so m a n y others, Lenartowicz ventured beyond the domain proper to his talent. T h a t is why his larger works, those f o r instance which treat historical subjects such as Ze starych zbroic (The Old Armours), add nothing to his poetic achievement. Ludwik KONDRATOWICZ (pen n a m e : Wladyslaw Syrokomla, 1823-63) was also a kind of local lyrist, only his lyre was heard in a different part of the country, namely in Lithuania. His instrument was of modest dimensions with few strings, and only a little of what he played on it deserves the name of poetry. He specialized in rhymed gawqdas (pronounced gahvenda, a specifically Polish f o r m of the oral tale in informal, conversational style structurally reminiscent of the Russian skaz) a genre created by Henryk Rzewuski, 9 which was later to be popular a m o n g some of the ' h o m e ' poets and prose writers. The very n a m e of gawqda points to something very simple and unpretentious, in the homely m o o d of a fireside chat, a f o r m which requires no more than a little narrative talent, a touch of elementary h u m o r , an occasional sentimental tear, and a few patriotic slogans. Such were also Syrokomla's gawqdas, t h o u g h his intellectual horizons were wider than those of Pol. Syrokomla was aware of deeper problems, a n d for his time he showed progressive, democratic convictions a n d an intense sensitivity to the hard conditions of the rural population. But all these feelings and convictions could not m a k e up for shortcomings in talent; and the fatal necessity of having to support himself a n d his family by writing drove him to create ten volumes of poetic works alone, not counting his prose. His most f a m o u s a n d popular poem, Urodzony Jan Dqborog (The Nobleman Jan D?borog), and similar gawqdas d o by n o means belong to his best; relative value can be f o u n d rather in smaller tales, like Lalka (The Doll), a bitter satire against the i n h u m a n treatment of peasants, or Kqs chleba (A Piece of Bread), the story of a p o o r land tenant, a n d in a few lyric poems filled with the sadness of the poet's hard life. • See below, p. 332.

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A poet of considerable promise was Ryszard BERWINSKI (1819-79), a man who, unlike his colleagues, had a higher education (he came from the Poznan region and was educated at German universities), courage and independence of thought, and a critical attitude towards his own society. He held sharp, uncompromising views of a revolutionary, democratic nature, and condemned the vague messianic hopes of the émigrés. Proof of his talent, literary culture, biting wit, and irony is found in his Don Juan poznahski (Don Juan of Poznan), a poem modeled on Byron's Don Juan and Slowacki's Beniowski. It is full of explosive outbursts, polemical attacks, and lyrical confessions. Although he was not a thorough-going romantic, Berwinski inclined to live a life of poetry rather than confine himself to achievement on paper. Having gone to Galicia in 1845 on a political mission, he was caught by the Austrian authorities and imprisoned for a year. He was later captured by the Prussians and kept in prison for two years. Such was the penalty for his part in the revolutionary movement. He was set free by the revolution of 1848 and started his legal political work. He was elected a Polish deputy to the Prussian parliament, but when the Crimean war began he went to Turkey in order to organize with Mickiewicz a Polish armed force. He became a Turkish officer, but after the war the Prussian authorities refused to let him return home. He remained in Constantinople where, in a state of destitution, he worked on Slavic folk poetry. He was still engaged on this work when he died, lonely and forgotten. Karol BRZOZOWSKI (1821-1904) was the author of very beautiful lyric poems, which were superior to the average poetic production in Poland at this time. He was also a wanderer, spent much time in Turkey and Syria, and only towards the end of his life settled in Lwôw. Some of his lyric poems reach a high degree of direct and forceful expression, and, if the depressing sterility of his environment is taken into account, they may be considered beside the works of outstanding Polish poets. Unfortunately, Brzozowski's lyrics are few in number, and his longer works are of inferior quality. The youngest of this group of poets, and the youngest to die, was Mieczyslaw ROMANOWSKI (1834-63). He was the author of the tale in verse, Dziewczç z Sqcza (The Girl from Sqcz), of which probably the only original trait was the setting amongst the burghers of the seventeenth century. Romanowski also wrote a number of lyrical works which in places display some individuality of style. Posterity remembers him not so much as a poet, but rather as a fighter for freedom; he died in the January Insurrection, in April, 1863 at the age of twenty nine.

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Of the other poets who were writing at home during these years, one should at least mention Leonard Sowinski and Gustaw Zielinski, for they both made a small contribution to the common stock of poetry, which, within Poland itself, was none too rich. The political condition of the country, the neutral tenor of its life which was cut off from the historical development of the time, the isolation which was relieved only by rumors of émigré activity abroad — these were circumstances unfavorable to poetry, and their negative influence can be seen in the poetry of the period. Though there were writers of undoubted talent, their work has generally a narrow, one may say, provincial character. This judgment does not concern the ideas which appear in their poems, for these ideas were frequently the same as those expressed by the émigré writers, but rather the colorless, insipid quality of the poetry itself, which seems to reflect the character of life at that gloomy time. This indeterminate mode of poetic expression does not imply dullness of mood, which was frequently gay, as in Pol, or dramatic, as in Ujejski. Something was missing in all these poets — a suitable atmosphere, a good poetic school, and intellectual culture, or perhaps all these things together. At all events their potentiality was exhausted in a few works that display their talent, and whatever they attempted further is of rather poor standard. In the novel the situation is far better, owing primarily to the work of three novelists: Rzewuski, Kraszewski, and Korzeniowski. Henryk RZEWUSKI (1791-1866) was unique in a way which could only have occurred within the strange circumstances prevailing in Poland at this time, where the lack of a normal national and social life, the isolation from Western Europe, the still vivid traditions of the old-fashioned gentry, and the influence of Russia were likely to produce strange mentalities. The character of Rzewuski was a fusion, or rather a confusion, of conflicting elements. He was a descendant of a wealthy and influential family, owning large estates in Volynia, and was educated unsystematically and superficially, although he apparently studied in St. Petersburg and Paris. He travelled widely, according to the habits of his class. He met Mickiewicz both in Odessa and in Rome, and it is said that Mickiewicz encouraged him to write, but Rzewuski derived little moral benefit from his acquaintance with the poet. While he was still in Rome in 1830, he began to write gawçdas dealing with the life of the gentry, which, published later as Pamiqtki lmc Pana Seweryna Soplicy (The Memoirs of Mr. Seweryn Soplica), laid the foundation of his fame. He wrote them casuallly, as it were, for his own entertainment, with no thought of their publication, and the first edition of The Memoirs was published in Paris (1839) without

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his knowledge. After returning home he settled on his property in Volynia and began his career as a journalist. He contributed articles to the reactionary and pro-Russian Tygodnik petersburski (Petersburg Weekly), and in 1841 he published a collection of articles and treatises intitled Miqszaniny obyczajowe Jarosza Bejly (Miscellanea of Jarosz Bejla). In them he wrote on every topic, historical, philosophical, social, political, literary, domestic, and moral. His attitude toward all these issues is difficult to define, because essentially he had no attitude at all, no definite conviction or belief. Hence his Miscellanea is truly a mixture of different, often contradictory opinions which lack coordination and logical connection. On the other hand, this confused conglomeration exhibits certain constant features, such as love and veneration for everything that in upper class Poland represented backwardness, ignorance, intolerance, bigotry, pride of class allegiance, anarchy, and disdain for the lower classes. This is naturally accompanied by hatred of those elements in Poland which fought for enlightenment, European culture, an orderly state, progress, and democracy. Rzewuski was sincere and never hesitated to use the most offensive tones when discussing the work of the Four-Year-Diet, the Constitution of the Third of May, political writers and leaders and the reforms of the Stanislavian epoch. From Rzewuski's love of Old Poland he might be expected to have desired its resurrection in the form it had once enjoyed during the blessed Saxonian era. Nothing like that! With his characteristic lack of consistency and logic he advocated something quite different. He stated bluntly that, just as in nature 'resurrections' are impossible and only tranformations take place, so nations (states) once 'dead' cannot be reborn, butcan only pass into another national organism if life is to go on. For Poland this theory meant renouncing freedom and independence and merging with the Russian nation and state. It seems that Rzewuski believed (if he believed anything) that merging with Russia would not prevent the cultivation of the Polish language, literature, learning, and education (of course, in the spirit of the Saxonian epoch); nor would it prevent the preservation of Polish tradition, again understood in a special sense. Rzewuski expressed these and similar ideas in other writings and at the same time tried to carry them out in life. He entered Russian government service as an employee for special duties under Paskevitch, the governor general in Warsaw. Aware of the importance of his post, but also aware of the excellence of his ancestry and his strangely conceived Polonism so closely allied to Russophilism, he even thought up an original uniform for himself which symbolized his intellectual 'mixture,' for it was composed

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of a Polish fourcornered cap, an official's overcoat, and general's trousers. This eccentric was, however, a remarkable and talented writer. In The Memoirs of Mr. Seweryn Soplica, the Cup-bearer of Parnawa he created a specific type of tale, known as gawqda.10 This literary genre has a very loose and casual structure, characteristic of the impromptu fancy and memory of a lively talker, who wishes to entertain his companions. Each of these tales is composed of a series of episodic anecdotes, which deal with one or a number of persons and describe the life of the eighteenth-century Polish gentry. The narrator is a fictional character, Seweryn Soplica, and everything is presented from his point of view. This lends the whole a certain unity of tone. Soplica is a pleasant causeur who narrates vividly and colorfully in the authentic language of his time; he is slightly above his environment, which permits him to use a very delicate, hardly noticeable irony. He is very well acquainted with the kind of life he describes and loves its vividness and vitality; he pays no attention to any of its dark aspects. Hence, a very picturesque representation of that former life emerges from his tales. That this representation is not, in fact, very edifying need scarcely surprise us, but in this work — Rzewuski's first — he avoided outspoken idealization. He avoided it, at least to a considerable extent, by putting the tales into the mouth of a typical representative of the period. Owing to his distinctive narrative talent, The Memoirs of Soplica are not only the first, but also the finest examples of this literary genre. His followers, both in prose (for instance, Ignacy Chodzko), as well as those who transposed the gawqda into verse (Pol and Syrokomla) seldom attained the same degree of literary accomplishment. Rzewuski's next work was his long historical novel, entitled Listopad (November, 1845-46). The historical background is the same as that of the Memoirs, while its central event is the Bar Confederacy. 11 The structure of the novel is based on a contrast between the two worlds into which Polish society was divided during the Stanislavian era: the old Polish, Sarmatian world, and the new one, created under the influence of French culture. No other literary work has captured this contrast with so much understanding or presented it with so much breadth while maintaining such artistic balance as we find in November. Of course the novel is written in the fashion of the day, that is, it is filled with the genealogies of the heroes, direct characterizations from the author, long descriptions and dialogues; the action moves slowly, sometimes lazily, lacking concentration or dramatic tension. But November is a good novel of the kind 10 11

See above, p. 328. See above, the Stanislavian Period, pp. 133, 137.

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popular in its day throughout Europe, and represents an important development in Polish fiction. The plot concerns the struggle between the two brothers Strawinski, representatives of these two worlds, over a girl who is to be married to one of them; it has no essential connection with the historical action against which it is set and which involves the kidnapping of the king by the Confederates. But the value of the novel lies not so much in the manner of presenting the plot as in the excellent characterization of both the principal and the secondary figures, and in the wealth and variety of scenes of contemporary life, drawn with historical accuracy and understanding. Here, as in The Memoirs, Rzewuski's artistic sense truimphed over his political theory, for he treated the two enemy worlds primarily as literary rather than journalistic or polemical material. He did not forsake his political views, however, but expressed them openly in numerous and extensive footnotes which have no connection with the novel itself. They constantly interrupt the reader's attention by referring, from a completely different point of view, to matters which occur in the novel. The history of Rzewuski's later writing, noticeable in the sequence of several more novels, is unfortunately one of gradual decline from the standard of literary accomplishment which he attained in his Memoirs and in November. Jozef Ignacy KRASZEWSKI ( 1 8 1 2 - 8 7 ) is one of the most prolific Polish writers. His career as a writer continued for over half a century and was devoted largely to fiction of all types; but he also wrote works of history, literary criticism, and political journalism, besides being ceaselessly active as an editor and publisher. His achievement is indeed phenomenal; having begun early (at the age of twenty four he was already the author of sixteen novels of varying length), his productivity increased with every year and did not weaken even in old age. His work finally reached the almost incredible dimensions of about 600 volumes, and approximately half of these are novels. Kraszewski combined an unusually receptive mind, impulsiveness, and ingenuity with a prodigious ease and speed of writing and a great capacity for sustained hard work. Thus for instance between the years 1860 and 1872 he wrote thirty six novels and four comedies, and between 1873 and 1882 he wrote ninety novels. There were periods during which he also undertook energetic social work (as for instance during his stay in ¿ytomierz when he was school curator, president of the gentry club, director of a philantropic society, and director of the theater) or journalism (as during his stay in Warsaw). His life was extremely eventful, strenuous, and enterprising.

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Kraszewski was born in Warsaw and educated at the University of Wilno, where, in addition to his studies, he read with enthusiasm the works of Jean Paul (Johann Paul Richter), Hoffmann, Washington Irving, Stendhal, and Balzac, and the mystery novels of Paul de Kock. The various influences of all these writers can be felt in not only his youthful but also his later writing. After finishing his studies he spent some time at his parents' home and then leased farms in Volynia. He came in contact with Henryk Rzewuski and Michal Grabowski and contributed to their publication, The Petersburg Weekly, after which he founded his own Athenaeum, a periodical with a moderately conservative policy. In 1859 he moved to Warsaw, where he became chief editor of Gazeta codzienna (The Daily Gazette) and turned it into a widely read and influential newspaper. It did not, however, follow entirely the political principles laid down by Wielopolski, 12 the vice roy of the Congress Kingdom, who opposed all armed resistance. As a consequence Kraszewski had to withdraw and leave Warsaw at the beginning of 1863. He then went to Dresden where he lived almost until the end of his life, devoting himself to novel writing and to his historical, journalistic, and publishing work. In spite of his prolificacy as a novelist — perhaps just because of it — Kraszewski did not create on Polish soil any original form of fiction, but gave in the framework of both traditional and modern genres works of permanent value. At the time when he was writing there began in the West a trend in fiction which may be called 'pre-realism' — a movement represented by writers such as Stendhal and Balzac in France and Dickens and Thackeray in England. In his finest contemporary novels Kraszewski reproduced this kind of pre-realism in Poland. In general terms this movement may be described as follows: it was a reaction against the sentimental and 'gothic' novel which had found exponents also in Poland, 13 and which in France flourished in the works of George Sand and, to some extent, Victor Hugo. The new novelists rejected their problems and literary devices and began to pay more attention to what is called the real, concrete world, which alone was to furnish them with the material for fiction. If the pre-realists had stopped there, however, they would not have created a new genre in fiction, but only represented new characters and different environment by means of old literary devices. The more important change affected the way in which they conceived and represented this new material. So they stressed careful observation of environment and conditions of a character's existence, they showed preference 11

"

See below. Positivism and Realism, p. 347. See above, Pre-romanticism, pp. 211-12.

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for details (similar to those in epic poetry), even to the ordinary and 'prosaic' ones, that is, they gave detailed descriptions of buildings, homes, clothes, habits, appearance, etc. These traits were accompanied by a more careful psychological characterization

of the heroes, extensive

and

intensive 'psychological analyses' which attempted to explain and justify behavior, in general by trying to present characters 'fully,' clearly, and in a way which would be understandable to everyone. The consciousness of both writers and readers is gradually penetrated by the conviction that if the novel is to be 'a mirror of life,' it must be placed closer to that life; fictional characters and their problems must be considered in the exact circumstances of actual experience, as this is known to everyone and can be verified by all. In short, the novel must be 'truer,' must present authentic characters whom anyone might meet and whose problems might also be our problems. These characters must also live, feel, think, and express their feelings and thougts in a 'realistic' manner and a familiar idiom. The pre-realists therefore began to pay more attention to language and diction, which they suited to the different characters, their personalities, social class, education, and breeding. They also tried to give to conversations and dialogues a more natural character. The structure of the novel also began to change. It became then more important to present the motivation of events and incidents, to maintain an interesting plot, and by various means to hold the reader's attention in suspense. Naturally these new devices cannot all be found in each of the contemporary writers in equal proportion or character.

In some writers one

device outweighs others; in some we find more of the old traditional techniques of fiction, while in others less. But in general it may be said that the devices enumerated above are the essential characteristics of pre-realism in the novel. Kraszewski's novels, based on life in contemporary Poland, are written largely in the new style. H e differs from his predecessors, such as Niemcewicz, the Princess of Wittemberg, Bernatowicz, and Kropinski in his marked pre-realist tendencies. He gives many detailed descriptions of environment and long genealogies of the fictional heroes, he introduces a number of plots, not always coordinated, into one work, and he includes extensive episodes and a crowd of minor characters, which cannot always be justified by the needs of structure. As a result his novels are usually of great length; the action, deprived of forceful dramatic elements, moves slowly, even where the subject itself would seem to claim greater concentration. Kraszewski shares one further characteristic with West-European writers: he often introduces into the novel, in his role as author,

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observations and comments of his own on characters and events. This is a vestige of an older technique of fiction which has been preserved in various forms in the European novel until recent times. Kraszewski's style flows smoothly and easily; it is never bad, but it lacks originality and inventiveness. He frequently drops into the conversational language of the educated classes in his day, which gives to his writing a colorless quality, as though he were simply reporting rather than creating, and he inclines to redundancy. Both the style and the structure of his novels betray his too great facility and speed of writing; his almost feverish output stood in the way of any profound conception or careful construction. A large number of his novels are interesting today only for their historical and cultural significance. But this significance should not be underestimated, since Kraszewski touched upon so many problems of the time; he reflected many sides of the social and cultural life of the country, and he not only provided the reading public with good 'literature,' but influenced a wide circle of readers, educating them in Polish history and in observation of contemporary existence. Among Kraszewski's novels we may distinguish certain groups which share a common character and style. So we have 'peasant' novels that deal with the life of the Ukrainian peasants in Volynia. To this group belong novels, very popular in their time, like Ulana (1843), the story of a peasant girl seduced by her young master, which ends in the girl's suicide after the young man's marriage; Ostap Bondarczuk (1847), which typifies the proud, class-conscious peasant who knows his worth; Chata za wsiq (The Hut Beyond the Village, 1854), a story of gypsy life, in which the subject is treated much more fully than in the attempts at this theme made by Kniaznin. The problem of the relationship of the individual, and particularly of the poet-artist, to society is treated in such novels as Poeta i swiat (The Poet and the World, 1839), and Powiesc bez tytulu (A Novel Without a Title, 1855); the latter is the more mature work, but, like its predecessor, it fails to throw any original light on this eternal problem. The novels about the life of the landed gentry and the aristocracy are particularly interesting. Morituri (1874) is one of the best, the story of the gradual but inevitable decline of an aristocratic family. The hopelessness of this family's existence, which is an anachronism in the changed conditions and circumstances of society, is vividly and boldly presented against the background of an intriguing plot. The most remarkable figure is a Balzac-type of character, a usurer who devotes his life to ruining the aristocrats for whom he has a personal hatred as the result of humiliation he suffered from them in his youth. A number of

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Kraszewski's novels treat the insurrection movement of the years 1861-63, such as Dzieciq Starego Miasta (The Child of the Old City), Szpieg (The Spy), and Moskal (The Muscovite). They are not among Kraszewski's better works, not so much because of his vacillatory attitude toward armed rebellion (which in some novels he treats with sympathy, and in others with recrimination) as because of his superficial and hurried treatment of the material. Kraszewski's trip to the West and to Italy occasioned two novels inspired by the history of ancient Rome: Kaprea i Roma (Caprea and Roma 1860) and Rzym za Nerona, (Rome under Nero, 1866). The latter especially is based on a close historical study, and it presents more profoundly and from more points of view, though with less talent, the same period which Sienkiewicz was later to describe in Quo Vadis. A veritable literary tour de force was contained in Kraszewski's idea of presenting the history of Poland, from its origin, in a cycle of historical novels. This idea was carried out over a period of ten years, during which Kraszewski wrote twenty eight novels in seventy six volumes. The first novel of the cycle, Stara Bash (An Ancient Tale, 1876), depicts prehistoric times on the basis of a hypothetical analogy with what is known about the life of the Slavs in general at that time. Before writing this novel the author studied all the available material on the subject. He based his plot on two main themes, the struggle between the 'farmers' and the 'prince,' and a love story. He gave the work the character of a fairy tale, emphasizing it with a slightly poeticized and rhythmicized language, and including various legends and myths, among others, the one about Piast. This first novel is in the nature of an introduction to the subsequent volumes which trace the history of the Piast and Jagiellonian dynasties, and the succession of elected kings until the eighteenth century. Some of his earlier novels on the Saxonian era constitute a supplement of this cycle. These are perhaps Kraszewski's finest historical novels, and they include Hrabina Cosel (The Countess Cosel, 1874), Brtihl (1875), and others. With the exception of the Saxonian novels and some parts of An Ancient Tale this cycle does not possess any great artistic value, although occasional passages or even volumes are of interest. It is, however, a fictional course in Polish history unique of its kind, written by a good scholar of history. The cycle is written in a light, interesting vein, with attention given to both political events and to the social and cultural background. Not only Kraszewski's own but also many later generations have studied Polish history in these novels, or at least used them to supplement the historical knowledge derived from textbooks.

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Kraszewski was a publicist all his life, but he never maintained any consistent convictions or even very precise opinion. He easily succumbed to various influences and was likely to alter his position; he lacked the courage necessary to oppose public opinion very sharply, though he never accepted it without reservations. Hence his hesitations and compromising attitudes, in spite of his good will to serve society in the cause of progress. The best proof of his uncertainty is seen in his relation to the reactionary group associated with The Petersburg Weekly and in his attitude toward the Insurrection of 1863. For a time he seemed to share the policy of the Weekly, to which he contributed articles in a conservative, Sarmatian spirit. His own magazine, Athenaeum, maintained a similar, though more moderate, policy, which he changed around 1850, though without forming any more precise political views. His still undetermined attitude comes out with regard to Wielopolski's policy and the policy of its opponents, which finally provoked the outbreak of the Insurrection. In The Daily Gazette he tried to preserve a middle-of-the-road position in order not to arouse popular feeling, but at the same time he did not subscribe to Wielopolski's policy and did not oppose an effective alternative to the two extreme positions neither of which he accepted. All this points to the fact that his vocation was not that of a political leader or publicist. On the other hand, one may find in his collections of articles, as for instance, in the Rachunki (Accounts) published in Dresden (1866-69), many bold and interesting statements. At an earlier period he had advocated granting land to the peasants, even at the cost of great material sacrifices; and he advised giving the peasants full rights of citizenship. In the history of literature, and of the Polish novel in particular, Kraszewski will be remembered as the writer who gave new life to the genre, greatly enriched its stock, and provided a sound pabulum for thousands of readers of the educated circles. Thus Kraszewski's work indirectly educated society, being like that 'mirror' of which Shakespeare speaks, wherein society could look at itself and its problems. This mirror was faithful on the whole, its image was not distorted by doctrine. The émigré messianism and mysticism had almost no influence on Kraszewski; one rarely finds in his work any trace of the theories held by Rzewuski and his friends. On the whole Kraszewski did not submit his creativeness to any theory. He was true to his nature in literary creation, more uniform and clear in his artistic attitude than in his political activity. The third outstanding Polish novelist was Jôzef KORZENIOWSKI (17971863). He came from the territory of Galicia, was educated at the Lyceum of Krzemieniec, and then spent some time in Warsaw, first in the capacity

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of tutor to the young Zygmunt Krasinski and later as an employee of the Zamoyski Library. In 1823 he took over Feliriski's chair of rhetoric and poetry at the Lyceum of Krzemieniec; when this school was closed, he lectured at the Lyceum of Kiev and later became principal of the Gymnasium in Kharkov. After 1846 he was again in Warsaw, occupying successively the posts of principal at a Gymnasuim, school inspector, and finally chairman of the Department of Education. Korzeniowski began his literary career as a dramatist and wrote a large variety of plays in different styles. He imitated the manner of Shakespeare and Schiller, producing both historical and contemporary dramas, comedies, and plays based on folklore. The plays in the two latter groups are his most popular and those most frequently performed on the Polish stage. Karpaccy gdrale (The Carpathian Mountaineers, 1843) is a grim drama of a young Hutsul (Ukrainian mountaineer) who is drafted into the Austrian army, but, consumed by a longing for his mother and his fiancee, he deserts and becomes the leader of a group of brigands; he is finally caught and condemned to death. Mqjster i czeladnik (The Master and the Apprentice, 1845) is a simple, unpretentious play with excellent characterization of the drunken master. Korzeniowski's more serious comedies of manners include Panna mqzatka (The Married Maiden, 1845, until recently still performed on the Polish stage), which is distinguished by its compact structure, its intriguing plot, and vivid characterization of the protagonists; and ¿ydzi (The Jews, 1843), in which the author boldly confronts an honest Jewish banker, Aron Leve, with a whole crowd of vulgar embezzlers, cheats, and usurers of aristocratic or gentle origin. One of them ruins his wife's and his foster-child's fortunes, and practices extraordinary deceptions in the buying and selling of horses; another, called 'The President,' borrows small sums from the gentry at 4 and 5 percent interest and lends it at 10 to 15 percent. They are, according to the formulation of one of the characters in the comedy, the real Jews — that is, they possess those traits which tradition and immovable prejudice have attributed to the Jews, while Aron Leve is an honest man with deeper feelings. Korzeniowski's novels are more significant than his plays, especially Spekulant (The Speculator, 1846) and Kollokacja (The Gentry Village, 1847). These works are of a type similar to Kraszewski's novels (though even more closely connected with Balzac and his technique), but they are more concentrated, better composed, and more carefully worked out in detail. The Speculator is typical of the so-called character novel, that is, the author's chief interest and aim lie in a detailed and penetrating repre-

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sentation of the character of one person. This person is here a certain August Molicki, who, after ruining his own fortune, seeks a rich marriage. H e succeeds in captivating a beautiful girl, Klara, as well as her wealthy parents, but on the point of attaining his goal, he fails; he is unmasked as a gambler and a cheat. Naturally the engagement is broken, and Klara, in despair, marries a serious nobleman who eventually manages to cure her of her love for the 'speculator' and to win her heart. This situation a n d the m a n n e r of its treatment reminds us of Balzac's La Fille d'Ève, and the figure of the d e m o n i a c speculator was undoubtedly conceived in the spirit of the French novelist's 'evil characters.' This does not lower the qualities of Korzeniowski's novel ; on the contrary, such a kinship enhances it a n d places it alongside the works ot European literature in the new style of fictional technique. Originality of plot is of little consequence if it is carried out by primitive means. T h e same is true of Gentry Village. Here too one detects Balzac's influence in the conception of another speculator, Zegartowski, and in the characterization of other figures, while some motifs of the plot m a y be c o m p a r e d with Balzac's Eugénie Grandet. But here Korzeniowski d o e s n o t concentrate solely on the presentation of one or a few characters associated by a convenient plot. There is of course a richness of character in Gentry Village : Zegartowski, who systematically and with premeditation ruins his neighbors a n d then buys their land; Podziemski and his n a r r o w minded m o t h e r ; Zegartowski's daughter, Kamilla, who loves the p o o r Józef Starzycki. But besides all this the a u t h o r was anxious to picture a uniquely Polish institution, that characteristic 'collocation' or co-existence of several petty gentry families in a small village. These people live together, their houses one on top of the other, own very little land a n d a r e bad farmers; but they have exalted pretensions to a ' n o b l e m a n ' s ' life. They therefore live beyond their means, quarrel constantly, a n d carry on incessant lawsuits against each other. They fall into Zegartowski's clutches one by one. The inevitable process of social change destroyed this gentry and reduced it, both in wealth and opportunity, to the level of the peasantry; it could not, however, kill that inborn spirit of the gentry which made them detrimental to society — uprooted, lazy people, lodging a claim against the world where they have been dispossessed. T h e real value of the novel lies in the portrayal of this small but representative and, in m a n y respects, symbolic, community in which are reflected m a n y durable psychological traits of the Polish gentry. A more extensive social picture is found in Krewni (Relatives, 1857). In this novel we witness an even more significant social process t h a n the

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degeneration of the 'collocators,' namely the transformation of the impoverished gentry, who have lost their land, into the bourgeoisie. Within the frame of a plot which describes the fate of two boys bom into such a milieu, one of them brought up in an aristocratic home and the other in the house of poor people, the author offers a competent and carefully elaborated study of various social groups. Next to the landed aristocracy we have the poor gentry, civil servants of gentle origin who look for a career in government service, the financial circles of Warsaw, and, finally, a new group in society, the various craftsmen. Korzeniowski, a pedagogue by vocation and profession, preserved something of his didacticism in his novels. This element is not always made forcibly apparent, but it is never absent. If it is disguised in the arrangement of the material, in the grouping of the characters, or the composition of events, as, for instance, in Gentry Village, it does not exceed what is common to many literary presentations. At times, however, it obtrudes into the foreground, making itself felt in the author's direct intervention as a commentator, or influencing characterizations, or in any other extraneous indications to the reader of the underlying idea. Such indications not only do not help the reader, they tend to distract him and to break the artistic illusion by preventing the characters from living their own lives and the problems from developing on the basis of their own laws. This didactic tendency is found in both Kraszewski and Korzeniowski, indeed in nearly all the pre-realist writers. Only the realists of the second half of the century understood the harm of such intervention in the aesthetic autonomy of the characters and the movement of events. Next to these leaders of the novel in Poland, there was a whole group of minor novelists, nearly all of whom possess some historical or cultural importance by having made some original contribution, however slight, which had been absent from the genre until then. The most distinguished member of a group known as the 'Warsaw Enthusiasts' (because of their program of 'enthusiasm' for art, humanity, the peasants, and equal rights for women), was the poetess Narcyza ¿MICHOWSKA (1819-76), who offered in her half realistic, half fantastic novel Poganka (The Pagan Woman, 1846) a picture of the destructive effects of love for an unworthy woman. Ignacy CHODZKO (1794-1861) achieved popularity with Obrazy litewskie (Lithuanian Sketches, 1840-50), a collection of gawqdas in the style of Rzewuski's Memoirs, including his Pami^tnikikwestarza (Memoirs of a Mendicant Friar, 1844), which presents contemporary life in Lithuania from the point of view of a good-natured but not very intelligent friar.

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Ludwik SZTYRMER (1809-86), a participant on the November Insurrection but later a professional Russian officer and ardent spokesman for Rzewuski's idea, showed promise in his Powiesci nieboszczyka pantofia (Tales of the Late Slipper, 1844), which, however, he did not fulfill, perhaps as a result of his professional occupations and lack of contact with the literary world. A very widely read author of the time, August WILKOIQSKI (1805-52), owed his popularity to his collection of humorous sketches, Ramoty i ramotki (Miscellanea, 1845-46). His very simple, frequently crude humor as well as his equally primitive literary techniques, are a direct result of his lack of literary culture. A writer who attempted ambitious subjects was Zygmunt KACZKOWSKI (1825-96). His most important historical fiction is contained in the cycle entitled Powiesci ostatniego z Nieczujôw (Tales of the Last of the Nieczujas, 1853-55). Nieczuja is a figure similar to Rzewuski's Soplica, into whose mouth the author puts the narration and with whose eyes he looks at the life of the eighteenth century - the main subject of the novels. The whole work bears a strong resemblance to The Memoirs of Soplica. In his novels of contemporary life Kaczkowski touched upon various social questions, such as the romantic and democratic revolutionary 'disease' and the necessity for a less idealistic and more positive attitude toward the immediate tasks of the present. Teodor Tomasz JEZ (pen name of Zygmunt Milkowski, 1824-1914) was one of the noblest examples of the revolutionary and democrat. His life and ideas theoretically would make him a member of the émigré group, but he began to write only about 1860. Even during his university days at Kiev he belonged to a democratic circle. After 1848 he dedicated himself to active revolutionary work. He took part in the Hungarian Revolution, then went to the Balkans, and later to London, where he worked as a common laborer and wrote articles for The Polish Democrat, a magazine published in Paris. In 1851 he was in Moldavia as an emissary of the Democratic Society and was active during the Crimean War. The year 1855 found him in Constantinople, though he soon returned to Paris, working continuously in the so-called democratic 'Centralization.' When the new insurrection broke out in 1863, Milkowski was again in its ranks. After its failure he was once more forced into exile, and in 1877 settled finally in Geneva. He wrote a large number of novels in which Polish social questions are touched upon and the life of the southern Slavs and their struggle against Turkish oppression described. The best known of the first group is Wasyl Holub (1858), and of the second Uskoki (Serbian Partisans, 1870). His 'Slavic' novels enriched Polish literature

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with new motifs, characters, and problems. The character of his novels, however, was for the most part traditional, and he unfortunately did not contribute anything new in the way of structure. On the other hand, his writing was inspired by the noblest progressive tendencies, and it possesses a strong educational importance. The art which suffered most from the fall of the Polish state was architecture, which could not develop without state patronage and considerable funds. Much was accomplished nevertheless, especially during the short period of the Congress Kingdom. At first the ruling style was still neoclassic, and many of the new buildings were planned by architects of the Stanislavian era or their pupils. During the period of the Kingdom this style began to be modified by so-called 'Empire,' which used decorative Greek and Egyptian motifs. From those days date such Warsaw buildings as the Bank of Poland, the Viceroy's Palace (afterwards the seat of the Cabinet), the Ministry of the Treasury, the University, the Staszic Palace, Belvedere, The Great Theater, the Church of St. Aleksander (in its original structure) and many others. They were built by the Polish architects Kubicki, Aigner, Zawadzki, and the Italian Corazzi. The flowering of classicism in Wilno occurred at the time when Wawrzyniec Gucewicz was planning the reconstruction of the Cathedral and the purely classical City Hall. The front of the Poznan Cathedral was restored at the end of the eighteenth century, and the guard-house in the Old Square was built in a classical style. After the incorporation of Great Poland, including the Poznari region, into Prussia, some of its buildings revealed the influence of a somewhat modified German or 'Berlin' classicism, which may be seen, for instance, in the Raczynski Library. Under Austrian occupation Lw6w acquired the beautiful 'Ossolineum' (museum and library) which was made over from an old church. The neoclassical or Empire styles were used not only for public buildings and churches, but also for many city mansions and country houses. The typical design of Polish country houses, with only one storey, front columns, and a porch was established at this time and has lasted till the present day. The neo-Gothic style, which appeared in architecture during the Romantic era, was not much used in Poland. Its most outstanding examples are the Cathedral of St. John in Warsaw, renovated between the years 1832 and 1840, the magnificent courtyard of the Jagiellonian Library in Krakow, and the palaces in Kornik in the Great Poland region and in Dzikow. There were no masterpieces of Polish sculpture at this time. The most

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beautiful monument put up in Warsaw during the period of the Kingdom, the statue of Prince Jozef Poniatowski, was the work of the Danish sculptor, Thorwaldsen. He also made the statue of Copernicus which still stands in the Krakow Suburb (a big and centrally located street in Warsaw) and some other, smaller statues and tombstones in various churches. Among the Polish sculptors influenced by Thorwaldsen and the Italian sculptor, Canova, those who distinguished themselves were Tatarkiewicz, Hegel, and Sosnowski. Wladyslaw Oleszczyriski was the disciple of the French sculptor, David d'Angers, Mickiewicz's friend, who made a beautiful bust of the poet. Oleszczyriski created a few equestrian monuments of Napoleon which still adorn some cities of southern France, and two figures for Napoleon's tomb in Paris. He also made a bust of Mickiewicz and the poet's monument which stands in the Poznari cemetery. The artist of the bronze statues of Mieszko I and Boleslaw the Brave, in the Poznan Cathedral, was the German sculptor, Christian Rauch. Activity in the field of painting was more intensive, and its results were richer. One may distinguish two trends which were begun in Poland by the foreign painters already mentioned, Bacciarelli and Norblin. The former, unjustly called 'conventional' by some historians of art, should be designated as classical (not everything classical is conventional); the latter, often said to be 'realistic,' corresponds more or less to pre-realism in literature. The first trend continued to be represented by Smuglewicz and his pupils. Among them should be mentioned Jozef Oleszkiewicz, a resident of St. Petersburg, who painted a portrait of Mickiewicz and was immortalized by the poet in the Digression of Forefathers' Eve, Part III. Another friend of Mickiewicz and Stowacki was Wojciech Korneli Stattler (1800-82). His best known painting is 'The Macabees,' for which he received, in 1841, the highest award of the gold medal in Paris in competition against such French masters as Ingres and Delacroix. As a professor at the School of Plastic Arts in Krakow he educated many talented and outstanding artists, among others, Matejko and Grottger. Walenty Warikowicz partly succumbed to romantic influence painting a portrait of Mickiewicz 'leaning against the Judah rock.' One of the prominent Polish painters of the first half of the nineteenth century, Aleksander Orlowski (1777-1832), was a disciple of Norblin, and indirectly of the school of Rembrandt. He left behind numerous paintings and etchings, done in various techniques, among which the most significant are the genre scenes of Polish life and nature in the Norblin cr Rembrandtesque style. Another of Norblin's pupils, Jan Rustem, who

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was active in Wilno, worked along the same lines. One may also include in this school Piotr Michalowski, at least during the first period of his activity. A very popular painter of the time was Michal Stachowicz, fond of national-patriotic subjects; the best known of his paintings are 'Kosciuszko's Oath in the Krak6w Square,' 'The Battle of Raclawice,' and 'Kosciuszko's Funeral.' There was a turn to historical painting in Poland during the middle decades of the nineteenth century, at the same time that a similar trend was occurring in the West. The older representatives of this trend were J6zef Simmler (1825-67), author of the well-known illustrations for Malczewski's Marja and the large painting 'The Death of Barbara Radziwill,' and Wojciech Gerson (1831-1901), whose more important work was in the field of mountain landscape. Henryk Rodakowski was greatly appreciated as a portrait painter; he painted, for instance, the excellent portrait of General Henryk Dembinski. The historical trend found its most illustrious representative in Jan Matejko (1838-93), who painted a large number of historical canvasses before 1863, but whose main work was done at a later period. We shall have later to speak also about another outstanding artist, Artur Grottger, but it may be noted here that his work began before 1863. The same is true of the famous painter of horses and battle scenes, Juljusz Kossak (1824-99). At the beginning of the nineteenth century Polish music followed the tradition of the operatic theater established during the Stanislavian period. The chief center of music was Warsaw, where Italian and German operas and operettas were played and where the first performances of some of Mozart's works had been given at the end of the preceding century. In 1805 'The Music Club' was founded on the initiative of a very interesting man, the noted German romantic writer, E. T. A. Hoffmann, who lived in Poland as an employee of the German administration, married a Polish woman, and preserved a very warm feeling for Poland even after his return to Germany. He was responsible for the arrangement of symphonic concerts in Warsaw where the works of the young Beethoven were performed for the first time in Poland. In Warsaw also there were two other musicians who set the tone of the musical life in Poland: Jozef Ksawery Eisner (Chopin's teacher) and Karol Kurpiriski. German by origin, Eisner spent most of his life in Poland and soon began to consdier himself a Pole. He provided the Warsaw Opera with much operetta and 'vaudeville' music composed to Polish and foreign librettos. The same kind of work was later done by Kurpiriski, who composed a great deal of theatrical music in the Italian and French styles. Specialists

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in musicology consider the work of these two composers, which is light, clever, and easy, to be of only average competence, and it was virtually unknown abroad. European fame was won for Polish music by the virtuosos Marja Szymanowska, an excellent pianist whose performance was widely known and admired and about whom Goethe expressed himself with enthusiasm, and Karol Jozef Lipinski, an equally famous violinist, often compared with the then leading Paganini; he frequently played at concerts with Paganini and Liszt. In the second half of his life Lipinski was the director of church music in Dresden and the concertmaster of the royal orchestra; during this latter appointment he played under the baton of Richard Wagner. The greatest and still unsurpassed pride of Polish music was Frederic Chopin (1810-49), whose works remain an inexhaustible source of artistic delight for the entire civilized world and who marks an epoch in musical history. We remember Norwid's definition of Chopin's music; he interpreted it in a poetic and philosophical manner. The musical merit of Chopin lies first of all in the field of harmony, in widening this field and its possibilities. The uniqueness and originality of his musical art places him in the ranks of the greatest musicians of the nineteenth century. A more local significance can be found in the work of Stanislaw Moniuszko (1819-72), a composer of popular operas such as Halka and Straszny dw6r (The Haunted Castle), of songs, and a variety of other pieces. By comparison with the operas of Eisner and Kurpinski, Moniuszko's operas represent a big step forward; they are not only a milestone in the progress of that musical form in Poland, but also a source of Polish operatic tradition.

CHAPTER X

POSITIVISM A N D REALISM

Less than thirty-two years after the failure of the November Insurrection a new insurrection broke out under Russian occupation during the night of January 22, 1863. Like the November Insurrection, it was also viewed with misgivings by the conservative groups of the nation — their doubts persist among some Polish historians. It seems, however, to have been unavoidable. Its causes were many, beginning simply with the national aspiration towards freedom and independence which had never been extinguished and which could not be satisfied by the incomplete concessions of the Russian government. These feelings mingled with a deep-rooted skepticism as to living under the Russian system, not to mention the decided impossibility of normal national growth within this system. There were in Poland prominent men of good intention who sincerely believed in that possibility which they sincerely sought to realize. One of the most outstanding was the Margrave Aleksander Wielopolski, potentially a statesman of great distinction, had he been given the opportunity to work in normal times and circumstances. Placed at the head of the civil administration of the Kingdom at a time when the Russian government inclined towards mild liberalism and intended to give the country reforms, Wielopolski did everything he could to gain the greatest profit for Poland; and he gained a great deal, especially in the field of education and internal administration. It was during that period that Warsaw saw the founding of the Szkota Glowna ('Principal School'), in fact a University which attracted many of the serious scholarly and pedagogical minds of the time, and which numbered many later outstanding men among its students. Nevertheless, Wielopolski could not make the whole nation follow him. He was opposed not only in democratic and revolutionary but in part also in conservative circles, the latter being represented by Count Andrew Zamoyski, another prominent but unpopular man of this period.

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The military struggle lasted for a year and a half. Conducted with great heroism and self-sacrifice by groups of badly armed 'partisans,' it provoked interest abroad and even some ineffective diplomatic interventions. It ended finally in disaster, followed by renewed persecution and oppression. All traces of the Kingdom's autonomy were abolished and Russian administration established instead; the 'Principal School' was shut down and changed into a Russian University; schools were 'Russianized,' the Catholic clergy and religion were persecuted, and what remained of the Uniat Church (Greek-Catholic) in the Eastern areas was annihilated. The reign of Russian terror was most severe in Lithuania, which was ruled by the notorious Muraviev, 'the hangman.' It began with mass executions of persons accused of taking part in the Insurrection and the confiscation of their property. These measures were followed by orders (ukazy) prohibiting Polish citizens from buying land, and even prohibiting the politically suspect from owning any. All this committed the population to the grace or disgrace of the Russian bureaucracy. It was, furthermore, forbidden to speak Polish in schools and public offices. The famous inscriptions in Russian: 'It is strictly forbidden to speak Polish' hung even in the schools of the Kingdom. The tsarist edict of 1864 which granted land to the peasants was of great consequence. It is a sad and humiliating fact that the solution of the peasant question was the work of the occupying powers and that they considered themselves benefactors of the Polish and Ukrainian peasantry — a fact which they played as a trump card against the Polish gentry. On the other hand, two other facts must be taken into consideration: the Constitution of the Third of May could not, for reasons already stated and in spite of the good will of its authors, solve this problem in a radical manner; furthermore, the first decree of the National Government of the Insurrection in 1863 provided for the liberation of the peasants and enfranchisement of their lands. Polish public opinion believed that the National Government compensated for the age-old neglect; the fact that the decree could not be carried out was not morally significant. It is probable that the decision of the Russian government may have been influenced by the decree of the Insurrection. On the other hand, the Russian government must have been anxious to weaken the position of the Polish gentry. In this it was largely successful. The so-called peasant servitutes, that is the common use of forests and pastures, were preserved, and they were the cause of ceaseless quarreling between the manor and the village. The financial side of the reform was solved very unfavorably for the former landlords. Their loss of property was

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to be compensated by a kind of government bonds, the value of which was regulated by the government. The bonds instantly fell to half their nominal value. Moreover, the government did not cover the expenses of the transaction itself; by depriving the landowners of the right to sell liquor, and by imposing a special land tax, the government in effect shifted these expenses on the landlords. This process was ruinous to many of them. After 1864 a considerable part of the land was divided into lots and sold, while the gentry removed to the cities, thus producing a great increase in the class of the urban intelligentsia. During the post-Insurrection period the territory under Austrian occupation became the scene of many important political changes. Austria, which after the partitions of Poland had conducted an uninterrupted policy of Germanization against the Polish citizenry, now saw herself forced to make concessions because of her setbacks in the international sphere (the war against Prussia, lost in 1866) and her internal troubles with the Hungarians, the Czechs, and the Poles. There was, in fact, already a constitutional form of government in Austria, conceded to the entire empire in the so-called October diploma of 1860; but the Hungarians were dreaming of greater autonomy, as were the Czechs and Poles. Representatives of Polish society in Galicia, among them such outstanding men as Agenor Goluchowski, many times governor of Galicia, and Franciszek Smolka, who was one of the most ardent champions of autonomy, wished to take advantage of Austria's situation and secure for Galicia conditions similar to those enjoyed by the Congress Kingdom: that is, autonomy within the framework of the Habsburg monarchy with the prospect of a possible personal union with Austria. Preparations to this end were quite extensive, but they were undermined by mistrust, suspicion, and fear on the part of the Vienna bureaucracy and — what is more important — by Russian and Prussian intrigues. The 'Three Emperors' League, concluded in 1872, finally killed all hopes of creating a new nucleus of the Polish state in Galicia. But the fight for this idea was not in vain. Goluchowski succeeded in winning some concessions from Austria, such as the Polonization of the administration and jurisdiction and the introduction of Polish as the language of study in schools and at Krakow University. Other reforms in this direction followed later, and already existing l ights were extended. For instance, both universities were made more exclusively Polish, a Polish Educational Council was organized as the highest educational institution in the country, the Krakow Learned Society was transformed into the Academy of Science and Arts in 1872, and the Polytechnical School in Lwow became

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an institution of higher learning. In short, the territory under Austrian occupation became the only part of Poland where constitutional and political freedoms existed, where a relatively free political life could develop, where the political leaders persecuted in other territories, particularly in Russia, could find shelter or even continue their activities, and where Polish scholarship and other aspects of Polish cultural life could be preserved. On the other hand. Galicia's constant handicap from an economic point of view, owing to Vienna's restrictions on industry and commerce in this region, forced the young men graduating from the two Polish universities or the Institute of Technology to enter government service (unless they could follow one of the free professions). There sprang up as a result a bureaucracy nominally Polish but permeated by Austrian spirit. This constituted a new class, different from the gentry, a kind of civil servants' caste which, in a country where there was no real bourgeoisie and where the misery and humiliation of the peasant and worker were extreme, made out of this officially called 'Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria together with the Great Duchy of Krakow' one of the most socially backward countries of Western Europe. The situation was aggravated by the official Polish policy in Galicia, which rested in the hands of the conservative gentry. The most talented, influential, and representative of the gentry were the conservatives of Krak6w, the so-called 'Stariczyks,' named after their pamphlet Teka Stanczyka (The Portfolio of Stanczyk, written by J6zef Szujski, S. Tarnowski, and S. Koimian), which was designed to combat the revolutionary democratic ideology. It was they who propagated the principle of moderation, not only in social questions but also in relation to the Vienna government (which, of course, greatly exploited and abused their attitude), advocating hyperloyalism and a sort of 'Austrian patriotism.' The Galician conservatives undoubtedly deserve praise for their part in the struggle for autonomy, for not only did they maintain it, they increased it. But their policy in the Austrian parliament of determined loyalty, excessive moderation in demands, and support of nearly every Austrian cabinet, was harmful and weakened the position of the Poles who, during the ceaseless political crises in Austria, could have played a decisive role with greater profit for the country. Their internal policy in Galicia and the Galician Diet was also characterized by short-sightedness and vested interest in their class. They wished to keep the peasants in the status of second- or third-rate citizens under the patriarchal rule of the landlords. If the peasant movement in Galicia ever developed into a powerful political organization, this occurred in

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spite of the conservatives and only with a hard struggle against them. Great credit during this first phase of fighting for the rights of the peasants goes to Boleslaw and M a r j a Wyslouch, political leaders of unusual ideological integrity, and to Jakób Bojko, a peasant from Gr^boszów, who by hard work acquired a considerable intellectual and moral culture. These were the people who created the ideological basis for the peasant movement in Galicia. In the later more active phase of the struggle, Jan Stapiriski and Wincenty Witos distinguished themselves. The policy of Germanizing the Polish territory under Prussian occupation was considerably intensified when the power was seized by Chancellor Bismarck. He began the so-called Kulturkampf, that is, the fight against Catholicism, which — according to his own statement — was the basis for the fight against Polish culture. The subsequent stages of this struggle are marked by the deportation of 30,000 Poles, considered 'burdensome foreigners,' from the frontiers of Germany and the decree passed in the German Diet in 1886 for the 100 million marks credit for purchasing Polish land and settling German colonists. Thus began the uncompromising policy of extermination of the Polish nation. Toward the end of the century this policy was strengthened by the law of enforced expropriation and by the founding of the German Ostmarkverein society. The aim of the Verein, which disposed of huge government funds, was to support German culture in the Eastern confines of the state. At the same time religious persecution was also intensified, leading to the famous trial in Wrzesnia of children who did not want to study religion in German. Even though, thanks to the organized and stubborn resistance of the Polish population, Bismarck and his successors failed to carry out their plan completely, they made serious gaps in Polish property throughout the Poznan region and in Pomerania. They could not change the Polish character of the country, but they studded Polish land with tens of thousands of Germans, a foreign and inimical element, who later served them as a pretext for claiming this territory and considering it 'eternally German.' It is understandable that Polish society under Prussian occupation, completely absorbed in a struggle for existence and deprived, moreover, of Polish schools and universities, could not create an outstanding scholarly and literary movement. In this respect the Poznari region was backward in the second half of the nineteenth century by comparison with the other two territories, though it was not entirely without endeavor. A number of Polish periodicals were published, mainly of conservative Catholic opinion. The Society of the Friends of Learning, founded in

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Poznari back in 1857, tried to publish scholarly works devoted to the history of the region. An important handicap to cultural life was the slight contact of Poznan society as a whole, even through its intellectual and political leaders, with the other parts of Poland, a fact which later complicated the problem of mutual understanding and unification of the territory formerly under Prussian occupation within the reborn Polish Republic. The epoch in Polish cultural life which dates from after the fall of the 1863 Insurrection until the last decade of the nineteenth century is known as the period of positivism—an intellectual and social trend which originated in the Kingdom but later developed in various forms in other parts of Poland. The term positivism is used especially in relation to the philosophic system created by the French philosopher, Auguste Comte (1798-1857). Etymologically this term is derived from the Latin word, ponere, which means to lie down, to place; hence positus and in further evolution positivus designates that which is placed (firmly) and is therefore certain. According to Comte, the history of human thought goes through three stages: the theological, the metaphysical, and the positive. Leaving out the discussion of the first two, we shall remark only that the third stage, considered by the French philosopher as final and therefore decisive in the development of human thought, establishes all human knowledge on methods and results of the natural, that is 'positive,' sciences. Consequently, positive thought does not concern itself with the causes and essence of the universe, as did theology and metaphysics, but with the connections and relations between phenomena and the laws which rule them. Human society, like the universe at large, is an orderly organism ruled by inevitable laws. Social science must examine these laws and from them draw conclusions about social progress. Besides this narrower meaning of the term, which relates specifically to Comte's system, positivism designates, in a more general sense, every system which rejects metaphysical speculation and limits itself to experimental evidence. Positivist tendencies in this sense may be found in such English philosophers as Hume, Mill, and Spencer, in the French writers Littre and Taine, in Germany among many successors of Kant — in fact in all systems which reject supernatural phenomena and metaphysics; that is in agnosticism, rationalism, and materialism. In Poland, Comte found no disciples in the field of philosophical research, but the name of his system was applied to a certain intellectual trend which had some traits in common with that wider conception of

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'positivism.' Polish positivism had a social and practical more than a philosophical or scholarly character. Its chief concern was that Polish society should be conscious of its condition after the last disaster, understand its possibilities and strength and form a plan of effective, 'positive' action. The Polish positivists were under Comte's influence, as well as under that of the natural sciences, to the degree that they approached these problems without regard to preconceived metaphysical theories; they tried instead to base their program only on facts. And recent facts of Polish history have produced evidence to show that the romanticrevolutionary ideology, which had governed the Polish mind during the first half of the century under the inspiration of poetic works, led to a series of inevitable defeats in regard to the internal conditions and the international situation. Such had been the fate of both Insurrections and other minor revolutionary movements which sporadically broke out on Polish soil. After each disaster the political situation of the nation, at least under Russian rule, had grown worse, and after 1863 it became quite hopeless. In order to save what could be saved, that is, the biological and cultural existence of the nation, the method of approach to national questions had to be radically changed; the bitter but undeniable reality had to be recognized, romantic and metaphysical modes of thinking and acting renounced, and concrete, positive work begun within the framework of existing political and social conditions in Poland. In practice this meant giving up all ideas of armed struggle, which was to be replaced by 'work at the foundations' and 'organic work,' as this new program was designated: work, that is, in the basic economic and social fields, without the cultivation of which no nation can exist, much less erect a national culture. We know that this field was completely neglected in the romantic ideology, which considered it as something altogether too prosaic and material. Now this field was to become a stepping stone to other, higher tasks which could only be accomplished later. The slogan of 'getting rich' (analogous with the contemporary French 'enrichissezvous'), launched by the positivists along with slogans advertising trades, formerly held in disdain, and encouraging the idea of founding industrial and commercial establishments was not at all 'materialism,' at least not in the minds of those who created the ideological basis of the movement. Naturally, there were also people who understood these slogans in terms of personal financial profit, but such people exist in every society and at all times; they were not created by positivism. The positivist ideologists conceived their fundamental or 'organic' work in a broader sense; by enrichment they did not mean wealth to be concentrated in the hands of

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one social group. They envisaged the raising of the standard of living and culture of all social strata, and more particularly of the peasants, whose material situation had improved somewhat since the time when Staszic drew grim pictures of peasant life, but which was still below a fitting standard of human existence. Material independence and a solid economic basis were considered prerequisites of that spiritual culture, which alone speaks for the significance of a given nation in the world. Aleksander SWIETOCHOWSKI (1848-1938), the most distinguished theoretician of the new school, a clear, sober, critical thinker who never hesitated to draw logical conclusions from a once adopted standpoint, wrote in Wskazania polityczne (Political Directions, 1882) that the highest value of any nation lies in its contribution to universal culture and not in independence or political autonomy. There were formerly and there are now many large and small countries which have enjoyed complete or at least partial independence but which have no significance in the history of European culture. What then is independence worth — asked Swi§tochowski — if it is not synonymous with the enrichment of culture? His position is contrary to the prevailing Polish ideology up to that time, which considered the creation of an independent state as its first and most important task; it anticipates ideas of international federation which only today are being discussed after the terrible experiences of the Second World War; at that time they were bold and original, and perhaps even hurt and shocked that part of Polish society which retained the old outlook. Swi?tochowski's voice was one of the most extreme and most 'futural' in this problem. Other positivist leaders did not speak so radically, but for all of them the question of political independence was made secondary, which, however, does not mean that it was completely eliminated from their program. The positivist ideology opposed romantic ideals of an insurrectionist or revolutionary nature with regard to the immediate situation, but it did not break at all with the best Polish traditions in other domains. On the contrary, it claimed spiritual kinship with the era of the Four-Year Diet, that epoch in which the European and progressive ideals were reborn in Poland. The leading representatives of the positivists possessed many of those traits which we have designated as characteristic of the Polish cultured mind in the post-partition period. They were liberals, progressives, democrats, patriots of a sober and responsible type, and Europeans who not only knew Western culture well, but who were convinced that the only right way for Poland was one of cooperation with Western

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Europe. They fought against ignorance just as radically as had the reformers at the end of the eighteenth century; their task was much more difficult, because they had no influence whatsoever on the direction of education in the country. They urged the citizens to study by themselves the humanities and sciences and to deepen the knowledge which neither the Russian schools nor the university could give them. Toward this end a lively publishing trade began in Poland; one may safely say that never before were so many specialized and general works, both originals and translations, published as at that time. Especially there were many translations, such as those of the works of Darwin, Taine, Smith, Spencer, Ribot, and others. Strangely enough, these translations enjoyed big sales. Polish periodicals were of a high standard and filled with scholarly and popular articles which discussed the pressing problems in a way imbued with the spirit of scholarly objectivity. Among such magazines was Swi?tochowski's organ, Prawda (Truth), for which he wrote editorials under the name, 'Deputy of Truth'; there were also Przeglqd tygodniowy (The Weekly Review) and Niwa (The Field in the first period of its existence), Nowiny (The News), edited for a time by Prus, and Ateneum, a serious monthly edited by Piotr Chmielowski, the leading literary historian of the period. The trend was widespread and lively, though under Russian rule it had to be sustained by private funds and individual sacrifice. When we set beside this a growing body of scholarly research pursued in the Galician universities, this aspect of the period presents a brighter and more consoling picture. In their struggle against ignorance, the positivists also declared war on all backward and reactionary tendencies. In this respect their activity was energetic, uncompromising, and effective; they did much to clear the contemporary mind of traditional rubbish, to pave the way for radical political parties, and to conduct the intellectual and moral education of those young people who were later to take part in political life. Chauvinism and all racial and national animosities and prejudices were by definition alien to the positivists and became the object of their violent attacks. All national megalomania, whether it manifested itself in the belated echo of 'messianism' or in still embryonic forms of chauvinism, was considered by them as due to obscurantism and ignorance of Polish and foreign history. Antisemitism received penetrating illumination and condemnation in the works of the finest writers of this generation: Prus, Orzeszkowa, Swi?tochowski, and some others. In a half humorous way Prus pointed out the naive and illogical attitude of

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attributing to all the Jews characteristics which in fact are proper to certain universal h u m a n types, regardless o f 'race' or nationality.

He

called attention to the social differences a m o n g the Jews themselves, not less glaring than those existing in ' A r y a n ' society; he laughed at the hyperbolization o f 'the Jewish danger,' and explained the historical reasons for the backwardness and ignorance of the Jewish masses. F r o m the same standpoint O r z e s z k o w a called attention to the complete ignorance of Polish society with regard to the Jewish question and urged its acquaintance with the people, w h o have been settled in Poland for centuries and must be treated equally with other citizens. In her articles and pamphlets devoted to the Jewish question, as in her 'Jewish' novels based on a direct acquaintance with the life o f the Jews and written in a spirit o f the noblest humanitarianism, O r z e s z k o w a always maintained this progressive position. W h a t has been said will give some idea o f the state o f positivism in the K i n g d o m .

T h e attitude o f the Polish ruling circles under Austrian

occupation was also often called 'positive' by comparison with the former mentality o f insurrectionist conspiracy.

This, however, was probably

the only point o f contact between the K r a k o w 'Stariczyks' and the W a r s a w positivists. A p a r t f r o m their c o m m o n rejection o f armed struggle, they differed basically in all other regards, whether social questions or the direction and character o f Polish culture, or their general world view. There w a s also a basic difference between the economic program of W a r s a w positivism and the complete lack o f understanding in this field on the part of the G a l i c i a n conservatives.

Poznan 'positivism,' on the

other hand, came closer in this respect to the Warsaw type, though f r o m the point o f view o f social attitudes it followed more closely the Galician variation. W h e n we evaluate the whole trend we must not overlook the fact that the essential point o f its program, what it termed its 'organic' w o r k , w a s very difficult to carry out in a country under Tzarist rule. M u c h could be gained from Russian bureaucracy by way of bribes (there were even semi-official taxes for that purpose) which played a considerable role in the development o f economic life, but even in Russia not everything could be secured in this way.

A n y cultural initiative or educational

program — even the publication o f b o o k s — met with resistance and persecution. Hence all activity of this kind was made difficult, depending every time on the particular m o o d of a particular governor. H o w could systematic and continuous work be done in such conditions? In planning theii program, the positivists did not quite realize that it was, after all,

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based on the assumption that national development was possible within the framework of the Tzarist system. But in fact this system curtailed every activity. Even relative freedom for the movement would require a change in the polity of Russia. And this change could not be carried out by organic work. This required essentially political activity, a fight against tsardom with the aim of overthrowing it. The positivists evaded this issue, which undermined their position. This was the tragedy of the positivist ideology. In the given circumstances it had to limit itself to carrying out immediate aims and virtually to abandon any further, more general, aims which, after all, it also included and even propagated as the goal of its system. The authors of the ideology fell under the illusion that political activity could be eliminated, even for a short time, from the life of a vital nation with an old culture. The illusion was bound to be broken. While the positivists were neglecting political issues, new social forces, which were to start a political fight, began to rise in the Kingdom by natural process of history. The new social force was the industrial workers, numerous in the Kingdom because of the rapid expansion of industry in that part of the country. For a time this was only a potential force, but as early as the seventies socialist ideas began to penetrate the country; at first they spread among the youth, having been brought by students from abroad; later they reached the masses. In 1878 mass arrests of the youth took place in the Kingdom; these were followed by trials and deportations. Two years later the Austrian government organized the first trial of socialists in Krakow, which, however, ended with the acquittal of the defendants. The first socialist party organized on Polish ground was created in 1882 under the name 'Proletariat.' Its founder and leader was Ludwik Warynski, and its program comprised a combination of Marxist doctrine with the activism of the Russian revolutionary party, 'Narodnaya Vola' (Popular Will). These first Polish socialists were, like the positivists, opponents of insurrections, but for other ('class') reasons, they propagated instead political struggle against the tsardom; to this end the workers were to be organized in preparation for a common revolution with the Russian proletariat. The 'Proletariat' was soon tracked down and some of its leaders arrested. In 1885 they were tried, four of them condemned to death and the rest to prison, forced labor, or deportation. Warynski was sent to prison, where he died in 1889. The activity of the socialist party was temporarily brought to a standstill, while the whole movement underwent an evolution which expressed itself in the rise in 1892 of the Polish Socialist Party (P.P.S.).

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The Warsaw weekly, Glos (The Voice), founded in 1887, played an important part in the formation of the radical social ideology. Its editor, J. K. POTOCKI, who wrote under the penname of Marjan Bohusz, collaborated with young radicals of various shades, such as J. L. Poplawski, Z. Balicki, Wi^ckowski, and others. The trend, represented by The Voice may be called social-agrarian. Its editors and contributors were the first Polish theoreticians of 'peasant' politics — the first ludowcy, as they are called in Polish — ideologists of the peasant population, whose interests they claimed as paramount, for they esteemed the peasantry as the healthiest and most valuable class of society. The ideology of the original ludowcy was soon divided between two different and, in the future, highly inimical groups; one group of contributors to The Voice inclined to the right and, in their political tendencies forgetting their radical-peasant attitudes, created a nationalist party known as National Democracy (N. D.) Their leaders, who have already been mentioned, were J. L. Poplawski and Zygmunt Balicki — in their youth supporters of the socialist idea — and later also Roman Dmowski. Other adherents of The Voice joined the socialist movement, which had been gradually growing in strength since the amalgamation of a number of various socialist organizations into the homogeneous Polish Socialist Party. Unlike the former 'Proletariat,' this party included in its program the independence of Poland, thus preserving contact with the earlier Polish political tradition. The National Democrats, of course, also had this aim firmly in mind, but their vision of the future independent Poland had to be drastically different. Both parties were national in character, claiming support from all three sections of the country. The National Democrats appealed most strongly to the petty bourgeoisie, to a part of the landed gentry (that part which did not belong to conservative groups which compromised with the occupying powers), and to some of the youth. The socialists acted mostly among the workers, but the youth enriched the ranks of the intellectual leaders. The peasants gradually fell under the influence of the strictly peasant parties. The sphere of action of these three main parties was not equal under the three foreign rules. The socialists had a considerable field for action in the Kingdom and in Galicia (here because of constitutional freedom), but in the Poznan region they had no influence. The National Democrats acted uniformly in the three territories; the peasant party was active primarily in Galicia. Among the leaders of P. P. S. in the Kingdom the man who began to distinguish himself then was iozef Piisudski, who later exerted a decisive influence in Polish public life. In Galicia, on the

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other hand (where for organizational and constitutional reasons the Polish Social-Democratic Party rose, nominally independent from the P. P. S., but in practice collaborating with it closely), Ignacy Daszynski was active; he was an excellent orator and organizer, a deputy to the Austrian Parliament for many years, and famous for fighting the rule of the gentry in Galicia. The period discussed here is called in Polish literature the epoch of positivism and realism, because the most important genre was the realistic novel. Its was characterized by the deepening and widening of those novelistic elements which we have already seen in the pre-realists. We have in them further 'studies' of contemporary society; the epic attention to details persists but becomes less redundant and facile than formerly. More care is taken with the dramatization of dialogue, the individualization of speech and the characterization of persons, with the help of many devices, both direct (from the author) and indirect, through the characters themselves, the observations of other characters, and the presentation of characters from different points of view. The structure of the novel becomes more complicated and diverse. It is not only the omniscient author who narrates, mingling in the action to converse with the reader, to justify his characters, and to introduce explanatory footnotes. One finds other forms of narration — by one or a number of narrators, from the viewpoint of the hero, or that of several characters. This makes for a diverse and lively narrative which throws light on the characters and problems from different angles, making them unusual and complex. The personality of the author recedes, and he is for the most part hidden or, at any rate, discreet. The problems, events, and characters speak for themselves. The artistic personality of the author is revealed, among other things, in the language of the novel, which now becomes more individualized and creative. The colloquial narrative is never colorless, as it often was previously, but literary style does not affect a pretentious or artificially poetic manner. The dry and frequently dull style of information, so characteristic of Kraszewski, gives way to liveliness and directness in the treatment of characters and events. The devices for intriguing the reader and holding him in suspense become more numerous and subtle. These and other traits are not peculiar to the Polish novel, which shares them with, and to some extent appropriate them from, the leading contemporary writers of Western and Eastern Europe. The splendid development of the French (Flaubert, Daudet), the English (Meredith, Hardy)

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and the Russian fiction (Turgenev, Dostoyevski, Tolstoy, Chekhov) lay in the considerable enrichment of all means of expression, in making these more subtle, more artistic. Polish novelists were naturally diligent and sometimes even enthusiastic readers of novels by contemporary and earlier foreign writers (as well as of Polish novels); they automatically adopted their 'methods,' transposing them in a more or less original way into their own ground. The same is, of course, true of their foreign colleagues. This produced an exchange of literary accomplishments and values, which brings the literary production of the whole world together and gives rise to new literary traditions. The Polish novel took an active part in this exchange and this general movement, and, thanks to the outstanding talent of Polish writers, its finest works stood on the level of the West-European and the Russian novels. The most distinguished and representative writer of the epoch of positivism and realism was Boleslaw P R U S (penname of Aleksander Glowacki, 1845-1912). In his writings as a publicist the positivist ideology found its loftiest and most humanitarian expression. It was conceived as a world view sufficiently broad to comprise not only economic and material questions, but also spiritual and moral issues. It was based on both reason and feeling, and on the unprejudiced understanding even of conflicting tendencies; it was, in short, to represent all sides of man's highest moral and cultural interests. Prus was one of the noblest figures in the whole course of Polish literary history. His political writing falls into different periods, marked by ups and downs; there were some misunderstandings and mistakes, side by side with a true insight into historical and contemporary problems, but his work as a whole was penetrated and ruled by an exceptionally honest and integral mind; everywhere a deeply humanitarian attitude was revealed and (an essential characteristic of Prus) a great and genuine sensitivity which often colored even his j o u r nalistic writings. Born and bred to the gentry, he was emotionally tied to this class, which even in his youth was beginning to change and disappear. Nevertheless, Prus became one of the firmest and most uncompromising heralds of that transformation from the traditional world to modern times, a herald of progress, both material and spiritual, in every domain of civilization. Prus had a profound faith in humanity, in its immortality, its unlimited progress and possibilities. He looked at his own nation objectively and evaluated it soberly, as a sensible man evaluates his neighbors. His patriotism was of the kind that edified and educated rather than that which bowed to chauvinistic insticts and flattered the people. He knew and strongly believed that his nation, like every other,

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could exist in the modern world only by the highest exercise of all its physical and spiritual powers. All his life he urged people to this effort and tried to organize society to this end. He strove ceaselessly and in the most diverse ways to prove and explain that if the Polish nation was to survive and contribute to the progress of humanity, its life must be rid of laziness, bland indifference, and that typically Polish philosophy of 'somehow we shall manage'; it must be cured of blindness to the inevitable laws of social development and of belief in unrealistic theories of messianism and chauvinism. Prus also fought to overcome prejudices, class pride, and all forms of social animosity, and to bring about instead a clear, sober realization of the condition of society and a readiness to get down to hard work in the crafts, in commerce, industry, technology, and learning. This was, according to Prus, the only way to form useful and productive citizens out of the landed gentry, who found themselves on the sidewalks as a result of the new economic and social circumstances which began to prevail after the peasants' enfranchisement. Whatever question Prus discussed, even if it was the most minute or local, he never took it lightly, but always treated it from the general and at the same time practical point of view. In this manner even petty questions took on a wider significance in his interpretation and became parts of a more general issue. This, of course, would not have been possible without Prus's splendid talent for writing, revealed already in his early articles, which he called 'chronicles.' During several decades he wrote these chronicles in various daily papers and periodicals; his perception of the general truth in the particular detail, his ability to detect problems to which other writers and journalists were insensible, his excellent sense of observation and talent for lively presentation, whether of people or ideas, his subtle humor which made him look leniently at human foibles, and his high humanitarian attitude, all these qualities assure the chronicles of lasting value. Prus's humanitarianism and his profoundly human relation to his fellow men was also seen in his actions. As an example we may use a story told us by Professor Ludwik Krzywicki. When the Fighting Organization of the Polish Socialist Party engaged in active revolutionary struggle in 1905, and on the streets of Warsaw and other cities under Russian occupation bullets were flying and bombs falling in bloody demonstrations against the representatives of tsardom, Prus came out against this form of political opposition and fought against it firmly in his articles. At the same time, when he met Krzywicki, who was close to the party, Prus inquired about the fate of the families of those who perished in the

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street fights or were hanged on the citadel, and he gave Krzywicki money for the support of widows and orphans. This money he had saved from his modest author's pay and he preferred to give it quietly, in secret. Indeed, the Polish Socialist Party had few political opponents such as Boleslaw Prus. His so-called 'chronicles' already reveal Prus's talent as a short-story writer. Time and again in the chronicles one finds scenes from Warsaw life, dialogues and characterizations which show the artist rather than the publicist; they are conceived disinterestedly, without bias. These were the germs of tales, sketches, and short stories. Soon Prus's short stories themselves began to appear and to form a large collection which played an important part in the development of this literary genre in Poland. Although Polish literature may claim even before Prus all kinds of tales, such as oral tales, gawçdas, and anecdotes, there were few short stories in the sense in which this genre has been understood since the time of its creator, Boccaccio. Boccaccio's short stories, as well as those of later short-story writers (Mérimée, Maupassant, or Poe, to mention only a few) were distinguished, in contrast to the novel, by their brevity, their concentration of the plot on one event, the elimination of all superfluous episodes, descriptions, psychological analyses, or extensive characterizations, as well as by their emphasis on the ending or the socalled pointe. Within this general framework of short-story structure there was, of course, room for different kinds and types of story, accordingly as one or another of it traits was emphasized. In Prus's collection we also have short stories of various types : sketches, which contain only 'pure' narration about events or 'pure' description (the latter are scarce and connected with the chronicles); short stories whose structural principle lies in the plot or action; longer narratives which rather approach a novelistic structure, that is, the kind in which exposition is expanded, secondary episodes occur, or a principal character, 'the hero' and his life become of central interest. A separate group is made up by the 'fantastic' short stories, which combine both fantastic and realistic material in an interesting manner. In his stories Prus touched upon the most varied subjects and problems, both of a universal and national character. One which is made extremely impressive by its masterly structure, Z legend dawnego Egiptu (A Legend of Old Egypt), presents a dramatic situation of extraordinary suspense. An old pharaoh is on his death bed. and his successor is awaiting the news of his death at any moment in order to take up the rule aud to conduct a series of liberal reforms in the state. The situation is complicated by the fact that the young heir is also

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threatened by death, for he was stung by a poisonous spider. There takes place a kind of race towards death on the result of which depends the fate of the Egyptian people. If the old pharaoh dies even a moment before, the prepared decrees may be declared law as the first and last deed of the dying young pharaoh. In the contrary case everything will continue as before. Paradoxically enough (but in a way artistically motivated) the old pharaoh recovers and the heir dies. All the elements of this short story, the sketching of its characters, their psychology, the descriptions of nature (the moving of the moon behind the palm trees, which marks the inevitable passage of time), and even ethnographic and historical motifs, all serve only to heighten the action and by being skilfully subordinated to it lend it peculiar horror. 1 A different response is evoked by the short story entitled Kamizelka (The Waistcoat) — an episode in the life of two poor, insignificant people, a lonely and destitute married couple. He is a petty employee, suffering from tuberculosis, which he knows but wishes to conceal from his wife; she also realizes her husband's critical condition, but does not show it. A process of mutual deception begins around the waistcoat. The husband moves over the buckle every day and informs his wife that he is 'gaining weight' because the waistcoat is becoming tighter on him, while the wife shortens the strap every day in order to maintain his conviction. On a certain snowy night in March he finally dies. She must leave the apartment and sell everything, including the waistcoat which had become the symbol of their sad love. The story is written calmly, discreetly, even with some humorous episodes, all of which makes the general effect more powerful and moving. In Katarynka (The Barrel-Organ) an old and wealthy gentleman suddenly discovers that the barrel-organs which he detests and has always chased away from the court-yard of his house constitute the only joy of a little blind girl across the way; he violates his habits and even decides to take the unhappy child's fate in his hands. In the short story, Antek, the author presents the fate of a talented peasant boy who wastes himself in a poor and ignorant environment, without learning or funds. He finally goes out into the world to seek happiness and assistance, but the short story does not answer the question whether he found them. The author — antiquo modo — addresses himself to the readers in the epilogue, urging them, should they ever meet such an Antek on their way, to stretch out a helping hand. We see that Prus has no disdain even for such traditional devices as author intervention. Another kind of short story, 1

See Jerzy Putrament, Struktura nowel Prusa (Wilno, 1935).

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where biography rather than action or plot forms the structural basis, is represented by Michalko, the story of a poor peasant boy of limited intelligence who is not successful in town and probably never will be because he is shy, unenergetic, and fearful of everything. There are also stories that are gayer in mood, like Przygoda Stasia (Stasio's Adventure), which might be more accurately called a novelistic sketch, as more space is devoted to the description of the place of action and to the characterization of the heroes (the psychology of the child and also of his dog is excellent) than to the humorous adventure itself. The short stories with a novelistic structure mark a transition to the real novel. One of the most distinctive among Prus's earliest works in this genre is Placowka (The Outpost, 1886). The central and representative figure is a Polish peasant called Slimak (his name means snail). He is a shrewed man of some gifts, but heavy, lazy, and indecisive, borne down under the weight of numerous traditional prejudices and superstitions; at the same time he has the traditional peasant stubborness and desire to keep his land. The instinct to property and his subconscious attachment to the soil is revealed in Slimak through his resistance to the German colonists who want to buy his land. The author does not idealize his character at all, he does not make a 'hero' of him; on the contrary he introduces him at the end into such a situation in which the peasant breaks down and is ready to give up his land to the Germans. Prus penetrates the peasant psychology deeply, showing his eternal instincts and traits of which he is not aware and which constitute part of that moral 'raw material' of society, a raw material which still requires a cultural 'manufacturing process,' but which is solid and durable. The structure of the novel is based on a chronological development of events from the time of the Germans' arrival in the neighborhood until they move out again. The plot of the novel is founded on the premeditated and systematic action of the Germans, who are anxious to get Slimak off his land, and on the peasant's passive resistance to this action; his resistance would have terminated in defeat, had it not been for the almost supernatural intervention of his dying wife. A series of episodes characterizes the peasant's relation to the landlord, to the Jewish inn-keeper, the priest, and to his own wife and children. The peasant dialect is lively and authentic; the language of the narrative and descriptive parts clear, concrete, epic, and 'realistic,' devoid of all poetization or lyricism even in the description of sad or grim scenes. The title might indicate a certain tendency towards idealization or point to an example or model; but this is absent in the execution of the novel which is characterized by objectivity

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and epic integrity. The characters live their own lives, and the action is governed by a purely artistic logic. The next larger work of Prus's is Lalka (The Doll, 1890). Without exaggeration one may say that it is the most distinguished novel produced in Poland up to that time and the finest novel of its period. No previous novel presented such a broad view of social life nor suggested so many aspects of it, and none reached such a high level of artistic presentation. It is difficult to say to what type of novel The Doll belongs, becausc it combines various types. It is in many respects a 'novel of character' of the type so common in both Polish and foreign literature (Kraszewski, Korzeniowski, Walter Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, and others), which treats a main plot centered around one or a few unchanged, 'static' characters and conduct them through a series of situations and events. Such a character and 'hero' in The Doll is Stanislaw Wokulski, a nobleman by origin, but businessman by profession, and at the same time a romantic and unhappy lover. The history of that character, both as an active positivist and as a lover, gives the basis of the plot. He is a representative of the new positivist world, and of the transformation from gentry to bourgeois psychology; there are, however, some romantic-erotic vestiges, or rather certain universal traits unconnected with any cultural movement. Wokulski is a complex character, highly interesting in his reactions to various issues; his forceful personality is clearly drawn and given a consistent psychological 'style.' At the same time The Doll is also a novel in which the action does not merely serve to shape and emphasize the characteristic traits of the persons involved but plays an autonomous and significant part in the structure of the novel. Several interwoven plots can be distinguished, which enrich and complicate the main action. There is the problem of Wokulski's love for the beautiful but soulless Isabella L^cka, which is complicated by the affection he in turn inspired in another woman; there is the question of his commercial activities, while the shop of Mincel (owned later by Wokulski) and its story become, as it were, a separate plot in the novel. Parallel with those problems runs the story of Ignacy Rzecki, one of the finest figures in Polish fiction. There is besides a whole group of bigger and smaller episodes whose task it is to complete the picture of the life of this epoch. Thanks to this multiplicity and diversity of the action, the story flows vividly and swiftly, moving the reader's attention frequently from one center of action to another and sometimes leaving him in suspense and uncertainty as to the subsequent development of one problem; it then soon intrigues him with the development of another

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problem which merges more or less organically with the former. There is no redundancy in Prus; those dead and empty passages which occur in the works of older writers, are absent from his. It may be said of The Doll that it contains not a single page which, regardless of its connection or lack of connection with one or another plot, does not tell something interesting or shed a new and interesting light on various phenomena. Even in such passages as Rzecki's Journal, where we are taken back into completely different times and a different spiritual atmosphere and when the frequently dramatic story of Wokulski is interrupted, we are entirely absorbed by the world Prus presents, so alive, artistically true, and close to us does it appear. The same is true of a number of episodes: the life in the shop, the fight of the students with the Baroness Krzeszowska, the trial over a doll which was supposedly stolen from her, a lawsuit against those students who do not pay their rent and frighten the landlady with a skull introduced into her flat with the help of a rope, and who later move out of their lodgings through a window; the auction of L?cki's house with some obscure figures of middlemen, amateur advisers, and professional bidders. The book is full of excellent scenes and sketches of life in Warsaw, lively and original human types, splendid humor and the finest wit, as well as a moving, though reserved, sentiment, or revelations of a profound problem or painful social injustice. Among the gallery of characters in The Doll we find representatives of all classes of contemporary Polish society, which was then undergoing one of its most significant transformations. We know from Prus, the publicist, what his attitude towards that historical process was. In The Doll he looks at it with the eye of an artist who sees, feels, and understands. He shows us the landed aristocracy, some of them still settled on their land, some completely bankrupt, like the L?cki family who sought to redeem themselves by a rich marriage (this is the reason Isabella finally consents to an engagement with Wokulski). He also presents the gentry of various financial and cultural levels, as well as the budding Polish bourgeoisie, often of German origin, like the Mincel family, and groups of salesmen, draftmen, employees, and representatives of the workers and peasants. In another cross-section we see the Polish conservatives, both educated and ignorant, the gentry who try to understand the meaning of the new life and to adjust to it. as well as that gentry who have only indignation and disdain for it because it did not spare them; there are also progressives, positivists, radicals, and socialists; in addition, there are representatives of the free professions, lawyers, doctors, engineers, students; and there are the social outcasts and women of ill repute.

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Among the representatives of the Jewish minority there are both the good natured, unassuming Jews, devoted to their country, and the champions of a nascent Jewish nationalism. There is even a Russian, a typical Moscow business-man, Wokulski's friend and admirer. In his portrayal of this many-sided world Prus maintains a strictly artistic attitude, uncolored by ideological opinion but inspired by a humanitarian and artistic interest in each human soul and every social symptom. He is able to show human feeling even in that 'doll,' Isabella L?cka, or that mummy, her father. His novel is not a satire on contemporary society, but the epos of an era, which, as every epic should, treats its world calmly and with moderation, devoting the same keen attention to the good as to the bad and granting equal rights to details. In the structure of The Doll we observe the use of traditional devices beside new and original ones. The majority of the events in the novel are looked upon from two points of view: that of Wokulski or that of his friend, Rzecki. The latter's journal is not only a novel within a novel, which describes its author's childhood, youth, and maturity, but in many passages it directly or indirectly involves the story of Wokulski and other characters. It plays the part of a commentary on the problems, written by a man of a completely different generation, of different opinions and feelings. Rzecki, that 'last romantic,' as Wokulski calls him, comes from a generation brought up in the romantic, Napoleonic, and revolutionary ideology; his father was a soldier of Napoleon, who educated his son to venerate the emperor's ideas and even his descendants. In his youth, Rzecki took an active part in the Hungarian Revolution of 1848, and it is the most pleasant and proud memory of his life. He sees contemporary questions from the point of view of international politics, connected with the cause of Napoleon III, with which he closely associates the cause of Poland, just as his spiritual ancestors always associated it with the revolutions of oppressed peoples in Europe or with wars against the agressors. That is why Rzecki has nothing in common with the world he lives in, and only by an irony of fate is he a salesclerk and later the manager of Wokulski's shop. In fact his only civic interest is in international politics, which he cautiously designates by a 'p.' in his journal ('p. of great importance in this matter — P. at stake here,' he notes there often, interpreting every item of world news in this way). He is sincerely attached to Wokulski and impressed by his energy and enterprising spirit, but he worries about his unhappy love and even tries to suggest a more suitable life companion (whom, incidentally, he himself loves secretly). Through the character of Rzecki and his Journal the positivist epoch is linked with

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the preceding one; it illuminates the transitional and critical character of that epoch better than any other device in the novel, even Wokulski's 'romantic' love. Rzecki's Journal plays still another structural role. It contains what the Germans have called the 'Vorgeschichte,' that is, the story of Wokulski before the plot proper begins. In this way his whole story is unveiled slowly and gradually, intriguing the reader more than if, following the style of older novels, the author had begun his biography from the beginning, reported it summarily in the first chapter, and then proceeded to the actual plot. There is one further source of information concerning the hero's early life, namely the conversations of the habitues at a little Warsaw restaurant, who, naturally, look at Wokulski's 'career' from a different point of view than Rzecki's. These and similar structural devices are used extensively in The Doll, and they all help to maintain the reader's attention and interest in a state of suspense, to reveal the characters and problems of the novel from different sides, and to impress them on the reader more forcefully and suggestively. The Doll is one of those Polish novels that describe a world close to our personal experience; we readily believe that these people actually lived and that everything occurred just the way Prus described it; such a reaction can only be evoked by a masterpiece. After The Doll, Prus wrote a long, four-volume novel entitled Emancypantki (The Emancipationists, 1894). The then urgent problem of the emancipation of women and their equality in work and rights of citizenship was here conceived again in an artistic rather then a journalistic spirit and presented in all the complexity of its aspects. What is emancipation, what is its scope, what are its limits, what are the practical ways of its execution, what are the psychological transformations connected with it, and what the individual and social consequences? Those are a few of the questions posed, some of the problems with which the emancipationist movement and every woman who took part in it were faced. Who is the real emancipationist in the novel: Mrs. Latter, owner of a 'boarding school for girls' in Warsaw (a monumental picture of this kind of institution which brought up whole generations of Polish women), an interesting and rich human personality, but forced to think mostly about her personal problems? Or Madzia Brzeska, that 'genius of feeling,' who in life followed only the instinct of her heart and not social theories, constantly wounded in her idealistic feelings by the external world, but faithful to them until the end and strongly believing that they were her mission in life? Or the noisy but empty women who affect the 'emanci-

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pationist' jargon, dress in men's clothes, cut their hair short, smoke cigarettes, speak loudly, and express themselves violently 'like men,' at the same time declaring their hatred and disdain for men? Prus devotes relatively little space to the latter, but he characterizes them in telling, satirical lines. The central figure of the novel is Madzia, and her story occupies the greater part of the novel. The point is that the title does not represent entirely the contents of the novel, and the problem of emancipation, introduced in the first volume as a parallel to the history of Mrs. Latter, is gradually abandoned in the next volumes until finally it almost disappears. As a result, The Emancipationists becomes, like The Doll, a broad social canvass, in which the 'woman' problem in the sense of the epoch is seen only as one of many. But the question of womanhood in a more general sense, the question of woman's role in the life of individuals and of society, is followed in the character of Madzia throughout the subsequent volumes of the novel as an important, if not the central point of interest. This question appears, again as in The Doll, against a panoramic background of the life of contemporary society. Two main pictures stand out in striking contour and constitute two separate wholes within the novel. One is the life in Mrs. Latter's boarding-school and her personal drama; the other is life in the little town where Madzia seeks shelter after her first failure. These are like two specimen cells of social life, which the author draws with the passion of a born epic writer and with his characteristic ability to capture, as it were, social phenomena 'alive.' The Warsaw boarding-school represents a world enclosed in itself, socially important because it forms the character and minds of future wives, mothers, and social leaders; the provincial town is a miniature of society, a microcosmic version of its structure, its characteristic traits, its qualities and foibles, and its biological force. Prus shows us the reflection of the whole social sea in this little provincial drop, magnifying these little, ordinary people, petty, unimportant problems, intrigues, gossip, hatreds, and types of various social classes. He shows us both universal and national psychological traits, values of social forces, and the problem of this society's perseverance and adjustment in the new world. These are the questions with which an attentive reader is faced, although the author draws no conclusions but presents a skilful selection of material for thought looked at from many sides. Even from the discussion above one may see that the structure of The Emancipationists differs from that of The Doll. It is looser and freeer, the whole broken up into separate parts that are linked chiefly through the person of the heroine. The episodes grow into separate tales which are

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not necessarily tales of a novelistic character. The last volume introduces a series of chapters which include an unusual résumé of a whole metaphysical system. This system is exposed by Dr. Dçbicki, a character introduced into the novel only for this purpose. Regardless of the intellectual value of his theories and regardless of whether they are an expression of the author's opinion or simply a picture of certain intellectual trends opposed to positivism, this whole digression is too extensive and not sufficiently linked with the plot of the novel. It must be recalled, however, that in the novels of the most distinguished West-European and Russian writers such philosophic, religious, historical or other digressions were not at all rare: for instance, in some of the novels of Balzac, Tolstoy, or Dostoyevski. And, among more recent writers in Poland, like ¿eromski, we find long exposés or discussions between the characters, which go far beyond the subject and structure of the novel. Such digressions must be accepted as the external expression of the authors' spiritual need to take part, even if only in an indirect manner, in the discussion of general questions. The third great novel of Prus is Faraon (Pharaoh, 1896). Here the author of so many short stories and novels about contemporary society, who was apparently engrossed in the life and problems of his time, set his imagination back into the distant past to the days of ancient Egypt. This serves as one more proof of the difference between the personality of the man and that of the artist. The artist found in ancient Egypt an interesting and colorful picture of human life, material of universal and eternal interest to every time and country. He also found there problems of a social nature which have recurred in one form or another since the organization of the first states in the world. In Pharaoh, Prus shows the functioning of a political and social organism, the Egyptian state, at a relatively advanced stage of evolution already using some of the methods typical of modern states. Egypt is nominally ruled by the pharaoh, honored almost as a deity, but the actual power rests in the hands of the priestly caste, wise and learned men armed with all the knowledge of their time, who are ruthless and cruel against all opposition and immovable in the face of all attempts to reduce their power. This is then the rule of a caste or clique, which has been so often seen in world history. The psychology of the ruling caste is masterfully depicted by Prus. It manifests itself in the priests' hierarchy and their unconditional obedience to superiors, in their habit of surrounding themselves with an air of holiness and mystery, and in keeping the people in ignorance, poverty, and humiliation in order to gain the support of the wealthy. It also manifests

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itself in their watchful care over the most holy pharaoh, making him even a member of the caste in order to bind him more securely, as well as in their accumulation of great wealth extorted from the people and in their foreign policy, whereby they conclude treaties and declare wars according to their own interests. In short, they control the entire apparatus of state. They cultivate learning not for its own sake, but for purposes of power; they educate scholars in various fields of learning and profit by their services in order to blind the people with 'supernatural' phenomena which they presumably control. What we have here summarized is, of course, presented in the novel through a series of characters, pictures, scenes, events, and conflicts. The crux of the plot lies in the struggle of the young pharaoh, Rameses, against the omnipotence of the priests. While still heir to the throne, he tries to break loose from their rule; when he becomes pharaoh he undertakes a veritable war against them. Inspired by the best of intentions, he contemplates social reform and alleviation of the distress of the common people; he has a general idea of regenerating his country and regarding the interests of the people rather than of one caste. He has clever ideas, noble feelings, and surrounds himself by honest and talented men, but he lacks experience and acquaintance with his opponents, he does not know the extent of his own power, and wants the ability to prepare the final blow systematically. He is too confident and believes enthusiasm will win the day; perhaps he does not know his own people and its psychology shaped by centuries of ignorance and superstition. When the showdown finally comes, and when it seems that the whole country is on his side and against the priests, when the latter are besieged in a temple by the army and the people, he loses suddenly and irrevocably as a result of a truly satanic ruse on the part of his opponents. At the moment of highest tension during the fight, when it appears that the temple will be seized at any moment, the archpriest, Herhor, appears on its walls dressed in festive clothes and surrounded by the priestly orders. He solemnly urges the populace to leave the temple in peace, and when that does not help he turns to the gods and hands over to them the care of 'the holy sanctuary attacked by traitors and blasphemers.' Then is heard the voice of the god of the sun, Osiris (staged by the priests) who declares that he is turning his face away from the damned people. At that very moment a terrible thing happens: the light of day slowly begins to go out, the earth is gradually covered with darkness. One can easily imagine the effect of this phenomenon. The people are mad with fear, the army throws down its weapons and runs away; the air is full of desperate cries for mercy. At that moment the archpriest again turns to Osiris with a

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plea for mercy, which ends just as the sun reappears. But the catastrophe of Rameses and his cause is inevitable. He still attempts to seize the temple with the help of a unit of faithful soldiers, but it turns out that half of them had been bribed by the priests. Their commander is killed, and Rameses perishes by the hand of a murderer hired by the priests. What had happened? What was that miracle that saved the temple and its priests? It was not a miracle at all, but their knowledge which empowered the final blow against their opponent. The priests knew from a trusted astronomer that in those days a complete eclipse was to take place; they directed the battle in such a way as to make its climax coincide with the eclipse. In this way they decisively vanquished Rameses and affirmed their own power, which was signalled by the archpriest Herhor's ascension to the throne as pharaoh. One must not suppose that Prus makes any allusions to contemporary or later conditions in any passage of the novel or that he points to analogies between the Egyptian priests' system of rule and their later spiritual successors. Prus only conveys a suggestive and often fascinating picture, presenting the caste system without the help of abstract explanation, through the lives and story of his characters. In other words, the system emerges of itself, through the actions of the people and the course of events and through all the scenes and episodes in the life of all social classes of ancient Egypt. This novel marks one of the great triumphs of a powerful creative imagination which can bring to life a world long since dead and make it close to us. This imagination, however, is backed by a thorough knowledge of ancient Egypt and a unique understanding for the social conditions which lie at the basis of all regimes, including that of the Egyptian priests. Although this work does not possess an 'intriguing' plot in the traditional sense expected of fiction (the love story of Rameses for a beautiful Jewess is little more than a fragment), and although the foundation of the action rests, on — it would seem — such an 'abstract' subject as the fight for power, Pharaoh is one of the most impressive historical novels not only in Polish but in European literature. It belongs to that rare European genre of historical novel in which the principal subject is not war, battle, and adventure, in which the heroes are not vainglorious soldiers, and the action not a series of exploits designed to cover these heroes with glory. It is a profound and varied picture of the life and processes of society, in which it may be compared only with Flaubert's Salammbo. The plot and action are moving in spite of the absence of all the 'extraordinary' features of war or mystery. They possess great dramatic suspense, skillfully

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developed and graduated through a series of events, until the final, unexpected but inevitable catastrophe. The fact that it is unexpected and at the same time artistically justified by an intrinsic necessity arising out of the pattern of previous events, combined with the greatness of the cause which fails, lends to the ending of Pharaoh a note of grandeur bordering on tragedy. We first met Prus as the leading figure of Polish positivism. Though no more than an outline, this discussion of his novels should have substantiated the idea that he was also the most outstanding representative of realism in Poland. His work distinguishes an epoch in the development of this literary genre and marks its summit. 2 Eliza ORZESZKOWA (1841-1910) was formed, or rather formed herself, in the same spiritual atmosphere which inspired Prus's social and literary activity. Hence, in spite of many great differences of talent and temperament we find between them many similarities in outlook. Orzeszkowa was also a child of the gentry, in whose traditions she was brought up. But, like Prus (though in more difficult conditions, since as a woman she was left to herself and forced to spend many years in a provincial or rural environment without the help and stimuli to be found in Warsaw) she liberated herself from these traditions on her own initiative. There is something impressive and moving in this transformation of a 'young lady (and later mistress) of the manor' into one of Poland's most progressive and uncompromising advocates of social equality, a woman who fought for better standards of living and rights of citizenship for the peasants and Jews, campained against ignorance and backwardness, against the selfishness of the upper classes, and against the humiliation of women, who had been traditionally confined to 'church, kitchen, and children.' Unlike Prus, Orzeszkowa was not a professional publicist; only from time to time did she take up public matters in articles and pamphlets, where all her utterances were characterized by deep social concern, a thorough knowledge of the problems and a broad humanitarian attitude. We have already mentioned her pamphlet dealing with the Jewish question. Let us give another example of a treatise devoted to the question of 'cosmopolitanism and patriotism.' These two concepts, usually contrasted and even considered incompatible, complement each other in Orzeszkowa's interpretation, constituting the essential and necessary traits of an enlightened and cultured person. They only have to be conceived rationally, that is, 8

In recent years the critic K. W. Zawodzinski has tried (without effect) to lower Prus's position as a publicist and artist, in a collection of magazine articles, entitled Stulecie trojcypowieiciopisarzy (Sienkiewicz, Orzeszkowa, Prus) (Lodz-Wroclaw, 1946).

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cosmopolitanism not in the sense of giving up ties with one's country or its best traditions, and patriotism not in the meaning of chauvinism which blinds itself with imagined national virtues opposed to the culture of other nations. Orzeszkowa's cosmopolitanism meant Europeanism in the sense conceived by the representatives of the Enlightenment in the eighteenth century, Mickiewicz and the democratic émigrés, to whom Orzeszkowa stands indeed as a 'younger sister.' Her patriotism was felt in the terms created by those men and was closer in spirit to the pedagogical sobriety of the eighteenth century than to the enthusiasm of romantic messianism. Orzeszkowa's relation to the positivist outlook is interesting. Entirely by herself she worked out similar beliefs of her own ; similar, but not identical. In general one may say that she laid greater emphasis on moral and humanitarian problems than on economic ones, though she never neglected the latter. On the other hand, she did not accept entirely the radical philosophy of positivism; she mistrusted the rejection of metaphysics and the adoption of method of thinking based exclusively on experiment and concrete facts. Like Prus, she believed in the value and power of general ideas which can neither be proved nor checked by figures. She believed in the influence of intuition and feeling on thought, though they might not always be 'logical' or practical. Her attitude towards recent developments in Poland was somewhat different from what might be called the official opinion of positivism. Though she was far from advocating or propagandizing for new armed movements in the conditions of her time, she could not, on the other hand, condemn the last Insurrection out of hand, as the more ardent positivists had done (particularly the Stanczyks, often in a highly distasteful manner). She could not pass judgment in this way, not only because she had personally gone through the Insurrection in Lithuania and witnessed the insurgents' sacrifices and heroism, but because her habit of mind, always in harmony with the natural sympathies of her heart, made her more tolerant and understanding. Her integrity and honesty towards both national and more general problems may be seen in everything she wrote. Her career as a novelist began early, around 1866, and lasted until almost the last days of her life. She left to posterity some twenty large volumes, the vast majority containing novels and short stories. These deal with a wide range of themes and show a continuous development and enrichment of her means of artistic expression. We find her treating the question which she interpreted chiefly as arising from the faulty upbringing of women in her time, which educated them only in the most general subjects so that they lacked the professional knowledge to take

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up practical, remunerative work and so save themselves from humiliation and frustration. Then Orzeszkowa considered the question of the life of the wealthy and the poor country gentry and their mutual relationship; the uselessness, laziness, and decadence of the Polish aristocracry — the continuous concern of nearly all Polish novelists — and the other recurrent problem, the ignorance and poverty of the peasants. A whole group of her works is devoted to the life of city Jews. Orzeszkowa has also given her interpretation of the socialist movement, the psychology of decadencc, and episodes of the January Insurrection. The most characteristic of her earlier novels are Pamiqtnik Waclawy (Waclawa's Journal, 1870) and Marta (1873), both portraying the difficult situation of women unprepared for an independent life. (Marta was soon translated into German and became a kind of propaganda book for the feminist movement in Germany). Here we can also include Pan Graba (Mister Graba, 1872), which shows the inexperience and naivete of young women in relation to men. These early novels do not yet display Orzeszkowa's originality. They are written in a traditional manner, in the genre of Kraszewski or even earlier writers; they are lengthy (Waclawa's Journal is in four volumes!), rhetorical, full of didactic exposes which are supposed to teach and convince the reader instead of having the characters themselves and the things that pass between them convince and move him. Far more mature is her cycle of 'peasant' novels. In Dziurdziowie (1885, the name of a peasant family) we are given a grim picture of the frightening ignorance of the peasants and their belief in the real existence of witches, who with Beelzebub's assistance cause cattle to die, the soil to be barren, men to meet with sudden death, etc. In this medieval atmosphere of superstition, a young, kind, and pretty woman, destined by nature for a better sort of life, is accused of 'magic' and perishes. More complex and modern is the problem presented in Cham (The Boor, 1888). The novel presents the drama of a good, kind, and understanding peasant who does not hesitate to marry a fallen city girl because he loves her and believes in the ability of human nature to go through moral crises. Even when she leaves him and returns to her former way of life, his belief is not shaken fundamentally, and he receives her back again with true saintly goodness and forgiveness, when, poor and ruined, she again comes to him. But his fate is such that he cannot enjoy peace and happiness. His wife does not change at heart; she does not understand her husband's sacrifice and cannot really attach herself to him. Her former life has spoiled her completely and hopelessly; she dies by her own hand. When we compare these and other peasant novels of Orzeszkowa with

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the same kind of works by earlier writers and even contemporaries like Prus and Sienkiewicz, we observe between them a difference of atmosphere. This is not a question primarily of the subject matter, but of the manner of its conception and expression. The other writers also presented the peasants' ignorance and poverty, but they did it in a more epic manner, that is, more or less in the same way in which Mickiewicz presented the gentry in Pan Tadeusz: with moderation and calm, sometimes with humor, with an equal distribution of light and shade, and a special interest in the unusual life and psychology of the peasants. This is true of the majority of Prus's works (The Outpost serves as a good example) and some of the earlier short stories by Sienkiewicz, not to speak of Kraszewski. Orzeszkowa is not an epic writer in this sense. Peasant life does not interest her as literary material, as a wide and rich field for psychological and social observation. She is consumed by the passion of a moralist who sees preeminently the evil. This evil is the dominant note in her peasant scenes and the structural basis of her works; her vision of evil determines her choice of characters and motifs for her plots. The difference is not one of 'pessimism' and 'optimism' but concerns rather the psychology of Orzeszkowa's attitude, which affords an equal chance of artistic success in its own way though it is governed by different motives. Hence that trait of 'tendentiousness' attributed to Orzeszkowa, which means that the literary material is shaped to fit intellectual conceptions assumed a priori and is worked out so as to 'illustrate' those conceptions most expressively. Indeed there is a great deal of this tendentiousness in Orzeszkowa's earlier works, but it is not so simple in later ones. If Dziurdziowie 'illustrates' a thesis about the terrible effects of ignorance and superstition, this thesis emerges only indirectly from the represented material of the novel, which speaks for itself, even though it is, of course, 'asserted' in conformity with the way the author sees these things. And what 'thesis' could be attributed to Chaml Here it is not even a question of 'peasant' psychology, for what the heroine and her husband go through touches upon the general problem of the common life of two essentially different human beings, of whom one can love and honor even a 'streetwalker,' while the other cannot appreciate even a 'saint.' A more specifically Polish problem is unravelled in Bene nati (1892), in which we are introduced to that interesting class which exists only on Polish soil, the impoverished gentry living in separate small villages, called 'zascianki.' Since the times of Rzewuski and Korzeniowski, their way of life had come to be more and more like that of the peasants, but they continued to preserve the tradition of their 'gentle treasure' (that

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is, the coat of arms) which raised them above the common crowd of the peasants. In Bene nati there is an excellent portrait of the Osipowicz family and its relatives who belong to this class; they force the young heroine to give up her love for a simple peasant to marry a half-imbecile 'nobleman' and thereby to ruin her life. Much shorter than the others, this novel is also more condensed and compact, more reserved in its rhetoric, and simpler in style. It gives a series of colorful and lively characters and its action is well modulated in its dramatic accents. The heroine's drama, a conflict between love and the class prejudice which is latent in her and intensified by her environment, is the chief motif in an action that is skilfully handled throughout. The group of 'Jewish' novels occupies a special place in Orzeszkowa's work both with regard to subject matter and expression The subject is the life of Polish Jews, while the technique reveals a growing tendency toward stylization of character and events, and towards generalization and symbols, while the language becomes lofty and pathetic. Such a style, however, is well suited to this exotic world, which in Orzeszkowa's day had remained unchanged on Polish soil for centuries. Not only the author's social and moral attitudes make themselves felt in these novels, but also an artistic interest. Her short story Silny Samson (The Strong Samson, 1877) describes a poor and sickly provincial tailor who plays the part of the heroic Samson in a play performed on the stage of an amateur theater; this performance becomes the greatest and most intense experience of his life, raising him in both his own and the public esteem. Even in this small, miserable, and ignorant world, a ray of primitive art and an amateur artistic performance have an elevating and ennobling effect. Meir Ezofowicz (1878) gives a picture of larger dimensions, Here, as in Niemcewicz's Leybe and Syora, two worlds are seen in conflict: the ignorant, fanatical, orthodox Jews who profess extreme religious and racial hatred, and the more liberal members of Jewish society who are noble and progressive and strive toward education and culture and the development of their own traditions of enlightenment left behind in the works of Maimonides. The representative in the novel of this latter world is Meir who, from natural inclination and his reading of Maimonides, wishes to reform his people, to overcome the narrow doctrine of the Talmud and its blindness, and to effect a rapprochement with the civilized world and Polish society. Unfortunately, the power of tradition is too strong for an individual to break through it. Meir is solemnly excommunicated and must leave his native province. He goes out into the world, alone and self-reliant, like Antek in Prus's short story, to meet an

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uncertain fate. The novel closes with a disguised invocation to people of good will to lend their help to men like Meir. The tone of the novel is dark and morbid. The action takes place in a provincial town, in the patriarchal home of Meir's family, in the residence of the 'melamed' (teacher), chief guardian of the purity of the Talmud traditions, and in the synagogue. The actors are solemn and exotic figures who divide their time between commercial activities, usury, and traditional family life, caring for the purity of their race and religion and believing that they are still the chosen nation. This whole world is presented with authority and passion, and emphasis is placed on the pathos and power of evil deeply rooted in the existence of this people. Against this background shines the isolated nobility of Meir, whose drama lies in the conflict between being a Jew, which he wants to remain, and the necessity of going into exile. Nad Niemnem (On the Banks of the Niemen, 1888), a novel in two volumes, is considered as Orzeszkowa's masterpiece. It is a work in which narrative and descriptive elements prevail, providing a broad picture of society, its customs, and of the Lithuanian landscape. It lacks a 'hero' who might concentrate the chief interest upon himself and his problems; there are instead characters of different social classes, with equal structural rights. One could perhaps say that the hero of the novel is the whole of the Polish society in Lithuania during the second half of the nineteenth century. This society is composed mainly of 'static' characters who do not act but merely exist, fulfill their tasks, and work: they 'abide.' Nor are there any strong or stirring dramatic conflicts; the plot is simple and slight: it concerns the marriage of a girl of the gentry with a peasant of noble origin. It is a marriage of love, inspired by the further conviction that it performs an important social duty by bringing together two hostile social classes who profess mutual dislike and mistrust. Besides the merging of the gentry with the common people by marriage, we see another problem, that of the Korczyriski family, formerly wealthy landed gentry, now struggling with material difficulties as a result of the change from a 'feudal' to an individual economy. The head of the family and the owner of Korczyn is a 'positivist' who believes that it is his most sacred duty to maintain the ancestral property; the considerable difficulties he encounters in pursuing a task which has no aim beyond survival and preservation, cause him slowly to lose the noble ideals of his youth and any broader view of social problems. Another center of the novel, which at the same time introduces a different milieu, concerns the settlement of the petty gentry family of the Bohatyrowicz, the residence of more than a dozen

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families sharing the same name. This settlement is connected structurally with the Korczyn estate because of its neighboring position and some common economic interests, besides a common cause in the past, when representatives of both families took part in the Insurrection, and their new bond in the present in the marriage which is to restore their impaired relationship. The picture of this settlement, the life of its inhabitants, its different types, its moral and cultural level (which is relatively high), its national consciousness — all these belong to the most interesting and, so to speak, 'documentary' parts of the novel. The last milieu portrayed is that of the aristocracy represented by the Rozyc family, linked with the other two only by the past and now living entirely in isolation. Such is the general scheme of the novel. In addition to the material described above, it contains descriptions of the beautiful Lithuanian countryside; this essential aspect of country life occupies in On the Banks of the Niemen a place proportionate to its significance. The long and detailed descriptions of nature are filled with a profound and sincere sentiment. As in the case of other authors, we have been able to discuss only the most important or characteristic works of Orzeszkowa. But even on that basis we can draw general conclusions about her work as a whole. Orzeszkowa's activity had in her time a considerable social and educational significance, especially when we consider the period in which she acted and the circumstances, which were inherently unfavorable and aggravated by Russian policy in this region of the former Republic. Orzeszkowa enjoys the double merit of having broken and cultivated this backward soil with bold, progressive, humanitarian, and democratic ideas, sown by her works as publicist, and also of having moved and educated society with a picture of this land and its inhabitants in her novels. The artistic worth of her literary achievement cannot, unfortunately, compare with its cultural value. Even if we consider only her finest works, we must admit that, although they are on a high level, they do not mark a new period in the development of the Polish novel. Orzeszkowa's creative imagination was not of that type which creates new means of expression, transforms existing literary forms, gives an impulse to further development, or inspires successors. She was too deeply rooted in literary tradition and devoted too little attention to the new artistic accomplishments abroad and at home. Hence her achievements in the field of novelistic 'technique' are slight; and 'technique' is not, as many believe, something external and in the nature simply of a 'craft,' but an integral, organic part of all true creation, on which the entire process, expression, and effect of creation

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depends. Such a powerful 'technical' device as the structure of the novel does not reveal any special inventiveness or originality in Orzeszkowa; her style is slightly archaic (in syntax and particularly in her special liking for placing the verb at the end of the sentence) and typical of eastern Poland (for instance, the reflexive pronoun is always placed behind the verb); it is, moreover, strongly 'poeticized,' and this poetization consists almost exclusively of inversions and rhetorical and pathetic phrasing. These and other more essential poetic devices used in suitable places and situations may yield the desired effects, but applied excessively to works of a 'realistic' tendency, in narration, analyses, or even in dialogues, they miss the intended goal. A special place in this period of the novel is occupied by Henryk SIENKIEWICZ ( 1 8 4 6 - 1 9 1 6 ) . In his youth he was influenced by the ideas of positivism, but with maturity came to quite different opinions and tended in his later years towards a conservative outlook. He was neither a publicist nor a political or social leader. Apart from some youthful articles and columns in the Warsaw Gazeta polska (Polish Gazette) and his Humoreski z teki WorszyUy (Humoresques of Worszyllo's Portfolio, 1 8 7 2 ) , in which he attacked reactionary unenlightenment with the usual educational and economic slogans and some sarcasm of his own, Sienkiewicz later only occasionally took part in any discussion of public matters — as, for instance, in the question of the anti-Polish Prussian policy. Because he was by then a writer already known and appreciated abroad, his voice carried great weight in the intellectual circles of Europe which were sympathetic to Poland, and awakened grateful echoes at home. His philanthropic activity during the First World War, the organization in Switzerland of a committee for the relief of Polish war victims, was of a national but nonpolitical character. Sienkiewicz's literary career proper began with his short stories. To these belong such works as Stary sluga (The Old Servant), Hania, Szkice wqglem (Charcoal Sketches), Za chlebem (After Bread), Janko muzykant (Janko the Musician), Latarnik (The Lighthouse Keeper), and others. Even in these early stories he reached a high level of literary accomplishment, blending a fine epic talent with the humanitarian and 'pro-peasant' tendencies of the age. Charcoal Sketches is a grim picture of a Polish village, centered around the splendid and immortal type of Zolzikiewicz, the secretary of the commune, who has the peasant, Rzepa, drafted into the army in order to seduce his wife. After Bread traces the bitter fate of Polish emigrants iu America, Janko the Musician is a parallel to Prus's Antek, a tale about a talented peasant boy who steals a violin, is beaten to

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death, and dies, expecting that Jesus will play for him on a better violin in Heaven. The Old Servant and Hania transport the reader to a traditional manor of the landed gentry to witness a dramatic story of love and its conflicts. The Lighthouse Keeper tells of the fate of a Polish exile who feels himself carried back on the 'bosom of his fatherland' by reading Pan Tadeusz; but his patriotic reverie causes him to lose his job, which he had waited so long to attain, for, engrossed in his book, he forgets to put on the light in the lighthouse of which he is the keeper. These and other short stories by Sienkiewicz are realistic in conception and sometimes slightly tendentious. Their structure reveals an emphasis on action, although the drawing of characters is often detailed and always clear. Almost from the start Sienkiewicz displayed originality of style, his language being closer to that of Prus than of Orzeszkowa, simple, clear, expressive, neither trite nor vague. These early traits were more fully developed in Sienkiewicz's historical novels. In 1883, his novel Ogniem i mieczem (With Fire and Sord) began to appear in serial form in the Warsaw Word (it was published in book form in 1884). It was followed by two more: Potop (The Deluge, 1886) and Pan Wolodyjowski (Mr. Wolodyjowski, 1887-88; known in English translation as Pan Michael). These novels, generally referred to as The Trilogy, consisted of 13 volumes. Rarely has a Polish novel enjoyed, both in its own day and later, such immense success or evoked such enthusiasm from the public. Readers were so moved that they bombarded the author with letters, asking him, for instance, to spare the life of a hero who was in danger; they were happy if the hero came out alive and they prayed for the peace of soul of those who met a heroic death. Such unusual reactions were due to various causes. What primarily affected the average reading public was the turn from prosaic and hard reality to the vivid, colorful, and, in its own way, beautiful, heroic past. It was highly affecting to be reminded that in the history of the old Republic there were moments when it seemed that it would perish and the attacks of so many and such powerful foes were yet ineffectual. The Republic not only defended itself but won splendid victories and inflicted defeats. Such a portrayal of glory consoled the hearth, acted as a re-assurance, and constituted a proof that in spite of the changed conditions of Poland and the positivist doctrine there was still a corner of the Polish heart which cherished emotions and dreams of another sort. The subject alone would not have kindled such enthusiasm had not the vision of those distant times been impressed upon the reader's mind with an extraordinarily evocative and often overwhelming force of talent.

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The devices Sienkiewicz used to evoke and communicate his vision have long been known and used by authors of all countries, but in The Trilogy they were given fresh power and vitality, concentrated and, as it were, condensed to achieve a maximum effect. Let us discuss the principal devices. In the author's own words, The Trilogy is a 'war novel'; this designation indeed describes its character better than the usual term 'historical novel.' The author's intention was primarily to give a picture of the Polish wars in the seventeenth century: the Cossack wars in With Fire and Sword, the Swedish war in The Deluge, and the Turkish war in Mr. Wolodyjowski. The first two novels deal almost exclusively with war, the third devotes much space to other problems. The accounts of these wars are presented in such a way as to set the victories, heroism, and glory of the Polish forces very much in the foreground and to conceal the failures and defeats in the background. That is why the humiliating flight of the army from the camp at Pilawce is only mentioned in an indirect report, while the crushing Polish victories in small or large battles with the Cossacks and Tatars are described in detail and with great pathos. In With Fire and Sword the heroic defense of Zbaraz becomes a kind of symbolic central motif. A similar focal point in The Deluge is the defense of Cz?stochowa (an old shrine city) and, in Mr. Wolodyjowski, the defense of Kamieniec Podolski. Such inglorious facts as the treason of some Polish magnates and their going over to the Swedish side are confined to a single, though powerful, scene in the castle of Prince Radziwilt. The reader finds out only indirectly and fragmentarily about the seizure of Krakow and Warsaw by the Swedes. Naturally, a writer has full right to choose for his novels whatever motifs he likes, but this very choice describes the author's personality and the character of his work (it suffices to compare Pharaoh and The Trilogy in this respect). The war-like character of the novel is emphasized even more forcefully by the almost complete absence of cultural and social life, while the national mores are indicated only where they influence the ways of war. The author is not interested in giving a whole picture of Polish life in the seventeenth century. He picks out one aspect only and makes it the subject of his work; in addition, this aspect is treated in a specific way. Once these obvious limitations are accepted, it is useless to complain, as did both older and more recent critics, that The Trilogy gives a one-sided and even distorted picture of the past. This is true if we compare The Trilogy with historical documents. But to compare history with a fictional work of creative imagination is always dangerous, for it confuses two completely distinct domains. Much was written about the fact that Prince

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Jeremi WiSniowiecki, known in history as a brawler and cruel oppressor of the Ukrainian peasants, is presented in The Trilogy as a shining hero and the savior of the Republic. 3 The point is, however, that the fictitious Wisniowiecki must not be treated as a 'falsified' historical figure but in his own right as the hero of a novel, a fictional hero, who is quite different from his historical namesake. Apart from his name he may even have nothing in common with the real Wisniowiecki, yet he need not lose the quality of a splendid fictional creation. Such examples of divergence from history are numerous in The Trilogy. From a literary point of view, however, conformity with history is less important than the aggregation of means which set this whole world in motion and the artistic value of these means. We must mention one further trait of The Trilogy: it is a novel of adventure. In this respect Sienkiewicz may be compared with the elder Dumas, who acquired such fame with his novels of adventure (like his famous Three Musketeers) which for a long time excited both the French and foreign public. What are the essential traits of this type of novel? It is clear that excitement and enthusiasm cannot be aroused in the majority of readers by detailed and subtle portrayal of characters, by psychological analysis, nor by a conscientious painting of social background, but only by fascinating, absorbing, breathtaking events and situations joined together in a plot, full of complications, controversies, and intrigue. Events combined into a plot constitute an action, and action is the most characteristic trait and the most important element of a novel of adventure. 4 The personalities of the characters and the whole structure are subordinated to the action, which means that the characters presented will be the kind required by action, and the structure such as will give most space to action and to the most fascinating action at that. This is exactly the case in The Trilogy. Prince Jeremi Wisniowiecki must appear as a magnificent leader and a great man in order to present the cause of Polish arms in all its glory. Skrzetuski is shown as the ideal Christian knight so that his endless striving, disappointment, misfortune, and despair will seem more pathetic and noble. Zagtoba must be a coward and sly to play his part in all the comic, but at the same time dangerous, adventures from which he always extricates himself successfully and even helps others out with his extraordinary ruses. Bohun must be romantic, passionately in love and revengeful, or the necessary constant danger would not hang over the heads of Helena 3

See, for example, Olgierd G6rka, 'Ogniem i mieczem' a rzeczywistosc (Warsaw, 1934). 4 Cf. Edwin Muir, The Structure of the Novel (London, 1928).

historyczna

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and Skrzetuski. Wolodyjowski must be a 'master of masters' in the art of fencing, or how should we have so many exciting brawls and duels? Of course, one must not imagine that the author consciously and coldly compelled the characters to fit the events; the creative process is never so simple nor so arbitrary. But it is certain that Sienkiewicz's first aim was to construct the most exciting and intriguing action possible. This concentration on action naturally affects the portrayal of the characters, which is simple and without any indication of the more subtle issues of personality or psychology. The characters give the impression of being carved in one solid block: we have a great leader, an excellent soldier, a noble knight, a bragging coward, and a meek giant of athletic strength (Podbipi^ta). It it easy to understand them, for they present no enigmas, they do not perplex the reader who likes them for their simplicity. With regard to the action, Sienkiewicz showed himself a master of intrigue and suspense, and in his power for sustaining action has excelled many Polish and foreign novelists. He draws on a whole repertoire of intriguing, inciting devices to hold the reader's impatient interest. Sienkiewicz keeps the reader continuously in suspense, awakening in him a varied but always intense response to the fate of his characters, ranging through gradations of fear, horror, tenderness, admiration, amazement, and anxiety to a patriotic pride in his description of extraordinary heroism and sacrifice. This feature is particularly striking in With Fire and Sword; it weakens somewhat in the following parts of The Trilogy, especially in Mr. Wolodyjowski, where the author has to resort to unusual devices (the story of Azja Tuhaj Bejowicz and Barbara) to keep the slackening tension of the action. In order to produce the desired impressions, the adventure novel naturally cannot present ordinary people or events. Its world is therefore not framed in the context of normal, civilized life, but is by definition extraordinary, full of dangers lurking at every turn, which will call forth supernatural courage, sacrifice, self-control, and all the other specifically heroic traits of character. 5 The best setting for such novels is inevitable war, riot, revolution or crime, which is featured in that other most common type of adventure novel, the thriller. Another trait of the structure of The Trilogy is the alternation of historical and fictional motifs, as well as of scenes full of horror and dramatic suspense, with happy and even humorous scenes. The latter device is particularly valuable in avoiding monotony. Sienkiewicz also makes frequent use of the familiar device whereby a hero is placed in a desperate '

Ibid.

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situation only to be rescued in the most unusual manner; or he has him overcome an enemy whose invincible strength has been much touted. It was necessary to discuss the technique of The Trilogy because it is typical of all the historical novels of Sienkiewicz, though capable of many variations and modifications. Even among the three parts of The Trilogy there are differences, particularly in Mr. Wolodyjowski, where love and non-warlike adventures play a considerable part. Similarly the opening of The Deluge introduces us to the relatively peaceful life in Lithuania. But the technique remains virtually unchanged both in Quo Vadis (1896) and in Krzyzacy (The Teutonic Knights, 1900). Quo Vadis, a novel of ancient Rome under Nero and Sienkiewicz's most popular work abroad, deals by its very nature with other subjects than war; more space is given the social and historical background, the characters are more carefully and substantially drawn and differentiated as human beings, not simply as social types. We have different kinds of pagan Romans and different kinds of Christians, besides the Roman plebs, the barbarians, and slaves. But the action is nevertheless the dominant element, built on a complex of historical and fictional plots, though the fictional plot revolving around the patritian, Vinicius, and the Christian woman, Ligia, is given greater emphasis. As in The Trilogy, historical scenes are interwoven with fictional ones, the grim episodes with happy ones. The pagan world is more impressive and colorful than the Christian, which is somewhat stiff and pale, overpowered by the magnificent scenes of the raging Rome of the Caesars. The juxtaposition of these two worlds is artistically to the advantage of the pagan, a result which was even used as a reproach against the author. The reason for this inequality may result from the fact that Sienkiewicz's sensuous imagination reacted more forcefully to the world of external, physical phenomena than to the purely spiritual ones which necessarily predominated in the life of the Christians. If they also had their dramas and conflicts, these were of an entirely different kind from those of the pagan world. We do not even see them in the novel. We find, on the other hand, scenes of Christian martyrdom which showed Sienkiewicz's talent at its greatest. The story of Ligia exploits the device of frightful danger from which she is saved in a miraculous manner. In The Teutonic Knights (for which Sienkiewicz was awarded the Nobel prize in 1905) we again have an adventure novel, or, more specifically, a novel of 'action,' presented against the background of the conflict in the fourteenth century of the Teutonic Order with Poland and Lithuania, which ended in the destruction of the former at the battle of Grunwald. The plot turns around Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, a young knight who offends

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a Teutonic envoy and is condemned to death; at the last minute he is saved by Danusia, the daughter of a terrible conqueror of the Germans, Jurand of Spychów. Zbyszko marries her, but loses her soon afterwards, when she is kidnapped by the Teutonic Knights who wish to take vengence on her father. Zbyszko sets out on an expedition to rescue her; after being exposed to endless dangerous adventures, he finally finds her, insane and dying. Her father, Jurand, also suffers terrible tortures; captured by the Knights he is imprisoned in a dark cellar and his eyes are put out. After a long period of mourning for his beloved Danusia, Zbyszko marries Jagienka, a more suitable companion for him, a brave woman of great physical strength, energy, and temperament. Such is the résumé of the plot which is interspersed with numerous scenes and episodes from the life and customs of the time and involves a variety of characters from different social classes: the gentry, the magnates, the clergy (the impulsive and riotous abbot, more suited to a military than a religious career ; the humble and devout Father Wyszonka ; the visonary mystic, Koleba), burghers, and even occasional peasants. There are fewer historical characters than in The Trilogy. Queen Jadwiga is seen only in a kind of vision, and King Jagiello appears only in a few passages. The Teutonic Knights are presented in all their haughtiness, lust for power, imperialism, and cruelty. The novel closes with the description of the battle of Grunwald, constructed lege artis in the best battle traditions of The Trilogy. Sienkiewicz also wrote iwo novels of contemporary life. One is Be: dogmatu (Without Dogma, 1891), the psychological analysis of a decadent soul written in the form of a diary. The other is Rodzina Polanieckich (The Polaniecki Family, 1895), which portrays the contemporary Polish society with Stanislaw Polaniecki at its head, a business man disguised as a 'positivist.' However, neither psychology nor contemporaneity were fields well suited to Sienkiewicz's talent. In the first novel he paid tribute to the fashion set up by Bourget; the second is a rather accidental and transitional literary experiment, after which he returned to his proper genre, the historical novel. This field lay closer to the natural bent of his imagination and his finest accomplishments are all in this genre. He had a sense for the past which has rarely been equalled and the power to bring it to life artistically, even though his presentation frequently diverges from historical truth. His brilliant linguistic intuition and excellent mastery of Old Polish enabled him to find the form of expression right for the mind and heart of the seventeenth century and, what was moie difficult, of the fourteenth century as well. While for the seventeenth century Sienkiewicz

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had a great deal of material, both in poetry and in prose, which he studied conscientiously, for the fourteenth century he was faced with the problem of reconstructing the language from the evidence provided by only a few linguistic monuments of the time. He solved the problem very well, filling in the gaps with an infallible sense for the spirit of the ancient Polish language; and he often drew on his knowledge of peasant dialects which had conserved many of the old expressions and forms. A characteristic figure of Polish positivism, Adolf DYGASINSKI (18391902), was an ardent spokesman for the new ideals, a popularizer of science, a notable pedagogue and pedagogical writer. In literature he appears as a short-story writer and novelist with moderate 'naturalistic' tendencies; he depicted the life of the peasants and the landed gentry, and frequently that of animals. With this last subject he introduced new motifs into Polish literature, devoting whole tales (Zsiol,pol ilasow, From Villages, Fields, and Forests, 1887) and even novels (Zajqc, The Hare, 1900) to animals, their psychology and their way of life. He does it with a pleasing love and sympathy for that interesting but inaccessible world. In tracing animal psychology he follows the path prepared by earlier novelists (on the rare occasions when they devoted themselves to such topics) and brought to its peak by Kipling. This means that he transferred human mentality directly to animal figures, searching for human types and psychology in them. Although this is undoubtedly a simplification and schematization of the problem, it yields moving as well as comical results and brings us closer to the world of animals; and in Polish literature it is pleasing for the freshness and originality of the subjects and their presentation. In Poland, Dygasinski was compared with Kipling and sometimes even placed above him, which is of course a great exaggeration when one considers the comparative scale and force of these two talents. Nevertheless, the spirit of Kipling lives in the world of Dygasinski, though adapted to Polish conditions — and Polish animals. Dygasinski abandons this style in Gody zycia (The Feast of Life, 1902), in which he does not limit himself merely to observation, from a 'human' point of view, of animal nature, but attempts to create a kind of a philosophy or metaphysics of nature. The stories and novels of Klemens J U N O S Z A (pen name of Klemens Szaniawski, 1849-98) were also popular at this time. His realistic portrayals of Jewish life in particular were distinguished by keen observation and an ability to expose characters in a somewhat caricaturing but certainly lively and interesting way. He created a whole gallery of the most varied Jewish types from all social strata; his portraits are many-sided

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and his viewpoint varied. One class which he describes is made up of poor people who live in a state of utter destitution. Laciar: (The Mender) is an example of Junosza's stories about this class; it tells of a provincial tailor who circulates in the manors of the region, making and mending the clothes of the great and lesser 'landlords' and their families. In order to make a living for himself and his numerous family he must work not only in the daytime but also at night; this leads him to a grim philosophy of life, according to which, if he wishes to live he cannot sleep, and if he wishes to sleep he cannot live. Another group which Junosza represents more extensively is that of the 'entrepreneurs' of all types, the 'spiders' (Pajqki, a title of one of his novels), who spread their webs from 'black mud' (Czarne bloto, also a title of a novel), ready to make anyone their victim and mercilessly suck away his life's blood. They engage in a variety of businesses: usury, speculation, gambling, contraband, all manner of forgery, open or underhand trade. Junosza tried to maintain the attitude of a completely objective and dispassionate observer with regard to this world, but his sympathy for poverty and humiliation often emerges from his scenes and anecdotes (his works can hardly be called short stories or novels in the strict sense of those terms). Another world is introduced by the novels of Jan LAM (1838-86), a journalist of Lwow, popular in Galicia for his chronicles published in Gazeta narodowa (The National Gazette) and later in Dziennik polski (The Polish Daily). In his novels, or rather his collections of feuilletons which were loosely linked together by a hastily prepared plot, he depicted the Austrian bureaucracy in a sharply satirical light with the proverbial Czech-Austrian civil employee, Wencel Preclichek, at the head in Parma Emilja czyli wielki swiat Capowic (Miss Emily or the High Society of Capowice, 1869). In Glowy do pozloty (The Empty Heads, 1873) he likewise showed up Polish ignorance and backwardness in Galicia. Lam's works, though exaggerated and overdrawn, brought into the gloomy atmosphere of Galician life a ray of intelligent and cutting satire, as well as healthy laughter. In 1886 a collection of short stories intitled Szkice (Sketches) was published by Adam S Z Y M A N S K I (1852-1916). They describe the life of the Poles in Siberia, and it was their subject rather than their literary worth which won popularity and appreciation for the author. His Srul z Lubartowa (Srul from Lubartow) was particularly popular, showing a type of a simple Jew, deeply attached to Poland and his native town. A man whose talent camc close to that of Sienkiewicz was Jozef

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WEYSSENHOFF (1860-1932). He won fame with his ¿ywot i mysli Zygmunta Podfilipskiego (The Life and Ideas of Zygmunt Podfilipski, 1898), which is supposedly a satire on the old gentry psychology. His subsequent novels, however, dealt mainly with just that kind of psychological type. His best work is Sobol ipanna (The Sable and the Girl, 1911), not a novel properly speaking, but a collection of excellent scenes describing the Lithuanian countryside and a variety of hunting parties. His other novels, in which he attempted to illuminate and 'solve' such problems as Polish-Lithuanian relations (Unja, The Union, 1910) or the peasant question (Gromada, The Community, 1913), are poor and offer little of interest. Marja RODZIEWICZ6WNA (1863-1944), who was for a long time popular with certain segments of the reading public, was the author of a very long series of novels, the most characteristic of which is entitled Dewajtis (1887) and contains the apotheosis of a Polish landed nobleman in Lithuania, rooted in the soil as deeply and strongly as that eternal oak from which the whole work takes its name. Another type is presented by SEWER (pen name of Ignacy Maciejowski, 1838-1901), author of the interesting Szkice z Anglji (Sketches from England) and a considerable number of novels based on the life of the peasants, the Jews, artists, the first pioneers of an economic renaissance in Galicia, and other groups. Gabrjela ZAPOLSKA (1860-1921) is usually considered as a representative of the naturalistic trend in the novel. Her 'naturalism,' however, did not consist so much in the use of special structural and stylistic devices designated as naturalistic, as in the fact that she treated various 'ticklish' problems in her glaring style. In Przedpiekle (The Vestibule of Hell, 1895), for instance, she traces the scandalous conditions prevailing in a boarding school for girls; in Fin-de-sieclistka (The Fin-de-si&list, 1897) she caricatures the 'decadent' fashion among women; in Oczem sig nie mom (What One Does Not Talk About, 1909), she discusses the question of the sexual education of women. In these and other novels strongly melodramatic commentaries in a forced 'poetical' language appeared frequently, a method which was very much out of place with naturalism. Kaska Karjatyda (1888) and Sezonowa milosc (Seasonal Love, 1905) are considered her best novels. Zygmunt NIEDZWIECKI (1865-1916), who wrote sketches, tales, and short stories under the distinct influence of Maupassant, is a far more consistent 'naturalist.' Many of his short stories belong to the best of their genre in Polish literature (Slonce, The Sun, 1892; Grzech, Sin, 1895; Liscfigowy, A Fig Leaf, 1900; Oczy, Eyes, 1904; and several other collections). They are distinguished by a strict structure, by sharp pointes,

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precision of characterization and details, and a large dose of skepticism.6 The most 'impersonal' representative of the naturalistic trend was Artur G R U S Z E C K I (1853-1929), author of a large number of novels in which he treated many up-to-date subjects, such as the life of the gentry and aristocracy (Tuzy, The Aces, 1893), of the workers (Gornik, The Miner, 1898), religious problems (Marjawita, 1912), financial questions (Szachraje, The Cheats, 1899), the Germanization of Silesia (Szarancza, The Locust, 1899). He conscientiously applied his method of writing completely impersonally, in a 'scientific' and 'documentary' manner, which makes his books interesting studies of the life of society but not sufficiently individual or original to yield any more impressive artistic effects. The poetry of the positivist epoch equals the novel neither in quantity nor in quality. Adam A S N Y K (1838-97) is considered the most distinguished and the most representative poet of the period. In his early work he followed the style of the great Romantic masters, and in particular of Slowacki, but soon he tried to assert his independence and was inspired by the more modern trends of his period. Many of his poems express the new ideas and the changed outlook and condition of society, though Asnyk treats such subjects in the most general manner and rarely stoops to the level of 'propaganda.' He sings the irretrievable past, the necessity tor the creation of a new life on new foundations, without, however, destroying that which was valuable in the past; he talks about the old forms which must undergo a transformation and according to the law of progress will be fashioned into something finer and better. His world view was expressed in a cycle of 30 sonnets, entiled Nad glqbiami (Over the Depths, written between 1880 and 1894), in which he touched in a very abstract manner upon such problems as the riddle of existence (and the inability of the human mind to discover its mystery), the concept of evolution of the universe, the essential continuity and interdependence between all evolving entities, and the immortality of even individual phenomena in this eternal process. In his cycle W Tatrach (In the Tatras) 7 he was one of the first Polish poets to relate the beauty and power of that most impressive Polish mountain range. Moreover, his work contains numerous poems unconnected with any 'trend' or philosophy, the purely lyrical expression of general states of mind. This is undoubtedly his finest v/ork and that most likely to survive. For instance his poem Szkoda (It's a " Cf. Olga Scherer-Virski, The Modern Polish Short Story (The Hague, 1955), pp. 151-60. 7 In Poems, 1888.

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Pity) stands on a much higher level of poetic expression than the philosophical sonnets. There is a certain 'philosophy' even here (the sorrow of unexhausted feelings, dreams, and desires), but it is expressed in poetic images rather than rhymed reasoning. Each image is condensed and compact in form, while the anaphoral 'pity,' repeated in nearly every line, runs through the poem like a refrain, linking the lines together with emotional force. The same is true of the contemplative poem Bez granic (Without Bounds), which reflects on the contrast between nature and the human spirit; brooks have their beds, seas their boundaries, mountains their limits, but the human spirit is boundless in its drive toward the infinite and in its relation to space and eternity. Asnyk interprets this in a simple but individual and original way. His love poems Miqdzy nami nic nie bylo (There was Nothing Between Us) and Zwiqdly listek (The Wilted Petal) are, as it were, modernized eclogues of the eighteenth century, with 'forests,' 'cascades,' 'nature's sweet charm,' and a rose petal which contains an amorous confession. All this is charming, delicate, 'pastelcolored,' with something like the quality of a china figurine. It is reminiscent of Slowacki's In Switzerland. But Asnyk sometimes strikes a different tone, for instance, in his poem Ta Iza (This Tear), where the drama of inevitable separation and the feeling of guilt and suffering are expressed in simple but moving words. In the poem Samotne widmo (The Lonely Phantom), the problem of man's attitude towards the past is touched upon. The poet is visited by a 'lonely, pale phantom,' which is 'the dead thought of a whole epoch.' This phantom complains that it is rejected and abandoned by the contemporary world. The poet here interprets the problem in a poetic manner, offering only the personified vision of the humiliated past, without introducing any discursive elements. In a period relatively poor for poetry, when little was produced and interest was low, Asnyk was one of the few to keep the poetic torch burning. The flame did not soar very high, nor did it burn with very much heat; but though it may not dazzle us, it can still warm and move us gently and awaken us to eternal things reflected in every human soul. Asnyk's poetry fulfilled this task by a variety of individual devices. He must be considered within his limitations and not forced into the position of a 'philosopher,' as was often done in Poland. Asnyk also tried his hand at drama, and he wrote a number of contemporary and historical plays: Galqzka heljotropu (A Branch of Heliotrope, 1869), Bracia Lerche (The Lerche Brothers, 1888), Cola Rienzi( 1874), and Kiejstut (1878). These works have a number of poetic virtues (some are written in verse), but they lack sufficient dramatic quality.

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The second representative poetic talent of this period was that of Maija KONOPNICKA ( 1 8 4 2 - 1 9 1 0 ) . She was active in many literary fields, leaving behind in each a number of interesting and valuable works. In her poetry she embraced, especially in her earlier creative years, the ideals of her age, particularly with regard to the social question. In her first volumes of poetry this theme is heard forcefully and in different variations of noble tendency, very often in a rhetorical-pathetic style. The author paid more attention to the grim subject than to its poetic elaboration; she portrays, for instance, a workman after payday, who first resists the habit of spending a lonely Saturday evening at the inn, but finally gives in because he has no place to go, as there are no cultural institutions for him. She portrays a so-called 'free-hired worker' who is really 'free'; he owns nothing, is fired from his work, and his child dies. She also presents a proletarian child in a basement room, who dreams about the country, green grass, pastures and growing wheat; another child is 'on trial,' accused of a small transgression resulting from ignorance and from the fact that there was no school in his village and nobody cared for him. These are some characteristic motifs in Konopnicka's poetry. Even in her first collections she shows her ability to interpret them in a more expressive way by means of sublimation and of poetic generalization. For instance, the poem entitled A czemuz wy, chlodne rosy... (And Why Do You, Cool D e w . . . ) , which is remarkable for its concentrated feeling, is discreet in its expression and thus makes a stronger impression than could have been achieved by declamation. In voicing general slogans, Konopnicka often used excessive rhetoric which had to convince, but not to ravish. But among her 'programmatic' poems there are works which, in Norwid's words, 'do not drag truths down from the Heavens, but cry for them,' which means that they do not expound precise ideas or definite programs in a discursive manner but cry for their search and execution. Thus the poem Przeoraly raz i drugi (The Land was Ploughed Time and Again) urges symbolic 'sowers' to scatter their seed on the Polish soil. The death of one such 'sower,' the Irish hero Robert Emmet, who after the unsuccessful revolution of 1802 was put in prison, condemned, and executed after he had first kissed his executioner, is recounted in the form of an old ballad in the poem entitled Pocalunek Roberta Emmeta (Robert Emmet's Kiss). We find perceptions in some of Konopnicka's poems which reach beyond the pathos of struggle, victory, or death, to the very essence of existence. In the poem A ci, co ginq (And Those Who Perish) she draws a parallel between those who perish in the struggle and those who return

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victorious. The death of the former will not stop life, which 'will enter their homes and sit on their thresholds'; those who return victorious will be awaited at home by 'the misery of life and sadness,' and death will enter their homes to sharpen its weapon. In Konopnicka's numerous collections of verse8 we find an infinite number of subjects and motifs, which reflect her vivid reaction to the most varied stimuli, many experiments with different poetic forms, and whole cycles of poems on a given theme. One of those cycles is Italia (Italy, 1901), in which we find a new world quite different from that which the poetess had previously experienced. Italy, for ages the lively source of inspiration for many Polish and foreign poets, which for some poets, like Goethe, brought about a crisis in their work, caused no revolution in Konopnicka's production, but inspired her to a series of beautiful poems expressing new thoughts and feelings. One of them, Na Janikulum (On Ianiculum), has something of the spirit of Slowacki, of his visions of a great dead past (Agamemnon's Tomb, whose influence may even be detected in the structure of this poem), his style and poetic formulations: meditating roses, the angel of eternal silence, the blackness of cypresses, a Divine body of knights, etc. Konopnicka departs here from the ideas and sentiments of her time, but the threads were strong which linked the poetic souls of that epoch with the past and they all — Sienkiewicz, Asnyk, and Konopnicka — longed for greatness. Another, poem Na morzu h> c/'izf (On the Calm Sea), reaches beyond earthly questions and political programs; very volatile and delicate in its contours and vision, it is woven from the motifs of meditation over the 'wave of life,' melting in this wave and oblivion. Konopnicka's love poems include one of the most impressive in Polish lyric poetry: I bid you go, and I come back to you. It is composed of two principal motifs: 'I bid you go, and I come b a c k . . . ' and 'I bid you stay only to go myself.' Both these motifs are developed in a series of condensed images which suggestively interpret the drama of separation which is necessary but which cannot be accomplished. We have selected a few beautiful and characteristic poems from Konopnicka's very large lyric production. Relatively little other work is as distinctive in quality, because she suffered, in her lyrical production, from a weakness similar to that which Kraszewski experienced with regard to the novel: great sensibility, great ease in writing, and the lack of a definite poetic physiognomy or spiritual 'axis.' Hence her poetic world •

Eight volumes between 1881 and 1906. Complete edition in eight volumes, 1902.

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is dispersed into innumerable motifs, inspiration lost amidst endless passing opportunities; Konopnicka lacks the concentration and 'selflimitation,' which, according to Goethe, 'are the sign of a true master.' Konopnicka's poetic language and verse too frequently betray facility and transparency. The epic poem to which the author herself attached great importance, and which was to become something of a modern peasant epos, was Pan Balcer w Brazylji (Mr. Balcer in Brazil, begun in 1892 but published in its entirety only in 1909). Some critics have shown great enthusiasm for it and maintained that Mr. Balcer is in fact an epos deserving of a place next to Pan Tadeusz. In more objective language we may say that it is a descriptive poem possessing a number of very beautiful passages, strong patriotic feeling, and interesting human types. The difficult octave stanza is treated with an extraordinary ease, but this poem definitely is not an epic in the style of Pan Tadeusz. Its deficiencies are in its length, the dull overweightiness of its descriptive elements, the slight action, and the style which often falls into truly romantic extravagance and pathos. On the other hand, Konopnicka's short stories belong to the finest in Polish literature. It is in this genre that Konopnicka often achieves those qualities which her poetry lacks: compactness and concentration, limitation to one plot, presented clearly without digressions or additional episodes, and an effective conclusion. Among her best stories are Niemczaki (The German Children), Nasza szkapa (Our Old Mare), Urbanowa, and Banasiowa. Some of her literary criticism is also valuable, particularly her study of Mickiewicz. For those days it was a very lively, fresh, and penetrating work, based on sharp intuition and successful in reviving interest in the poet, who was at the time so wrapped in historical and pedantic interpretations that he was beginning to show signs of turning into a mummy. Among the writers of the older generation in this epoch we should mention Felicjan FALENSKI ( 1 8 2 5 - 1 9 1 0 ) , author of good translations of foreign poets of various periods and several volumes of his own, including Kwiaty i kolce (Flowers and Thorns, published in 1856) and Meandry (Meanders, 1892). This is a collection, for the most part, of short epigrammatic poems; Falenski is sometimes very successful in striking the tone and character of this type of poetry. Another poet of the time was Wiktor GOMULICKI ( 1 8 5 0 - 1 9 1 9 ) , who wrote poems, interesting tales of the life of the Warsaw bourgeoisie, and novels. He was generally considered as a poet cf the city (particularly of Warsaw), although his best poems are broader in their scope.

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J6zef BLIZINSKI ( 1 8 2 7 - 9 3 ) and Michal BALUCKI ( 1 8 3 7 - 1 9 0 1 ) are the two noted playwrights in this period. Blizinski's best comedies, Marcowy kawaler (The Aged Bachelor), Pan Damazy (Mr. Damazy), and Rozbitki (The Wrecks), were popular for a long time on the Polish stage. They concern the life of the landed gentry, and in their general atmosphere are somewhat comparable to the Fredro comedies; they display similar psychological types, a similar gaiety, optimism, and lightheartedness, and something of the same underlying outlook, slightly colored with irony and satire. This is particularly true of the first two comedies. The Wrecks presents a more morbid picture (perhaps contrary to the author's intentions) of the decline and fall of the social class of which Mr. Damazy is a morally valuable representative. These works are well composed, the characters lively and set in dramatic contrast, while the action is interesting and swift. From the point of view of dramatic technique they are reminiscent of the plays by Dumas fils. Balucki's plays were also very popular: Radcy pana Radcy (Mr. Counselor's Counselors), Dom otwarty (The Open House), Grube ryby (The Big Shots), Klub Kawalerow (The Bachelors' Club), and numerous others of the same type. They tended toward farce, the characters were like caricatures drawn from the circles of the Krak6w bourgeoisie; the action was lively and the comic situations, filled with simple humor, concealed some deficiencies in structure. Their long survival on the Polish stage is due, among other things, to the opportunity they gave to the actors to caricature old bachelors, stiff-shirted Polish-Austrian bureaucrats, the so-called 'golden youth' of Krakow, and other familiar types. The dramatic production of J6zef NARZYMSKI ( 1 8 3 9 - 7 2 ) approached both in character and tendencies the plays of the contemporary French writer, Emile Augier. His best known play was Pozytywni (The Positive Ones); its thesis is the harmful materialistic attitude of those circles of society which understood the positivist doctrine as an opportunity for personal profit and an excuse for abandoning all but material principles. In another play, entitled Epidemja (Epidemic), the center of the action lies in an equally destructive passion for speculating in the stock market. Narzymski was undoubtedly a talented writer, with a feeling for the theater and for stage characters, but he tried too hard to convince the public of his ideas, to prove his points on the stage, instead of concentrating on the play for its own sake. The skillful comedies of Kazimierz ZALEWSKI were constructed on the same pattern. One of his most popular was Przed slubem (Before the

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Wedding). Ludwik A N C Z Y C followed a different path; we have in his Chlopi arystokraci (Peasants-Aristocrats) a witty satire on class differences among the peasants, and in Kosciuszko pod Raclawicami (Kosciuszko at Raclawice) a very popular patriotic work with no literary pretensions. The theoretician and leader of positivism, Aleksander SWIETOCHOWSKI, was also the author of a number of short stories and plays, of which only a few were performed. The reason for this is the fact that the majority of these dramatic works are not theatrical in character but intellectualideological conceptions arranged in dialogue. His Duchy (Ghosts), for instance, is very characteristic; it is a cycle of plays which was to represent certain stages in the development of humanity from the primitive stage of barbarism to modern times. In other works he touched upon contemporary problems directly or through the device of exemplary instances in history, as in Aspasia, which presents the struggle between democracy and aristocracy in ancient Greece at the time of Pericles. These works concentrate on dialogue which, however, does not possess a dramatic character, that is, it does not involve potentials of conflict and struggle; instead it presents in a discursive, analytical way various questions from a number of standpoints. In its own way the dialogue is excellent, full of subtlety and finesse, displaying a deep and sharp intelligence and an ability to prove a point and refute an objection. The style of these dialogues is not individualized according to the character of the protagonists, but is all in the author's own style, which again helps to deprive the scenes of dramatic character. But in itself it possesses artistic values of high quality. The realistic drama found an outstanding representative in the novelist Gabijela ZAPOLSKA. Her numerous plays of unequal value, which belong both to this and to a later period, reveal more or less the same traits as her novels, that is a combination of realism and 'naturalism' with a melodramatic tinge. They include some patriotic 'bombshells,' such as Tamten (The Other One, 1898) or Sybir (Siberia, 1900), and some interesting plays inspired by Jewish life (Malka Szwarcenkopf, 1897, Jojne Firulkes, 1899). Her masterpiece, Moralnosc pani Dulskiej (The Morality of Mrs. Dulska, 1907), is a three-act comedy, very well constructed, with a lively action and interesting, human types; it catches with great fidelity the spiritual and moral atmosphere in a petty bourgeois home. Mrs. Dulska represents it best; she is a mixture of practical wisdom, hypocritical morality, and care for appearances, with an absolute lack of interest in any cultural questions. Though the portrait is severe, it is conveyed in a

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light and gay manner, with little tendency toward caricature and melodrama. Among Zapolska's other plays three approach the level of The Morality..., that is, ¿abusia (1896), a comedy about a charming woman who betrays her husband in a light, gay fashion without ceasing to be attached to him and to her child; Czworo ludzi (Four people, 1912), subtitled A tragedy of stupid people, a gloomy picture of a clumsy, inept Husband, a vulgar Wife, her Lover possessing all the qualifications to become a criminal, and a poor Child, the innocent victim of the former; Panna Maliczewska (Miss Maliczewska, 1912), a dramatic picture of the fate of a young, beginning actress compelled to be the mistress of a 'respectable' member of higher society. We have already mentioned the lively scholarly movement which developed in this period, particularly under the Russian and Austrian rules. Among the humanistic disciplines the most prominent was history. Its stronghold was Kraków, and its leading scholars were Józef S Z U J S K I , Walerjan K A L I N K A , and Micha! B O B R Z Y Ñ S K I . They were the leaders of the Galician 'Stañczyks,' and in the field of history they created the socalled Kraków School. The main thesis of the school was the assertion that the former Polish Republic fell by its own fault, because of the lack of a strong royal power which exposed the country to anarchy. In spite of their indisputable bias, which even regarded humanism and the reformation as elements undermining the force of the state, in spite of their clear monarchical and clerical sympathies and the condemnation of all insurrections, their principal thesis has not been shaken even in the present day, although efforts were made by outstanding younger historians (for instance, Szymon Askenazy) to question and weaken it. Szujski, Kalinka, and Bobrzyñski were not only outstanding scholars, but also excellent writers (particularly Szujski and Bobrzyñski) who defended their theses eloquently and could impress them upon their readers with much success. Bobrzyñski's Dzieje Polski w zarysie (A Survey of Polish History), Szujski's analogous work, and Kalinka's Sejm czteroletni (The Four-Year Diet) can be read today with undiminished interest as works of outstanding talent. Besides them Kraków had a series of other scholars in the field of history who did not devote themselves to the philosophy of history, but to source studies of different epochs. Tadeusz W O J C I E C H O W S K I did research in the earliest Polish history (his excellent Szkice z wieku XI, Sketches of the Eleventh Century, and Katedra na Wawelu, The Wawel Cathedral); Stanislaw SMOLKA offered the outstanding monograph, Mieszko Stary i

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•ego wiek (Mieszko the Old and His Times); Franciszek PIEKOSIÑSKI published heraldic and genealogical books, court records, and diplomatics; Boleslaw ULANOWSKI an outstanding lawyer, published sources for the study of the history of the Church in Poland. In Lwow there were several active scholars of note: Ksawery LISKE, a distinguished pedagogue, editor of the Lvovian Akta grodzkie (Municipal Acts) and editor-in-chief of the Kwartalnik historyczny (Historical Quarterly); Oswald BALZER, author of the monumental Genealogía Piastów (Genealogy of the Piast Dynasty) and studies about the polity of Poland; Ludwik FINKEL, editor of the basic Bibliography of Polish History, Ludwik KUBALA, whose monographs and historical sketches of the seventeenth century were characterized by fine literary qualities and influenced Sienkiewicz's With Fire and Sword; Wladyslaw LOZINSKI, who worked on the history of L w o w ; and Jan ABRAHAM who studied the history of the Polish Church. The historical work under Russian occupation was likewise directed towards the study of sources. In his Polska wieku XVI (Poland of the Sixteenth Century), Adolf PAWINSKI used a huge accumulation of his own and other people's research on the economic and legal matters of the state. Tadeusz KORZON published a voluminous collection of valuable material on internal affairs of the country in the times of Stanislaw August and, among other things, a monograph on K i n g Sobieski. Wladyslaw SMOLEÑSKI also worked on the period of Stanislaw August, but with a greater emphasis on the cultural and intellectual matters (Przewrót umyslowy w Polsce, The Intellectual Revolution in Poland); his book entitled Ostatni rok Sejmu Wielkiego (The Last Year of the Great Diet) constituted the completion of Kalinka's work, but Smoleñski was an ardent adversary of the Kraków School. Szymon ASKENAZY also worked in Warsaw, and he was the best historian of the younger generation, though he limited his research exclusively to the diplomaticpolitical aspects of history. A m o n g his most distinguished works are his monographs Prince Joseph (Poniatowski), Walerjan Lukasiñski (a book about a patriotic leader which is at the same time a penetrating history of the Congress Kingdom up to the November Insurrection), and his exhaustive three-volume work, Napoleon i Polska (Napoleon and Poland). Having become a professor at the University of Lwow, he educated there a large group of young historians, whose monographs he published in his own series. Alongside history, its younger sister, the history of literature, also developed. Related to classical philology, it adopted a philological-

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historical trend, prevailing for a long time in various forms in this field and even now having representatives among the young scholars. The fatherland of this trend was Germany, from where it spread all over the world. It consisted in a treatment of literary history as the history of culture (just as classical philology treated the ancient literatures); it searched mainly in literature for cultural rather than literary and esthetic values, analyzing them by the philological-historical method, with a great predilection to judge authors, their works, even their characters from a moral point of view. This trend manifested itself, of course, in varied ways in the various personalities of literary historians, but some general principles governed all their contributions. Their great and durable achievement lay in their discovery, classification, and editing of, and their commentary upon the literary monuments of both ancient and modern periods, work which was fundamental to the rise of honest, scholarly investigation. Among the most outstanding literary historians of that time were Wladyslaw NEHRING, professor at the University of Wroclaw, editor of the old monuments of language and author of many literary studies ; Antoni MALECKI, professor at Lwôw, a philologist, historian, and literary historian, author of the first modern and scholarly Grammar of the Polish language, the first editor of the posthumous poetic work of Slowacki and his Letters to his mother, and author of the monograph on Slowacki ; Piotr CHMIELOWSKI, a veritable giant of learning and work, a connoisseur of all literary epochs, a strict, honest mind, an uncompromising man (he rejected a chair at the University of Warsaw when ordered to teach Polish literature in Russian), a stern liberal and progressive. He was the author of the first scholarly monograph about Mickiewicz, the only exhaustive monograph on Kraszewski, and studies about other novelists, the drama and the newest trend in Polish literature; he also wrote the fundamental Historja literatury polskiej (History of Polish Literature), in six volumes, and other standard works. Bronislaw CHLEBOWSKI differed from his contemporaries, being a psychologist and moralist rather than a philologist and historian. With a strong feeling for artistic values, he looked in literary works for the reflection of the authors' souls and, through them, the psychology of society. He published an interesting study of Polish literature based on Taine's theory of the milieu, works bout Kochanowski, Rej, Twardowski, Pasek, Wyspiariski, and finally, the crown of his studies and thoughts, Literatura polska wieku XIX (Polish Literature of the Nineteenth Century). 9 Aleksander BRÜCKNER, younger than the others, 'philologist by •

I n French translation, La Littérature

polonaise

au XIXe siècle (Paris, 1933).

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vocation, literary historian by necessity,' as he designated himself, was 'the discoverer' of Polish poetry of the seventeenth century; he published numerous works which were previously unknown and completely changed our view of that epoch. He was the author of numerous studies, mainly about earlier Polish literature, monographs on Rej and other writers, a Slownik etymologiczny (Etymological Dictionary), the History of Polish Literature,10 and the standard work in four volumes, the History of Polish Culture. Wilhelm BRUCHNALSKI, an unusually erudite professor at Lwow, wrote little, but his studies were always important and original. Besides those mentioned, there was a host of other scholars who cannot be mentioned here. This shows that in this field, as well as in other branches of the humanities, continuous and systematic work was taking place. In the field of bibliography the greatest merit is deserved by Karol ESTREICHER, author of the Polish Bibliography, which contains all Polish printed works from the sixteenth to the nineteenth century, including both the titles of the works, and studies about them, and valuable commentaries on various details connected with them, etc. Oskar KOLBERG laid the cornerstone for the scholarly study of Polish folklore with his immense ethnographic collection, Lud (The Peasants), including everything linked with the spiritual and material life of the Polish peasants in various regions. Stanislaw CISZEWSKI initiated comparative studies in the field of ethnography. Among the monumental contemporary publications, Slownik geograficzny ziem polskich (The Geographic Dictionary of Polish Lands) published in Warsaw for a number of years under the editorship of Bronislaw Chlebowski, should also be mentioned. In the domain of linguistics Polish learning had a distinguished scholar known all over Europe, Jan Baudouin DE COURTENAY (he came of a French family who had long ago settled in Poland), professor at Russian universities, for a time at the Jagiellonian University, and finally at the University of Warsaw. He was also known as a man of unconditional liberal and progressive convictions, which he often expressed publicly. Besides him in Warsaw, Adam Antoni KRYÑSKI, Jan K A R L O W I C Z , W. NIEDZWIEDZKI, and Gabijel KORBUT were also active. They published the fundamental Slownik j^zyka polskiego (Dictionary of the Polish Language), the first work of this kind after the Dictionary of Linde at the beginning of the century, and after the so-called IVilno Dictionary. KARLOWICZ published an equally important Slownik gwar polskich (Dictionary of Polish Dialects), ADALBERG Ksigga przyslów (The Book of Proverbs), and Zygmunt GLOGER Encyklopedja staropolska (The Old10

Published separately as Geschichtc der polnischen Literatur (Leipzig, 1901 and 1920).

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Polish Encyclopedia), a collection of information about Old Polish life. The history of art was cultivated in Kraków by Marjan SOKOLOWSKI, Jerzy MYCIELSKI and S. KOPERA, director of the National Museum. Rocznik Krakowski (The Kraków Yearbook) and Pomniki Krakowa (The Monuments of Kraków) were published there. Philosophy does not show such splendid activity as the other fields, but even there we have some remarkable scholars in Father Stefan PAWLICKI, professor at Kraków, and Adam MAHRBURG at Warsaw. Polish sociology was established under difficult conditions by Ludwik KRZYWICKI, who worked in Warsaw, exerting great influence on the more radical youth. Waclaw NALKOWSKI devoted himself to scholarly geography; he was also one of the pioneers of a progressive social ideology. We should add to the list the popular-scholarly trend in the Kingdom, which gave rise to such publications as Poradnik dia samouków (Guide for Self Education), a unique textbook of its kind in the field of history, philosophy, social science and the natural sciences. There were translations of scholarly works in various fields. Poland saw a growth of the physical sciences equal to that of the humanities, as well as a development of periodicals; the most serious in the Kingdom were the monthlies Bibljoteka Warszawska (The Warsaw Library) and Chmielowski's Ateneum, and in Galicia Pamiçtnik literacki (The Literary Journal). We must also mention the growth of the theater, especially in Kraków and Warsaw, with such outstanding talents as the actress MODRZEJEWSKA, who later became famous in England and America, under the abridged name of Modjeska, Liidowa, Leszczynski, Wojdalowicz, Frenkel, the Trapszos, Zelazowski, and very many others. It may be seen from this survey that in this period lively and intensive work was forwarding not only the economic but also the cultural life of the nation. Polish painting of this period developed in two directions, the historical and realistic. The most distinguished painter of the first trend was Jan MATEJKO, whose greatest works date from the years after 1861 : Skarga's Sermon, Rejtan, The Union of Lublin, Batory at Pskow, The Prussian Homage, Sobieski at Vienna, Kosciuszko at Raclawice, Grunwald, The Constitution of the Third of May, and The Oath of Jan Kazimierz. These works, conceived in a special 'historical' style of his own, won him appreciation both at home and abroad, particularly in France where he received a gold medal for Skarga's Sermon, the Cross of the Legion of Honour, and membership at the Académie des Beaux Arts in Paris. Matejko's senior, who died before him, Artur GROTTGER, produced several series of drawings, Warsaw, Polonia, Lithuania, War, subjects drawn mostly from

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the Insurrection of 1863. Although they presented events and themes which took place during his lifetime they also had a 'historical' character to some degree, and like the works of Matejko, they were distinguished, apart from their artistic worth, by the patriotic feeling expressed in them. Known and appreciated abroad (the second cycle of Warsaw was bought by the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and War by the Austrian Emperor, Franz Joseph), they told Europe more comprehensively of Polish martyrdom and the Polish struggle for independence than the works of Polish poets and publicists. Realism in Polish painting, which descended, as we know, from Norblin and Orlowski, and had already gained distinguished representatives, found the best expression in this epoch in the works of the G I E R Y M S K I brothers, Alexander and Maximilian, pupils of the Munich school, and the splendid landscape painter Jozef C H E L M O N S K I ( 1 8 5 0 - 1 9 1 4 ) , whose works enjoyed great success in Paris and brought him the gold medal in the World Exhibition of 1889.

CHAPTER XI

YOUNG POLAND

Toward the end of the nineteenth century, political conditions in Poland were approximately the same as those which prevailed after the Insurrection of 1863. Social and cultural life developed along the lines described in the preceding chapter; at times we even anticipated the chronology a little in order to maintain the continuity of the picture. However, the last decade of the nineteenth century and the first fifteen years of the twentieth (it is impossible to establish the dates more exactly) mark a distinct turn in Polish intellectual life. This turn is in part a continuation of some tendencies existing during the positivist epoch, but it is also an attempt to create a new world view, inimical to positivism, and, in literature, a new esthetics, opposed to realism. Among the new tendencies, which had already begun in the preceding period, one must recall the appearance of strong, political mass organizations, such as the P.P.S. and the Peasant Party, which, acknowledging the idea of 'organic' work, proclaimed political struggle against both the oppressors and native reaction as their principal task. And political struggle, as we know, was not in the spirit of the strict positivist program. The social policy of these two parties also went further than the progressive liberalism of the positivists; the socialists demanded a fundamental transformation of the polity, while the agrarians subordinated all social issues to the interests of the peasant class. Some distinguished positivists of high intellectual and moral culture rose above the spirit of the epoch; the most outstanding example is Prus. Sienkiewicz's work did not fit at all into the framework of the positivist world view or its literary program, while that of Asnyk and Konopnicka also revealed many elements contrary to the 'official' trends of the epoch. This tendency to react against the positivist mentality, both in politics and in literature, gained in strength and influence during the new generation, and found support in the similar reaction which had taken

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place earlier in other European literatures. This new movement has been variously designated as 'symbolism,' 'modernism,' or even 'decadentism,' but none of these names is entirely comprehensive. For although European literature at the end of the nineteenth century displayed a common trend of anti-realism, this trend was manifested in a variety of ways by different artists. Furthermore, a designation such as 'symbolism' refers primarily to poetry and specifically to the work of some French poets, while 'modernism' is a very general concept, referring to anything 'new,' consequently including all the forms of the novel — a genre which instead of breaking entirely with realism only modified it in a special way. With these reservations in mind we can attempt some general description of the new aspect of literature at the end of the nineteenth century. The rising literary generation revolted against all ties imposed on creativeness, whether by what remained of the classical rules or by the new utilitarian demands which required art to serve social aims. In the epoch of positivism these social tendencies were strongly felt among the best writers and gave a special character to their work. The same trend also prevailed abroad. Now the demand for creative freedom and the reaction against utilitarianism merged in a common resistance to the rationalistic attitude of the dying epoch. This situation possesses some similarity with the earlier revolt of the Romantics against the limitation of intuition and fantasy, and the exclusion of mystery from spiritual life. The new poetic art developed especially among the French symbolists, who exerted the strongest influence on the poetry of the time. They were interested less in 'symbols' as poetic figures of speech than in discovering a hidden kinship between the phenomena of the physical world and internal experience. A connection with music was to be established by a conveyance of feelings and moods through rhythm and sound. The metrics of the verse underwent a basic change: poets began to use free forms, unbound by a fixed number of syllables or stresses, and to use 'free' rhyme, rejecting exactly consonant syllables. Poetic style also changed, acquiring more unusual word combinations, neologisms, a freer treatment of syntax, and an emphasis on the a u t o n o m o u s value of sounds. The precursor of this movement in France was Baudelaire; its initiator and lawgiver, Mallarmé, and its master, Verlaine. In Germany the movement was upheld by Hofmannstahl, Dehmel, and M o m b e r t ; in England by Pater, Symons, Dowson, and Yeats; in Belgium by Maeterlinck and Verhaeren; in America by the so-called Imagists; in Sweden by Ola Hanson; and in Russia by such outstanding poets as Briusov, Balmont, Blok, and Bely.

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In Poland the new literary trend was christened 'Young Poland.' Its connection with romanticism manifested itself, among other things, in the renaissance of the poetry of Slowacki, the most romantic of the Polish romantics. His mystical work appealed particularly to the young generation because it was farthest from all realism. Slowacki's influence has prompted some literary historians to call this period neoromanticism, a designation which is again only partly true. The influence of WesternEuropean literature was stronger and more decisive, especially during the initial period of'fermentation,' before the new writers had crystallized their talents and developed their own style. In this respect most credit goes, at least in poetry, to Maeterlinck, Baudelaire, and Verlaine. Something has already been said about the work of the two French poets. As for Maeterlinck, he introduced a new symbolism in poetry, particularly in the drama — a symbolism full of mystery, horror, and frightening atmosphere. The dramatic works of Henrik Ibsen, though completely different from those of Maeterlinck, were also in line with the new outlook, if only by posing sharply the problem of individualism and the rights of the individual. In his dramatic technique too, Ibsen introduced symbolist elements unknown to classical and realistic drama. A m o n g the philosophers the greatest influence was exerted by Friedrich Nietzsche both in his sharp and brilliant interpretation of moral and psychological problems and his theory of the 'superman' (which, incidentally, was and indeed frequently still is, misinterpreted). Richard Wagner reigned in music; full of 'philosophic,' intellectual elements, based on a new system of harmony and instrumentation, his works were the very opposite of the pure, classical compositions of Johann Sebastian Bach or the classically educated Beethoven. Although Wagner's theory of musical drama (of a synthesis of music, poetry, and painting) was never fulfilled, both because it is impossible to link three fields of art in one work and because of the weakness of Wagner's poetry, it offered a proof of the 'synthesizing' spirit of the epoch. In the second half of the nineteenth century both the Polish and the European novel were influenced to a certain degree by the magnificent development of Russian fiction with Turgenev, Tolstoy, Dostoyevski, and Chekhov as the masters. The change of atmosphere in Poland was slow and gradual. The founding in Warsaw in 1887 of the literary review, Zycie (Life), under the editorship of the poet and literary critic, Zenon PRZESMYCKI (penname 'Miriam'), is generally considered as the first symptom of this change. This periodical, still moderate in tone, did not propagate any revolutionary literary theories; it published the works of both old and new writers, as

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well as articles by positivist publicists. It differed from the other Warsaw periodicals, however, in that it devoted more space to poetry, including foreign works in translation. In the latter field most credit is due to Miriam himself; he translated many works of such leading Western poets as Poe, Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rossetti, Swinburne, and Maeterlinck. He published a translation of the dramas of Maeterlinck separately, and the extensive introduction to this book alone contributed largely to the assimilation of the new literary trends in Poland. Miriam was an admirer of symbolism, maintaining that all great and immortal art has always been symbolist; the symbol contains elements of the infinite, and reveals unlimited and unearthly horizons. In his words one clearly hears echoes of the French symbolists. In spite of its moderate character, Life has the great merit of awakening interest in poetry in an epoch when everything 'poetic' was, so to speak, programatically eliminated from the spiritual life. This periodical did not live long, but Miriam did not give up his ideal of poetic education. In 1901 the first Volume of his new magazine Chimera appeared, and it was far more outspoken in character. In it Miriam consistently and uncompromisingly propagated the cult of pure art, however conceiving art in a broad sense and not restricting it to the work of one contemporary 'school.' His cult for Norwid, whose works he was just beginning to 'discover' and to publish, offers proof of his broad-mindedness. Moreover, he successfully continued his translations of foreign writers, publishing them in Chimera and making this magazine an outstanding achievement both from the point of view of its contents and its highly artistic external form. It may be safely said that few periodicals in Europe attained such a level. Nevertheless, Chimera did not become the militant organ of the Young Poland movement. For that purpose it was, after all, a little too academic, universal, and eclectic. A new publication appeared in Krakow — a city which between 1890 and 1900 became the center of Polish literary and artistic life and thereby revived its finest old traditions. This occurred for many reasons. The Krakow Theater under the direction of Tadeusz Pawlikowski reached a very high level. Pawlikowski had an extraordinary talent for directing; he was an excellent connoisseur of the theater and a man of high intellectual and artistic culture. He created a new theatrical style in Poland and educated actors in this style; he taught them the art of the 'ensemble,' inspiring them with a sense of responsibility for even the smallest role and subordinating individuals t o the group. Performances of the old type (where one star took over the

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show in a principal part, while the rest was furnished by mediocre performers) disappeared from the Krakow stage. Dull, conventional staging, productions where little care was given to the detailed coordination of the whole, poor diction, and trite characterization became things of the past. Improvement was made in staging, the use of crowds, and the effects of light and color. Pawlikowski knew how to adapt the stage to the requirements of different styles and how to present them with a maximum of effect. He handled the performance of The Burghers, with Gorky's realism brought out in the most minute details, as masterfully as Wyspianski's The Wedding, with its visionary scenes of the second and third acts, or his even more difficult Greek-Polish plays, or the plays of Maeterlinck, Hauptmann, and Ibsen. The Krakow theatre of that epoch may safely be placed on the same level as Moscow's Stanislawski theater which was later so famous throughout all Europe. The new generation of actors was second in nothing to the old masters. With Pawlikowski worked many actors who later became famous in Poland: Kamiriski, Solski, Wysocka, Roman, W^grzyn (in Krakow) and Fiszer, Feldman, Gostyriska, Czaplinska (in Lwow). Painting also flourished in Krakow at this time. After realism came the turn for other trends, like impressionism and symbolism, represented by many fine artists. Krakow sparkled with the distinguished talents of Wyczolkowski, Stanislawski, Falat, Mehoffer (who designed the stained glass for the Cathedral of Fribourg in Switzerland), Jacek Malczewski, Stanislaw Wyspianski (who was besides an excellent poet). The first exhibition of the young artists' society 'Sztuka' ('Art') in 1897 became an artistic event of great significance for Polish art, and its fame was known abroad. It was against this background of artistic endeavor that the literary revolution was preparing in Krakow. Its preface appeared in a newly founded (1897) literary weekly bearing the same title as Miriam's magazine, Life. Though it lacked a definite esthetic program at the outset, it was, however, universally considered as the organ of new Polish poetry. Indeed it printed the works of the most distinguished contemporary poets: Tetmajer, Kasprowicz, Wyspianski, and scores of others. The artistic part of the weekly remained under the supervision of Stanislaw Wyspianski, who adorned it with his own original drawings. Life did not avoid articles on social subjects written by radical leaders. Both in literary and social matters it declared itself against obscurantism and routine, pilloried the sad and comical phenomena of Polish life, especially under Austrian rule; and it fought for the freedom of art. As is usually

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the case with young literary and other movements, there was a great deal of exaggeration, a desire to 'épater le bourgeois,' and also some naivete. The young artistic and literary generation spread a fashion for decadence, melancholy, discouragement, and pessimism, as well as for long hair, wild beards, capes, wide-brimmed hats, a grimace of disdain and contempt for everything, and a certain looseness of behaviour. This was accompanied by strange, pretentious poems and extravagant, frequently 'indecent' paintings. This fashion naturally provoked a strong reaction on the part of representatives of the older society who failed to understand this new generation and regarded its ways with horror. They tried to fight against the new trend, but, because they did not know contemporary European literature nor understand the spirit of the time, they missed the heart of the matter, attacking only the secondary, irrelevant manifestations, the youthful tricks of the movement; they saw in the new poetry only the same manifestations of willful extravagance, and thus provoked even greater indignation among the young. As an example of this essential misunderstanding one may mention Sienkiewicz's famous article published somewhat later, but characteristic of the struggle between 'fathers' and 'sons'; in this article the whole new literature was described as 'rut and debauch.' This far-reaching simplification would refer only to some facets of Przybyszewski's works, which apparently blinded Sienkiewicz to other sides of the movement, if indeed he knew anything about them at all. In 1898 the Krakow Life came under the editorship of Stanislaw Przybyszewski who came to Krakow from Germany, a writer already known and appreciated by 'Young Germany' and 'Young Scandinavia.' He considered himself (and his young colleagues upheld him) as a representative of radical 'modernism.' The first issue of Life under the new editor carried a programmatic article, entitled, Confiteor. This was a manifesto of art as the 'absolute,' as expression of what is eternal, independent of time and space, as the essence of existence, that is, the sou! in all its good and bad, beautiful and ugly manifestations. Art, Przybyszewski maintained, has no other aim than itself, it cannot serve any idea, and must not be checked by any esthetic rules; it is the highest source from which life itself flows. We know no moral or social laws, he went on, every manifestation of the soul is pure and holy, deep and mysterious to us, as long as it is powerful. Tendentious art, art for the sake of amusement or patriotism, ceases to be art and becomes a biblia pauperum for people devoid of intellectual culture. Such people need teachers, but art is of no use to them.

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This theory of art was by this time no longer original. Similar ideas had been held by the French symbolists and the German 'modernists.' But Przybyszewski expressed them in a far more radical and uncompromising way, and at the same time in a very general manner which left much room for different interpretation. As for the substance of this theory, it may be said to be correct as far as the process of artistic creation itself is concerned. In other words, the slogan of 'art for art's sake' or 'art as an aim iu itself' advocated by the new poetry described the old truth that a genuine, honest artist cannot have other purposes than artistic ones in his work, and that essentially he cultivates art for art's sake rather than for the sake of anything else. Even if he has some ulterior motives, he can realize them only through art, within its framework and using its means. The influence of great artists could be strong only because it was based on a high standard of art. This is true mostly in the case of literature, for other fields of art — music and painting — are even more limited to purely artistic aims, while their influence is even more indirect than that of poetry. In his reformer's zeal Przybyszewski not only completely disregarded the social background of art and the connection of art with life, but he overlooked its social significance and function which in reality begins at the moment when a work of art is finished and goes into the world. He rightly claimed that art created with the idea of entertaining or encouraging patriotic spirit ceases to be art; all these things may become its effect, but never its aim. He did not, however, consider, the fact, as old as art itself, that the incentive for a work of art, and particularly a literary work, may be found in patriotism, humanitarianism, feeling for social injustice, religious experience, etc., just as well as in delight in nature or love. Any theme may become the subject of literary works, without disqualifying them from the artistic point of view. Otherwise Dante's Divine Comedy or Forefathers' Eve Part III, would have to be excluded from the domain of poetry. Judging from Przybyszewski's other utterances and from his practices as an editor, he did not himself conceive art so narrowly, nor did he set such limits to what is art; he published in Life works of different kinds inspired by various motives. But, either consciously or unconsciously, he left these questions out of his Confiteor, exposing himself not only to misunderstanding but also to attacks, both well-meaning and otherwise. There was nothing easier than to make a hash of his words, season them with a sauce of indignation, and present them to the masses as an attack against everything sacred. Such misinterpretation was made possible by the fact that Przybyszewski's own original work of that period was

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imbued with a metaphysics of sex ('In the beginning was l u s t . . a r e the opening words of one of his works) and concentrated on the problem of struggle between 'sex' a n d 'brain.' Przybyszewski's work will be discussed at greater length in its p r o p e r place. For the time being we should mention that he did not create a literary school in P o l a n d a n d that the new Polish literature went in a different, or rather in various different directions. Nevertheless, his great merit consisted in his c o n t r i b u t i o n to the renaissance in Poland of the concept of the artist, which h a d been despised in the preceding epoch. T h a n k s to his activity a strong opinion in literary and artistic matters was created and a control of esthetic values grew, which strengthened the sense of responsibility on the part of the artists. Life was the living expression of this opinion. The publication ceased to exist in 1900, thus ending the ' S t u r m und D r a n g ' period of Y o u n g P o l a n d . But even at that time it was not 'a literary school' in the strict or even relative sense in which one speaks of the school of naturalists, Parnassians, or the French symbolists. Later there was even less chance that it should become a school in that sense. The great variety of writers w h o m a d e u p Y o u n g P o l a n d allow us to discover only a very general kinship a m o n g them. T h e r e was something in them, however, which, if it did not link them, anyway distinguished them f r o m the writers of the preceding period. It was the difference of means of artistic expression — of structure, style, language, and verse. This was undoubtedly an effect of the trend in all c o n t e m p o r a r y E u r o p e a n literature at the time, which expressed itself in a greater complication a n d difficulty of literary devices. The early period in the Y o u n g Poland movement f o u n d its fullest expression in the lyric poetry of Kazimierz TETMAJER (1865-1940). He was the most popular poet d u r i n g the existence of the K r a k o w Life', he was given the most space in that magazine, and was awarded its literary prizes. In seven collections of poems published between 1891 and 1912 he expressed almost everything that the soul of the young ' d e c a d e n t ' generation lived o n : pessimism, mistrust and discouragement with life, longing for ' N i r v a n a , ' belief in the supremacy of evil forces in the world, aversion to the world, disdain for people, a conviction that action is futile, the mockery of all zeal and faith. But there is at the same time sensuousness, a refined eroticism, expressed with varied intensity and on the basis of different 'philosophies,' in such once f a m o u s poems as Hymn do milosci ( H y m n t o Love), Narodziny Afrodyty (The Birth of Aphrodite), Leda, Lubiq kiedy kobieta... (1 Like W h e n a W o m a n . . .)

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and others. There is also a whole cycle of beautiful poems devoted to the Tatras, recalling the Tatra tradition in Polish poetry from Goszczynski through Asnyk, which had later many other representatives. Tetmajer's verse reveals many traits brought to Poland by French and Belgian symbolism (besides Maeterlinck there were also the forceful lyric poems of Verhaeren); but it also shows marked influence of Stowacki and other Polish poets. One of the noblest and simplest of Tetmajer's expressions of pain and solitude may be found in the poem, W w^drowce (Wandering). Solitude is symbolized by the loss of home and 'somebody's memory.' The structure is based on a contrast between old longing and feelings with present emptiness. The romantic motif of 'eternal wandering' lends this poem an atmosphere of melancholy. Similarly simple tones resound in another poem, akin to the former in mood, Pamiqtam ciche, jasne, zlote dnie (I Remember the Quiet, Clear, and Golden Days), also based on a contrast between the 'quiet, clear, golden' days of childhood and present life. Here, however, longing for the 'paradise' of childhood is stronger. One of the most 'moderate' love poems is Mow do mnie jeszcze (Speak to Me More). The delight of hearing the loved one whose words 'intoxicate and rock' is here expressed in two four-line stanzas, each of which is contained within the anaphora and epiphora: 'Speak to me more,' which strongly emphasize the main motif of the poem. The impressionistic interpretation of nature appears, among other works, in Melodja mgiel nocnych (The Melody of Night Fogs) and W lesie (In the Forest). The charm of the first poem lies in a suggestive rhythm which conveys the swirling motions of the fogs during a moonlit night in the mountains. The dancing movement joins with the motifs of light, the rustling of brooks, and the odor of flowers. Musical elements combine with pictorial effects. In the Forest is even more strongly imbued with 'the painter's spirit'; it is composed almost exclusively of color images: the goldenwhite clouds, the swift black swallow, the opal brook, the verdure of the trees. The ending of the poem introduces another element: the symbolic 'sky-blue meditation.' Tetmajer's lyric poems differ from those of Asnyk and Konopnicka in their poetic world and in their means of expression, though not so markedly as to constitute a completely new stage in the development of Polish poetry. In the poems discussed above we see a great ability to suggest feelings and moods by relatively simple means, but similar works may be found among Tetmajer's predecessors. In some passages of his poetry we may find that ease, so characteristic for Konopnicka. In spite

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of undoubted poetic achievements, such as those mentioned, scattered throughout Tetmajer's various collections, and in spite of his frequently fresh and suggestive poetic formulations, his poetic language lacks any unusual force or striking originality, while his versification seldom goes beyond that already current in Polish poetry. Nevertheless, Tetmajer will undoubtedly have his place in the history of Polish poetry as a representative of the outlook of his generation at the end of the century and as the precursor of changes yet to come. These changes were accomplished by Jan KASPROWICZ ( 1 8 6 0 - 1 9 2 6 ) , the most distinguished and representative poet of this period. His production possesses an independent, elemental force and a concentration and gravity reminiscent of Mickiewicz. His poetry reveals one of the most uniform and powerful personalities, an eminent individuality as remarkable for its good qualities as its defects. Son of a peasant of Wielkopolska, he had a difficult and hard childhood; it was not easy for him to get a higher education in German universities. Persecuted by the Prussian authorities for his activities in radical organizations, he settled in Lwow where he worked first for the Kurjer Lwowski (Lwow Courier), an organ of the Peasant party, editing its literary supplement, and later for Slowo polskie (The Polish Word). He took active part in the literary movement in Lwow and became its leading figure. In 1909, in recognition of his literary merits (especially the introduction into Polish literature of a number of masterpieces of world literature in excellent translation), the University of Lw6w offered him the chair of comparative literature. In Kasprowicz the love of the Tatras awakened early. It was in those mountains that he preferred to live, and he finally settled at their foot. He died gazing at his beloved mountain tops and was buried in a mausoleum built especially for him near Zakopane. Kasprowicz's production went through various stages. His first works concentrate on social and religious questions. In his collection Z chlopskiego zagonu (From Peasant Fields) and in the sonnets, Z chalupy (In the Cottage), he drew realistic pictures of peasant suffering, poverty, and ignorance with strong radical and social accents. His poem Chrystus (Christ) is conceived in the same spirit. Then other problems appeared: the internal conflicts of a modern soul, the emergence of eternal problems, skepticism and the desire for faith, reality and the world of the spirit, and finally the destructive and liberating force of love. Such and other problems fill the collections Anima Lachrymans (1894) and Milosc (Love, 1895). One of the most characteristic poems of the first collection is Bqdz pozdrowiona (Be Blessed). This is a hymn to 'suffering,' 'that

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source of poetry' and 'mother of inspiration.' If we compare this poem with Tetmajer's 'pessimistic' works we see the difference in the conception of the problem (suffering is glorified for what it brings) and in devices of expression. The poem is composed of four stanzas with a strong stress at the end of each and an elaborate distribution of rhyme; it gradually 'swells,' as it were, in the course of the stanzas, each one beginning with the word 'although,' toward the solution in the final exclamation: 'Oh, suffering!' The style reveals more than one bold and suggestive phrase: 'where the sun will not burn through my clouds,' 'thought often thinks in contrast here,' '(suffering) covered with a coat of bottomless shadow' etc. A different world is offered in the collection Krzak dzikiej rozy (The Wild Rose Bush, 1898), which is a magnificent poetic monument to the Tatras. In the sonnet, W Ciemnosmreczynskich skal zwaliska (The Masses of the Dark Pine Rocks), which is descriptive and symbolic in character, each metaphor or personification is expressed with force and originality; the peacock-feather ponds, the bloodredness of the wild rose bush cast against the spots of grey stone, the grading of the dwarf mountain pines with which the rocks are sown. This is no longer the language of Asnyk or Tetmajer. And beyond this lyric description stirs the gentle breath of a symbol in a series of personified designations. In another collection we find descriptions permeated almost completely with lyricism, for instance, in Zasnuly siq senne gdry (The Sleepy Mountains are Veiled) or Wiatr gnie sieroce smreki (The Wind Bends the Orphan Pines). The phenomena of nature: the veiled mountains, 'the autumnal embrace,' the dust covering the trees, suggestively express the sadness of separation, while the wind, the rain that cuts into the windows, the little paths over the mountain passes, the slim mountain tops evoke longing. Just as in the preceding collections Kasprowicz presented the contemporary soul in a new light and sang the beauty of the Tatras, so in the cycle Ginqcemu Swiatu (To the Perishing World, 1901) he expressed, again in a new form, the eternal and always immediate problems of the human spirit: the pain of existence, the suffering of humanity and its metaphysical longing. The hymn Almighty God begins with chords of despair, deep faith in the Creator, and rebellion against Him — something like the Improvisation of a modern Konrad. Contrition before God and struggle with Him, humble prayers and blasphemy, desperate images of evil which appears to rule the world, these are the main elements of the poem. The whole world is seen in a vision of a symbolic procession of the human race, marching towards death. This deadly human procession

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is followed by all nature. The prayers to God possess a tone as desperate as the images; they beseech 'a refreshing rain,' turning away hail and death, and inspiring human souls with gratitude. For centuries a hymn has been sung all over Poland which is very impressive both in words and melody, Swifty Boze. Swiqty Mocny (Holy God, Holy and Powerful). The spirit of this hymn gave birth to Kasprowicz's poem, one of the most representative works of the symbolist poetry at the end of the nineteenth century. Everything is symbolic in the poem, each image of mankind and nature, and the procession to death. The symbolic imagery serves one purpose: to convey a mood of horror, torture, hopelessness — the tragedy of suffering mankind. A characteristic trait of the structure of these images is that of linking purely Polish elements, especially rural ones, with universal and cosmic ones. Not only the Polish land goes to destruction, but the whole world, and the universe. In this apocalyptic vision the poet's lonely soul stands alone or, more specifically, this tragedy takes place inside it. In the midst of universal catastrophe its only longing is for 'a solitary grave': He who rose from this earth May place his bones in it, He who had in him its pain, its mysterious groan that comes from the depths of the s k y . . . May he rest in it forever, he who gathered from her huts the urns of tears and waited for the end of salvation, and from her furstling corn-fields gleaned this moving whisper and in his rhymes embraced it and into the world carried it like a holy relic. The Promethean quality of this poem, the poet's interference in the name of suffering mankind and struggle with the Creator links Kasprowicz both with romantic exaltations and contemporary poetry. Naturally, in order to express such an enormous wealth of feeling and experience of such unusual intensity, special means of expression were necessary. The poet found them in the traditional form of the hymn, which he modernized to lend it greater freedom in the distribution of motifs, an uneven rhythm, a rhyme pattern in which rhymes are often very distant from each other, and a language in which very unusual and suggestive appelations and phrases contrast with simple words; strict attention to poetic art is often relaxed to permit a free play of lyric emotions.

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After his Hymns Kasprowicz published a play, Uczta Herodjady (The Feast of Herodias, 1905) which is based on the motifs of Salome, of love and sin. He also published a few collections of poems, among which the most characteristic is perhaps Ballada o shneczniku (The Sunflower Ballad, 1908). His Chwile (Moments, 1911) is considered to mark a new phase in Kasprowicz's production. It is characterized by a certain calm, a controlled lyricism after the former outbursts, and a deepened reflectiveness. Lyrical experiences are formulated poetically sub specie aeternitatis, as it were, in an artistically maturer and simpler form. By comparison with the desperate erotic outbursts in the cycle Love, the love poems contained in Moments are different in tone. For instance, the poem Nie wràcisz do mnie (You Will Not Return to Me) is accompanied by profound resignation, although the situation it presents is no less desperate. A new metaphysical longing enters into the contemplative poems, for instance, Nad ksiqzkq nachylony (Bending Over a Book), as the poet listens to a 'Divine whisper' and dreams of resting 'in the gleam of the mountain tops where God fell in love with the soul.' But we do not discover a truly different poetic world before Kasprowicz's Ksiçga ubogich (Book of the Poor), his last work but one, published in 1916 during the First World War. It presents the world of a soul which, after much pain and many sufferings, after violent and destructive storms, after rebellion against God and battles with Satan, has regained serenity, assurance, and peace with God and the world, through wisdom revealed in a vision of the world seen from the standpoint of eternity and a close union with the universe. The Book of the Poor opens with the poem, Rozmilowala siç ma dusza (My Soul Fell in Love), in which these feelings find one of the most magnificent poetic expressions. The soul speaks, having fallen in love with 'the quiet noise of the trees' and 'the loud abyss of the waves,' 'the creative rays of sunrise' and 'the fogs of the sinking nights.' Its friends are the breeze, the storm, the sun, and death. The rhythm of the poem follows the pattern of a regular alternation of octosyllabic and hexasyllabic lines with three stresses in each. Feminine and masculine rhymes are distributed in the same way. Each stanza begins with an anaphora identical with the title. All the poems of this collection stand on the high level of this 'invocation.' The new états d'âme are expressed in a poetic word very unlike the affectations of Young Poland and the poet's own former abandon and pathos, so forceful in the Hymns ', his style is now devoid of symbolism, impressionism, and all mannerisms and devices which had been applied earlier. This is a completely distinct poetic art, just as high, perhaps even

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higher, and significant by its simplicity, concentration, and, one may say, a modesty and calm of expression. The whole collection consistently uses the 'tonic' verse (with an equal number of stresses rather than of syllables) — a metric form until then only sporadically used by Polish poets. We have discussed samples of Kasprowicz's poems of the different periods of his production. In each we find work of fundamental value, not just by the standards of the moment or even of his literary epoch, although he was deeply rooted in it, but by universal standards. The torment of the modern soul, its Promethean struggle with God, its close connection with the world of nature, its longing for truth — all are expressed in Kasprowicz's creations with elemental force. Even the work of his last phase — the return to God and to a truly evangelical serenity of acceptance — carries in it the traits of concentrated internal force. Kasprowicz's work was affected by waves of impressionism, symbolism, estheticism, but these trends became in him highly individual traits, the traits of a solid, Kujavian peasant so to speak, sometimes raw, coarse, and uneven. Since the time of Mickiewicz, Slowacki, and Norwid, Polish poetry had not known such a great lyric poet. One of the distinguishing features of Young Poland, by comparison with the preceding period, is a greater wealth of lyric poets, including several of great merit. We can here quote only the most important. Antoni LANGE ( 1 8 6 2 - 1 9 2 9 ) resembled Miriam in his knowledge of Western European poetry, especially the French; his love for it gave to Poland a large number of valuable translations. He differed from Miriam in his more ardent interest in artistic, intellectual, and social questions. He left behind a richer lyric legacy, not to mention whole volumes of translations beginning with old Indian poems and ending with the French symbolists. Having read through poetry of nearly all the world, he enriched his own inspiration and learned for his own poetry many various and elaborate forms. As one of the examples we may take his poem entitled Samotnosc (Solitude). Its chief motif is 'human souls — eternal recluses' who trace their circles like 'erring planets,' never leaving their orbits, and, although they long for each other, 'they will never walk together in one course.' The structure of the stanzas is very elaborate; the second and fourth line of each is repeated as the first and third of the next, and the first line of the whole is identical with the last. This is of course not just an empty game. Like all repetition, the repetition of individual poetic formulations emphasizes their intellectual and emotional value, underlines them, and

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at the same time serves to link the individual stanzas into an organic whole. This unity is even more forcefully indicated by the linking of the first and last lines. In such a structure the image of the soul as a recluse is set effectively into relief. Tadeusz MICINSKI (1873-1919) combined the extravagance and amorphism of Young Poland with a romantic neomysticism and messianism; the latter sounded rather strange and anachronistic in his prose treatises, but in his poetry it often acquired a forceful and original tone. On the whole, such touches appear only in occasional passages, amidst a deluge of chaotic and strange images produced without artistic deliberation and organization. However, in his collections one can find well organized works which are effective by their compactness of expression and economy of means. Bqdi zdrowa (Farewell), for instance, is full of abbreviations and elliptical phrases; it gives fragments of a conversation between two people who part forever, and it achieves a high dramatic suspense. The first four lines repeat the farewell, furnished with (in paretheses) an 'accompaniment' of feelings, expressed in the symbols of a chime, leaves that fly from the trees, and the evil-sounding song of the wind. The dialogue which follows is composed of broken exclamations ('Your weeping tears, my heart', and 'Onward, Christ the Lord') spoken by the departing person and answered by others ('Nevermore,' 'farethee well,' 'it must be,' 'and You, oh Lord, please,' 'pity!') from the person who stays. Boleslaw LESMIAN ( 1 8 7 8 - 1 9 3 7 ) published only two volumes of poetry, Sad rozstajny (Orchard, 1912) and Lqka (Meadow, 1920), but they are original and of significance in the general picture of the period. His production shows a highly sensualistic character and is concerned mostly with nature and the country; the conception of nature has nothing in common either with pantheism or anthropomorphism, it is rather a self-identification of the poetic ego with nature. Lesmian's language and verse is always elaborate, sometimes to the point of being artificial. Stanislaw KORAB-BRZOZOWSKI ( 1 8 7 6 - 1 9 0 1 ) , son of the poet Karol Brzozowski, committed suicide as a young man; he belonged to the group of permanent contributors to the Krakow Life where he published his beautiful, sad, and subtle poems, such as The Spinner, Vacuum and others. We can do no more than mention such poets as Maryla WOLSKA and Kazimiera ZAWISTOWSKA, two feminine talents, who belong essentially to this period; Edward SLONSKI, who gained popularity especially during the First World War with his simple but touching songs; Lucjan RYDEL, who published several collections of poems in a folklore style somewhat

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reminiscent of Lenartowicz; Andrzej NIEMOJEWSKI, champion of 'free thought,' a publicist and novelist, but also author of poems full of life, energy and faith; and Jerzy ¿ULAWSKI and Wladyslaw ORKAN, who in their youth cultivated lyric poetry before they entered into different fields. In the generation of younger poets Leopold STAFF (born in 1878) soon attained a leading position. His first collection, Sny o pot^dze (Dreams of Power, 1901) announced a fresh and powerful talent; one who broke with 'decadent' moaning and rather loved and longed for power. Even the first poem of this volume sings of the 'blacksmith,' who forges 'a resistant, brave, proud, and strong heart' out of the precious ores of his breast. A general idea of this collection is given also by the poem intitled, Idziemy (We Are Going), which traces 'the hard, stony' path of the 'procession of chosen men.' The pain of that path is symbolized by the 'stone' which wounds the foot. The last line: 'Lower your brow, kiss the stone, but do not curse!' is a poetic condensation of the problem of uplifting and creative suffering. Similar tones may be heard in some of the poems of his next collection, Dzien duszy (The Day of the Soul, 1903). In Zwyciqzca (The Victor), for instance, the old problem of internal struggle and victory over oneself is conceived in an original way. The 'victor,' who, after bringing the whole world to his feet, sees no deed before him and remains 'alone unconquered,' now sets all his might against himself so that there should never 'be anything I cannot conquer.' In these and similar poems young Staff's fundamental attitude appeared; he gave new expression to feelings and ideas which were not of 'decadent' origin. He also showed an independent talent, creating his own language and verse forms and early distinguishing himself by his ability to crystallize problems and to concentrate them in striking and dramatic pointes. An example of his power in this respect can be seen in the endings of the two poems discussed above. As Staff's work matured with time, the problems and their poetic expression began to become more complicated and subtle. Staff expressed the mystery of the world and the pain of existence in the form of a refined poetic art, creating new structural forms and linguistic constructions. Do gwiazd (To the Stars) is composed as a kind of hymn, depicting a splendid cosmic vision of the stars. Every element of this vision is embodied in formulations reminiscent of the boldest linguistic innovations of Slowacki or Norwid. The structure of the three stanzas is also unusual, each is composed of eight lines with a different number of syllables (5-6-4-5-3-6-4-3) but a stable number of three or two stresses. The

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rhymes are arranged in the pattern abbaabb a. The whole poem is extremely elaborate and impressive. Even more complex is Konanie (Expiration). It is composed of a series of fragmentary sentences — the shreds of a dying man's thoughts. Everything in the poem — the language, rhythm, and even the graphic distribution of the stanzas, powerfully evokes the last moments on the border line between life and death. The poem ends with the following offering: Oh calm! into your hands the sweetest I offer my s o u l . . . Poems of this kind illustrate the great change effected in Polish poetry at this time. We have definitely left the poetic world of Asnyk, Konopnicka, and Tetmajer. Even when Staff uses relatively simple devices to express the pain of existence he achieves equally powerful effects. This is the case in Jesien (Autumn) and O, moje szare dni (Oh, My Grey Days). The former is composed of two parts in different rhythm but with the same general motif. First we have the image of 'a little tree dying of pain in autumnal rain.' The three stanzas, each composed of three five-syllable lines, are interrupted by lyrical exclamations: 'Oh, cold rain. Oh, severe wind! Oh, terrible misery!' The second part generalizes the motifs of the first in short four-syllable lines, each closing with a masculine rhyme — a rare and difficult phenomenon in the Polish language. Oh, My Grey Days is a kind of elegy full of melancholic reconciliaton with 'grey and empty days' of existence which, someday, when the end comes, will also awaken regret and sadness. Staff's poetry expresses other emotions with equal depth: the joy of life, intoxication by and acceptance of it. In the collection Usmiechy godzin (The Smile of Hours, 1910), the poem Ogrod przedziwny (Strange Garden) presents these emotions in the image of a garden 'where flowers and children dwell,' where the rose-thorns are covered with flax so that they cannot bruise the hand, where the birds teach us 'to go among the people with good news and song' and the bees pick only sweetness from the flowers. The grass is cleaned of weeds 'so that the souls of those who look at the grass may be as straight as it is.' One of the most important accomplishments of Staff's poetry lies, as already indicated, in the expression of profound and far-reaching problems

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in compact images and concise formulations. In this respect it resembles Norwid's poetry. Kochac i trade (To Love and To Lose) is composed almost exclusively of such brief statements, which lends it the character of a gnomic poem. Life is 'to love and to lose, to desire and to regret, to fall painfully and to rise a g a i n ' . . . 'to cross wide deserts in search of a treasure' or 'to go into deep waters for a pearl' — and all that for the purpose that After us only remain Traces on the sand and circles on the water. The poem Wichr szalal w nocy (The Wind Was Mad Last Night) begins with a description of the destruction caused by the wind, which tore the leaves off the trees. The sight of the naked, black woods, deprived of their beauty, invokes the following reflection: Become, my heart and soul, like those trees — More sublime than their loss. Among Staff's numerous love poems, which are all remarkable for their extraordinary wealth of tones, we may single out Jak to byd moze? (How Can It Be?), which is of unusual subtlety in its expression of a power of feeling capable of transforming the external world. Everything is changed; the sun 'sparkles with clearer gold': The wood rustles more sweetly; Distance is less distant; The shade cools more pleasantly; The heat warms less. The stars are closer... The river runs faster, The roses smell sweeter. The nightingale Sings more zealously, And in the depths of waters There is more s k y . . . only she alone knows nothing about it! In Staff's poetry there is also room for religious experience. The majority of poems on this theme are found in the collection Ucho igielne (The Needle's Eye, 1927). The scope of these experiences is very broad, but all of them are characterized by an attitude towards the Infinite which we may liken to that of Mickiewicz; it exhibits a similar purity, disinterestedness, adoration, gratitude, joy, and trust. The sense of guilt and sin is presented in forceful symbolic images in Pattie, ktorego

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wszechmoc wszystko moze (Lord, Whose Omnipotence Rules Everything. . .). This is a prayer to the Lord which implores Him to look down on the 'dark, miserable' human heart; that heart is like a prison in a cellar, like a hospital bed, full of suffering and moaning, like a terrible insane asylum in which 'saints and criminals, wise men and clowns, judges and murderers, naked prostitutes and pious nuns' whirl together in a mad dance. A feeling of unshaken trust and adoration resounds in Zachodnia zorza niebosklonu (The Western Twilight of the Firmament). A rural landscape lit by the twilight in the west produces a sensation of peace, of the simplicity of the world in the light of God, as well as consolation and encouragement. The human heart rests in Him 'with trust and calm as the hand rests in the hand of a friend.' Pride is conceived as slavery and humility as the highest freedom in the profound and concentrated poem Wolnosc (Freedom). A man standing 'on a column of lonely pride' remains there stiff, for his movements are held in check. He therefore wants freedom and begs God for 'a wide field,' so that he may bow low before Him and 'bend his forehead even lower in homage to Him.' The poems discussed above are among Staff's best. Not everything he wrote, of course, stands on the same level, for he wrote a great deal and did not always subject his work to a very scrupulous critical examination. Nevertheless, his work as a whole places him among the foremost of Poland's poets. More than any other of the Young Poland poets, Staff's influence reached beyond the movement to touch the post-war period which also influenced him in a way which we shall discuss later. Unlike the epoch of positivism, where the novel was the dominant form, Young Poland is characterized by a uniform development and equally high level in all fields, lyric poetry, the novel, and the drama. Hence the literary aspect of this period is fuller and richer. In the field of the novel the writer who gained control over the soul of that generation and who expressed it most powerfully was Stefan ZEROMSKI (1864-1925). He was born, so to speak, on the ashes of the January Insurrection, in the hardest epoch of Polish history, when the country stood on the threshold between the old and the new world. His childhood, spent in the country of the Kielce region, was neither idyllic nor angelic. His father, a victim of the economic crisis which at that time affected agriculture, rented land with gradually decreasing success. His mother, whom ¿eromski always recalled with the highest respect and love, was a very sickly person

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and died young. His father died soon after, so that the young boy was brought up by his relatives. As a young man he already knew the meaning of loneliness and longing for a home. He soon met that solicitous guardian of most Polish writers, poverty; without graduating from secondary school he went to Warsaw, took up veterinary studies, and made a miserable living with kopeck-paid private lessons. He also worked as a private tutor in the homes of the landed gentry. At that time he became well acquainted with various parts of the country, different people and conditions, which later provided him with novelistic material. At this time (1889) his first short stories began to appear in the Warsaw Voice. In 1892 he went abroad and spent some time in Rapperswil in Switzerland as the librarian of the Polish Museum there. He devoted himself to a thorough study of the history of post-partition Poland, using the valuable, historical materials collected at the Museum. After returning to Poland (1896) he worked as a librarian at the Zamoyski Library in Warsaw. When he could support himself by his literary work he spent most of his time in Zakopane (in the Tatra region), which he left after the First World War to take up permanent residence in Warsaw. ¿eromski's work developed over a course of nearly thirty years. In 1895 he published a collection of short stories entitled Rozdzidbiq nas kruki, wrony (Crows Will Hack Us to Pieces). The title is borrowed from the first story of the collection; it presents a shocking scene of the execution by a platoon of Russian uhlans, in the Insurrection of 1863, of a young rebel who carried amunition to the partisans. This tale reveals certain characteristic traits of ¿eromski's talent: detailed description, often approaching cruelty in the portrayal of horrible scenes, and a style richly imbued with lyrical elements, expressed here mostly by painfully sharp irony and sarcasm. The former trait is seen in the dreadful picture of the tortures suffered by a horse with a broken leg; the latter in the description of a peasant who robs the body of the insurgent. The tragedy of the Insurrection, its helplessness in the face of Russia's power and the inimical attitude of the Polish peasantry, is summed up in this expressive and painful scene. The longest short story of this collection, Mogila (The Grave), traces the experiences of a young Polish radical who serves in a Russian Army unit stationed in a small Polish city. He sees terrible things both in the army and in a section of the local Polish society — the poor, frightened people devoid of dignity (a refined Polish girl is married off to a debauched Russian without a nose.) The young man's diary is full of brutal and sad scenes, described with the author's characteristic passion for concealing nothing, rather bringing out the whole naked truth

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of this morbid existence. The story ends, or rather breaks (the whole is composed of a series of loose fragments) with a beautiful scene, in which a feeling of simple and profound patriotism awakens in this young 'internationalist,' burdened with economic and social doctrines, while he is visiting the grave of a partisan of 1863. Other volumes of short stories by ¿eromski (Opowiadania, Tales, 1895; Utwory powiesciowe, Novelistic Sketches, 1898) deal chiefly with social problems and the national problems strictly connected with them. Here are some characteristic themes and motifs: a peasant who lives in utter poverty and humiliation steals wood in his landlord's forest in order to make a coffin for his dead child. Caught by the nobleman and his servant, he is beaten bloody and receives the following moral lesson from the owner of the forest: 'Arent' you ashamed to steal even for a coffin? You see what a scoundrel you are!' The peasant is unmoved both by the lesson and the beating; soon he will forget everything, just as in the same short story a crow whose little ones are stolen and murdered in front of its eyes by peasant children, will also forget. The title of the story is Zapomnienie (Oblivion). A peasant is in the hospital with tuberculosis. He has already lost one leg and will soon lose the other. What can be the thoughts and feelings of a human being on whom life has never smiled and who, if he continues to live, will remain a helpless cripple? Physical and spiritual suffering bring out hidden resources of sacrifice and heroism. In a simple and awkward way the peasant's thoughts express resignation, reconciliation with fate and tenderness: 'May Jesus give people! I am not so unlucky, after all...' (Cokolwiek siq zdarzy, niech uderza we mnie, Whatever Happens, May It Strike Me). After graduating from the university a young idealist settles in the depths of the country in order to teach peasant children. Overworked and suffering under the hard conditions of the life, she contracts typhus and dies. The doctor brought to her by the peasants turns out to be the former companion of her dreams of working for the good of people. But he had deserted the cause, settling in a small town where, after a short struggle, he had come to an understanding with the local potentates, forgotten his social ideals, and, making a great deal of money, become very successful. Even the death of his former companion will not upset him (Silaczka, The Strong One). After long studies abroad Dr. Piotr comes home to his father, who adores him and who had made great sacrifices in order to make his studies possible. Soon Piotr discovers that his father had money by lowering the

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pay of the workers; he realizes that he had completed his studies with money that was not his but was extorted from the poor. In vain he attempts to explain to his father the economic theory of 'surplus value' and the human wrong it contains. The old man regards the matter quite simply, in a 'capitalist way,' as the usual means of 'lowering the costs of production.' He experiences a terrible shock when his son immediately decides to go abroad again, in order to accept an offer of a job there, and to return to the workers the money owed them. His only joy in life leaves him for the sake of some 'nebulous theory,' while he himself remains alone, a broken man. (Doctor Piotr) Another idealist in the larger tale entitled Promien (The Sunray) returns after many years to his native small town in order to start progressive social activity there. When he begins to publish a newspaper with such tendencies, all the local potentates rise up against him; he experiences many serious difficulties and material losses. Will he stick to his guns, or be forced to give up? — to this question the tale gives no answer. This is in general terms the world upon which ¿eromski's short stories are focused. They differ from the analogous works of Prus or Orzeszkowa in that they pose the problems far more sharply, approaching them not so much from the standpoint of humanitarian sympathy as from that of the evil which lies in the very structure of the social order: this structure inevitably produces phenomena which can be solved neither by philanthropy nor by the sacrifice of individuals. An emotional attitude towards social evil is here far more forcefully apparent than it was among the older novelists; it is expressed either through direct emotional outbursts or, more frequently, indirectly through the choice and constructing of the literary material in such a way as to bring out in harsh and frequently hopeless manner the picture of poverty, suffering and evil. Structurally these works are of various types; there are among them brief sketches of moods, devoid of any action (Dusk, Whatever Happens); there are strong, insoluble conflicts with dramatic suspense (Doctor Piotr, Ananke); there are short stories centered around a character and his experiences (The Strong One) \ there are also those which extend into a broad social panorama^ The Grave, The Sunray) and possess a rather novelistic structure. Zeromski's first novel was Syzyfowe prace (The Labor of Sysiphus, 1898), which is a kind of biographical novel, describing in chronological order the events and spiritual experiences in the life of the hero over a certain period of time. The hero of The Labor of Sysiphus is Marcin Borowicz, and the novel tells the story of his school years, first in elementary school and later in a Russian 'gymnasium.' We meet him when he is

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eight years old and leave him when he is eighteen. In the course of those ten years we witness the numerous troubles and joys in the life of a Polish student of those days. There are more occasions of failure, sadness, suffering, and conflict than there are moments of happiness because the Russian system, especially in Poland, was directed rather towards political than towards educational ends. In The Labor of Sysiphus this system is shown in a detailed, thorough and lifelike picture. All the means of distorting the souls of Polish children and of destroying their inherent attachment to their country, which range from the exercise of coarse, brutal terror and violence to refined, delicate, and 'friendly' devices, attempts at Russification with the help of Russian literature — all these are presented in a series of scenes and events taken from the life at school and outside, in the splendid types of different kinds of Russian 'pedagogues,' and in the various psychological reactions of the young people. Borowicz belongs to the group which slowly, and almost inspite of itself begins to succumb to the mild influence of Russification; he attends Russian theater productions, frequents the home of the school inspector, and organizes a student circle for the study of Russian literature. This blinding process does not last long, however. One stronger shock — a poem by Mickiewicz — is sufficient to drive this supposed 'Russian-ness' from his soul, where it leaves no trace. This shock came one day when, during the Polish class, a student recently arrived from Warsaw recited (of course, 'illegally') Reduta Ordona (Ordon's Redoubt) by Mickiewicz (a poem describing an episode of the Insurrection of 1831). Here are some excerpts from the description of this scene: Zygier put his book down and deliberated for a moment, but soon began to speak in a soft but sonorous voice which had the ring of precious metal: 'We were not ordered to fire. I climbed onto the cannon . . . ' . . . The classroom was suddenly still. All eyes were turned to the boy who recited 'Polish verses.' He spoke evenly, calmly, and with moderation, but at the same time with some internal impulse that was concealed behind his words, but occasionally burst out between the syllables, in the stress of a caesura. The strange, unusual words held everyone's attention, and a powerful picture of the battle was evoked in the mind's eyes of the spectators . . . This was not merely a recitation of a great poet's work, but an accusation by a Polish schoolboy, expressed through the events of the battle. It was, as he spoke it, his own work; the words were his own. Every image of this battle, lost long since, came out of the speaker's lips with the force of a craving to take part

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in that action. Childish and adolescent feelings, which had been hurt millions of times, were now released among the listeners, through the medium of the poet's words; they burst out among them, like grenades, whistled like bullets, and enfolded their souls as in the dust of a battlefield. Some listened sitting upright at their desks, others rose from their benches and came closer to the speaker. Borowicz sat crouched, leaning his chin on his fist and fixing his burning eyes on Zygier. He was tortured by the horrible illusion that he had once heard all this, that he has even, perhaps, seen something like it with his own eyes, but he did not understand what was to happen, and went on listening with aversion and anger, and the thrill of a strange pain in his heart. [When Zygier reached the passage in the poem where a soldier, who, having used all his ammunition, falls and is killed] . . . Borowicz closed his eyes. Now he realized everything. It was that same soldier about whom years ago the hunter Noga was telling him on a hill outside the wood, and who now lies in the bloody grave under the pine, whipped to death. Marcin's heart suddenly leaped, as though it would tear itself from his breast, and sobs shook his body. He set his teeth so as not to burst into tears or cry out. It seemed to him that he would not bear it and that he would die of sorrow . . . The Labor of Sysiphus contains no novelistic plot in the proper sense of the word. The whole action turns around the school life of Borowicz and his schoolmates. Among them the author devotes more space to Andrzej Radek, a peasant's son, who on his own wits and peasant energy goes through the gymnasium and is one of the most active and valuable members of a radical students' circle. It is he who at one of their meetings starts singing the workers' anthem: 'Hammers in hand, let us forge weapons!' Unlike other novels of the 'biographical' type we have here two heroes instead of one. In one of the later editions, published during the author's life, the novel bears the title Andrzej Radek — a clear indication that the author himself considered him the hero, although he appears only in the second part of the novel. ¿eromski's next novel, Ludzie bezdomni (The Homeless People, 1900), is one of the most distinguished and characteristic of his works. The essential traits of his mature talent which we shall find again in his later works are concentrated and appear with striking force in this book. Both in the choice of the problem and in the means of expressing it, ¿eromski, the artist revealed himself here more fully and characteristically than in almost any of his other novels. The problem of 'the homeless people' belongs in the same poetic world that we saw in ¿eromski's short stories.

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The homeless people are the generation of the Polish social leaders, those who fought for a new Poland and a new world, based on a new social order. Their representative in ¿eromski's novel is a physician, Dr. Tomasz Judym; he is the 'poetic' representative, which means that he concentrates and symbolizes certain fundamental psychological traits of these people, their moral and emotional attitude, and their reaction to social evil. This social evil, which is presented in the novel with an almost cruel power of expression that is unique in Polish literature, obsesses the mind and soul of these people. They look at the world and they measure the problems of life by its light; it blinds them to the joy and beauty of living. They are overly sensitive to misery, and they probe into the misery and suffering of the handicapped almost pitilessly, without philanthropic sentimentalism. They disdain those who put 'cotton wool in their ears to deafen human moans' (Slowacki's expression); they themselves strain their ears eagerly to catch these moans, which, as it were, deafen them to every other sound of life. They reject all temporary dressings placed on pussy social wounds; they recognize no partial solutions for the relief of pain. Without considering whether a complete uprooting of evil in the world is possible or not, perhaps realizing in the depths of their souls that evil is indestructible and eternal, they feel inside them a categorical imperative to fight it in a unconditional and ceaseless battle. They are sublime and tragic in their heroic attitude in the face of the failure of their efforts, perhaps even the defeat of the cause to which they gave their lives. But they never see a different life before them, although they divine its charms and long for them. 'You see [says Judym to Joasia, one of the noblest characters in Polish literature], I am of the mob, the ultimate rabble [Judym is the son of a Warsaw cobbler]. You have no idea what the mob is. Even in your imagination you cannot conceive what lies in its heart. Your are of a different caste. Those who come from it and have lived through everything understand everything. There people die at the age of thirty because they are already old men. Their children are idiots [Judym is speaking about the Polish coal mines district]. I am responsible for all this! I am! I am responsible before my spirit which calles to me: I refuse! If I, a doctor, don't do it, who will? I received everything I needed... I must give back what I took. This damned debt. I can have neither a father, nor a mother, nor a wife, nor anything to press against my heart with love until these terrible nightmares [the miserable dens inhabited by workers] disappear from the face of the earth. I must renounce happiness. I must be alone, by myself. With nobody around to hold me b a c k . . . '

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This is the truth of these 'homeless people,' a painful, desperate, hopeless truth, but— in their eyes — the only one to justify life in this valley... What Judym told Joasia in that terrible moment of parting forever is the final moment of a long process, the result of profound wounds inflicted on his heart by the cruel pictures of Polish destitution. Here are some of these pictures: Through narrow passages, among huckster's-stands, jstalls and little shops he [Judym] went into Krochmalna Street [in Warsaw]. The fire of the sun bathed this gutter-shaped street. From the narrow exit of Ciepla Street and the square a cemetery smell permeated the air. A Jewish community lived there, bustling with the activity of an ant-hill. An old, sick Jewess sat on the sidewalk, selling broad beans, string beans, peas, and pumpkin stones. Here and there wandered soda water vendors with bottles at their sides and glasses in their hands. The mere sight of these glasses, sticky with drying syrup, held in a dirty pauper's hand, could produce nausea. One of the water vendors stood against the wall. She was in rags, almost nude. Her face was yellow and dead. She was waiting in the sun, for the people who passed there were likely to be most thirsty. In her hand she held two bottles filled with a red liquid, probably juice. Her grey lips whispered something. Perhaps words of encouragement for people to drink, or His name, the name of Adonai, who may not be named by mortals, or perhaps a curse to the sun and her life, born in dirt and misery like a worm . . . On the right and left stood the open holes of little shops, institutions which ended not far from their threshold, like paper-lined drawers . . . In each of these shops a heap of mud showed black on the floor, which preserved its proper pleasant humidity even in heat. On this manure crawled children covered with dirty rags and themselves dirty beyond description . . . A step further and the open windows revealed the sight of the interior of the work-shops, where under the low ceiling the crouching men or leaning women shortened their lives. Here could be seen a cobbler's shop, a dark grotto which exhaled a palpable stench, and right next to it a factory which made wigs for pious Jewesses. There was a row of more than a dozen of such hairdresser's salons. The pale, yellow, half-dead young girls, uncombed and unwashed themselves, industriously divided the tufts of hair . . . From the courtyards, the doors, even the old roofs, covered with tin or brick, where a row of little windows stood firm, sick, skinny, long-nosed, green, pimpled faces looked out and glanced with bloody, dripping eyes, indifferent to everything in their misery, in their eternal sad reverie of death...

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In these descriptions we find everywhere that trait which we alluded to above: a unique combination of epic detail with a deep emotional current. These vivid and painful details serve not only to make the picture more expressive, but primarily to evoke response of emotional shock in the reader. The principal figure of the novel is Judym, and all its problems are interpreted from his point of view. These questions are constructed in such a way as to unveil his psychology and its transformations gradually, thus preparing the ground for the final catastrophe — his separation from Joasia. This separation is thus artistically justified in the character of Judym and by a series of events which both shape him and are shaped by him. This is the case with his lecture at a meeting of doctors; because of its subject — the social duty of the physician — it provokes derision and protests. The same is true of his activity at a spa, where his protest against the pollution of the river by malarial mud, which infects the whole local population, exposes him to the loss of his job. This is finally the case in the coal mining area, where the workers' terrible working and living conditions lead him to his desperate decision to ruin his own and Joasia's happiness. The novel is composed of a number of parts, apparently loosely connected, but unified through Judym's 'realization' of himself and of the world in which he happened to act. There are, of course, some passages and episodes only slightly linked with the main question, as for instance, Joasia's diary, which is most beautiful in itself; but even the diary indirectly enters Judym's life, as it reveals the soul of the person dearest to him, whom he must give up. In the history of the Polish novel, The Homeless People is a significant phenomenon, for the problem of social evil is shown here in a new and frightening light, the like of which had never been known in the Polish novel until then and which is different from the 'documentary,' cool, and colorless presentation of the French naturalists. This new conception is expressed in the structure and style of the novel: 'the material' is selected from among the most painful and heartrending phenomena in the life of society and individuals, ¿eromski's style creates completely new means of expressing these phenomena. Thanks to ¿eromski, Polish literary prose took a leap, rather than a step, forward, embracing linguistic domains until then accessible only to the highest type of lyric poetry. Some of his later works, such as Walgierz Udaty or Duma o hetmanie (The Ballad of the Hetman), are written in a splendid poetic prose. But even in novels of contemporary life the 'liricism' of his style is important in the narrative parts. This language combines within its homogeneous

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texture elements both of dialects and of the speech of the contemporary intelligentsia, especially the 'radical' intelligentsia; it is strongly marked with irony and sarcasm, and lacks all sentimentalism, small-talk, or neutrality. There are no false or artificial tones, though they may be overdrawn; discordant notes are sometimes deliberately and successfully introduced. In short, ¿eromski was a true master and real creator of the Polish language. The next great work of ¿eromski was Popioly (The Ashes, 1904). It is a novel of Napoleonic times, dealing with the period more or less from the third partition of Poland to 1812. By comparison with Sienkiewicz's Trilogy, a novel of adventure and war, this is indeed a historical novel, as it contains the whole of the life of society in a given epoch. Of course, even in this portrayal of life, much space is occupied by wars and adventures no less cxciting than those in which Sienkiewicz's 'musketeers' are involved, but they are neither the principal nor the most important parts of the novel, and, furthermore, they are treated differently. This difference is dictated by the historical moment (the difference between the wars conducted by Poland in the seventeenth century and the part played by Poles in Napoleon's march through Europe to overthrow tyranny), but it also results from the author's general attitude towards war. The Ashes lacks any kind of glorification of war or of the people who make it their profession. The novel is not filled with descriptions of battles and massacres; we see rather a series of episodes, not treated from a 'military' point of view (or at least not exclusively), but interpreted, so to speak, from a human point of fiew. Not only is the cruelty and horror of war vividly depicted with ¿eromski's characteristic passion for grim description, but also the tragedy of the Napoleonic wars which bought freedom at the price of suffering and massacre. The Spanish campaign as it is conceived in The Ashes is ample proof of this tragedy; not only the army, but also the Spanish people defended themselves desperately against their liberators from 'the tyranny of the monarchy and the clergy.' Hideous scenes of the raping of Spanish girls and nuns in a convent are only part of the evidence for the fact that in reality a war 'of liberation' does not differ in details from aggressive war. Krzysztof Cedro, one of the principal characters in the novel, a knight sans peur et sans reproche and a sensitive man, salutes the body of a nun who pierced her breast with a knife to avoid dishonor, in another moving scene he pays tribute to a beautiful, innocent virgin, who may at any moment share the fate of the nuns, by throwing flowers to her feet. Another knight of a similar psychological makeup, Prince Gintuh, protests against the con-

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fiscation of the monuments of art in Italy by Polish soldiers acting on behalf of the French government and prevents the bombardment of the precious Polish church in Sandomierz. This is one aspect of ¿eromski's interpretation of war. There are, naturally, others which show elements of courage, heroism, and sacrifice; some of the best souls believe that it is through blood and destruction that one approaches the great aim of liberating mankind and the fatherland, but these more glorious sides of war never outweigh the others and cannot hide them from us. The internal life of society of that time is presented in a series of equally suggestive portrayals. There is, for instance, the old nobleman, Olbromski, who in a splendid scene rejects the peasant reforms introduced by the Austrian government and, to prove that no one has the right to order him around on his own land, he has one of his serfs whipped. One of the most sublime characters in the novel, Piotr Olbromski, frees his own serfs. The Polish peasant, already aware of his worth and fighting along with the 'lords' in the same ranks, is represented by the excellent types of Michcik and Gajkos. Besides we have pictures of contemporary education, of the life of the aristocracy, the higher and lower gentry, the activity of the masonic organizations, the conflicts between political opinions, the life and customs, hunting parties, dancing parties in little country manors and in the residences of the magnates — in short, ¿eromski attempts to give the widest consideration to all aspects of social phenomena. Structurally the novel is based on the story of two figures: Cedro, whom we have already mentioned, and his companion, Rafal Olbromski. Their fate constitues the principal plot, though it is often interrupted by parts only loosely connected with it. These parts serve to illustrate the social background and to characterize the other numerous figures in the novel. Among them there are historical persons, such as General D^browski, Prince Joseph Poniatowski, and Napoleon (who appears only twice, like a mysterious, powerful vision). The style possesses the same traits of which we have already spoken, with the one difference that at the turn of the eighteenth century people speak, of course, a different language than in contemporary novels. In lending an individualized language to the characters ¿eromski shows himself as much the master as in description and narration. The Polish countryside and that of foreign lands shine in the novel in all their beauty through the changing seasons of the year and by the varying light of day and night. The author gave the title 'The Ashes' to a novel dealing with one of the heroic and at the same time most dramatic epochs of Polish history. This

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word may be interpreted literally or symbolically: as the ruin of life or as the fertilization of a new one. ( Exoriarealiquisnostrisexossibusultor— 'May some day our avenger be born from our ashes' — says the dying Dido in Virgil's Aeneid.) The title of The Ashes should probably be understood in the second sense; the ashes left behind by the Napoleonic epic gave birth to a new spiritual life on the ruins of the old order; this life grew and hardened in spite of the reaction which temporarily reigned throughout Europe. With Dzieje grzechu (The Story of a Sin, 1906), ¿eromski returned again to the contemporary world and portrayed it in a manner in some ways more cruel than the grim picture of The Homeless People. The horror and hopelessness of this novel lie in the fact that the pure, innocent, religious soul of Ewa Pobratynska is pushed into the abyss of sin and crime through a combination of events and circumstances beyond her control; through the cruel and pitiless force of evil embodied in people and happenings, before which she is helpless, she sinks gradually lower to the last stages of her downfall. The vision of sin and Satan — that Satan of Kasprowicz who 'visits the home and tempts the souls' — is here conveyed with a force and passion that borders on merciless torture for the unfortunate victim. The sin grows to the height of a terrible symbol, the kind that may be seen in the writings of some Church Fathers, the more terrifying and frightful because it is shown in a succession of events and scenes that mark the fall of an innocent soul into the abyss. The gradation of this fall is conducted in a masterly way; Satan attacks the soul in a premeditated and methodical fashion, gathering against her gradually stronger and more infallible weapons. With a cruel confidence in himself and his success, he even gives the soul moments of rest and hope in order to plunge her afterwards into even deeper misery. From the literary point of view The Story of a Sin possesses, despite all the qualities of ¿eromski's talent, one undeniable weakness: the author fails to limit the material, which is overloaded with motifs of sin and crime; these motifs constantly recur in ever newer and more morbid variations, and they consequently tend to lose some of their effectiveness. The year 1906 also produced Powiesc o Udalym Walgierzu (The Novel of Udaly Walgierz), and 1908 and 1909 Duma o Hetmanie (The Ballad of the Hetman) and Sulkowski, respectively. The first two works are written in a highly poetic and brilliantly archaic prose — another proof of ¿eromski's tremendous control over language. Walgierz is a poetic and symbolic version of a medieval legend. The Ballad is a poem paying tribute to Hetman Stanislaw Zolkiewski, one of the noblest Poles of the seventeenth century, an excellent and open-minded politician and military

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leader and distinguished writer. This knight fought both against the Tatars, Cossacks, Swedes, Muscovites, and Turks, and against the Polish rebels and all forms of Polish anarchy, and treason. The main subject of The Ballad is the retreat of the Polish forces before the Turks and ¿61kiewski's heroic death in 1620. Sulkowski was also a perfect knight, one of the most talented Polish officers, who fell during Napoleon's Egyptian campaign, ¿eromski devotes to him a work in the genre of the 'reading play' (as opposed to the stage play), in which the soul of Sulkowski, his dreams about Poland, his strategic plans (the excellence of which, it is said, Napoleon himself envied) are unveiled in beautiful, extended dialogues. After another play of the same structural type, entitled Rdza (The Rose, 1909) and devoted to the people and the issues involved in the Revolution of 1905, ¿eromski published several further novels before the end of the First World War: Uroda zycia (The Beauty of Life, 1912), Wierna rzeka (The Faithful River, 1913), and a trilogy entitled Walka z szatanem (The Fight With Satan, 1916). The Faithful River deserves special attention as one of the most compact and continuously dramatic novels of ¿eromski. The action takes place during the January Insurrection, and its tragedy is not shown in battles and encounters but in the fate of an insurgent, Prince Joseph Odrow^z. Seriously wounded in a battle with the Russian Army, with a bullet in his hip, cut up by sabres and bayonets, he lies abandoned on the battlefield surrounded by corpses. When he comes to he sees emptiness around him, and after many efforts he rises and, halfconscious, goes forward. He walks and crawls, falls of exhaustion, and rises again; he is attacked and insulted by peasants who throw stones and mud at him; finally he comes to a manor where he finds shelter and care. At the manor there are only two persons: an old, deaf cook and a young girl, Salomea Brynicka. A hard life — even harder than when she was alone — begins for her in that manor surrounded by the blaze of the Insurrection. Odrowqz is very ill for a long time; the manor is frequently searched by local Cossack patrols. These inspections must be forseen each time and the sick man carried to the barn and pushed into an especially prepared hole in the hay; the girl trembles for his life, her own, and that of the old housekeeper. All this lasts a long time — from winter until summer — while Odrow^z regains his health and a passionate love flares up between the two young people. One day the manor is visited by the mother of the wounded soldier, a rich and elegant lady, who takes her son for a cure in Italy and gives Salomea a little bag of ducats as a recompense.

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This is a brief outline of the story of The Faithful River, which gives no idea of its dramatic beauty, of the love, blossoming in such incredible conditions, the fate of the uprising, and the terrible drama of the heroic girl who is paid with gold for her sacrifice and love. The regaining of independence and the new life which began on Polish soil called forth from ¿eromski a new group of works both in fiction and in public affairs. In 1920 he published Wiatr od morza (The Sea Breeze), a collection of beautiful sketches inspired by the history of the Polish sea coast from the invasions of the Vikings to almost contemporary times. Then he turned to the up-to-date and pressing problems with which the young state and its society were faced on the threshold of a new historical epoch. In the novel, Przedwiosnie (Early Spring, 1925) he relates the fate of Piotr Baryka, a young man brought up in Russia, who, having lived through the Bolshevik Revolution there, is drawn by nostalgia back to Poland at the moment when the country begins its new life. He holds long discussions with representatives of various political and social movements and opinions, takes part in the 'idyllic' life of the Polish landed gentry, which contrasts strangely with the menacing social problems that demanded immediate attention. This contrast constitutes one of the structural principles of the novel, which ends with an ominous picture of a procession of workers marching in a mob on the Belvedere (the residence of the head of the state) — a kind of grim warning. The performance in 1924 of ¿eromski's play Uciekla mi przepioreczka w proso (My Little Quail Ran Into the Millet) 1 was a literary and theatrical event. Although he had written and produced plays before, as, for instance, Ponad snieg (I Shall Become Whiter Than Snow, 1921) and Turon (The Bison, 1923), these were fairly weak plays from a dramatic point of view. Their shortcomings were attributed to his lyricism, which dominated in his novels and lent them a special structural character. Now, toward the end of his career, he revealed an amazing flair for the stage, an ability for portraying characters and stating conflicts with a truly dramatic conciseness and concentration. The world of The Quail recalls that of his earlier novels and short stories; as in The Homeless People it is a conflict between personal feelings and the service of a cherished ideal. Such a conflict was more difficult to resolve in a drama than in a novel, where there is more time and space to prepare and motivate the solution; hence the weakest point in ¿eromski's play is the motivation of the leading character's heroic decision to renounce his love. 1

Title and first line of an old folk song.

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We have spoken above of the artistic value of ¿eromski's works. They are also of great value in a educational function. Before Zeromski, Poland had had no writer who could open the eyes of his generation so widely to misery and social wrong, who created for his contemporaries a new sense and feeling for these painful and humiliating facts, or who educated his readers so remorselessly. The magnificent beauty of his artistic vision and the rich variety of its tones, now grim and hopeless, now bright and soothing, clothed now in most radiant colors and purest light, now in the most horrible, all gave his works the power to shake, hurt, even intoxicate, and to lead the reader to despair or lift him to heights of ecstasy. His talent was such that even certain artistic weaknesses, certain imperfections or overdrawn passages, the introduction into the novel of whole social theories and programs (which could sometimes break up the novelistic organism with foreign, superfluous, and ineffective elements) cannot destroy its effectiveness, ¿eromski advocated similar theories and programs in his writings on public affairs, which are conceived in the spirit of the best Polish tradition descended from Modrzewski through Staszic and Koll^taj to Prus and Orzeszkowa. One finds in them the same spirit of humanitarianism, that same profound social concern, love for mankind and faith in his progress and perfection, and that same linking of the Polish cause with that of the liberation of man. Like his great predecessors, ¿eromski is the noblest and most profound spokesman for his time. A completely different artistic type is seen in the second outstanding novelist of the period, Wladyslaw Stanislaw REYMONT ( 1 8 6 8 - 1 9 2 5 ) . He was of peasant origin and was brought up in the country. Later he took up a number of different occupations: he was a member of a traveling actors' troupe, a brother in the order of St. Paul at Cz?stochowa, and a railway employee. He was well acquainted with the minor theatrical world, the life of the provincial intelligentsia, and, above all, that of the peasants. It is with these circles that his main novels deal, with the exception of one devoted to the Polish Manchester, Lodz. In his first collection of short stories, Spotkanie (The Meeting, 1897), we note the naturalistic treatment of peasant life, as in Tomek Baran, Suka (The Bitch), a contrast between a beastly woman who tortures her child and a humane bitch who saves her puppies; Death is the grim story of a peasant who, during his life, gave his land too readily to his daughter who then chased him out of his home; he went to his second daughter who dragged him into the pigsty even as he was dying, and robbed him when he was dead. These scenes are described in the manner rather of

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Zola than of ¿eromski, with an objective, 'scientific' detachment, and in an expressive, hard language which relates exactly and in detail. His first two novels, Komedjantka (The Comedian, 1896) and Fermenty (Ferments, 1897), describe the life of Janka Orlowska, who escapes from impossible conditions at home, becomes 'a comedian' in a traveling provincial theater, knows the bright lights and the shadows of that life, and even comes at one point to attempt suicide. Saved from death she returns home and marries her former admirer, a rich peasant. Now this artistic soul begins to 'ferment,' unable to adapt to a new, monotonous, colorless life. But ultimately there is a happy ending, when Janka finds satisfaction and peace. Of the two novels, The Comedian is the more interesting and lively. It portrays well the world of provincial actors: a mixture of barn-storming bohemianism and of a sort of devotion to art, lack of moral scruples and a feeling of superiority toward the philistines. It is a world full of intrigue, jealousy, and quarrels, sometimes even of criminal instincts — and all this is presented very vividly. The technique is 'impressionistic,' one which operates with small touches of color and light, which in this case consist of a multitude of large and small scenes, genre sketches, dialogues, theatrical rehearsals and performances, the private lives of actors, their attitude to the 'bourgeois' environment, etc. These touches, expressive in themselves, blend into a general picture which is somewhat glaring, deprived of subtle nuance. The eye of the impressionist artist seizes on the phenomena of life, as it were, 'in the act,' fixes them quickly, as with a camera, but often without developing them sufficiently from an artistic point of view. Intoxicated by this mass of phenomena on all sides, Reymont's imagination cannot always discriminate and transform it into artistic material, and much 'raw' material lies bulkily about his work. The characteristic traits of both novels, and particularly of the first, are found again in more pronounced form in Ziemia obiecana (The Promised Land, 1898). The 'promised land' is Lodz, Poland's biggest industrial center, which at that time reached the peak of its development. In this novel there reigns a positive orgy of colorful impressions, full of vivid light and, in this case also, of sound. We see a huge conglomeration of people of different classes and nationalities: there are millionaire businessmen and industrialists, the middle class, and the workers; Poles, Germans, and Jews; a variety of psychological types which embody various aspects of the mentality of the so-called 'Lodzermensch' (a man of Lodz), that is the speculator on a large or small scale, who tries to make money in all possible ways. This whole crowd is in ceaseless

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motion, running 'after business,' always in a hurry, noisy, shouting, and cheating each other. They arrange fictitious bankruptcies or real fires for the sake of the insurance, they speak a special ' L o d i ' language, secure extraordinary wealth, fall into utter destitution, or even land in prison. It is Sodom and Gomorrah rather than the promised land, with a wide gap between the life of the rich and the misery of the exploited workers and craftsmen. Between these poles rages a chaos, forever erupting with new sensations in industrial, commercial or private life, across which the author tries to spin a thread of novelistic plot, centered around Karol Borowiecki and his partners, the Jew, Moryc Welt, and the German, Max Baum. But here he fails, for his technique of building over and over expressive, often glaring, scenes from the life of Lodz obscures the slight plot and does not allow it to become a structural center. This situation is aggravated by another trait of Reymont's technique: the presentation of phenomena always at the highest possible point of intensity and tension; almost every scene is depicted in a language, full of hyperbolization and amplification, in which synonyms are piled one upon the other. In order to describe a single trait, a gesture, a motion, an urban landscape or whatever, Reymont is not satisfied with one or two forceful expressions; he gathers several or a dozen of them, thus drawing out and lengthening the description, not always in the interest of clarity. Naturally, this way of writing contributes even more to the 'autonomy' of the individual fragments, and impairs the transparency of the whole picture. This picture is, nevertheless, impressive in its scope and in the wealth of reactions which spring from Reymont's creative imagination, his extraordinary sensitivity to all aspects of the material world, and ability to capture and fix them as on a film. In 1904, the Warsaw Tygodnik Ilustrowany (Illustrated Weekly) began to print Reymont's new novel, entitled Chlopi (The Peasants). By 1909 four volumes of it had been published, designated by the titles: Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer. This work is considered not only by Polish but also by foreign critics (it was translated into all European languages, even Japanese, and received the Nobel Prize) as the richest and artistically the most perfect picture of peasant life in world literature. The lively reaction the work received abroad is due to the fact that it possessed a specifically Polish character, which was at the same time a universal one; it presents on Polish soil problems of universal significance. In Reymont's novel this 'universality' is limited only to one social class, the peasantry, but this class exists the world over, forming the majority in many countries and in others constituting at least an important fraction of the

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population. And almost everywhere the peasantry has been considered as 'the salt of the earth,' the nourisher of nations, a class which preserves the oldest traditions and represents the purest physical and spiritual type of its nation. The traditional, century-long work on the land, in close contact with nature, carried on in small and separate rural communities, has developed certain common traits throughout this class. Regardless of nationality, the peasant is physically and spiritually attached to the soil, which he never abandons, even in the midst of the greatest catastrophes. Centuries of serfdom and feudalism, which in one form or another existed throughout Europe, hardened his physical strength and perseverance and his spiritual balance, and they gave him an attitude of stoicism toward the obstacles and failures in life, a practical sense, class consciousness, a calm and mature judgment, attachment to old traditions and customs, and a religious faith without fanaticism and intolerance. The peasant is heavy and slow, sometimes lazy, but hard and stubborn, not given to sentimentalism and used to struggling with a hard lot. He creates a healthy biological foundation for the development of a higher culture. Reymont's peasants are endowed with those general peasant traits. We may add still a particular greediness for land, before which all scruples of kinship or attachment disappear. Furthermore, there is a characteristic caste spirit among them which makes itself felt in the sharp differentiation in significance, influence, and social rank between the rich and the poor peasants, those settled on their land and those deprived of it, between the farmer and the ploughboy. Within this framework there is, of course, room for a wealth and variety of individual traits, physical and psychological types. In Reymont's novel these individual types are grouped around certain family and social and economic centers. They are endowed with both specifically peasant traits and universal ones; they are deeply involved in their peasant and rural problems, but at the same time they love and hate, they have their worries and joys, their talents and weaknesses, like everyone else. The place of action is a densely populated and extensive village, Lipce, which consititutes a closed and independent social and economic unit. It has hardly any contact with the outside world; that world is anyway limited to a small neighboring town where the peasants go to market and to court. News from the outside world is brought by wanderers like Jagustynka, who spends the winter in the village with her relatives but wanders into the world in summertime, or the mysterious Rocho, a kind of guardian and spiritual leader of the community. He also teaches the children, for there is no school in the

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village, while the older people manage without reading or writing. Individual life is more closely linked with community life than in other social groups, because of the binding narrowness of the environment, and the analogous work on the land at the various seasons of the year, which bring the people together. The place for community meetings is either at the church or the inevitable inn, while there are parties and reunions in the homes of the more prosperous families. Life flows on monotonously at a measured pace and in close connection with the change of seasons, 'the past being always yesterday, and the future close at hand* (Norwid). From time to time the village is aroused by some unusual event, which in these simple conditions assumes the proportions of a sensation, such as family and interfamily feuds, the marriage of old Boryna with the young girl Jagusia, her love for Boryna's son Antek, or the question of the forest, which brings all the peasants together (the local landlord sells it as his property without consulting the village; on the basis of age-old traditions the peasants consider the forest as 'sown by God,' and therefore common property). This is the only moment in the novel when the village unites on a question which is to some degree 'ideological' and fights for its rights. Otherwise no political or social ideas disturb the peasants. Possibly the author was forced to avoid these problems on account of censorship (the novel was published still at the time of Tsarist Russia) and offered the question of the forest as a substitute. But it is also possible that in his conception of peasant life he did not see these problems as important. As in The Promised Land the fictional plot plays no major structural part. It is built around the problem of the love between Antek Boryna and Jagusia and the resulting conflicts between Antek and his father and wife, between Jagusia and her husband, and finally between the sinful lovers on one hand and the public opinion of the village on the other. This problem goes through many phases, and ends in a way characteristic of village morality: Jagusia is expelled from the village by the community, while Antek, having after his father's death become the full-fledged, hereditary lord of his household, looks differently at his former romance and his mistress; he is resigned to the verdict of the community, and tries neither to save Jagusia nor to share her exile. Although this story possesses some outstandingly dramatic moments, it does not constitute the structural center of the novel, especially in the last two volumes. The main task of the author, as his work increases in scope, is to give the fullest and most universal portrayal of life in a Polish village. In this respect we feel that we really get to know Lipce thoroughly, in all the

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details of private, family, economic, emotional, and intellectual life. That whole life, with its chores, occupations, customs, traditions, rituals, parties, holidays, etc., is described with exactitude and a truly epic respect for the particular instance and the concrete detail. This is no longer the impressionistic technique of The Promised Land, blurring into a glaring and hurried picture, but a quiet, sedate epic narrative sustained in tone and tempo, sometimes even excessively broad and expansive, as though in love with itself or as if the author regretted parting with a given scene, phenomenon, or description and feared that he might omit something. No more snapshots, synthetic short-cuts and condensations of the kind used by Reymont in his earlier novels; on the contrary, what we usually call episodes grow in The Peasants into extensive and integral parts of the narrative, constituting, as it were, separate structural centers which are justified by the general character of the whole. One significant trait may be observed in Reymont's way of handling that tremendous wealth of motifs, namely a tendency toward stylization. A Polish critic, Stanislaw Brzozowski, correctly stated that Reymont stylizes the peasants 'as peasants'; 2 one may add that he stylizes not only the peasants but the whole of peasant life. Stylization in literature is revealed in a portrayal of characters and scenes in such a way as to bring out most expressively only some distinguishing characteristic traits and to make them designate a given phenomenon by themselves. Reymont's peasant exhibits certain so-called 'Piast-like' features ; 3 a certain dignity, seriousness, and even some solemnity in behavior, in his attitude toward people and in his work; he solemnly celebrates the tilling and sowing of the land, the customary rites of baptism, marriage, or funeral, the distribution of food, the process of eating and drinking, invitation to the table, as well as dancing and entertainment. The most representative characters in The Peasants carry out these ritualistic tendencies. The old Boryna and a number of other 'notables' of the village may serve as examples. In connection with stylized characters, their environment and the events in which they take place are also stylized. In this way the author creates fabulously colorful pictures of nature, harvest, harvest-home parties, dances, weddings, funerals, and processions in the traditional 'Piast' style, which is at once highly decorative and, as it were, rooted in hierarchy. The picturesque and colorful quality is, after their stylization, the main feature of these scenes, as of nearly all that life in Reymont's interpretation. This is an art of a special kind, full of gusto and color, * See his Wspdkzesna powieic polska (Stanistawow, 1CX)6).

8

Derived from Piast, the legendary Polish prince, who was a peasant wheelright.

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but at the same time slightly conventionalized with the concentration falling on one kind of traits while others are eliminated — one of the basic features of any stylization. The language of The Peasants, which creates the epic quality of the novel, possesses certain significant characteristics. First of all, the peasant language is used not only in the dialogues, but also in descriptions and accounts given by the author. This lends the novel a uniform linguistic tone which strongly assists the organic unity of the whole. This language is closest to that variation of the Mazur (Masovian) dialect which is spoken in the Lowicz region. 4 The author uses it masterfully and enriches it with his own linguistic intuition. This dialect must also reflect his own style, especially in the passages where he speaks as author. Here we find perhaps to an even greater extent the same tendencies of amplification and hyperbolization as in The Promised Land. The tendency to amplify generally helps the broad epic sweep of the narrative, while hyperbole is in keeping with the other trend of stylization. Both appear with particular clarity in descriptions of nature. Here is, for instance, a description of clouds and a winter wind. The sky, too, was now overcast, ever with darker clouds, which came creeping up out of every cavern, raising heads of monstrous size, stretching forth long lean flanks, throwing their grey manes to the winds, baring gigantic discoloured teeth, and coming on in mighty battalions. From the north: black, huge, all shredded and tattered, piled in tiers, branching out like a score of overthrown forests, one upon the other, separated by deep chasms, and with — so it seemed — great streaks scattered over them of greenish ice, as it were: these rushed forward with wild might and a dull murmuring sound. From the west: those advanced slowly — livid, enormously swollen bulks, which in places shone bright as fire; and they rolled one after another, more and more persistent in their long advance, not unlike flocks of great birds. From the east came sailing flattened, rusty-hued masses of vapour, monotonously the same, and forbidding to the eye as mouldering carcasses that drip with tainted gore. From the south, too, were wafted ancient-looking clouds, reddish dark in hue, recalling clods of peat, striped and motley to see, though dingy and dull, as if vermin burrowed within them. There were also clouds floating on high, seeming to descend from the pale quenched orb of the sun, and forming dingy wisps, or spreading out in manifold tints, as embers that are dying. And they all came forward, built up mountains of prodigious height, and concealed all the sky under a black seething flood of squalor and grime. 4

See Maria Rzeuska, 'Chlopi' Reymonta (Warsaw, 1950).

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The whole land had suddenly turned to darkness; a dull silence prevailed on every side; all the lights had grown dim; the bright eyes of the waters were glazing over; all beings felt petrified and stood in amazement with bated breath. Up out of the earth surged the fear of what was to come; the frost penetrated even to the marrow of the bones, and every living thing trembled with the terror of it . . . The darkness began to be continual, murky and exceedingly depressing; daily the clouds sailed lower; they came creeping down from the forests, like thick volumes of dust, and rolled along the fields like floods of turbid water: then, coming to the village, plunged all things in a dingy ice-cold fog. And suddenly there would come a rent through the midst of the sky that shone dark-blue like the azure mirror of a well: a wild wind whistled through the dim space, the fogs at once were driven together on either side, and by the shattered gateway thus made came a first loud blast, soon followed by another, a score, and hundreds. They howled on in troops, they poured forwards in torrents that nothing could restrain; they rushed along as if coming out of broken fetters, in raging bellowing multitudes, striking at the gloom, dispelling it utterly, swallowing it up or sweeping it away like rotten chaff. 5 And here is a description of dances : 6 Ah! how they danced! Those Cracoviennes, with their frolicsome hop-skip-and-jump measures, and the quick lilt of their clean-cut, tinkling, metallic tunes; and the terse ditties, full of fun and freedom, with which, like the spangled girdles of the peasantry who made them, they are so brightly studded — those tunes welling with joyous dashing melody, redolent of the strong, abounding, audacious savour of youth in sportful pursuit of the sweet thrilling emotions that tell of the heyday in the blood! And those Mazurs, long-drawn-out as the paths which streak the endless plains, wind-clamourous and vast as the endless plains they streak: lowly, yet heaven-kissing; melancholy and bold, magnificent and sombre, stately and fierce: genial, warlike, full of discordances, like that peasants' nature, set in battle array, united as a forest and rushing to dance with such joyful clamours and wonderful strength as could attack and overcome ten times their number, nay, conquer, sweep away, trample down, the whole of a hostile world, nor reck though they themselves be doomed, and fall, but still carry on the dance after death, still stamping as in the Mazur — still crying out aloud: 'Oy dana dana!' '

Wtedystaw Reyrnor.t, The Peasants. Trans, by Michael H. Dziewicki (New York,

•

Reymont, op. cit., I, 234-35.

1925), II, 4-6.

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And oh, those Obertases! — short of rhythm, vertiginous, wild, frantic, warlike and amorous, full of excitement mingled with dreamy languor and notes of sorrow; throbbing with hot blood, brimming over with geniality and kindliness, in a sudden hailstorm: affectionate voices, dark-blue glances, springtime breezes, and fragrant wafts from blossoming orchards, like the song of fields in the young year; making tears and laughter to burst forth at the same time, and the heart to utter its lay of joy, and the soul longing to go beyond the vast fields around, beyond the far-off forests, and soar dreaming into the world of All Things, and sing ecstatically the burden, 'Oy dana dana!'

The traits of Reymont's style discussed above are obvious in these fragments. In the first excerpt the description of clouds and winds assumes truly apocalyptic dimensions; all the elements of the description are conveyed with the highest possible tension of forces built up through rising designations, comparisons, and metaphors. A similar technique operates in the second fragment, the description of dances; here this mounting and progressive intensification of designations, partly repeated in the descriptions of the three dances, confuses and obscures rather than illuminates the images. Generally speaking, The Peasants is undoubteldy Reymont's masterpiece and one of the finest Polish novels of all time. His later works, a historical novel, Rok 1794 (The Year 1794), and some others, achieved no greater significance either in the development of his production or in that of the novel in Poland. A completely different peasant milieu emerges from the collection of sketches and tales, Na skalnem Podhalu (The Rocky Tatras, 1904-10) by Kazimierz TETMAJER, already known to us as a lyric poet. The Tatra region, that most beautiful area of Poland overlooked by the Tatra range and inhabited by the interesting Tatra mountaineers, was, as we know, an object of inspiration for many Polish poets. In this collection Tetmajer gave his own very colorful picture of these people and their life in the past and present; it is a long series of tales based partly on legends and folklore, running into five volumes, and in it he conveys the primitive, almost savage beauty of that life set against the background of the magnificent nature of the Tatras. His mountaineer characters possess a traditional sense of freedom in their blood and are traditionally addicted to 'brigandry'; they are pugnacious adventurers, sturdy and beautiful, with a hot, explosive temper. When they love, it is to the death; when they fight, they fight to the end of their strength; when they drink, they

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get dead drunk; when they dance their 'brigand dance,' they do it until they fall from exhaustion; and when they hate, they hate until they have wreaked their vengence to the full. The affairs that occur between them also have that character of a rich, free, intensive life, full of danger and adventure, without hard work. Tetmajer's tales emphasize these traits in sharp outline. They are of a variety of types: sketches, description, pictures, short stories with an interesting and unusual action, and longer works which approach novels. Their originality is emphasized by the Tatra region dialect in which the entire series is written (as The Peasants is in Masovian dialect); born in that region, the author was well acquainted with it and suited it excellently to his artistic aims. That same Tatra world became the subject of the novels of Wladyslaw ORKAN (pen name of Wladyslaw Smreczyriski, 1876-1930), Komorniey (The Tenant Farmers, 1900) and W roztokach (On Stream Banks, 1903). But it is conceived in a different light from Tetmajer's picture of the Tatra brigands. There is none of that stylization of the peasants as heroes or knights of freedom, devoted to an exuberant and dangerous life; on the contrary, these are pictures of the colorless, sad, and excessively difficult lot of the contemporary peasants of the Tatra region, a region that is so beautiful but unfertile, where it is far more difficult to come by a piece of bread than in the other Polish provinces. These novels are written in a mature, realistic style, breaking into the dialect of the Tatra region for the dialogues; their plots are not very elaborate, but they are 'true,' presenting characters and conditions in a documentary and suggestive manner. Next to ¿eromski and Reymont there was in the Young Poland period a large group of other writers who cultivated various novelistic genres. The writer who wrote in the traditionally realistic style was Waclaw SIEROSZEWSKI (1860-1945); he was an interesting figure, a worker and

socialist leader, deported to the Yakut region in Russia for many years; he described that country in a work that won a prize from the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences. In his fiction he mainly used material drawn from personal experience in his own hard but unusual life in exile, introducing into the Polish novel new, until then unknown, Yakut, Caucasian, Chinese, and Japanese motifs. Neither his short stories nor his novels, Na kresach lasow (The Confines of the Forests, 1894), W matni (In the Maze, 1897), Risztau (1899), Powrot (The Return, 1903), Powiesci chinskie (Chinese Tales, 1903), Ucieczka (The Flight, 1904), are distinguished by structural or stylistic qualities. They are tales, loose pictures, joined together by a meager plot, which report on characters and events,

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describe environments and nature without connecting these elements into organic wholes; their language is simple and conversational. Nevertheless, they carry a noble humanitarian spirit, a feeling of kinship with people at a very low level of civilization, and an emphasis on their valuable human traits. There are also realistic descriptions of exotic nature and many interesting details about the life of the native people, combined with reports of the life of Polish deportees in those forgotten regions, a subject likely in itself to evoke an emotional response. The work of Gustaw DANILOWSKI (1872-1927) was inspired by 2eromski; in his first works he used similar material and attempted to give it similar expression (the collection of short stories entitled Nego, 1900, and the novels, Z minionych dni, Of Past Days, 1902, Jaskolka, The Swallow, 1907, and others). He undoubtedly achieved some original tones of his own and knew how to create lively and interesting people; for instance, the social leaders of the novel, Of Past Days, or of the short story, The Swallow (later transformed into a novel and spoiled by this transformation). But he had relatively too little originality to establish himself as a distinct literary personality. Such a personality, however, existed in Andrzej STRUG (pen name of Tadeusz Galecki, 1873-1935), the poet of Poland's underground struggle with tzardom. That underground world, sometimes touched upon by ¿eromski, but seldom forming the principal problem of his works, became the main theme in the earlier works of Strug. In such works as Ludzie podziemni (The Underground People, 1908), Ze wspomnien starego sympatyka (Recollections of an Old Sympathizer, 1909), and Jutro (Tomorrow, 1909), he built its poetic monument. These works captivate by their very subject, so unusual in the Polish novel and so honorable and moving. T h e underground people' are the spiritual brothers of ¿eromski's 'homeless people,' only they had to act in far more difficult and dangerous circumstances than did Dr. Judym. These people fight literally, not just figuratively, physically, and not only spiritually for the cause of Poland and the Polish proletariat; they also bear physically, not only morally, the consequences of their struggle. They rot in prisons for years, waste their lives in the katorga (forced labor in Russia), are hanged together with common bandits, and are considered as criminals, sometimes even by their own people. While they are yet free and active for the cause they are literally, rather than figuratively, homeless, being deprived not merely of a real home but of any corner they can call their own. They spend every night in a different place, so as to leave as few traces as possible for the police who are constantly at their heels.

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Their personal needs are reduced to a minimum; they require hardly anything, since at any moment they are exposed to arrest, trial, and the gallows. These are the most disinterested men, unknown and hidden from the world, deprived of glory, remembered only by a small circle of their closest comrades, ¿eromski devoted his beautiful and painful poem in prose, Sen o szpadzie (The Dream of the Sword), to these leaders and fighters of the Polish Socialist Party. Strug shows them in their life, actions, and struggle. He creates not only a literary work, but a historical document, a painful and sublime message to society, an appeal to those who live a normal life so that they may at least know, remember, and be aware of those who fight for them. This, properly speaking, is no longer literature, and it is difficult to measure it by strictly literary standards, for its aims, tasks, and partly also its devices of expression are different. Ignacy D^BROWSKI (1869-1932) wrote a psychological-novelistic study entitled Smierd (Death, 1892), which describes the last months of the life of a young tubercular. Here also the subject itself easily evokes emotions, and the manner in which it is worked out makes these emotions quiet, tender, and sad without shocks, horror, or tragedy. An ordinary, though not commonplace, human life, evaporating into nothingness, disappearing from day to day with the constantly changing moods of the sick man, from a full awareness of death and despair to the glimmer of sudden hope, is painted in a simple way with relatively modest devices. D^browski's second novel, the subject of which is the psychology of a poor, good, and honest Warsaw seamstress (Felka, 1893), is written in the same way and with the use of the same uncomplicated means that often achieve a certain sad charm. The writers discussed above maintained in general the realistic style, and they sometimes conceived realism too literally and too crudely. Other tendencies in the novel of the period were shown in attempts to go beyond traditional realism. They were revealed in various forms: in a turning away from the realistic world and departure into the realm of 'the absolute soul'; in a giving up, or at least undermining of the accepted structural forms and psychological motivation; finally in the attempt to create a new literary language. The editor of the Krakow Life and leader of Polish 'modernism,' Stanislaw Przybyszewski, published in German, and later also in Polish, a series of novels which were to express his ideas on the eternal struggle between 'brain' and 'sex,' and generally his ideas on the psychological life of modern man (Dzieci szatana, The Children of Satan, 1899, Homo sapiens, 1901, Svnowie ziemi, The Sons of the Earth, 1904, and others). Since, according to him, the task of art

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was to present the soul in all its 'holy' manifestations, the first place in his novels is occupied by the internal experiences of the heroes, while the external world in which they live is reduced to a minimum. There is undoubtedly a certain anti-realism in this complete separation of psyche from the outer world and in the assumption that it constitutes some metaphysical force, independent of external influence. It is understandable that the life of such souls cannot come under the normal categories of cause and effect; the causes are rooted in a certain eternal 'selfhood,' and the effects constitute their inevitable consequence. We would then ask in vain in such works for a normal psychological motivation of the actions of the characters and of events, because both the actions and events take place in a different dimension. In other words, the realistic motivation is replaced by metaphysical motivation which eludes all control. The structure of these works is based on psychological analyses, either direct or executed with the help of the characters' confessions, monologues, and dialogues. These are the principal parts of the novel, whereas that which we call action is generally reduced to one or a few experiences: of some passionate love, abduction, treason, or crime. Instead of a continuous sequence of events, there is a continuity of psychic states in the individual characters, although they often manifest themselves in changing, sometimes extremely contradictory, moods. Next to these works, which possess a more or less novelistic character, Przybyszewski wrote works in a fantastic and visionary style, such as Msza zmarlych (The Mass for the Dead, 1893), Wigilje (The Eves, 1899), or Nadmorzem (On the Seashore, 1899), all of them almost completely devoid of a novelistic plot. The language of these works, a very stylized poetic prose, is typically 'modernistic,' very elaborate, though not without original and suggestive passages. In the novels of the first type, discussed above, Przybyszewski uses partly a 'poetic' style (in analyses and confessions), partly an impressionistic or realistic, uneven, broken, and nervous style (in descriptions and narration). The production of Waclaw BERENT (1873-1940) remains in partial kinship with Przybyszewski. He began with the novel Fachowiec (The Expert, 1898), written in a consistently realistic style, which portrays a student, who, inspired by the spirit of positivism, abandons his studies in order to become a common laborer. His most characteristic work, however, is Prochno (Rotten Wood, 1901), one of the most expressive and fullest pictures of decadence in art and life toward the end of the nineteenth century. The work is of a cosmopolitan character, and the place of action is Berlin. We find Germans, Poles, Russians, and Jews among

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the characters. They are for the most part artists, poets, musicians, 'philosophers,' and journalists. They share certain traits in common: 'decadence,' weariness with life, discouragement, weakness of will, skepticism, or at best desperate efforts to create a 'philosophy of life' which would justify their sterility, or a theory of the high vocation of art, in which art becomes a redemption and an escape from the detested earthly reality. Their existence is an eternal negation of the surrounding world, a life in a dream, in which every day functions are executed mechanically. Their principal occupation centers in endless discussions and contemplation of their own and other people's souls, autoanalysis, an almost public exhibition of their inner lives, and, as a last resort from despair, alcoholism or suicide. One certainty emerges from all this denial and hopelessness, namely an uncompromising criticism of the contemporary bourgeois culture, a desperate cry against all the evils of that culture, both in the material and in the moral and intellectual sense. Like the novels of Przybyszewski, Rotten Wood possesses no central plot which would unify the individual parts. It is rather a collection of scenes, sketches, descriptions, analyses, dialogues which are to express the decadent soul. As in Przybyszewski also, the structure of the novel is subordinated to the psychological atmosphere prevailing in it, the atmosphere of exhibitionist confessions, monologues and dialogues. There are distinct attempts to stress the unusual and exceptional qualities of the characters and to exalt them to a position of superiority to the Philistines. On the whole the novel does not achieve this aim, for in its final effect the results are rather contrary to the intentions. The style of Rotten Wood is elaborate, and it attempts in every way to achieve originality, mystery, riddle, and 'moodiness.' There is no control over the language, as in Prus and Sienkiewicz or ¿eromski, but an industrious elaboration, 'in the sweat of the author's brow,' as one Polish critic expressed it. This style is used by Berent not only in the characters' dialogues and monologues, but also when he speaks as author in descriptions and narrations. This undoubtedly lends the novel a certain uniformity (as the dialect used in Reymont's The Peasants) of a kind that the slight 'plot' could certainly not give it. On the other hand, this style raises doubts concerning some critics' opinion, and perhaps even the author's own conviction, that this work is a satire on decadence or a judgment of it. An analysis of his style7 proves that the author does not step forth as a judge of his generation, but rather as an artist, closely 7 See M. Kridl, 'Rotten Wood as Mirror of an Epoch,* Wrdznych przekrojach (Warsaw, 1939).

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linked with the art of his epoch, who uses all the characteristic devices of that art with predilection and superior ability. His novel is a faithful, even evocative portrayal of some characteristic, though not the most profound, manifestations of the epoch. A sharp and penetrating light, however, is focused on this narrow range of phenomena, which are hereby brought to the surface and thoroughly elucidated. Thus was created a document which has great significance for the understanding of the psychology of the generation of the end of the century. Berent's later novels add nothing to the stature of his artistic personality, although they treat different problems. His style, language, and means of structure remained the same, at times revealing a stronger tendency to stylization after the Young Poland taste. This is true of Ozimina (Winter-Corn, 1911) and even more so of ¿ywe kamienie (Live Stones, 1918). The first of these novels resembles Rotten Wood in subject, in the sense that in both we have to deal with a kind of decadence. The characters are representatives of the aristocracy, the gentry, and the rich bourgeoisie gathered at a ball in a wealthy Warsaw home. They possess many of the traits seen in those earlier decadent figures, with the difference that these neither protest nor rebel against the contemporary world; any possible escape into the realm of art is, of course, also closed to them. Even those who realize their own weaknesses and futility in life are not strong enough to transform themselves; they are, as it were, decadents to the second power. Winter-Corn is equally a series of loose scenes, pictures, experiences, and dialogues concentrated within the one night of the Warsaw ball. At times we find in it excellent characterizations of a whole crowd of various persons and their inner life, executed generally by means already observed in the preceding novel. Live Stones was to be a modern poetic vision of the Middle Ages, particularly in Italy, and especially the artistic and poetic life of that epoch as personified in the medieval wandering singers and poets. They are the protagonists of the author himself, who, with their help, desires to show the power of art and poetry and their influence on life. He achieves this at times, though in a very pedestrian way. His structural method had not changed even here. The language became so drawn out that it reached a peak of mannerism. One Polish critic said that the work is not 'live stones,' but 'gall stones.' After the First World War a change occurred in Berent's production. His last work, Nurt (The Current, 1934), is a kind of 'biographie romancée' of outstanding Polish personalities of the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries, hence it belongs to a new

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genre created in France and quickly transplanted to other European countries. This genre was the expression of a predilection among writers and the reading public for anecdotal history written in 'novelistic' form but based on facts and documents, narrating about authentic people. Berent's works were not numerous. He worked on each of his novels for a long time, and the intervals between their publication dates run into years. He was not a popular writer; the character and style of his works could not stimulate a larger reading public. They will live on as a significant document of an epoch, which, next to the great personalities, also gave birth to the psychological types that Berent fixed with extraordinary talent. The Young Poland epoch witnessed a splendid flowering of the drama, in which highest acclaim was won by the work of Stanislaw W Y S P I A N S K I (1869-1907), the creator of the modern Polish drama. Slowacki undoubtedly influenced Wyspiariski's drama, as did Polish romanticism; at the same time, however, Wyspiariski's drama is penetrated by the spirit of Greek tragedy and of Shakespeare, while it also contains certain elements which recall Maeterlinck and Wagner. All these elements, however, are blended by a powerful creative imagination and strengthened by Polish folk motifs, and in their entirety offer the spectacle of a completely new and original dramatic phenomenon. Born and educated in Krakow, Wyspianski spent his whole life there, except for a few years in Paris. His dramatic visions were set against the artistic monuments of Krakow, particularly the Wawel (the ancient Royal Castle and Cathedral), while the Krakow Theater was the stage for which he wrote, and in one of his plays it was even made the actual scene of the dramatic action. Wyspiariski's career as a painter is also linked with Krakow; some of the beautiful works of art in the city are his decorations for the Church of the Franciscan Brothers and the three stained-glass windows placed near its principal altar and above the choir. Wyspianski also projected some windows for the Wawel and the Lwow Cathedrals, which, however, were never executed. Wyspiariski's rich dramatic production is concerned primarily with problems connected with Poland's past and present. In addition to a few lyrical poems he also wrote several plays on Greek legends and characters and two long poems, about Kazimierz the Great and Boleslaw the Bold, conceived in the style of Slowacki's King Spirit. Wyspiariski's first published work, entitled Legenda (A Legend, 1897;

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the second enlarged edition is of 1904) takes us back into mythical times. It is a dramatic fantasy based on the motifs of the legendary Polish prince, Krakus, his daughter Wanda, the Wawel dragon who watched over the castle's treasures, and the nymphs and undines of the Vistula, The play takes place in an underwater world at the bottom of the river, which recalls the first part of Wagner's music drama, Das Rheingold. Wyspiariski has given the symbolism of A Legend a modern relevance by endowing the characters who take part in that play (or rather are engaged in monologues and conversations) with the traits of contemporary Poles. The character of Kazimierz the Great is resurrected in the poem about him (Kazimierz Wielki, 1900) also with the intention of confronting his spirit with the contemporary Polish scene. The resurrected king listens to the heartrending complaints of the nation, so humiliated in slavery. He summons the nation to ancient 'reunions,' looks into the hearts of the people, and observes how the nation lives primarily on the past; it 'dreams itself into' the past and descends into 'all the vaults' and is delighted only in graves and coffins, having no other joy. Moreover, the nation is torn apart by internal strife. All these evils are embodied in a speaker whom the king strikes with a hammer in order to free the nation. This poem, conceived in the style of Slowacki and written in the difficult and dangerous form of the octave, does not, as a whole, belong among Wyspianski's most distinguished works, but it contains certain ideas which in his later work were to resound with more forceful tones: the problem of Poland's absorption in past and future and indifference to the present, which therefore develops as it will and is not determined by the nation's own effort. Wyspiariski twice made Boleslaw the Bold the subject of his work : in a poem (1900) and in a drama (1903) by the same title. The problem, which had for a long time attracted poets and historians with its dramatic and mysterious qualities, concerns the psychology of the king, his individuality and his conflict with another powerful personality, the Bishop Stanislaw. The motives of that conflict, which ended in the murder of the bishop, touch upon basic questions concerning the structure of the state and the rule over a nation. In Wyspianski's poem we have, as it were, a continuation of Slowacki's rhapsody; in the drama the struggle takes place mainly between the king and the bishop, and it is full of moments of high dramatic tension and sublime pathos, achieved by the contrast between two different world views. The language is archaic on the whole and shows a strong sense for the ancient tongue, but with a

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tendency towards neologisms in the archaic and folk manner. A work devoted to Mickiewicz is Legjon (The Legion, 1900). This is a dramatic vision, put into twelve loose scenes, which presents Mickiewicz, Krasiriski, the question of the Italian legion of 1848 and the whole Polish problem in a symbolic fantasy. We must not look here for the Mickiewicz known to us from his works and activity, especially in 1848. This is a synthesis and symbol of the spirit of Mickiewicz in his period of mysticism, and, in a broader sense, of Polish messianism in general. Following the example of Slowacki's mystical dramas, the action is played in a supernatural rather than an earthly setting. The dramatic technique recognizes no other interest than the most suggestive force of expression possible, with the help of symbols, personifications, images and events. One would judge from these symbols, which are not always very clear and sometimes seem to be intentionally confusing, that the poet is trying to throw two principal traits of messianism into relief: the concept of 'Christliness' and that of sacrifice. Both lead to death, and perhaps to liberation through death. Whether such a conception of the problem indicates any criticism of messianism is difficult to determine. In any case, this is an intuitive and essentially correct conception of its fundamental traits and their ultimate consequences. Several plays of various types are devoted to the November Insurrection. The first is Warszawianka (Warsaw Song, 1898), subtitled Song of the Year 1831. The well-known insurrectionist song which begins with the words: T h i s is the day of blood and glory. May it become the day of r e s u r r e c t i o n . . . ' plays a big part in this one-act play. It is sung on the stage and behind it, and, in conjunction with other devices, creates a certain suggestive mood, intensifying the protagonists utterances and actions on the stage and the events behind it. One of the drama's characteristic structural traits is that what we actually see represents only an echo or reflection of what happens off stage. The scene is a drawingroom in a nobleman's manor in which are gathered the commander-inchief, General Chtopicki, a historical figure, with his staff and two female characters, Anna and Marja. Behind the scene the third day of the battle of Grochow is taking place; this battle is to decide the further fate of the Insurrection. The situation is therefore full of dramatic suspense. From time to time the sounds of battle are heard in the drawing room, intensifying the suspense and linking the scene and its actors with the world beyond the stage: the army going into the battle marches past the window, singing the 'Warsaw Song,' or the mortally wounded old Veteran appears on the stage, covered with mud, directly from the

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battlefield, bringing news about the death of Maija's fiancé. The dialogue on the stage also refers indirectly to the battle. In this way what we call the space beyond the stage, which in modern drama plays an important part (for instance, in Maeterlinck, Ibsen, or Hauptmann), appears in Wyspianski's play with unusual expressive force, occupying a dominant position. The poet comes closer to the method of Maeterlinck than to that of Ibsen and Hauptmann, who used this device only as an auxiliary. As a result of this technique the tragedy of 1831 is felt as strong and moving, but at the same time the 'action' played on the stage loses emotional force and descends to a secondary level. Besides, this 'action' is expressed chiefly in the long speeches of Chlopicki and his generals and only once comes to a climax: the scene of the arrival of the Veteran and Marja's subsequent despair. What happens on the stage, however, is not entirely devoid of significance. Through Chlopicki, the figure of the Veteran, and the bloody ribbon sent back to Marja by her fiancé, the staging speaks of the lost battle and defeat which is to come and is indeed already on the threshold; it also speaks indirectly of the causes of the defeat, constituting in this way a kind of intellectual and emotional commentary to the events in the fields and the woods of Grochôw. Even in this work, which is one of Wyspianski's earliest, he revealed one of the fundamental traits of his talent, which consists in conjoining his poetic work with other media of expression, in this case with music. He later included other means to help intensify the effect of his words.8 The second play of this cycle, Lelewel (1899), is also permeated by the grim atmosphere of approaching catastrophe; but it places in the foreground the figures of the two spiritual leaders of society: Lelewel and Czartoryski, who did not play the part they could have played. This is particularly true of Lelewel whom the insurgent youth trusted but whose attitude was indecisive, if not ambiguous. Wyspianski probably wanted to throw light on this psychological riddle in the play, but his elucidation is not sufficiently penetrating, and, furthermore, the structure of the play is almost completely exhausted in ideological rather than dramatic dialogues. The most valuable play in this cycle is Noc listopadowa (The November Night, 1904), one of the plays in which Wyspianski's creative imagination expressed itself fully and richly. The extraordinary originality and force of • See Waclaw Borowy, Lazienki a 'Noc listopadowa' (Warsaw, 1918), and Protesilas and Laodamia, a Tragedy by Stanislaw Wyspianski. Authorized translation from the Polish by Elizabeth Munk Clark and George Rapall Noyes, with an Introductory Essay by Waclaw Borowy, The Slavonic Review, January-April, 1933.

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suggestion of this work derive from several sources. The play makes a complete break with the classical conception of 'action' as a chain of events, resulting from one another and setting up climax and dénouement. Although the poet's earlier plays show a similar tendency, this technique could only be exercised on a much smaller scale in short works, which did not always profit by it. The November Night is a play in several acts which fill a normal theater program; although it breaks with the customary concept of action, it achieves an unusual dramatic force and maintains the attention in suspense throughout. How did Wyspianski achieve this? One of the means consists in the use of characters, scenes, and events well known to the Polish spectator, which makes it easier for him to link the loose scenes into a whole and to pass easily over the gaps. Although this concerns rather the reception of the work, it has a connection with the inner structure, the fragmentary quality of which is supplemented by a unity or atmosphere. Another characteristic trait of The November Night is the combination mentioned above of purely literary elements, such as the language, with other devices. The use of music is joined here by a curious use of sculpture to effect a kind of theatrical vision. The poet revives statues and paintings and makes them descend from their podiums of frames in order to take part in the action. The terrace in front of the Lazienki Palace (in Warsaw) is the place of one of these scenes which are unique in their poetical, sculptural, and theatrical suggestiveness. The statues of two mythological goddesses, Demeter, and her daughter Kora, which stand on the terrace, awake as if from a deep sleep, descend from their pedestals, and conduct a dialogue full of profound symbolic implications. In ancient myths Demeter is the goddess of agricultural productivity, while her daughter embodies the force of fertility in the grain, which, first sown into the earth, must perish in order to conceive a new life. Here her symbolic significance is transferred to the generation of the November Insurrection, which dies in order that the seed of their death may change into seeds of a new h a r v e s t . . . 'That must die which is to live' is repeated as a refrain in the scene where K o r a descends into the underground for the winter in order to return with the green leaves of spring. The moral and inspirational force of the lost Insurrection found a most beautiful poetic expression in this scene. The ancient gods appear in The November Night not only in the way described above. They mingle with the human characters of the drama and take an active part in the action. We have the gods of war, Pallas Athena and Ares, and there are also several deities of victory, the Nike. The latter run through the halls of the Cadet School, calling them to war.

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Ares appears in the streets of Warsaw, leading the bloodthirsty mob; he also has a secret love affair with Joanna Grudzinska, the Polish wife of the Grand Duke Constantine. When these characters are so schematically enumerated, they may give the impression of being strange and artificial, but in Wyspianski's vision, composed of historical and ficticious Polish characters and supplied with mythological figures, as well as of historical and fantastic events, all the elements unify into a whole unique of its kind. This is the work of a powerful creative imagination, which took advantage of all the possibilities of the theater, handling with equal mastery the synthesizing symbols of historical and mythological characters and the mob of the Warsaw streets during the first night of the Revolution. The visionary quality is even more pronounced in Acropolis (1904). This name, that of the holy hill in Athens, designates the hill of Wawel, the treasury of the national relics of Poland, of which the most important is the Cathedral with its chapels, altars, sarcophagi, sculptures, and tapestries. Again Wyspianski's genius revives statues and tapestries, this time in the interior of the Wawel Cathedral; the figures in stone and cloth become the actors and the pictorial scenes those of the action of this dramatic poem. We meet the Trojan Priam, Hector and Helen, the biblical Jacob, Ezav, Rebecca and David, the Harp player and several other persons, all descending from the tapestries and statues and performing a 'stage play.' All these traditional characters are, of course, poetic syntheses and symbols which the poet tried to link with Wawel, and even partly with the Polish question. The Greek and biblical world and contemporary Poland penetrate each other in this mystery play. The Wawel Castle has 'dungeons' like the royal castle in Troy; on the planks and walls 'armoured sentries' sit leaning against their swords; at the foot of the castle shines the Scamander, 'sparkling with its Vistula wave.' All this appears a dreamlike vision in which Wyspianski's predilection for fine arts dominates the strictly poetic or dramatic interest; the aim seems to be a poetic description of the works of art collected at the Wawel Cathedral and the poet's artistic experiences. Like the Greek gods in The November Night, the statues and the tapestry become real to him. There is, however, a considerable difference between these two works. In The November Night a general atmosphere combined all the individual, fragmentary scenes into a whole; in Acropolis this unifying element is in general lacking, as the work breaks up into fragments concerning painting and sculpture, and only in the last scenes of the fourth act does the poetry take command again in a magnificent vision of the resurrection of Christ the Redeemer and Saviour and the resurrection of Poland.

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The most forceful expression of the contemporary Polish scene is found in Wyspianski's three-act play entitled Wesele (The Wedding, 1901). The idea of writing this play was suggested by a real and very remarkable wedding. The Kraków poet, Lucjan Rydel, married a beautiful peasant girl in a village near Kraków, following in the footsteps of the painter Wlodzimierz Tetmajer, the poet's brother, who had long been settled and kept his farm in that village. The wedding party was attended by innumerable persons of the bourgeois, official, and artistic intelligentsia of Kraków ; the 'fraternization' with the peasants, symbolized by the marriage between a poet and a peasant girl, has been celebrated. This must have been indeed an extraordinary sight and an unusual opportunity for comments about the Polish intelligentsia, the Polish peasantry and their mutual relationship. The imagination of Wyspianski, who was among the wedding guests, created The Wedding under the inspiration of the material this event furnished. The play shook Kraków at its unforgettable première at the Kraków Theater and later all of Poland. It is one of the most distinguished and original works of Polish dramatic poetry. It is significant for Wyspianski's kind of talent that even from such 'realistic' material as a wedding between a member of the intelligentsia and a peasant girl he produced a drama having not much in common with realism. To be sure, real characters appear, partly modeled on authentic contemporary persons, such as the Host (the painter Tetmajer), the Poet (Kazimierz Tetmajer), the Bridegroom (Lucjan Rydel), the 'Nose' (with some traits of Przybyszewski). But all of them are drawn into the whirl of a world far removed from the gay house and the wedding, while their characterization is mostly symbolic. The characters are divided by the poet himself into two groups : the first contains 'The Persons,' that is, the living figures; the second includes 'The Persons of the Drama,' who come to the wedding from the Hereafter, such as Stariczyk,9 Hetman, 10 Wernyhora, 11 The Black Knight, 12 the Phantom, the Ghost and the purely symbolic Mulch. 13 From these designations one may see that the poet conceived as true drama that part of the play in which the figures from the Hereafter appear and in which the people of this world are interpreted in their psychological 'essence' rather than in their material being. This interplay between two worlds and the close contact established A n unusual, intelligent clown at the court of Zygmunt the Old (sixteenth century)With traits of Branicki, notorious traitor and hireling at the time of King Stanistaw August. 11 A semi-legendary figure of a Polish-Ukrainian bard. " With traits of Zawisza the Black, 'the perfect knight* of the fifteenth century " A winter straw covering for rose bushes. •

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between them (reminiscent of Forefathers' Eve or King Spirit) lends The Wedding a visionary, antirealistic character, such that the division between the earth and the supernatural world disappears. As in The November Night and other works by Wyspianski, although there is here no action in the strict sense of the word, the dramatic tension is very powerful and increases gradually until the climax, after which the extraordinary 'catastrophe' almost immediately follows. The unity and organization of the material are again established by the general atmosphere, created in several ways, already discussed : by the introduction of historical characters, like Stanczyk, Wernyhora, or Hetman, who can be relied on to evoke a certain emotional response, and by the use of music and painting to support and intensify the poetic word. Particularly effective use is made of the melody of the Mulch and the evening decoration of the scene in the peasant 'living room', the scene of action, and the adjoining room, where the party is in progress and from which a bright ray of light reaches the stage together with the sound of music, singing, and shouting. To this must be added one more device, especially characteristic for The Wedding, namely that, besides the traditional characters and symbols, the author introduces certain slogans and patriotic references that are familiar to every Pole. These remarks, which come from the ghostly 'persons of the drama,' are frequently made in such a way that their meaning is subject to various interpretations (probably in order to disguise their commonplace, cliché character). Nevertheless they produce certain general intellectual and emotional associations, which keep the spectator in a vague state of feeling and thus contribute to the all-pervasive mood.14 As an example we may quote such statements by Wernyhora as : 'Sit down, Wlodzimierz, Let us speak about alliance' — 'Word is Command, Command is Word ; for the heart the heart is ready' ; then the words he frequently repeats : 'The moment is strangely unique,' his order given to the Host to gather the people in front of the church, to prepare for the battle, to strain their ear towards the Krakow high road to see if he, Wernyhora, is coming with the Archangel; and finally he gives the Host the golden horn at the sound of whose 'chivalrous tone the Spirit will be fortified, Fate will be accomplished.' The composition of acts and scenes differs from the traditional arrangement of the stage, and resembles rather the medieval mystery plays and folk theater. Poland has preserved the tradition of theatrical performances, known as puppet shows (szopka - little shed), where on an improvised, primitive stage puppets present Christmas scenes. The main characters 14 See K. W. Zawodzinski, 'Na marginesie jubileuszu Wyspiaóskiego', Nr. 9.

Droga,

1933,

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are the traditional Herod, of course presented in a horrible aspect, the Three Kings, the Child, the Holy Mother, St. Joseph, a Soldier, a Jew, a Peasant, a Nobleman, etc. It is a kind of marionette theater, like that which still exists in Western Europe, with the difference that in Poland this theater owes much of its character and originality to folklore. The Wedding is the first piece of artistic drama to apply the technique of the folk puppet theater on a large scale. As has already been mentioned the place of action is the living room of a peasant hut with an adjoining room where the wedding couples dance. That adjoining room is a kind of wing from which the characters continuously emerge either singly or in couples in order to carry on a dialogue on the main stage, after which they return again to the adjoining room. This recalls the movements of marionettes on a puppet stage, who disappear after they have spoken their piece. Again, as in the puppet theatre, so in Wyspianski's play generally only two characters appear on the stage at the same time, seldom three; crowd scenes are rare and reserved only for special occasions. A significant trait of this type of technique is that the appearance of these figures on the stage is not conditioned by the action or any other internal dramatic requirements, but is solely for the purpose of characterization. The whole of the first act of The Wedding is devoted to this kind of presentation of the 'real' characters in the play, of which there are more than a dozen. In their conversations we hear time and again rhyming lines which later became proverbial in Poland. For instance, the Journalist says to the peasant, Czepiec: May there be war the whole world over As long as the Polish countryside is quiet As long as the Polish countryside is calm. Czepiec accuses him of being afraid of any 'movement', even though the peasants are always ready to fight. The Poet depicts the spiritual condition of the contemporary generation, whose aspiration towards 'great things' is always stifled by the weight of their commonplace and ordinary surroundings. The 'intelligentsia' is contrasted by the Host with the peasantry; his speech emphasizes the same peasant traits that we saw in Reymont; the peasants have dignity, sensibility, force and power — 'something of the Piast Kings.' Toward the end of the first act, the playful bride and bridegroom take up Rachel's and the Poet's idea and loudly invite the Mulch who stands in the orchard outside the window in the wind and rain to come to the

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wedding and to bring more guests with him. At the beginning of the second act this phantom actually enters, just at midnight, and from that time on the whole stage remains under his spell and assumes the character of a vision. Even his first words announce that extraordinary things will happen here. Many guests will come to the wedding, but they will not be living persons, rather emanations of the souls of those present, personifications of 'all that plays in one's soul and what one sees in one's dreams.' And various phantoms begin to appear — the dreams and desires of the wedding guests, their symbolized egos as it were. A girl sees the ghost of her dead fiancé, who asks her to dance with him. The Journalist has a vision of Stanczyk. The Poet sees a Knight of the battle of Grunwald who wishes to inspire him with a feeling of heroism and greatness. The Bridegroom is visited by the Hetman, whose hands are burned by Muscovite ducats received for services rendered to the Tsaritsa and who is pursued by devils. The peasant Beggar, who still remembers the massacre of 1846, is persecuted by the ghost of Szela, the peasant leader of that massacre, and the Host is visited by Wernyhora, who brings him the already mentioned message and orders. In the scene between the Journalist and Stanczyk the contemporary generation is sharply criticized by Stanczyk, and its shame is avowed in the Journalist's contrition. The phantom's first words set the tone of this conversation: Little house, modest hut : Poland, countrymen, your tears, your fears, crimes, dreams, your dirt, baseness, lies — I know them all too well! When in the modernist tradition the Journalist begins to unveil his soul, to accuse and humble himself, trying to find in his activity some symptom of tragedy, Stanczyk interrupts him abruptly with the remark that he is making 'a confession of other people's sins,' covering himself with tears, his heart bleeding; he himself is 'moderately healthy,' and tomorrow his mood will improve. Stanczyk himself concludes his vision of contemporary Poland in the following words : If you cut my heart open, you will not see in it anything other than anxiety: humiliation, humiliation, shame, burning shame : Some Fata drive us into the abyss —

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The last moment of the scene is very impressive, as Stariczyk offers the Journalist the 'caduceus' — the clown's staff — as a symbol of his journalistic activity, so that with it he may continue to trouble the water — to muddy the 'national tub.' Even more bitter are the words of the Host when he addresses the company after having seen Wernyhora. These people are no more than 'dolls, a puppet show, vulgar masks, painted falsity,...' They are bored in the city, so they come to the country to find 'a mood,' to stimulate their nerves. This mood is as false as everything else. On the following day, in the early morning (Act III), the 'unique moment' occurs: strange signals appear in heaven and earth; the peasants gather in the village and fields all the way up to Krakow, carrying their scythes; the wedding guests recall their experiences of the past night. Remembering Wernyhora's orders the Host calls them together in the playroom and asks them 'to strain their ear' and to wait for Wernyhora who is to 'arrive from Krak6w,' where 'the Holy Mother in a crown sitting on a throne in the Wawel Castle, is writing a manifesto which will be spread over all the country and awaken and arouse the people by t h o u s a n d s . . . ' All are captivated by this spell of mystery — 'all listening, leaning towards the door and windows — in perfect silence and emotion.' Artistically and theatrically this scene is magnificent, set in the pale bluepinkish light of dawn with this crowd at the highest pitch of suspense, expecting the Miracle for which so many generations of Poles had waited. And like all these generations, this crowd is waiting in vain. They hear the sound of a horse's hooves, which in their imagination resounds with the clatter of hundreds of horses; in their ecstasy they already see their dreams realized. Meanwhile into the courtyard there rides — and then runs into the room — not Wernyhora but the best man Jasiek, whom the Host had sent out during the night with the golden horn to convoke the people. He cannot understand what has happened in the hut and is frightened by the sight of these people, still lost in their fantastic dream and not heeding his call. At that moment he suddenly remembers that he was to blow the golden horn, but discovers that he has lost it somewhere on the way and is 'left only with the cord.' Then the Mulch appears on the stage again, overpowering the company with his magic spell. He orders Jasiek to take the scythes from the people, to detach the sabres, to send away the magic of 'melancholy' that had overtaken them, and to join them into dancing couples, as he himself begins to play. And now, the poet explains, 'a wedding music is heard as though from heavenly spheres, quiet, but tuneful, familiar and attractive to the heart, but like a sleeping drug to the soul . . . and behind this sound follow the dancing couples in

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a solemn, slow, merry round — a compact wedding circle.' And the Mulch 'sways to this tune and goes on playing' a song about a golden horn which was lost— lost not only by Jasiek but by everybody: O peasant, you had a golden horn, O peasant, you had a feather cap: the wind now blows your cap, the horn blows in the woods, you were left only with the cord, you were left only with the cord . . . Like several of Wyspianski's other works, The Wedding is so rich in emotional and patriotic elements, possesses so many first-class stage effects, and evokes, especially when seen on the stage, such powerful emotions, that its weaknesses pass by unnoticed, and it is not until one reads the play thoroughly that one may discover them. They are found chiefly in the poetic language. There are in it a certain unevenness, jarring notes, prosaic phrases, and heavy or vague expressions, expecially in the 'realistic' dialogues conducted by the characters. While fully recognizing Wyspiariski as a great poet, Polish criticism reproached him for his weak linguistic intuition, his often arbitrary archaisms, unhappy neologisms, weak or sometimes excessively complex metaphors, confused syntax, verse forms vacillating between classical models and an attempt at something new that is not sufficiently crystallized.15 Along with his powerful creative imagination and wealth of feeling and images, these weaknesses may have forced the poet to seek assistance in music and plastic art in order to add and suggest with their help what he could not express by poetry alone. With this is linked the outstanding theatrical quality of his plays, for this kind of combination of effects comes out fully only in the theater. Wyzwolenie (Liberation), published two years later (1903), stands in close connection with The Wedding. It is usually considered as a kind of ideological commentary on the preceding play, and at the same time as an expression of Wyspianski's ideology in general. This ideology presents considerable difficulty, however, if it is conceived of as some compact, logical system of thought. Searching for such systems in poets is on the whole a very sterile and disappointing task, and in the case of Wyspianski it is particularly unrewarding because of the all too frequent obscurities and even contradictions scattered among his works. In order to disentangle them one reconstructs a system of thought, but one never can be certain whether it corresponds to the poet's thoughts and feelings. In connection with " See Borowy, !oc. cit., and K. W. Zawodziriski, in Przeglqd Wspdlczesny (January, 1933).

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Liberation many such constructions appeared in Polish criticism, each explaining his 'principal idea' in its own way. The fact remains that the hero of this play, Konrad (a modernized version of Mickiewicz's Konrad), tries to realize in a series of scenes, and especially in the second act, certain general and contemporary problems which involve the past, present, and future of the nation. The numerous slogans and watchwords resemble in character those of The Wedding; certain ideas and theories are expounded which may be interpreted in various ways. In several scenes masks represent various social groups, opinions, and programs with which Konrad disputes, at the same time trying to clarify his own ideas. His attitude toward the Genius (a character resembling Mickiewicz), who represents Polish romanticism and messianism, is expressed in exclamations like these: 'Away, poetry, you are a tyrant!' — 'You who love ruins and praise dark mysteries, sing false paths and guide into labyrinths, you want to evoke moans and not joy.' These recall the words of Kazimierz the Great about the nation which 'dreams itself into the past,' as well as the miracle which was awaited on the Wawel in The Wedding. This attitude is emphasized by other remarks which try to break down illusion and dreams and urge the nation to build a healthy, normal Poland, tackling the problems of the present. In general outline this is the principal problem in Liberation; to which it should be added that a more detailed definition of Konrad's deed would lead us astray. The dramatic presentation of this problem on the stage, where it comes aristically to life, is as original and unusual as in The Wedding and The November Night. The terrain of the action is the stage of the Krakow Theater itself, on which once more live people appear together with ghosts and phantoms, brought together in a dramatic vision. The ancient world, represented by Hestia, the goddess of the hearth, also appears. Both the new Konrad and the Genius or the Masques are conceived as synthetic symbols; they are like centres of emotional and ideological concentration. The discursive and rhetorical element, expressing itself in discussions, polemics, and reasoning, plays a far more extensive part in this play, which lacks much of that power, so characteristic of Wyspiariski's other works, to move the hearer emotionally. Wyspianski wrote his Greek dramas at various periods. The earliest of them, like Meleager (1898) and Protesilas and Laodamia (1899), are dramatized legends or. more specifically, legends in dialogue, the basis of which is always the tragic fate of the heroes which can only be solved by death. The two later plays, Achilleis (1903) and Powrot Odyssa (Ulysses' Return. 1907). are more extensive dramatic Dictures. characteristic both

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of the poet's imagination and of his strong ties with the ancient world. In the former, Achilles is conceived in an entirely original way as a tragic figure. He values and adores Hector, defender of Troy, but must fight with him and kill him in the interest of his Greek companions, whom he despises. Hence his internal conflict and contradiction of moods, feelings, and actions, which sometimes make him seem like a man from the end of the nineteenth century. Achilles' états d'âme are drawn in scenes full of unusual charm and beauty. The fate of Ulysses makes up a tragedy of an different sort: the story of Ulysses known to us from Homer's epos recedes into the background ; his return to Ithaca and fight with the suitors is conceived from a special point of view, namely as the struggle of man with a Fatum which drives him to crime. This play possesses numerous beautiful and moving scenes, with a symbolism which is not always clear but which lends to the whole the character of an original dramatic vision, woven around a figure which has little in common with the Homeric hero. Wyspiariski's drama is imbued with an atmosphere of the tragic. This term is frequently used in various meanings, for the tragic appears in poetry in various forms. The necessity of a deed which is both good and bad at the same time is tragic, as is the destruction of great values. There is also the element of the tragic in inevitable crime and inevitable death ; there is a tragic conception of life which sees man in the grasp of fate, against which he fights without any hope of victory, or even with a conviction of the necessity of defeat. In Wyspiariski we find various aspects of the tragic at different degrees of intensity, but they all may be, more or less, brought to the problem of the hero's attitude toward fate. Hence it is characteristic of Wyspiariski to interpret historical and fictitious characters, or even whole generations, in their tragical 'essence' and symbolic synthesis.16 Such is the Mickiewicz of The Legion, the Konrad of Liberation; such are also Ulysses, Achilles, Boleslaw the Bold, the generation of 1830 in Warsaw Song and The November Night, and the contemporary generation in Casimir the Great and The Wedding. And herein lies the source of the powerful and sublime emotions evoked by Wyspiariski's work, which cause, according to Aristotle's definition, both terror and pity, yet at the same time 'purge' these feelings (catharsis) and exalt by the greatness and sublimity of tragic deaths and defeats. Thanks to the new forms of drama created by Wyspiariski, familiar Polish problems took on a new life and acquired new force of expression. His voice tore at the conscience of the nation which was slowly becoming "

See Borowy, loc. cit.

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accustomed to slavery and was reconciling itself to Galician autonomy, settling into the orderly life and 'Gemütlichkeit" of the Prussian part or satisfied with the opportunities for getting rich under Russian rule. The word 'Poland' was heard on the stage with a power that had seldom been known, and reminded those who heard it of the nation's tragic lack of historical life, its terrible helplessness, its slumber under the spell cast by many 'Mulches,' and its internal falseness and hypocrisy. From the heart of an epoch consumed by pessimism and weakness of will, from 'decadent' Kraköw, ruled by conservatives and the spirit of Przybyszewski, burst a storm armed with thunderbolts. Przybyszewski's drama was also intended to be non-realistic, in accordance with his esthetic theories (Dla szczqscia, For the Sake of Happiness, 1900; Zlote runo, The Golden Fleece, 1901; Snieg, The Snow, 1903; and others). It is non realistic only to some extent, especially in the construction of the psychology of the protagonists, which is the same as those of his novels. In order to set these psyches and problems into dramatic motion he used complex devices; some are 'metaphysical' and do not depend on normal psychological and dramatic motivation, and others are drawn from realistic drama. Przybyszewski's creative imagination attempted an 'intensive' psychology of a special type rather than new means of dramatic expression; nor does his staging reveal any particular originality. A great deal is said on the stage about destiny, fate, and death; the characters sometimes hasten blindly to their destruction, but instead of any true tragic element they show only deep despair and hopelessness. Nevertheless, Przybyszewski possessed a considerable dramatic gift and an ability to produce strong stage effects. Little of interest can be said about the dramatic attempts of Tadeusz (1873-1918), also a well-known poet. His plays Kniai Potemkin (Prince Potemkin, 1906), Basilissa of Teophan (1909), and a few more, possess, like his lyric poems, some beautiful and effective passages. They are the product of a rich but disorderly imagination which was inspired by a great variety of largely uncoordinated conceptions. Micinski cherished the laudable intention of going beyond the limits of the realistic theater, but he tended to get lost in something which can scarcely be called drama. The plays of August KISIEI.EWSKI (1876-1918) are also connected with Kraköw and the epoch of Przybyszewski: Karykatury (Caricatures, 1899) and W sieci (In the Net, 1899) enjoyed great success at the time because they satirized Kraköw's provincial backwardness and depicted the wasted lives of some women caught 'in the net' of that society. Though they MICINSKI

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were written with dramatic temper and gusto, displayed a good knowledge of the stage, and offered brilliant roles for actors, they were really ephemeral and enjoyed only a local and passing significance. Tadeusz RITTNER (1873-1921) used up his considerable talent in well written and well constructed plays, subtle in the portrayal of characters and events, but rather brittle and thin, without any definite literary physiognomy, following traditional dramatic techniques (Glupi Jakob, Silly Jack, 1910, Wmalym domku, In a Little House, 1904, Wilki w nocy, Wolves in the Night, 1916). The lyric poet, Lucjan RYDEL (1870-1918) gained popularity with his Zaczarowane kolo (Magic Wheel, 1900), a popular play full of folklore and fantasy and with some charm of its own, but lacking any more distinguished traits of originality; it stood, however, at a much higher literary level than many former productions of that kind. In the next chapter we shall speak about other dramatists who began their career in this period but continued to write in the post-war epoch. Young Poland produced a lively movement in literary criticism. Ignacy MATUSZEWSKI (1858-1919), for many years editor of the Illustrated Weekly, was the most distinguished literary critic of the period. His most extensive and excellent study is Slowacki i nowa sztuka (Slowacki and the New Art, 1901), a careful, objective work, based on extensive comparative study, subtle and profound; it deals with the fundamental traits of 'modernism' in European and Polish literature. The title indicates that the critic's aim was to point out the connections between Slowacki, especially in his later period, and the Young Poland and Young Europe movements. He achieved this aim very convincingly, adhering to a strict method and supported by excellent knowledge of the subject and a penetrating critical sense. He clearly explained the essence of the new literary movement, its literary genealogy, its points of difference with the preceding period, and its artistic values. Matuszewski was a true literary critic, who attempted to understand and to describe literary works, to establish their character and means of expression, and not a moralist and arbitrary judge who distributes praise and recrimination from a nonliterary standpoint. In common with his epoch he paid tribute to psychological method, but kept a broad view of the matter. In his numerous studies and articles, whether devoted to theoretical questions or to the work of individual writers, he clarified patiently and with knowledge the meaning of the notion 'art for art's sake* (which for many people was something of a scarecrow or heresy), the tasks of literary

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criticism, and other related questions; he fought prejudice, traditional banality, and generally cleared the intellectual atmosphere. In his polemical writing he was moderate and refined, but he was deadly in his argumentation — as, for instance, in his polemic with Weyssenhoff over Wyspiariski. In addition to the study of Slowacki and the new art, he left behind several collections of critical works, such as Swoi i obey (Natives and Foreigners, 1897), Tworczosc i tworcy (Creation and Creators, 1904), and a comparative study entitled Djabel w poezji (The Devil in Poetry, 1894), which deals with the literary personifications of evil in world literature. Matuszewski's mind stands in contrast to that of Stanislaw BRZOZOWSKI (1878-1911), whose erudition comprised broader domains (both philosophy and the social sciences as well as literature) but expressed itself in a chaotic manner, so that his work is full of obscurities and contradictions. In his general philosophy he evolved very swiftly and abruptly from socialism to catholicism. Both these trends assumed a special character in his interpretation, quite unlike the official version of the doctrines. His attitude toward literature and writers was equally unusual. In the words of one of his critics, he was a poor reporter, for instead of giving information about literary works he interpreted them from a psychological and social point of view, and his 'psychologism' sometimes reached a level where writers and their works took some fantastic forms having little in common with objective facts. This tendency is joined by his anti-modernistic and anti-esthetic attitude. From a historical point of view Matuszewski accepted modernism as a fact conditioned by literary evolution, and he tried to describe and explain it. Brzozowski, on the other hand, enthusiastic about the works of some individual writers, fought against the theoretical foundation on which modernist esthetics was built. Although he rejected the utilitarianism of positivist esthetics, he also discarded Przybyszewski's metaphysics of art and Miriam's 'formal estheticism.' He conceived art as a powerful anticipation of life, which, in strict union with life, draws its force and value from it. He consequently felt that the separation between art and life, advocated by some contemporary writers, humiliated art and undermined its greatness. The artist's inner life, from which a work of art emerges, possesses, according to Brzozowski, primarily a moral character. By his work the artist defines his attitude toward the world and toward its living and creative forces; through his work the artist influences both life and creativeness, intensifying or weakening them. He is burdened with the responsibility that falls on every 'artisan of life,' and nothing, not even

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the greatest talent, can free him from it. In its essence a work of art is not only an esthetic, it is also a social phenomenon, which inevitably fulfills a certain social function. One may agree with many of these points, but only with the reservation that the action of beauty and art cannot but intensify and lift those 'live and creative forces' of life (if we keep to Brzozowski's terminology) and never 'weaken' them. The artist who creates on the highest artistic level accessible to him ipso facto becomes that 'working artisan of life' of whom Brzozowski speaks. His moral and social attitude is also revealed in his definition of the critic, who should represent the 'moral consciousness' of his age. Although Brzozowski interpreted this moral consciousness very broadly and subtly, eliminating all cheap moralizing from it, it cannot be denied that such tasks, if required of criticism, would alienate it from its fundamental task of objective description and analysis of literary works; on the other hand, they sanctioned to some extent the traditional trends which demanded that the critic should express moral rather than literary judgment. In his own critical studies Brzozowski sometimes offered excellent syntheses of intellectual and literary trends, analyzing the artists and their works in an original and profound way and revealing an unusual sense of and love for beauty, feeling for the greatness of art and esteem for great writers; however, fundamentally he was not a literary critic but a writer of great talent, imagination, and power whose chief interest was not literature itself but rather the historical, cultural, and intellectual processes on the basis of which literature evolves. His most characteristic work is Legenda Mlodej Polski (The Legend of Young Poland, 1909); it is a critique of the foundations of modern culture and contains his own philosophic system, based on the premise of a 'theory of work' which embraces physical, technical, intellectual, and artistic work in a noble synthesis. More strictly connected with literature are his two books devoted to 'the contemporary Polish novel' and 'contemporary literary criticism in Poland' (both published in 1906). They are lively and acute, written with gusto and containing excellent, though not always objective or just, formulations. Idee (Ideas, 1910) is a collection of treatises on general subjects. Among the numerous literary critics of the time one must mention Wilhelm FELDMAN (1868-1919), the deserving editor of the progressive and democratic monthly Krytyka (Critique), published in Krakow for over a decade. Among his critical works the most extensive was Wspolczesna literatura polska (Contemporary Polish Literature, 1902), a

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kind of text-book survey of the authors and works of the epoch of positivism and Young Poland. The large number of editions of this work proves that it was useful as a collection of information on contemporary literary trends. Feldman reports conscientiously on the whole, though he tends to use clichés and to 'poetize,' and has no very outstanding sense of discrimination between literary values. He does not bring any new elements into literary criticism. Following his Contemporary Literature he published a volume devoted to contemporary literary criticism. Another book devoted to Polish literature from 1860 to 1910 was published by Antoni POTOCKI (Contemporary Polish Literature, 1 9 1 1 1912); he was also the author of a study about Wyspiañski and numerous literary articles. His Contemporary Literature was intended to give a synthesis of both periods, but the author lacked both preparation and synthetic talent, and the book remained a series of studies on individual authors and works, often with interesting formulations and observations. Jan LORENTOWICZ was very active as a critic and theater reviewer. He evaluated literature from an esthetic point of view, which distinguished him from other critics. His work in three volumes, called Mloda Polska (Young Poland, 1908-13), is a collection of studies about several writers of that period, as well as about the genesis and program of Young Poland. We spoke about the distinguished Polish painters of this period at the beginning of the chapter. Here we must add the names of some younger, equally distinguished artists, such as Kazimierz SICHULSKI, Fryderyk PAUTSCH, and Wladyslaw JAROCKI. The whole new trend in painting is usually designated by the name of 'Polish Impressionism,' thus emphasizing its contact with French painting but also its distinct Polish character. This designation cannot, of course, be adequate, since the young generation of Polish painters included such a variety of individualities, as did the young generation of poets and novelists. At all events, the art of painting in Poland reached a very high level at this time and was represented by artists widely known and highly appreciated in Western Europe. In connection with this flowering in the art of painting we must mention the work of the excellent esthetic critic of those years, the painter Stanislaw WITKIEWICZ ( 1 8 5 1 - 1 9 1 5 ) . He did for Polish art what Miriam and Matuszewski did for literature; he combined the apostleship of the former with the extensiveness of professional knowledge and writing talent of the latter. He straightened out distorted views about the plastic arts, explained and clarified the nature of modern painting, tirelessly struggling against the backward views which treated painting from all possible points

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of view except the point of view of painting and imposed on it all kinds of 'ideologies' except the only fundamental one, namely the artistic. The objects of his fight were the same as those of the contemporary poets and novelists — pure art, 'art for art's sake,' the freedom of the artist, and an evaluation of their works by purely artistic criteria. In his splendid and truly epochal work, Sztuka i krytyka u nas (Our Art and Criticism, 1891) he subjected Polish historical painting to an objective and exhaustive criticism, giving the first appreciation of Matejko from an artistic rather than a patriotic standpoint; with crushing arguments he argued with the 'philosophic' and historical critics of art who knew nothing about painting techniques, but who wrote about painting very authoritatively. He posed this question sharply which was necessary at that time: the so-called subject means nothing in painting; everything is given to the execution; the value of a painting is not measured by what it depicts but by how it is painted. Hence his famous saying that a well painted head of cabbage has greater value than a badly painted head of Christ. One may imagine that such examples acted like blows to those who were accustomed to look in paintings primarily for an ideological or moral 'content' and evaluated it on that basis. Witkiewicz could therefore not avoid being called a 'blasphemer,' although his critical attitude toward the spoiling of holy subjects would rather speak for the opposite. In short Witkiewicz's critical activity was instrumental in placing the theory of art on a reasonable basis not only in that epoch but in general. The only dated element in it was his impressionism or 'naturalism' as a reaction against idealism and historicism. But his fundamental position should be a prerequisite in the critical attitude towards all trends of painting. Another great achievement of Witkiewicz was the discovery of the architecture and ornamental ait of the Tatra mountaineers, in which he pointed out artistic values. In this way he introduced into art the so-called Zakopane style and gave a start to an interesting artistic industry based on Tatra motifs. Sculpture developed under more difficult conditions in Poland; that is why activity in that domain of art had been weak since the middle of the nineteenth century. The numerous monuments of Mickiewicz which have decorated Polish cities since the hundredth aniversary of his birth (1898) d o not speak for a high artistic level. Ironically enough, the best project for such a monument, presented by the sculptor Antoni Kurzawa, was treated with disdain by the Krakow jury, which led the artist to destroy his work. S. Witkiewicz took the floor on this issue in an article entitled 'The Suicide of a Talent.'

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Only the beginning of the twentieth century brought a revival of sculpture, together with the appearance of outstanding talents such as Ksawery DUNIKOWSKI, the creator of several portrait busts, religious compositions, and an impressive 'Boleslaw the Bold'; Edward WITTIG, whose 'Eva' adorns the Jardin du Trocadero in Paris ('The Flyer' was placed in a square in Warsaw, and his 'Polish Nike' became the property of the museum in Grenoble); Henryk K U N A , who projected a monument of Mickiewicz in Wilno; Jan SZCZEPKOWSKI, who won international fame with his 'chapel' carved in wood (it was exhibited at the international exhibition of art in Paris in 1925 and bought by the French Government); and August ZAMOYSKI, who belonged to the younger generation and was highly appreciated in artistic circles in France. In the second half of the nineteenth century, architecture had a very small field of action and was therefore limited chiefly to the conservation and restoration of monuments. Much was done in that direction, especially in Krakow. Among the new buildings then built in Krakow were: the edifice of the Academy of Art and Sciences (the work of Filip Pokutynski), the Municipal Theater, planned by Jan Zawiejski, who also received first prize for his projected Palace of Peace at The Hague, and the building of The Society of Friends of the Arts. In Lwow the municipal theater, the Polytechnical School, the Saving Bank and other buildings were erected. Similar edifices were, of course, also built in other cities, but they were not distinguished by any original style. Eclecticism and imitation of foreign models (among others also of the Vienna 'secession' style) reigned for the most part. During the period between the January Insurrection and the end of the nineteenth century, music lacked organization or material foundations for further development. The few schools of music and conservatories, the lack of a permanent symphony orchestra (the Warsaw Philharmonic was founded only in 1901), a low period for music publication, and a number of other factors contributed to this unfortunate condition. Nevertheless, there were at the time some outstanding virtuosos and good composers. World fame was won by the violinist, Henryk WIENIAWSKI (1835-80), who as an eight-year-old boy was admitted to the Paris Conservatory from which he graduated three years later. When he was thirteen he began to concertize in many European capitals, and he remained one of the most highly appreciated virtuosos. His musical compositions are still performed today. Among the other composers we should enumerate Wladyslaw ¿ELENSKI (1837 -1921), writer of the popular operas Konrad Wallenrod, Goplana, and others, and also popular songs;

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and Zygmunt NOSKOWSKI (1846-1909), composer of the symphonic poems Morskie Oko (The Eye of the Sea, name of a famous lake in the High Tatras), The Steppe, some operas, and numerous compositions for the piano. Both ¿elenski and Noskowski engaged in considerable pedagogical activity, the former founding and directing the Krakow Conservatory, and the latter teaching as a professor at the Warsaw Conservatory. An exceptional significance was attained during that period by Ignacy Jan PADEREWSKI (1860-1941), as a virtuoso adored by the whole world and as a composer. Among the younger composers the most distinguished was Mieczyslaw KARLOWICZ (1876-1909) who died at an early age; he was the author of songs and such symphonic poems as The Returning Waves, The Eternal Songs, and The Lithuanian Rhapsody, which are examples of the so-called program music.

CHAPTER XII

POLAND REBORN

Poland's political situation remained basically unchanged from the end of the nineteenth century, when the situation had been stabilized, until the outbreak of the First World War. There were, however, some internal changes, advantageous or not. The revolution of 1905 won the important concession that private Polish schools might exist under Russian rule. Russian had previously been enforced as the teaching language not only in state-owned but also in private schools, while Polish had been admitted only as one of the subjects of study — and then only to a very limited extent with little scope for Polish literature. The strike by school children in 1905, the boycott of the Warsaw University by Polish students, as well as the attitude of a considerable portion of Polish society, forced the Russian authorities, already frightened by the revolutionary movement, into making some concessions. This permission was given to found new private Polish schools and to introduce Polish as the language of study into the old ones. The Kingdom society showed a great deal of initiative and energy in this direction. Within a short time the whole country was covered with a network of Polish schools, mostly of secondary and elementary level. The lack of a Polish university was made up for by the so-called Higher Courses of Learning in Warsaw, which organized a university syllabus; these Courses were the nucleus of what subsequently became the Free Polish University. The Warsaw Learned Society was established, and it also possessed an academic character. These developments, combined with the undying hopes of still greater autonomy, stirred a light breath of freedom in the Russian-occupied Polish territory. It soon died away, however. As the Russian Government halted the revolutionary movement it also began to impose its own interpretation on the reforms it had permitted in Polish education. The schools soon came under the strict control of Russian inspectors; history and geography had

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to be studied in Russian; there were moments when it seemed that the Polish schools would be shut down altogether and everything returned to the old order. The schools survived, however, and they became the nucleus of the state and private education system when this territory was liberated from Russian occupation. On the other hand, certain factors in Polish society itself were disquieting. Foreign oppression, which had lasted for over a century, and the different ways of life within each of the three political organisms were causing the disintegration of the spiritual ties between the divided Polish territories and at the same time undermining a united front on national issues. This was marked by the appearance of two political 'orientations' immediately after the outbreak of the First World W a r ; one was Austrian, the other Russian. The background of this political divergence was exceedingly complicated, which made it difficult for the Poles to take a united stand. The conflicting parties were Austria and Germany on one hand, Russia, France, and England on the other. Which one of these groups had Poland to join and from which side to expect a just solution of the Polish question? The issue was not easy to decide, because there were many points in favor of each alternative; the result was a national split. Generally speaking, the Austrian territory favored the Austrian solution, and the Russian territory the Russian cause, though some outstanding leaders who supported collaboration with Austria rather than with Russia came from the Russian territory. These men acted in the belief that, considering the structure of nationalities in the Austrian Empire, it would be easier for Poles to obtain full autonomy (or the same kind of independence as Hungary), or even the unification of the Austrian occupied lands with the territory under Russian rule in some eventual tripartite state (Austria-Hungary-Poland). There was also the possibility of establishing a political and military representation of Poland within the Austrian government, a possibility far less feasible in Russia. In general, the aim was to force the Polish problem again into the focus of international attention; to this end the general National Committee (composed of Galician politicians of nearly all shadings) was formed and Pilsudski's Legions created. Military organization had existed in Galicia since 1905, secretly at first and later with the semi-official approval of the Austrian Government. Among them the 'Riflemen's Confederation,' conducted by Joseph Pilsudski, was distinguished by its size and efficiency. A similar organization was the 'Bartosz Units' established by the ludowcy, and there were others. The Polish Legions, formed by the fusion of several military organizations,

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were inspired by common ideals of independence and the rights of the common people. Pilsudski's declaration, published on the day the Cadre Company crossed the frontier of the Kingdom (August 6, 1914), announced that the Polish Army was taking over this land in the name of its legal owners, the Polish peasants, who had tilled and fertilized it with their own blood. In its early days this military unit was unique in its kind, with the majority of its men belonging to the intelligentsia, its discipline founded on trust and respect between the soldiers and their superiors; there was no senseless military drill nor feeling of superiority. In this way the tradition of an armed fight for independence was reborn, though under different conditions and on a smaller scale. The traditional valor of the Polish soldier, his bravery and disdain for death shone with fresh splendor, inspiring both the allies and the enemies of the day with respect. Nevertheless, the Legions did not meet with a deeper response on the part of the society at large, especially under Russian and Prussian occupation; the latter, mistrusting both orientations, did not support either. Fate turned the First World War into a happy solution of the Polish question. The two most formidable enemies of Poland, Russia and Germany, were defeated one after the other. That the Polish question was an international issue had to be recognized even by those WestEuropean statesmen who were not favorably disposed to Poland. The rebirth of Poland became a fact; it was not the work of four years of war alone, but of centuries of historical development and especially of the preceding hundred years of struggle for independence, conducted not only on the battlefields but also in the homes and peasant huts, by Polish mothers and children, Polish society, Polish learning, literature, and art. The finest and most distinguished representative of these Polish cultural values abroad was Ignacy Jan Paderewski. He succeeded in winning public opinion, particularly in America, where he brought President Wilson himself to a recognition of Poland's right to independent existence. One of Wilson's Fourteen Points, presented to the Peace Conference at Versailles, demanded a free and independent Poland with access to the sea. Moreover, the National Committee, under the leadership of Roman Dmowski, chief of the National Democratic party, worked for the same cause. The difficulties in the organization of the new Polish state were enormous. The immediate foreign problem was to maintain the frontiers, which involved battles with the Ukrainians and the Russians and difficult relations with Germany and Czechoslovakia; at home the chief problem was one of stabilization. It is therefore not surprising that everything did

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not proceed smoothly and efficiently, that much muddle and conflict was caused and many misunderstandings and mistakes were made. The policy of Jôzef Pilsudski, elected by the Diet as 'Chief o f the State' until the promulgation o f the Constitution and the election o f the president was moderate; with time, however, he came into sharp conflict with the Diet, a body broken up into many parties and incapable o f creating a parliamentary majority. Finally a coup d'état took place in May, 1926, which installed Pilsudski as a semi-official dictator. His regime was neither consistently totalitarian nor a full dictatorship in the style o f MussoUni or Hitler. Poland has never known a one-party system; on the contrary, the various political parties (except for the Communist Party) have existed legally, and there has been relative freedom o f speech and assembly. Nevertheless, this was not a normal democratic and parliamentary regime; political life was checked and civil liberties were limited by arbitrary administration. The situation grew even worse after Pilsudski's death in 1935. In spite of these setbacks, the achievements of this period were remarkable. The unification of three Polish provinces proceeded slowly but constantly, and their administration was made uniform. After several crises the Polish currency was stabilized; industry and trade began to develop. The government tried to reconstruct the country within its slim financial means. Railways were swiftly built up; the transformation of the small fishermen's village into the modern port and city o f Gdynia was an achievement requiring great energy. Much was accomplished to develop and make uniform the educational systems inherited from the three occupations. Three new universities (Warsaw, Wilno and Poznan) were added to the already existing ones of Krakôw and Lwow. Work was begun on the codification of a uniform Polish law. The Constitution of March 17, 1921, founded on a democratic basis and modeled on the French Constitution, was penetrated by a progressive spirit. A great deal was also done in social legislation. Among the less favorable aspects of the period must be counted the excessively slow and half-hearted proceeding with the agrarian reform, the economic deterioration of the country-side, the decline o f the general standard of living. The most important and encouraging aspect of Poland's rebirth was the work of the people themselves. In the achievements enumerated above there was much individual initiative and collective action. The same spirit was also seen in various fields of cultural, economic, and political life, in the development of literature, art, and learning, the cooperative movement, the growth of the trade unions, the consolidation of the

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agrarian and the socialist parties. Even after 1926, when society gradually lost any influence or control over the regime, there was no decline in efficient and creative work, a fact which offeres yet another proof of the nation's vitality and ability to work even under unfavorable circumstances. This period was no more uniform in its literary character than any other. Old currents existed side by side with new trends; for a longer or shorter time they intersected, at times conflicted with each other or influenced each other. Young writers were often born of the spirit of their predecessors, who in their turn consciously or unconsciously succumbed to the influence of the new generation. Within the new groups themselves there was as much conflict as agreement. Hence, taken as a whole, this period was not revolutionary in character, though it did possess its original literary physiognomy and did enrich Polish literature by numerous new values. The very fact that we can speak here of a definite literary period rather than about a continuation of pre-war literature, is in itself significant. This significance will be still further enhanced if we realise that the 1918-39 period followed Young Poland, an epoch rich in literary achievement. Characteristically enough, as early as the first years of independence there was an extraordinary abundance of lyric poets. Lyric poetry dominated the literature of the first decade and its gifted representatives took by storm a considerable public. The most prominent group was formed by the Skamander poets (an appelation derived from the title of their organ, a literary monthly), a group which set the tone of poetry at the time. In order to understand their poetical attitude one should remember that during the long period of national slavery, Polish poetry, as well as fiction and drama, had voluntarily taken upon itself 'national service' by trying to maintain the national spirit, which was threatened with extermination by the policy of three partitioning powers. Inasmuch as there was no Polish state, no normal political and community life, the poets and writers became, as we know, the chief spiritual leaders of the nation. The nation itself considered them as such and placed correspondingly high demands on them; expected moral help, teaching, counsel and warning of them, and the greatness of their works was measured by these standards. Poets and writers not only recognized the nation's claim on their work, but themselves considered this service their vocation. Althoug the artistic value of the works of truly great poets was not diminished thereby, their international appeal perforce became narrowed, creative freedom was often restricted, and the minor writers frequently

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fell prey to the illusion that treating national problems and donning a prophet's or moralist's garb was itself a sufficient claim to merit in literature. By and large such encroachment by the public upon the field of art cannot possibly be viewed as a normal phenomenon. This the young 'Skamander' poets perceived and understood. Their first poetic utterances and slogans were inspired by a feeling for the freedom that had been attained at last, that they might devote themselves to poetry without limitations imposed from above. When their country regained its independence and the direction of its public affairs passed into hands which normally are called upon to conduct them, they came to the conclusion that their first task was to write 'the best poetry possible.' 'We wish to be the poets of today; this is our credo and our program. We do not care for high-sounding words [meaning lofty slogans or programs], we want great poetry; then each of our words will become great.' This attitude was formulated in these poets' periodical, Skamander. One of the young poets (Lechon) expressed the same idea in a more poignant manner : 'And in springtime let me look at the spring and not at Poland.' This, of course, did not mean severance from life nor an ensconcing of oneself in the proverbial ivory tower. The 'Skamander' poets were true to their ideal of being the poets of 'today,' of contemporary life. They merely wished to rid themselves of the traditional fetters which had impeded creative freedom; they wished to 'see the spring' without the embarrassment of any special 'duties' in their mind. They were simply reverting to the normal poetic world view; they felt and understood both the age-old problems of all poetry and the immediate problems of contemporary life, but they wanted to present them in a way appropriate to the art of poetry rather than to moral philosophy. Together with this altered attitude towards the aims of poetry, means of expression were also being modernized. The poetic motifs changed; in place of those drawn from nature and the life of the Polish countryside, which had prevailed in the earlier, romantic and Young Polish poetry, poetic interest was focused not exclusively, to be sure, but to a considerable degree on city life, its character and ways, its inhabitants, its beauty — also its ugliness and squalor. These elements gave the work of the 'Skamander' poets a distinctive and specific brand in some ways similar to that of Italian futurism and Russian revolutionary poetry. A change in the language of the young poets also came about. It became more 'realistic,' or rather it was enriched by urban elements, by the vernacular of the intelligentsia and the plain city folk. Scores of expressions and phrases, hitherto unused in poetry, began to be adopted, with the result that

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metaphors operated with new juxtapositions, grew more daring, more racy and unusual. One should not deduce, however, that the language had become 'prosaic' or vulgar. It remained highly poetic, which means that it was not used merely to describe phenomena 'realistically,' but was in itself an artistic value. Everyday words gained poetic power through their context, position in the line, relationship to other words, the accent and rhythm. Versification underwent changes as well. The rhythmic structure of the verse grew more complex and at the same time freer, though it never became 'arhythmic,' or fell into poetic prose without a distinct rhythmic pattern; one can also frequently find traditional syllabic verse. Thus there was no revolution in this field, although there were great wealth and variety in forms and there were interesting, though generally moderate, experiments. The same is true of the stanzaic structure and rhyme. Various types of stanza were used, traditional and modernized, sometimes cast in a regular from, sometimes free and uneven, but still stanza of some sort was generally preserved. As for rhyme, we meet all the new acquisitions of modern poetry, such as difficult, unusual rhymes, assonances with a varied degree of harmonizing vowels and consonants, an identity of vowels alone or consonants alone in the last syllable. But traditionally easy and simple rhyming frequently may be found in the works of even the foremost poets. These few general traits are more or less common to all the leading 'Skamander' poets. Aside from such traits, however, the individualities of the poets are greatly divergent. Juljan T U W I M ( 1 8 9 4 - 1 9 5 4 ) soon became the leader of the group. His works are characterized by an unusually explosive lyrical power. The emotional tension of this force is so great that nearly all his lines are like volcanic eruptions, a series of sudden explosions out of which cascade phenomena, images, poetic formulations, shortcuts of intellectual and emotional processes, symbols of eternal problems drawn from commonplace quasi-casual events, unexpected juxtapositions and associations, all of which seem to reek with freshly spilled blood. Significantly one of Tuwim's most important collections bears the caption Shwa we krwi (Words Bathed in Blood, 1926).1 In the poem Slowo i cialo (The Word 1

Among his other volumes published before the Second World War we mention: Czychanie na Boga (Lurking God, 1918), Tanczqcy Sokraies (The Dancing Socrates, 1920), Wierszy torn 4 (Volume 4 of Poems, 1923). Rzecz czarnoieska (The Poetry of Czarnolas, 1929). The title of the last volume refers to Kochanowski, who was from Czarnolas.

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and the Body), from this volume, we find the concept of word as an element, as a metaphysical entity, which became flesh, on which the poet lives as on fruit, which he drinks 'like cold water' and breathes 'like pure air.' He speaks about himself: 'I have no occupation; I am only a catcher of w o r d s . . . my blood is my speech, the hot core of the earth.' He exclaims: 'Give me this day my daily word, oh Lord!' If we compare this poem with any of the typical works of Staff or Kasprowicz, we observe a great difference both in the character of the whole and in the individual means of expression. The explosive quality mentioned above and the emotional tension appear clearly in his conception of the themes, in his passionate, greedy satiation with words, his delight when they 'draw blood' and poison it, in these 'sliced heads' and 'torn wombs,' in that 'hot pulp of the earth' and innumerable other emotionally supercharged expressions. The rhythm of the verse is different in the five parts of the poem, and even within each part the rhythmic pattern varies, while the rhymes are very loose. There is also a gradation of assonances, which was virtually an innovation in Polish poetry. These elements appear even more forcefully in such poems as Eksperyment (Experiment), in which the poet, like a physiologist or anatomist, 'lays bare the nerves of the Polish tongue,' 'places springtime on a glass slab, like a little frog, and cuts it lengthwise and crosswise,' and 'strikes into the heart of the common word.' A prose translation of the poem runs as follows: One more glance Of the blinking eye, One more hesitation, The last straw And Blow Inside The common word. It trembled, The sun spilled a deluge In the shameless branches of the lilacs ('Lilacs!!!') A crazy head in love writhes. And now you must no longer be ashamed of words — Say about spring that it is joyful, Say about spring that it is lovely, Because now it is TRUE.

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The poem Hokus Pokus presents the poet as 'an eccentric alchemist, a dancer and virtuoso,' who juggles with images, rhymes, unexpected comparisons. In the last stanza the magician's formula hocus pocus grows into 'a formula of the gods and the poets' who create the world. Tuwim's inborn feeling for and mastery of the Polish language has been strengthened by his extensive studies, including Old Polish. He once declared that his favorite reading is Aleksander Bruckner's Etymological Dictionary of the Polish Language. His knowledge enables him to take advantage of the whole treasure-trove of the language with the experience of a connoisseur and artistic taste. The tendency common to all poetry to set phenomena in a striking light, to lend them a unique and startling character, rises in Tuwim's works to a high degree of fulfillment and sometimes assumes the form of an eerie phantasmagoria. The examples quoted above have given some idea of this quality in Tuwim's poetry. Let us look at still another example. Pieces of furniture, in a poem of that title — 'the edgy, pointed, squeaking pieces of furniture' — become live beings, vicious and evil; at night they persecute with their squeaks and evoke horrible dreams which end only at the moment when 'the hazy and swollen dawn appears.' The modern city appears frequently in Tuwim's poetry in vivid images of the misery of the urban proletariat and the monstrous psychology of the bourgeois mind. In the poem Nqdza (Misery) the poet does not hesitate to call the pauper's wives 'dried out bitches,' the paupers themselves a black and skinny 'howling pack,' and their children 'nightmares.' Nor does he spare 'naturalistic' details of sick people 'from whom blood splashes into pails,' and of the green humidity, dirt, and stench in which they live. The city also has 'strange people who stand at walls,' 'they stand motionless, staring into one spot, they are grey with the grey emptiness of the center of a city' {Melancholja stojqcych przy sciame, The Melancholia of Those Who Stand at Walls); and when frosty days come 'the severe frost screws itself into their worn clothes, the overcoats lined with wind and the holes wide open,' there begins a sprightly dance under the wall, impatient leaps, hysterical gambols — 'the dead shreds are trembling on a frozen body, making ecstatic pranks in the wind.' And the end of the dance? 'Look! on the white wall a stain remained: in the frost the wretches danced their blood into the wall!' The hopelessness of petty bourgeois existence found its accomplished expression in the poem Mieszkancy (The Dwellers), which begins with the lines:

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Terrible dwellings [flats]. In terrible dwellings, Terribly dwell [live] terrible dwellers [the middle class]. (In Polish the words: to dwell, apartment, and the middle class are all derived from the same root, mieszk\mieszcz, which makes these two lines very effective). Since the morning they (the middle class) 'babble and ramble that rain, that expensive living, that this, that t h a t . . . ' Then they go out 'they look to the right, they look to the left, and as they look, they see everything separately: a building . . . little Johnny . . . a horse . . . a t r e e . . . ' They feed themselves on newspapers which they 'chew until they become a fat dough' and which make their heads swell. Then they begin to give one another information, again of the 'separate kind'; in the evening they check on their 'little pockets and receits . . . their sacred property and holy possessions' And fall asleep with their muzzle against their chest In terrible dwellings those terrible dwellers. But Tuwim is capable also of striking the simplest and, one might think, most hackneyed tones, yet imparting to them a new sound and a new meaning; then he refers to some elementary, enduring poetic motifs, as in his poem Muza czyli kilka sl6w zaledwie (The Muse or Scarcely a Few Words), in which he sings of nightingales, gardens and trees, sings in the old manner and is longing as in his youth. A similar simplicity of tone characterizes his stanzas about the fatherland; God, Poland, and his home merge into this concept, expressed with warmth and fondness. Tuwim betrays none of the romantic or 'Young Polish' nebulousness, volatility, or 'moodiness'; on the contrary, his imagery is distinct, poignant, and sometimes stinging to the point of harshness. On the other hand, there is none of the 'modernistic' tendency to rhythmic deformation, far-split rhyming, attempts at eccentricity and artificial linguistic neologisms. What was said above about the 'Skamanders' versification refers fully to Tuwim. The lyric poetry of Antoni SLONIMSKI (born 1895), the second important representative of the 'Skamander' group, is less explosive then Tuwim's and his versification less 'melodious.' It is characterized rather by a tendency toward self-possession, and the use of 'intellectual' and rhetorical elements. Slonimski does not hesitate to treat contemporary problems in his lyrical poetry, such as war, its stupidity and criminality, Communism, or the significance of science in the creation of a new, better

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world. Now and then there comes to the fore the temper of the columnist, author of excellent articles published for several years in the Warsaw Wiadomosci literackie (Literary News), which were daring in the discussion of delicate issues and filled with exquisite wit and biting sarcasm. One must not assume, however, that his poetry bore the character of journalism or propaganda. On the contrary, in his poems such problems are treated in a poetic way, that is, sub specie aeternitatis and with pathos. A sense of pathos, mystery, and tragedy permeates both these and other elements of Slonimski's poetry, in addition to a feeling of loneliness and 'de la tristesse de tout cela.' From behind the trend toward self-possession there emerges time after time a suffering, sorrowful, lonely 'lyrical ego', wounded by the blows dealt by the world. It is the ego not of a warrior but rather of a martyr who, however, possesses enough strength to thunder, to hurl flashes of lightning, to challenge the world, to alarm his fellow men. Among the poets of the Skamander group, Slonimski most clearly reveals a tendency to break down some traditional poetic canons, especially with regard to the structure of lyrical verse. This tendency towards structural freedom often leads to a loss of structural uniformity and, in Slonimski's longer works, to an obliteration of lines. On the other hand, Slonimski's language possesses a force, expressiveness, and frequently a simplicity modeled on Mickiewicz, whom he reveres and considers as 'the greatest poet in the world.' As for versification (both in metrical and stanzaic structure) Slonimski attempts simple, traditional forms, as well as the most difficult and complicated, experimenting with the latter in most instances successfully. His rhymes, however, do not display a commensurate degree of ingenuity. Up to 1939, Slonimski had published seven volumes of poetry, among them Sonety (Sonnets, 1918), Parada (The Parade, 1920), Godzina poezji (An Hour of Poetry, 1923), Z dalekiej podrozy (From a Long Journey, 1926), Okno bez krat (Window Without Bars, 1935). The reaction in favor of Adam Mickiewicz among the young generation of poets found a forceful expression in Slonimski's poem, Mickiewicz. In an even, 13-syllable verse the poet sings the praise of the man who made the Lithuanian land dear to the heart of every Pole and immortalized its nature and people; the charm of his words 'apparently so ordinary' makes 'the heart pause like a broken clock.' 'You are to me the first word, the first man, Adam' — exclaims the poet, who is proud that he commands the same language as Mickiewicz and that part of Mickiewicz's great love which embraced the whole nation also included him.

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Many of his poems reflect the spirit of Mickiewicz's poetry, though colored, of course, with Slonimski's own manner of expression. In Milosc i podroz (Love and Travel), for instance, we find characteristic personifications of the phenomena of nature: the earth 'is in flight,' 'it sparkles with the eye of lakes,' and 'hurls the scent of meadows into one's face,' etc. These images are conceived in motion and change by means of Slonimski's striking language. Against their background the sea appears 'as in the distance it joins with the azure, like two hearts full of great love.' Several longer poems are devoted to social and other contemporary themes: Dialog o milosci ojczyzny (The Dialogue on the Love of the Fatherland), Zycie i smierc (Life and Death), Bunt (Revolt,) Pamphlet, Oko w oko (Eye to Eye). Besides their bold ideas they contain new and interesting experiments in structure and versification. In The Dialogue, written in an uneven meter (from two to ten syllables with a variable number of stresses) we hear war sharply condemned because it sanctions crime ('Killing a man is murder; killing a million is a holy deed.') At the same time there sounds a forceful praise for the feeling of solidarity with 'the brothers and sisters of the wide world,' who recognize each other 'in one glance' and greet one another 'with distant ship flags.' The poet assures them (in the poem, Life and Death) that his poems boil with the revolt that is suppressed 'and that some day the power of his stanza will turn into action.' The poem Eye to Eye presents, among other things, the terrible picture of a procession of the disabled veterans of the First World War. They move forward, pushing their 'legless torsos,' blind, 'without arms or without one leg, without two,' deaf, 'secreting pus and coughing up blood.' They had stupidly trusted the promises of improvement of their lot, but today 'the same rascal as before the war runs the government.' These and other poems may appear to many as strange, prosaic, devoid of rhythm and 'melody,' very far from what they are accustomed to consider as poetry. Undoubtedly, this is not poetry in the traditional sense of the word, but it does not cease to be poetry, although it is different. Its difference consists in doing away with a regular rhythmical pattern, which deprives it of an easily assimilated melody. But rhythm exists, though in a different form; the equality of syllables is here replaced by an approximate, not always equal, number of principal stresses. The rhythmical element which organizes the apparently loose phrases also depends on rhyme, though these rhymes are frequently very distant from each other and assonantic. His style contains many blunt, rough, some-

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times downright colloquial expressions, which were avoided by earlier poetry ('a bony behind,' 'buttocks,' 'stinker'), but used consciously and purposefully to give emphasis and force to the imagery. This is not easy poetry, but once one is engrossed in it, this picture of ruined human existence is experienced very powerfully. But it should be treated from the purely poetic point of view rather than political tendency or 'pacifism.' The poet's imagination is shocked to the point of pain by the sight of suffering and by the horror of deformed bodies, and it is this feeling that he tries to make yet more striking (though it is horrible enough in itself) in his torn poetic method. The youngest of the 'Skamander' group, Jan LECHON (pen name of Leszek Serafinowicz, born 1899), who as a nineteen-year-old boy recited his poems at public literary reunions, is the least prolific poet of the group. He published only a small number of volumes (Karmazynowy poemat, The Crimson Poem, 1920, Rieczpospolita babinska, The Babin Republic, 1921, Srebrne i czarne, The Silver and the Black, 1924) before the Second World War. In his earliest work, as we know, he sharply opposed 'the national duty' when applied to poetry and demanded a break with the past. Gradually, however, he reverted to that very past and to a simple, traditional patriotism. He devoted his works to historical and contemporary personages, such as Mochnacki and Pilsudski, and to poets and novelists such as Norwid, Byron, Conrad-Korzeniowski, Proust, and Thomas Mann. These historical and literary motifs lend his poetry a more 'intellectual' character than is found in Slonimski's discursive works. Even when he abandons history and literature and takes up the eternal themes of love and death, flesh and soul, Lechon does not divest himself of a specific 'academism' in expressing his almost absolute pessimism. In every tematic field, however, he is capable of attaining a high level of poetic crystallization which, to quote Coleridge, consists of using 'the best words in the best order,' and of formulating by means of these words a given problem in a clear-cut, crystalline form. Every element in his poetry is thoroughly pondered and worked out. He is the most 'classical* of the 'Skamander' poets, both with regard to language and traditional versification. It is this traditionalism rather than his 'literary program' that reveals the essence of his art. Among Lechon's poems characteristic is that dedicated to Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski, who, under the pen name Joseph Conrad became famous as an outstanding English novelist. His father, Apollo Korzeniowski, was deported to Siberia for having taken part in the preparation

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of the 1863 Insurrection; he died in Krakow (1869). In this poem we have a sample of Lechon's treatment of historical personalities: the spirit of the father, who suffered for Poland, and the spirit of the son, who adopted a new country without breaking spiritual relations with his fatherland, meet in the hereafter. The father calls his son in his native tongue into the after-life, 'where the same light shines on all the seas.' Conrad's personal problem, his relation to both countries, is transferred to a metaphysical, eternal plane. 'A wind of the Hereafter' moves through the whole poem. The same atmosphere prevails in the volume, The Silver and the Black. Love and death are here conceived as elementary forces which 'pursue the interplanetary wind, that wind which blew on earth until it gave birth to mankind to the eternal sorrow of the soul and the eternal delight of the body.' The poem ends with a couplet in which our whole knowledge is summarized in the following words: 'Death saves us from love, and love from death.' We notice here that trait in Lechori which we have called a gift of 'poetic crystallization.' In nearly every line of the poem, particularly in the second and third stanzas, we find eternal problems 'crystallized' in a few words. In another poem, Spotkanie (The Meeting), in a vision of sleep the poet meets Dante in Ravenna. The poet is lost and ignorant, and when he asks Dante to explain the secret of the anxiety which appears in his face, Dante gives him the following answer: There is neither heaven nor earth, neither abyss nor hell, There is only Beatrice. And she does not exist. These impressive words of Dante reveal a specific conception of his tragedy: his only reality was sought in Beatrice, who did not exist. Both religious and love problems, and others appear in an individual and unusual form, unknown in the works of other contemporary poets. His Modlitwa (Prayer), for instance, is composed like a series of parallel prayers to God, expressing a pantheistic longing for union with the universe. Thepointe in the last line is expressed as follows: 'Free us from the soul and save us from ourselves!' In Lechon's versification there is nothing unusual, but he does produce powerful and striking effects with seemingly 'common' devices. His language operates with material devoid of neologisms and extravagance, at the same time creating formulations and images full of inventiveness and novelty.

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Kazimierz WIERZYTQSKI, though older than Stonimski and Lechon (born 1894), was in spirit certainly the youngest member of the group. His first volumes (Wiosna i wino, Springtime and Wine, 1919, and Wroble na dachu, Sparrows on the Roof, 1921) especially revealed such a joie de vivre, such a child-like abandon and intoxication with the world as had not been evidenced in Polish literature for a ling time. The poet is so happy that he feels like a god, 'it is green in his head and violets bloom therein'; he carries 'his smile to people'; he is 'as light and delicious as champagne, strong as cognac, and perfect as mead'; he 'loves his every whim and lives always like a child.' Behind these apparently easy and simple poems lies a considerable poetic art. A high degree of poetic craftsmanship was necessary in order to give new life to such themes as contentment, joy, happiness, and selfaffirmation, and in order to raise such colloquial expressions as 'green in the head,' 'I shall grow up where I am not sown,' and other untranslatable Polish idioms to the level of poetry and to create a convincing metaphysics of youth and enthusiasm which stands in striking contrast to the grim melancholy of Young Poland's poetry. Great skill was needed to play on that single chord various and ever new melodies without becoming monotonous. The impressionistic technique of such a poem as Summer for instance makes it clear how free from monotony Wierzynski's poetry is. It is composed of glimpses of meadow, sun, and clouds, and suggestions of summer smells and sounds. The poet notes these visual and acoustic impressions which fuse into an affirmation of the joy of existence that is sharply summed up in the last line: 'Is it not too much that I am?' In time Wierzynski tackled other themes. In the Pamiqtnik miiosci (Journal of Love, 1925) and Laur olimpijski (The Olympic Laurel, 1927), he still dealt with related subjects. The latter collection particularly is a paean unique of its kind to the healthy and well-trained body, a hymn in honor of athletes, soccer players, high jumpers, and runners. Wierzynski's insight lends these subjects importance and, what is more, a certain 'metaphysical' interpretation. The German translation of The Laurel must have have preserved some of the original pathos and its ideology of 'sport for sport's sake,' since it was on the basis of that translation (followed by many others) that the poet was awarded the first international prize at the Ninth Olympic Games in Amsterdam in 1928. Skok o tyczce (The Pole Vault) describes a man who springs up from the earth 'and in divine equilibrium spreads out on the pole and waves like a flag'. The poet would like to stop him in his flight, to keep him poised like a statue

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in the air, and than rise higher, as a symbol of man's aspiration to heaven. This book was followed by an interest in social problems expressed in Piesnifanatyczne( Fanatical Songs, 1929) and political and national themes in Wolnosc tragiczna (Tragic Freedom). Wierzyriski was a distinguished enough poet to write sometimes expressive pieces on these subjects, but probably his most individual style is found in his earlier works. In the collection Gorzki urodzaj (The Bitter Crop, 1933), there is, among other things, a group of poems devoted to America. In the poem New York 'a million windows and floors grow in layers,' 'a heap of pyramids,' 'a stony Mahabharata' — are a few of the many designations used for this phenomenon. The giantism and weirdness of famous New York buildings are here portrayed in suggestive hyperboles. The poems of the San Francisco cycle reveal an entirely different atmosphere; A Ballad, for instance, is an impressionistic picture of a California night, in which the individual motifs are a boat leaving on a fishing expedition, the grazing mustangs, the moon climbing on 'the palisade rocks.' Everything is covered with 'eternal clouds' in which 'time flows by.' Foki (Seals) describes very young seals (like virginal, round little bellies, laughing puppies), on a hot day which wallow on a high rock next to the Golden Gate that emerges against the background of a sleepy sea and sky. The poetess, Kazimiera ILLAKOWICZ6WNA (born 1892), is less closely affiliated with the 'Skamander' movement; she is a very prolific artist, and her work is of uneven quality. In the wealth of her imagination and her leaning toward the fantastic she approaches Tuwim, but her fantasy is of a different kind, using motifs of spirits, ghosts, and witches. Characteristic of her work is a cycle devoted to adventures with a lion which the poetess supposedly keeps in her home; she walks with it through the streets of a town and tells incredible tales about it in the volume Smierc Feniksa (The Death of Phoenix, 1922). In another collection, Obrazy imion wrozebne (Prophetic Images of Names, 1926), we find imaginary, phantasmagorical portraits of sundry psychological types, composed on foundations so frail as the mere sound of their names. Often, however, she speaks in a different tone but without surrendering her preference for making phenomena strange. She does this in a more 'organic' way, without roguishness or extravagance and frequently achieves powerful effects. Poems of this kind may be found scattered throughout all her collections, including the cycle about the lion, whether they are devoted to general or purely internal and personal subjects. The poetess then achieves astounding hypostases by identifying her lyric ego with 'a weeping

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bird* (the title of a volume of 1927), caught along the highway, or with a 'weeping fiddle' or a moth dashing itself against the window pane. There is equally unusual symbolic transition in the poem, Kamien (The Stone); a stone described in a seemingly epic manner suddenly turns into the symbol of a painful burden on the heart. The final pointe assumes here a most unexpected and surprising form. A similar device, though differently conceived, appears in the poem Placz (Weeping), in which 'dead leaves are falling from a birch mutilated by frost,' and lie under the tree in the darkness like spilled blood . . . But they do not lie under the birch, but 'under the heart itself . . . the heart itself.' In Ojczyzna (The Fatherland) nature becomes love and replaces erotic love. The fatherland appears as the poetess's own region, the distant province of Livonia on the Dvina and Drissa rivers. The details of the countryside, the paths, the trees and flowers, the sounds of a peasant harmonica, the rafts on the river, are all brought to life in the poem in synthetic abbreviations imbued with longing and love. It all exists in the soul in place of 'the sweetness of love . . . in place of a joyful giving'; it replaces 'the kisses on the lips' and the violent beating of heart against heart. Similar sentiments are expressed in a simpler manner, but with great force in the cycle 'Our Home.' These few examples of her numerous volumes (in addition to Placzqcy ptak, Weeping Bird, she also published Poldw, Fishing, 1926, Zwierciadlo nocy, The Mirror of the Night, 1928, Z glqbi serca, From the Depth of the Heart, 1928, Popiol i perly, Ashes and Pearls, 1930) may give some idea of the new tone IHakowiczowna introduced into contemporary Polish poetry. The chief traits of this new tone are mysteriousness, fantastic and suggestive qualities of her poetic world, the refraction of phenomena in lyrical prisms of a specific structure, language which transforms physical phenomena completely into pure lyric experiences (violin, moth, stone, birch leaves) and a verse form which has little to do with traditional versification. In her most original works IHakowiczowna uses a 'free,' nonsyllabic verse of greatly varying length of rhythmic groups; her rhythm consists rather of an approximate although loosely observed equality of stresses which do not match the lines of the poems. Her rhymes reveal many bold and frequently distant assonances; there are also poems without rhyme. Marja P a w l i k o w s k a (1895-1945) presents an entirely different, but equally original, feminine talent. Polish criticism had much to say about the 'feminity' of her poetry, but it was difficult, without being trite, to define exactly this feminine quality. The fact is that her best poems are

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distinguished by a great concentration of expression, a controlled lyricism, and an objective presentation of emotions; she tends to express herself in brief, epigrammatic forms, many of her poems consisting of four lines only. It is also a fact that some of her small collections, especially among her early works are saturated with a 'drawing room' atmosphere of elegant and refined life. This atmosphere caused her writings to be accused of being 'precious' and to be called 'filigree baubles.' But in this fine filigree work there is an individual style, a compactness of expression and an ability to inclose very extensive problems in concise, purposeful formulations. This ability secures for Pawlikowska a prominent place in Polish lyric poetry. From among Pawlikowska's numerous volumes 2 we select a number of poems which characterize the various means she used to express her poetic world. Their structure is often based on a parallelism, in synthetic abbreviations between psychological experiences and phenomena of nature. On the seacoast, sprawling jellyfish, shells 'buried by the sand and a fish abandoned by the waves' are 'like my heart by you.' ( Wybrzeze, The Seacoast). In other parallels 'the sea sighs with waves, and the earth with my breast' Westchnienia, Sighs) ; 'the sailboat leans on the wind, as I lean on thought of you' ; a dying bird hides and runs away so that nobody may see it 'like a heart which hides in the depth of a man's breast in order to die in secret' (Ptak, Bird). In blindness, in intoxication with the scent of the lilacs 'it is only with my mouth that I recognize that you are not y o u . . . ' (Slepa, The Blind Woman) ; autumn's weather is interpreted in the following comparisons : 'it is cold as that last letter, and the sun is like someone dear who grows cold and departs' (Pazdziernik, October). 'Untamed love' is like Nike of Samothrace: 'though killed she runs with zeal unchanged, raising her severed arms' (Nike). 'Smiling, indifferent and healthy' people walk around quietly, 'like ruminating cows around someone who dies on a cross' (Krowy, The Cows). La précieuse cuddled in her furcoat, 'with a Pekingese under her arm, an umbrella and a rose' hesitates over a small puddle; how will she take 'a step into infinity?' The poetess's relation to the world is also conceived in epigrammatic form: 'This world is for me and I am for the world which crushes my heart with its weight, like a passionate lover.' 'I give everything to it, without fear, though it threatens me with death, me the most faithful of its 1 Niebieskie migdaiy (The Blue Almonds, [Reveries] 1922), Ràzowa magja (The Pink magic, 1924), Pocalunki (Kisses, 1926), fVachlarz (The Fan, 1927), Cisza lesna (The Calm of the Woods, 1928), Profil bialej damy (The Profile of a White Lady, 1930), Spiqca zaloga (The Sleeping Crew, 1933), Balet powojow (The Ballet of Ivies, 1935).

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lovers' (Swiatu To the World). Klepsydra nad morzem (The Hourglass on the Sea) speaks of measuring moments of dreaming 'with the sand, thrown into an open palm'; the hourglass 'says that time is long and that it pays to dream'; the sand of life would flow 'in an infinite ribbon' if it were measured by this 'dreaming hourglass.' The joy of life is portrayed in the description of a morning bird which now tries to 'tear itself from the branch, now again falls to the ground,' flying like lightning from tree to tree, 'crying in a loud voice with terrible joy that the sun is rising again and that nobody has eaten it' (Ranny ptak, The Morning Bird). Wladyslaw BRONIEWSKJ (born 1898) is an excellent poet, who devoted many of his poems to the cause of the proletariat. It would be a mistake, however, to classify his work automatically in the genre of so-called proletarian poetry. If by this poetry we understand works of strong social accents, more specifically connected with the urban proletariat, it had had representatives in former times as well, but it gained popularity thanks to the young Russian poets of the post-revolutionary period. Broniewski is linked to them by his choice of subject matter, but his artistic treatment of this material is different. The Russian poets were revolutionary not only in the slogans they proclaimed but above all in their artistic devices. Broniewski is rather conservative in his poetic technique, and for this reason we classify him next to the 'Skamander' group rather than in the ranks of the A vant-garde (see below). He likes best to employ traditional meter and language devoid of radical innovations. Within this traditional framework he is capable of great inventive power, of unusual force of tone, of a 'white glowing fire' of lyrical emotion, of splendid outbursts of wrath and love. There is no trace here of commonplace, cheap propaganda, public-meeting pathos, shallow sloganslinging, or easy effects. This 'proletarian poetry' is real poetry, and of a high order. This is apparent in many poems from his first volumes. 3 Robotnicy (The Workers), for instance, a poem written in a 'marching* rhythm, portrays the workers who 'harness the genuis of nations to the glimmering Great Bear' (in Polish 'Great Chariot') and use 'their hearts as fuel in the boilers of the locomotives of history'; Soldat inconnu calls to his countrymen from the grave that he is no longer a son of the old France, that he will lead them to 'a different France, fatherland of victorious love'; Bezrobotny (The Unemployed) is written in the form of a folk song, full of grim humor and great bitterness. In other poems the • Wiatraki (The Windmills, 1925), Dymy nad miastem (Smoke Over the City, 1927), Troska i piein (Worry and Song, 1932), Krzyk ostateczny (The Last Cry, 1939).

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author openly emphasizes his 'song of wrath'; he devotes moving stanzas to the Polish revolutionary, Ludwik Waryriski, and a whole cycle of poems to the Paris Commune. Broniewski would not be a true poet, however, if he limited himself only to these subjects; equally powerful and impressive in tone are other motifs, connected with his personal experiences, with man's eternal sentiments not only in the face of poverty and injustice, but also of beauty, love and death. In those poems he gives an excellent and beautiful parallel between the epic and lyrical style; he glorifies the poet's freedom ('I live and I am a poet, it's nobody's business, I write poems from nothing'); he describes the last moments of a man dying in a hospital, when 'quietly, on tip-toe, Death, a nun, and a doctor come up to the door.' He also contemplates the splendor of the stars which draw a song and 'profuse, unmanly tears' from his heart. He sings of joy, worry, and deception; he pays homage to his beloved's eyes; he nostalgically recalls his home town to which he will never return and where the wind 'has swept his memory away'; at the moment when the very existence of the country is threatened (the year 1939) he pledges his life's blood to it in the forceful poem, Bagnet na broh (Fix Bayonets). Simultaneously with the 'Skamander' group and poets more or less kindred, other trends much more given to innovation were making their appearance. Their representatives sharply opposed the Skamandrites, accusing them of of being lyrical 'barrel-organ grinders' who played old tunes on worn out strings, who lacked feeling for modern spiritual needs and who had no poetic program. These trends, however, called 'Avantgarde,' had no uniform character apart from their common aim of bringing about a radical reform in lyric poetry. They derived from various Western and Eastern European movements, such as futurism, expressionism, and surrealism, which they endeavored to interpret individually to adapt them to their own needs. The chief theoretician of the new movement was Tadeusz Peiper (born 1891), a poet. He advocated breaking with all romantic-impressionistic volubility and emotional directness which he wanted to replace with lyrical objectivity, a conscious construction of lyrical works. 'Poetry means creating beautiful sentences. Not the word . . . but the sentence should constitute the initial intention of poetic creation.' The metaphor remains, as of old, one of the most essential poetic devices, but it must be a new metaphor, based on very distant associations, and creating combinations of notions 'which do not correspond to anything in the real world.' Peiper does not reject rhyme, even of the regular kind, but he demands the rhymes to be remote from one

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another, separated by a number of lines. In this way he wishes to emphasize the rhyme's structural significance to the poem as a whole. As for rhythm, its function is to 'serve the emerging sentence and lead the sentences to follow.' The theory, as presented, contained, side by side with dubious and rather obscure notions, some true observations. Needless to say, it provoked polemics and protests even among the younger poets, not to speak of the older generation of critics, who, in general, displayed a negative attitude toward the new trend. Some of the Avant-garde poets wanted the social element represented more strongly in poetry (although Peiper spoke explicitly of the beauty of 'the city, the masses and the machine' as well as of 'sewing the nerve of up-to-dateness into human beings'). Others reverted to the theory of 'pure form' (formism). The poetic accomplishments of the Avant-garde movement were of varying value. Its various factions were linked together, to be sure, by one common tie, a more or less radical destruction of the traditional poetic form, a discarding of the regular rhythms to such an extent that frequently the distinction between verse and 'poetic prose' was obliterated and their endeavor to create a language so new and different from the prevalent literary language that it frequently became unintelligible. This was a result of a liking for neologisms as much as of a tendency to impart to plain words a far-fetched meaning and to use ellipses and syntactical changes. Of course, the traditional stanza also disappeared from this poetry. Within the framework of these general tendencies there was room for various individualities, a fact which undoubtedly proves that this movement had vitality and met the spiritual needs of the new generation. Another proof of its vitality was its spread to various literary centers, mainly Krakow, Warsaw, and Wilno. In addition to Peiper, the Avant-garde includes among its most distinguished representatives poets like Czeslaw Milosz (born 1911), Juljan Przybos (born 1901), Jalu Kurek (born 1904), Marian Czuchnowski (born 1909), and Jozef Czechowicz (born 1903). The poets of the bygone era were still active concurrently with the 'Skamander' and the Avant-garde groups. Jan Kasprowicz's new poetic attitude, expressed already in The Book of the Poor, reached the height of artistic abnegation in the collection, Moj swiat (My World, 1926), in which the poet intentionally descends to the level of a village fiddler and plays his simple melodies on one chord, selecting the simplest possible words and avoiding as though deliberately not enly artistry but any and all poesy. This constituted an extreme contrast with his earliest work, but

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at the same time it had very little in common with the trends of the new epoch. The case of the youngest of the poets of the preceding generation, Leopold Staff, was entirely different. He influenced the latest epoch of Polish poetry more than any other poet. This is evidenced both by the confessions of the 'Skamander' poets themselves, who admitted it was from him that they learned to write, and by the poems they wrote. Staff entered the new period as a mature and accomplished artist, and produced even more lyric poems than in the preceding period. While influencing the work of the young poets, he succumbed partly to their influence; he never lost contact with the modern times and was considered the most distinguished of the living poets (except by the Avant-garde, which, on principle, could not possibly recognize him). Among the many collections he published in the last twenty years before the Second World War two merit special attention : The Needle's Eye, discussed above, and Wysokie drzewa (The Tall Trees, 1932), which clearly shows a connection with the young generation. Tadeusz BOY-2ELENSKI ( 1 8 7 4 - 1 9 4 0 ) belonged in point of age to the previous generation, but spiritually he was one of the youngest, most lively and progressive Polish writers. He began at the close of the nineteenth century by writing 'light' poems and songs, in which he revealed a first-rate poetic talent. Many of his gay songs possess a greater poetic and intellectual value than a number of 'philosophical' and pathetic poems. Boy's great and abundant talent also appeared in his translations of French poetry and prose. Enamoured of French literature and culture, thoroughly acquainted with their various periods, he accomplished an extraordinary feat: he translated more than one hundred volumes of various French writers and succeeded in interesting the Polish public in reading translations (some of his books went through many editions). His translations include the works of Villon, Rabelais, Montaigne, Pascal, Descartes, Molière (complete works!), Racine, Brantome, Laclos, Montesquieu, Voltaire, Diderot, Lesage, Rousseau, Beaumarchais, Mile de Lespinasse, Marivaux, Musset, Chateaubriand, Merimée, Stendhal, a few dozen volumes of Balzac, and Proust. As we see, the range is remarkable. To this must be added his astonishing ability to penetrate the language of both verse and prose of such different epochs. He follows the best language of the Polish writers of the sixteenth century for his translations of Rabelais ; the translations of Molière and Racine are written in the classical style of the Polish poets of the eighteenth century, whereas his Balzac in the realistic prose of the best Polish novelists.

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Boy provided his translations with exhaustive introductions and commentaries, describing the epoch in which the given writer had lived and his entire literary output. If collected in one volume these introductions would constitute a unique survey of the principal trends in French literature, written by one of its best Polish connoisseurs. Boy's attitude towards literature is also considerably influenced by the French tradition. He is interested not so much in strictly literary as in biographical, psychological and moral problems. He has a veritable passion for discovering connections between the author's private life and his works, and he loves to reveal the various dessous of recognized celebrities. At one time his 'debunking' of the lives and activities of certain Polish 'literary saints' made quite a stir. This re-evaluation was a healthy reaction against official and for the most part false patterns and criteria of literary historians; but it was also a misleading transgression against the fundamental principle that a literary work constitutes no 'memoirs of the author's soul' and that his psyche cannot be reconstructed on the basis of his works. For years Boy also had been a theatrical critic; his reviews eventually came to fill more than a dozen volumes. They revealed sophisticated taste, penetrating judgment, originality and boldness of critical conception. However, they dealt almost exclusively with the literary side of the drama, and paid little atttention to its theatrical aspects. Boy's interest in moral and social issues, his passion for exposing any and all hypocrisy and sham, soon carried him beyond the field of literary criticism, into journalism. Here too he accomplished a great deal thanks to his sharp critical mind, but he became entangled into disputes and fights which kept him away from his proper domain of literature. While the first decade of this period was characterized by a predominance of lyric poetry, it was the novel which gradually moved to the foreground with the beginning of the second decade. These dates, of course, are only approximate, and the predominance of one genre does not in any way mean the disappearance of the other. It is rather a question of the interest of the reading public on one hand, and the appearance of new talents in the field of novel on the other. During the first decade the novel was still controlled, though not exclusively, by the earlier novelists who entered the new epoch with their literary personalities already formed, and preserved the novel forms they had created, ¿eromski and Berent were, as we know, still active. In the post-war period Andrzej Strug widened the scope of his themes; among other things, he wrote a touching story about Pilsudski's Legions, entitled Odznaka za wiernq sluzbq (A

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Badge for Faithful Service, 1920), and he attempted to give an 'epos' of the life of Europe before the war in the form of a panoramic cycle of novels, 2olty krzyz (The Yellow Cross, 1932). Strug, who was less talented than ¿eromski and other leading contemporary novelists in Poland, possessed one valubale quality as a writer: he carefully thought over his works, gave strict attention to structure and diligently adopted new methods of novelistic technique. Wlodzimierz PERZYNSKI (1878-1930) started out as a poet who published his works in the Krakow Life, after which he began to write short stories and novels. He published several volumes of each genre before the war (Siawny czlowiek, The Famous Man, 1907; Nowele, Short Stories, 1909, 1911, 1912; Michalik z P.P.S., Michalik of the P.P.S., 1910; Zloty interes, A Golden Business, 1919) and after the war (Raz w zyciu, Once in a Life Time, 1925; Nie bylo nas - byl las, We Were Not but the Forest Was, 1927; Znamiq, Stigma, short stories, 1926; Dwoje ludzi, Two People, 1928; Pralnia sumienia, The Laundry of the Consience, short stories, 1930). They reveal an excellent gift of observation, subtle humor, and irony, a simple and lucid narrative style, an almost absolute objectivity and detachment from his fictional creations. He created a world of ordinary people who live more or less unconsciously and innocently in an atmosphere of conventions, sham, petty lies and hypocrisy. Perzynski captures and reproduces these traits masterfully. The plots of his novels are always interesting, though devoid of either dramatic or pathetic elements. The structure and development of the action, to which he pays little attention and which he seems frequently to neglect altogether, follow a strictly realistic motivation. His post-war novels are nearly all documentary accounts of contemporary Warsaw life. Some of his short stories, like Stigma, are masterpieces of the genre. Zofja NALKOWSKA ( 1 8 8 5 - 1 9 5 4 ) , one of the most distinguished Polish women novelists, went through a long process of evolution. The first period of her literary activity was characterized as one of preciosity — a term which did not, however, entirely go to the heart of the matter. Nalkowska's more important quality lay in her endeavor to reveal in her novels and short stories an entirely new world (new at least to Poland) of feminine psychology in its specific and, so to speak, age-old manifestations. Joseph Conrad once wrote about woman's inborn instincts, her ageless practical wisdom manifested in the simplest young girl. These traits are found in Nalkowska's characters, who are presented in novels of interesting plots. It needs to be added that her women came from a definite social milieu (the intelligentsia), and they live in a definite time (the end of the

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nineteenth century); products of a bourgeois culture, they are beautiful and refined and wish that the course of their lives might have a line as smooth as, in the words of one of them, 'the line of their hips.' Even her early short stories and novels, of which Kobiety (Women, 1906), Ksiqze (Prince, 1907), and Narcyza (1911) are good examples, reveal an original and mature talent well aware of its means and intentions, an unusual gift for penetrating analysis and well-planned structure, and a style fully harmonizing with the somewhat hot-house atmosphere of that world. After the war that world changed, and new problems appeared. Hrabia Emil (Count Emil, 1920) showed war as 'a terrible evil, regardless of what it is waged for'; Romans Teresy Hennert (The Romance of Teresa Hennert, 1923) presented 'a picture of changes which took place in Poland in people and among people*; Sciany swiata (The Walls of the World, 1931) was a gloomy book about people in prison 'who took evil upon themselves considering that evil as their duty, since the inevitable sum of all evil must be somehow distributed among people.' In connection with this Nalkowska's style also underwent a thorough change. It began to be characterized by an ever increasing simplicity, economy, and concentration together with a striving for 'authenticity' in grasping and elaborating her themes. The hunger for 'authenticity' and 'truth' which engrossed the minds of all post-war Europe, was reflected in the Polish novel as well. The slogan of 'new objectivism' ('neue Sachlichkeit') was modified by Nalkowska to 'written reality.' This meant consciously foregoing many traditional means of intriguing the reader and of keeping him in suspense; sometimes it even meant breaking with the traditional novel form for the sake of an exact, dispassionate description of a seemingly simple and commonplace reality, which, however, contained profound problems. Consequently many of Nalkowska's works of that time lack the character of traditional novels with absorbing plots and conflicts; nevertheless, they are original and well constructed works of art (Dom nad Iqkami, The House On the Meadows, 1925; Choucas, 1927). Nalkowska did not limit herself to this form, however. The force of the novel tradition is evidently so great that a true novelist must write novels in the proper sense of the word. Nalkowska's last work written before the Second World War, Granica (The Frontier, 1935), is just such a novel in which a fascinating plot is combined with the style of'written reality' to make an original entity. The younger novelists of that period sought new means of expression either within the framework of a broadly conceived realism, cr beyond it. In both cases the evolution took place in structure and style. On the

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whole, however, the majority of these attempts had no revolutionary character. The instances where a writer goes beyond the sphere of 'realism' are rare and rather isolated. More frequent were the methods of refreshing the realistic technique by new means of composing the plot: abandoning the chronological sequence of events for the sake of anticipation, flashbacks of all kinds and also of a parallel simultaneous development of several actions; the mingling of various points of view from which characters and events are presented; synthetic shortcuts in characterization, dramatization of the dialogues. But even among the young writers there have been attempts to return to the traditional, simple novelistic form with an uncomplicated technique. The artistic results depended, of course, not so much on the type of the technique as on the method of its application and its efficiency. Ferdynand GOETEL (born 1890) first wrote a number of stories (Pqtnik Karapeta, The Pilgrim of Karapet, 1923), based on his own experiences during the four years of his deportation to Turkestan during the First World War. These stories are simple both in style and in structure, but they reveal considerable narrative talent and the freshness of a simple world view. These same traits may be observed in the novel Kar-Chat (1923, translated into English with an introduction by G. K. Chesterton), where the action also takes place in Turkestan. A few years later Goetel wrote Z dnia na dzien (From Day to Day, 1926, also translated into English), in which he used the technique of interweaving two parallel plots; one of them deals with the hero's love adventure in Turkestan and the other with his civilized family life in Krakow. Among the original effects of such a structure is the equally vivid portrayal of the past and the present, as well as the contemplating of each period from the point of view of the other period. Unfortunately, the work ends with the breaking off of the story rather than with a solution of its problem. Equally unfortunate is the fact that Goetel's subsequent novels are inferior to his earlier ones. Michal CHOROMANSKI (born 1904) was a more radical innovator with regard to structure, though he remained within the frame of 'realistic verisimilitude' in his novel Zazdrosc i medycyna (Jealousy and Medicine, 1932). The true 'content' and problem of this work is not the story of the love and jealousy of a small-town physician, but the method by which the individual elements of the subject are composed. The stoiy begins at the end (like Nalkowska's The Frontier), and proceeds with a flashback account of what happened in the course of the preceding week; this account, which leads us back to the beginning, is in turn interspersed with new reversions to past months or even to past years. This technique creates a

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very suggestive atmosphere of unrest, strangeness, and mystery, which harmonizes perfectly with the inner lives of the characters. In order to intensify this atmosphere the author consciously employs various means of presenting the plot such as indirect narration (by the author) and direct narration (by individual characters), dramatic dialogues, meditations and confessions in a journal. In spite of its great diversity of material, the novel does not fall apart into unrelated fragments, but constitutes an artistically organic entity. Jaroslaw IWASZKIEWICZ (born 1 8 9 4 ) experimented on a more modest scale. He was a poet of multifarious talents (one of the first members of the 'Skamander' group), a short-story writer, novelist, and essayist. He began with lyric poetry which had a style of its own, and later turned toward prose. His numerous short stories and novels are of unequal value. He tried various methods and styles, but in general lie adhered to realistic patterns, which he attempted to imbue with new life. He succeeded best in this respect in his novel, Ksiqzyc wschodzi (The Moon Rises, 1925) and in a volume of short stories, Pannyz Wilka (Girls from Wilk, 1 9 3 3 ) , which show considerable skill in handling literary material by a true short-story method. One should also emphasize the author's vivid, succinct and truly individual style. In his novel Kordian and the Plebeian ( 1 9 3 2 ) Leon KRUCZKOWSKI (born 1900) chose the traditional novel pattern for his analysis of the Polish Insurrection of 1830 from the point of view of the working masses. He pointed out in his book the essential 'sore spot' of the Polish cause, namely the oppression of the peasantry, but did not succeed always in documenting it artistically. In the second decade of this period the novel owes much of its development to a condiderable number of talented young women novelists who too either traveled over the beaten path or looked for new roads, frequently producing interesting and valuable works regardless of the structure adopted. Thus in Helena BOGUSZEWSKA'S novel, Cale zycie Sabiny (Sabina's Entire Life, 1934) we have a vivid picture of the memories of an average and unlucky woman, memories evoked during a fatal illness and presented in a very interesting frame. In collaboration with Jerzy KORNACKI, Boguszewska published a social novel in the spirit of unanimisme, entitled Jadq wozy z ceglq (The Brick Carts Are Rolling, 1 9 3 5 ) . Marja K U N C E W I C Z (born 1 8 9 7 ) produced a nearly classical novel of character in her Cudzoziemka (The Stranger; translated into English); Marja GOJAWICZYNSKA presented a rich gallery of vivid and original types of girls from a Warsaw suburb in a series of related tales collected

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in two volumes, Dziewcz^ta z Nowolipek (The Girls of Nowolipki, 1935). Ewa SZELBURG-ZAREMBINA (born 1899) combines 'realistic,' visionary and fantastic elements in a suggestive manner in her novel, drowka Joanny (The Wandering of Johanna). Zofia KOSSAK-SZCZUCKA (born 1890) is responsible for the revival of the historical novel; she began by writing about Poland's past {Zlota wolnosc, Golden Freedom, 1928 ;Legnickiepole, The Field of Legnica, 1 9 3 0 ) , but later conceived the ambitious plan of depicting the history of the first Crusade in Krzyzowcy (The Crusaders, 1936). This novel is impressive in the wealth of material, which KossakSzczucka has assembled and studied, in its language, modeled on Poland's best historical novels; it is, however, less satifying from the point of view of the artistic elaboration of that material and of structure. Her last novel, Bez orqza (Without Arms)4 dealing with St. Francis and the Children's Crusade enjoyed great success in America. Great insight and historical feeling may be found in Aniela GRUSZECKA'S (pen name: Jan Powalski) novel, Nad jeziorem (On the Lake, 1921). Marja D^BROWSKA went in an entirely different direction in Note i dnie (Nights and Days), a novel planned on a large scale. The first volume ( 1 9 3 2 , the next three came out between the years 1 9 3 2 - 3 4 ) aroused enthusiasm in certain critics and in a part of the reading public. The work was hailed as marking a new era in the development of the Polish novel. Such opinion was the outcome of psychological moods rather than of thorough analysis of the work — indeed it was formed even before the next volumes were published. The public (and probably some critics as well) already were a little weary of the various experiments in novelistic structure. Accordingly it was with relief and joy that they greeted a book the essential trait of which was simplicity — simplicity in all its component elements: structure, language, characters and the type of life portrayed. With regard to the structure Dgbrowska reverted to an old novel form, which might be called that of a chronicle. Like a chronicle, such a novel 'begins at the beginning' with the genealogy of the characters; the narration of events then follows in chronological order and continues for a longer or shorter period of time; it could, for that matter, continue indefinitely, presenting the history of one, two, three or more generations. Such method brings the structure of the novel closer to the normal course of human life and endows it with the charm of 'authenticity.' The latter trait becomes even more pronounced because of the kind of the characters, 4 Published under the title Blessed Are the Meek, in Rulka Langer's translation (New York, Roy Publishers).

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the method of their treatment and the language of the novel. The characters are simple and average. In addition to the two leading heroes there appears a crowd of secondary persons, frequently without any essential neccessity, especially in the latter volumes of the novel. This also corresponds to 'the way things are in life.' The author's narrative is also of the simplest kind; it flows slowly, in a broad stream in true epic manner. Descriptions and narratives are often interrupted by the author's interesting remarks and aphorisms, a device also in harmony with the traditional character of the novel. The style has much of the epic breadth of Tolstoy. The linguistic material is equally simple and colloquial, but D^browska's manipulation of it is on a high artistic level and creates a style of great originality and vivacity. It should be emphasized that D^browska's simplicity does not result from mediocrity, but rather from a great force of talent and a high artistic quality. Although her novel does not mark 'an epoch' in Polish literary history, it certainly is a crowning of the traditional novel form which it imbues with new life. Furthermore, thanks to its historical 'authenticity' and artistic truth, it is a document of no mean value, eloquently portraying the life of plain, average people during the period between the 1860's and the outbreak of the First World War. Jozef W I T T L I N (born 1896) presented another aspect of simplicity in his novel Sol ziemi (Salt of the Earth, 1935). Here the author, previously known for his poetry — for instance the impressive Hymns (1920), written after the First World War, in which he had depicted all the hideousness of war, and his excellent translation of the Odyssey — produced a 'war novel' quite different from other books of this kind that had hitherto appeared either in Poland or the West. Several factors are responsible for the originality of Salt of the Earth. In the first place, the war (that is, the opening months of World War I, which are described in the first volume, the only one to have appeared thus far) is seen through the eyes of a simple 'Hutsul' peasant of Polish-Ukrainian origin. This man lives in a state of never-ending bewilderment; everything he sees appears puzzling, mysterious and paradoxical to him: mobilization, militarization of railways, medical examination, evacuation. The strangeness of the world, as reflected in the soul of Piotr Niewiadomski, becomes a forceful means of artistic expression. Facts and phenomena grow into symbols of important and weighty problems. The experiences of this simple man assume a universal significance, become the common experiences of every man oppressed by the monstrous conditions of life during war times. A profound truth emanates from this simple epic tale

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and enriches our knowledge of human life. This is not to say, however, that the novel is altogether a placid and objective narrative. A distinct, though discreet, lyrical element shines through it from time to time manifesting itself in emotion, in subtle irony, in the author's comments and aphorisms, generalizations and symbolic images. The combination of this lyrical element with solicitude for concrete, realistic details produces a unique, half epic, half lyrical entity decidedly more impressive than the topically kindred writings of Remarque or Barbusse. Wittlin's novel has already been translated into several languages, including English (New York, 1941), and has met everywhere with great appreciation. A discussion of the work of Juljusz KADEN-BANDROWSKI (1885-1944) will conclude our survey of the novelists who looked for new means of expression within the scope of a broadly conceived realism. His literary career began in the pre-war period, but it was not until after the war that he wrote his most characteristic works, which stand on the borderline, as it were, between experimental realism and antirealism. They are voluminous novels, Czarne skrzydla (Black Wings, 1928) and Mateusz Bigda (1933). The Polish critic, Waclaw Borowy, accurately and picturesquely described the style of these novels as follows: 'His [KadenBandrowski's] characters are painted not with a brush, but with a broom, yet the ferocity alone with which he handles it make them startling. And what still enhances the impression is his method of amalgamating processes of the mind with processes of the body . . . He has shown us, indeed, people who apprehend with their noses, feel with their stomachs, and make decisions with their l e g s . . . ' This represents neither realism nor consistent antirealism. In addition to the care for probability and logical motivation may also be found certain weird visionary elements, deformation of shapes, sounds, and colors of the real world, a kind of gaudy, blatant expressiveness. It is needless to add that this style at times produces powerful effects, but in the long run becomes monotonous. The problems dealt with by Kaden — for instance the life of various social classes in the coal-mining region or the various aspects of parliamentary life — assume, through the application of this technique, correspondingly weird dimensions, which are still more enhanced by the truly Juvenalian fury — as Borowy put it — with which he tears away the veil from the sundry fostering wounds of community life. In his earlier works Kaden was able to apply a different, more moderate technique. Miasto mojej matki (My Mothers' Town, 1925), a series of reminiscing tales from his childhood replete with lofty and tender emotions is noteworthy among these works.

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In spite of the fact that the novelists of this period rarely went altogether beyond the limits of realism, this trend did have some interesting representatives. The theoretician of this trend and its exponent in drama, and partly also in novel, was Stanislaw Ignacy WITKIEWICZ ( 1 8 8 5 - 1 9 3 9 ) , son of the well-known painter and art critic, and himself a gifted painter and theorist of 'pure form.' Unfortunately, his theory is far from being clear and constitutes a collection of views and opinions, frequently just and original, rather than a compact system. Witkiewicz applies the principles of pure form to painting and to drama. 'Essential is,' Witkiewicz claimed, 'the possibility of freely deforming life or the world of imagination for the purpose of creating a whole the meaning of which would be defined only by the internal, purely scenicconstruction not by the demands of a consistent psychology or action according to some premises of l i f e . . . ' It was in this spirit that Witkiewicz wrote many dramas, only a few of which were presented on the stage; they are interesting experiments, disclosing considerable dramatic talent, but they do not constitute an organic entity, a quality which, after all, must be required of every work of art, no matter how greatly it may distort life. This is more or less true with Witkiewicz's novels. Having arbitrarily excluded the novel from the domain of art and calling it a kind of a 'bag' into which one may stuff whatever one pleases, he wrote novels in which, as in his plays, the element of distortion manifests itself strongly combined not only with realistic but also with hypernaturalistic elements (Pozegnanie jesieni, Farewell to Autumn, 1 9 2 7 ; Nienasycenie, Insatiableness, 1 9 3 0 ) . Bruno S C H U L T Z was more consistent and mature, and less diffuse in his antirealism. In his Sklepy cynamonowe (Cinnamon Shops, 1934) he presented a picture of the oddness and mystery of existence more expressively than Witkiewicz could have done. In the twenty years before the Second World War no startling developments occurred in the realm of drama. Karol Hubert ROSTWOROWSKI (1877-1938) was considered the outstanding dramatic poet. Prior to the First World War his play Judas was performed in Krakow (1913); its very subject was a proof of the author's high ambitions; its treatment disclosed a sense for great conflicts and the following of great dramatic lines, for the pathos of great theater and for moral problems. Further attempts in the same direction failed to produce the expected results, however; neither did endeavors to continue Wyspianski's dramatic art prove successful. On the other hand, Rostworowski's cycle of dramas in which morai and social themes were presented in a contemporary setting (for instance, Niespodzianka, The Suprise, 1929) again revealed his

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dramatic talent in posing and developing the problem of crime, its origin and consequences. Nalkowska's attempt at a stage play caused less surprise than ¿eromski's production of The Quail, because her control over the literary material, her objectivity and understanding of dramatic conflicts were already evident in her novels. Her two plays, Dom Kobiet (The House of Women, 1930) and Dzien jego powrotu (The Day of his Return, 1931), constitute an important item in the Polish drama of this period. The former is especially interesting in that, although it is devoid of action, an element which is considered to be the cornerstone of every drama, it is characterized by a high degree of dramatic suspense. This suspense is attained by a subtle use of reminiscence, which is made dramatically effective in the conversations between women of various ages who live together in one house. Their memories are of men and love, but beneath this motif lies a deeper problem, that of the loneliness of every human being, of his limited knowledge of other people, the relativity of everything, even of reminiscences. The purpose of The Day of His Return is, in the author's own words, to show a crime and its ramifications in the moral and emotional life of persons connected with the criminal. These ramifications lead to several highly dramatic conflicts intensified and gradually laid bare with great mastery. The entire play is overshadowed by the ominous problem, already noted in Nalkowska's collection of stories, The Walls of the World, i.e. the 'duty of evil' which must be somehow apportioned among people, and is combined with the problem of the potentiality of crime in everybody. The task of reviving the symbolic and 'Stimmung' drama was attempted by Jerzy SZANIAWSKI (born 1 8 8 7 ) . In a series of well constructed and in part even intriguing plays, the most noteworthy of which are Ptak (The Bird, 1923) and Adwokat i rôze (Attoraey-at-Law and Roses, 1929), he presented conflicts between 'reality and dream' by means of some poetic effects and moods not very profound and evoked by 'meaningful' silences and suggested implications. Another attempt at 'heating up a cold dish' was made in the historical comedies of Adolf NOWACZYNSKI, a writer who really belonged to an earlier generation (1876-1944). Properly speaking, these plays were historical chronicles in dialogue, written with aplomb and a flair for the stage by a journalist who earned the reputation of a Polish Léon Daudet. A valuable contribution to the comedy of the time was made by the novelist Wtodzimierz PERZYNSKI. In his comedies he gave a similar picture of the world of the petite bourgeoisie which he had already shown in his novels. He revealed great dramatic talent in the way he posed his charac-

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ters and set them in motion. This is particularly true of his earlier comedies, such as Lekkomyslna siostra (The Lighthearted Sister 1904), Aszantka (1906), Szczqscie Frania (Franio's Happiness, 1909). These are light, gay, witty plays, which however touch upon the essence of petty bourgeois morality. Perzynski's post-war dramatic works (for instance, Usmiech losu, The Smile of Fate, 1926, or Lekarz mitosci, The Physician of Love, 1928), though they preserve several first-rate qualities, fail from the point of view of the structure. Some of his plays are perfectly set up in the first act but 'fall apart' in the later acts, presenting in the end a ruin of frequently excellent characters, conceptions and scenes. Structurally, the comedies of the poet Slonimski stand on a much higher level. There is in them something of the atmosphere of G. B. Shaw's plays, namely the extraordinary gift for creating action from and through the dialogue. This dialogue is so splendid, scintillating, and intelligent, it contains so much wit, sarcasm, and irony, it bares the inside of paltry souls so thoroughly that events, entanglements, and conflicts are contained in the dialogue itself and do not need 'action.' Among Slonimski's best comedies are Murzyrt warszawski (The Warsaw Negro, 1928), a very witty picture of snobbery in certain Polish-Jewish circles, and Rodzina (The Family, 1934), a satire on Hitlerism, Bolshevism, and on the Polish landed gentry as well. The character of Bruno W I N A W E R ' S comedies is similar, though more forced. One of them, Ksi^ga Hioba (The Book of Job, 1921), was translated into English by Joseph Conrad. The comedies of Antoni CWOJDZINSKI are conceived essentially in the spirit of Bernard Shaw's technique. Their novelty consists in the dramatization, or, to be more explicit, in the staging of present day scientific questions (the author was a physicist by profession). One of his comedies is entitled Teorja wzglgdnosci (The Theory of Relativity, 1925), another Teorja sndw Freuda (Freud's Theory of Dreams). Taking up such subjects, which until then had probably not been presented on the stage, the author assigned to himself the difficult task of popularizing them for the general public. The fact that he did it in a way both overpopular and highly amusing, is proof positive of his knowledge of stage technique and of the psychology of the public. On the other hand, in his desire to entertain he had to resort to caricature, particularly apparent in The Theory of Dreams, and to leaven it with at least a slight plot in order to comply with the basic requirements of the drama. Such a combination of'theory' with comedy action is very ingenious and assured Cwojdziriski's plays great success.

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Generally speaking, Polish drama remained, like the novel,within the bounds of realism, by experimenting occasionally with modernization and revision of realistic means. The sole noteworthy deviation from this course are the plays of 'pure form* of Stanislaw Ignacy Witkiewicz (Tumor Mdzgowicz, 1920, or Pragmatysci, The Pragmatists, 1920). All branches of literary scholarship made fruitful progress during this period. The old guard scholars and professors mentioned in the preceding chapter was still at work, and they were assisted by younger scholars, mostly their pupils. The general historical and philological trend remained largely unaltered, but it deepened and broadened under the influence of new minds. Among the older literary historians, Ignacy CHRZANOWSKI, professor of the Jagiellonian University (tortured to death by the Germans in 1939 at the camp in Oranienburg), was a very active scholar and teacher throughout the entire period. He was the author of several studies of old and modern literature and a popular textbook, Historja literatury niepodleglej Polski (History of Literature of Independent Poland), published before the First World War (1908); this book became a fundamental text for the teaching of Polish literature in private schools in the Kingdom and after 1918 all over Poland. Edward PoRgBOWicz, professor at the University of Lwow, was not only an outstanding scholar in the Romance Languages but also a gifted poet, who made an excellent translation of Dante's Divine Comedy, and of old French and old Italian poetry. He also contributed a valuable study about Andrzej Morsztyn to the history of Polish literature (1893). Among the younger generation there were several distinguished scholars: Juljusz KLEINER, a professor at Lw6w, the author of exhaustive monographs of Krasinski, Slowacki, and Mickiewicz, one of the most prolific minds of the young generation; he is an erudite in philosophy as well and able to revive the historical-philological method by beautiful aesthetic analyses of literary works; Juljan KRZYZANOWSKI, professor in London, Riga ,and recently in Warsaw, whose great merit lies especially in research on Old Polish literature and folklore; J6zef UJEJSKI, the author of an exhaustive study of Polish messianism and a monograph of Malczewski; Zygmunt LEMPICKI, Professor of Germanic Philology at the University of Warsaw, a distinguished specialist in methodological problems; Stanislaw W^DKIEWICZ, a learned scholar in Romance languages, editor of the important monthly, Przeglqd wspolczesny (The Contemporary Review); Waclaw LEDNICKI, student of Russian literature; Stanislaw PIGON, who devoted himself chiefly to studies about Mickiewicz; Eugenjusz KUCHARSKI, a Fredro specialist and theoretician of literature;

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Stanisiaw K O T and Stanislaw LEMPICKI, excellent scholars in the history of culture — and innumerable others. In this period Gabriel K O R B U T published his life work, Literatura polska (Polish Literature), a unique book which contains the biographies and works of every Polish author, together with an almost complete critical bibliography. Waclaw BOROWY combined the features of a philologist, historian, and esthetic critic in a special way, and is the author of a series of precise and beautifully written literary studies (died in 1950). Karol IRZYKOWSKI was a creative and inspiring literary critic who had worked in the field since the end of the last century; he was a man of independent and original thought, who was concerned chiefly with the problems of literary works, like Boy-Zeleñski, though in a different way. Among the younger critics, Stefan KOLACZKOWSKI followed the ways and bypaths of Brzozowski; he was the author of interesting studies about Kasprowicz, Wyspiañski and Norwid (died after being released from a Nazi concentration camp). New horizons in literary criticism were shown by Leon PIWINSKI (who died in Warsaw during the war) and Karol ZAWODZINSKI (died in 1949). The former devoted himself chiefly to the novel, the latter to lyric poetry. Their reviews and articles published in periodicals were conscienscious and subtle descriptions of literary works from a purely literary point of view which analyzed such questions as structure, language, style, and versification. Their work raised literary criticism to a higher level and was instructive both to the authors and the public. Piwiñski was an excellent connoisseur of the modern European and Polish novel; Zawodziñski revived the study of versification which had been quite neglected in Poland, with authority, taste and on a solid theoretical training. Franciszek SIEDLECKI, who died young during the war, showed great promise; a distinguished and zealous scholar, he published two original books on Polish verse. In this way there began in Poland, as in Western Europe and in Russia, a reaction against the traditional treatment of literature as a collection of historical, social, and moral documents, and a turn towards the so-called formal method. The publication Z zagadnieñ poetyki (Problems of Poetics), issued in Wilno since 1935, was an expression of this reaction. Other humanistic disciplines were developing normally and sucessfully and were represented by distinguished scholars as the linguists Jan Rozwadowski, Kazimierz Nitsch, Tytus Benni, T. Lehr-Splawinski; the classical philologists of the older generation: Kazimierz Morawski, Tadeusz Zieliñski, a scholar of European fame, formerly professor at

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Russian universities, and Sternbach, and the younger scholars, Stefan Srebrny, Tadeusz Sinko and Ryszard Ganszyniec; history was cultivated by Marceli Handelsman (tortured to death by the Germans), Adam Skatkowski, Wl. Konopczynski and others. Great and significant changes took place in the realm of philosophy. Earlier it had been limited to the study of the existing philosophical systems or the erection of new ones, devoting itself to logic and psychology only incidentally. Now both psychology and logic together with methodology became separate disciplines. The development of philosophy followed the lead it had been given by the outstanding scholar and teacher Kazimierz Twardowski, professor at Lwow for many years, towards the development of logic and methodology on the basis of mathematics. Several pupils of Twardowski: Jan Lukasiewicz, Tadeusz Kotarbinski, Stanislaw Lesniewski and others, were appointed to chairs of philosophy at the universities and developed this kind of investigation to form that Polish school of logic which was well known at home and abroad. Their work was based on mathematics which was also greatly developing in Poland at this time. Warsaw and Lwow especially became the centers of intensive mathematical work, which was pursued by such scholars as Sierpinski, Mazurkiewicz, Tarski, Banach, Steinhaus, and Zygmund. The Fundamenta Mathematicae, which appeared in Warsaw, and Studia Mathematica in Lwow, which printed the works of both Polish and foreign scholars, gave the Polish mathematical school a high position abroad, both in Western Europe and in America. Phenomenology, a philosophic trend created in Germany by Husserl, was represented in Poland by his outstanding pupil, Roman Ingarden, who was the author of the fundamental book on the 'ontology* of a literary work, published in German (Das literarische Kunstwerk [Halle, 1931]), besides other more specialized works. Henryk Elzenberg devoted his few but essential studies to questions of aesthetics. In nearly all the branches of learning there were outstanding Polish scholars at the time. It is impossible to enumerate all of them, but a few who won international recognition should be mentioned: Maria SklodowskaCurie, one of the discoverers of radium, Bronislaw Malinowski, anthropologist and professor in London for many years; Kazimierz Fajans, chemist, professor at Munich University before the Hitler regime; Rafal Taubenschlag, professor of Roman law; Florjan Znaniecki, sociologist, especially appreciated and well known in the United States; Stefan Czarnowski, also a sociologist, highly valued in French scholarly circles; Andrzej Gawroriski, one of the outstanding scholars in Sanskrit

508

POLAND REBORN

philology who died young; Banachiewicz, astronomer; Weigel, bacteriologist. Scholarly work was, naturally, conducted chiefly at the universities, at the Academy of Arts and Sciences, and in Learned Societies which existed in all university cities. Unfortunately, the modest funds at the disposal of these institutions, the general impoverishment of society which made all large private donations to scholarly work, scholarships or publications, impossible, considerably slowed down the development of learning. The poverty of students at the higher institutions of learning began to assume disquieting proportions towards the end of this period. It was difficult to grant stipends even to the most gifted for further studies after graduation. If in spite of these difficulties learning developed and the dangers explained above failed to reach catastrophic dimensions, we owe it to the vital force of Polish society which was able to work in all fields in spite of unfavorable conditions. In the fine arts as in the literature of the period, several new trends crisscrossed, co-existing with the old ones and rarely assuming a revolutionary character. Impressionism died out faster and more thoroughly in painting than in literature, and it gave way to new movements which emphasized the importance of structure, composition, and solid form. The young group of 'formists' was first organized in Krakow with these aims in mind, and it was followed by the 'Rhythm' group in Warsaw and later by many other more or less similar artistic associations. There was room in all of them for a great variety of frequently outstanding artistic talent. We enumerate the most important of these artists without trying to explain their allegiance to any particular program: Eugenjusz 2ak, Waclaw Borowski, Roman Kramsztyk, Wadaw Wqsowicz, Tadeusz Pruszkowski; Wladyslaw Skoczylas, who produced many splendid watercolors; Zofia Stryjenska, the author of a collection of lithographs called 'The Slavic Gods,' of illustrations of Christmas carols and old Polish legends; she also made six large decorative panels for the Polish pavilion at the World's Fair in Paris, for which the artist received the French 'Grand Prix.' In Wilno a group of professors of painting was active at the Art Department of the University with Ludomir Slendziriski, the most 'neoclassical' of contemporary painters, as their leader. Rafal Malczewski, son of Jacek, devoted himself chiefly to landscape painting. He belonged rather to the young generation of artists, which had many representatives in all the large cities of Poland: 'Bractwo sw. tukasza' ( T h e Fraternity of St. Luke') and 'Szkola warszawska' ('The Warsaw School') in Warsaw;

POLAND REBORN

509

'Jednorog' ('The Single Horn') and 'Zwornik' ('Keystone')in Krakow; 'Plastyka' ('Plastics') and 'Avantgarde' in Poznan; and 'Artes' in Lwow. Among these younger artists there were also trends which broke with all known tradition, propagating 'abstract,' 'nonobjective' painting, which consisted exclusively in an artistic combination of colors and forms. In spite of the difficult material conditions in which the young artists were forced to live, their determination and enthusiasm did not fail. The academies were full of students, life and movement, and the work they produced was generally of a high standard. The old Polish tradition of graphic arts was maintained through this period, although necessarily their character was changed. The most prominent graphic artist of the older generation was Leon Wycz Polsce za czasôw Slanislawa Augusta. Lwôw, 1904. Hahn, Wiktor. Literatura dramatyczna w Polsce XVI wieku. Lwôw, 1906. Janik, Micha!. Hugo KoUqtaj. Lwôw, 1913. Kleiner, Juljusz. Adam Mickiewicz. 2 vols. Lublin, 1948. Juljusz Siowacki. Dzieje Iworczoici. 4 vols. Lwôw, 1919-27. Zygmunt Krasinski. Dzieje mysli. Lwôw, 1912. Koiaczkowski, Stefan. Stanislaw Wyspianski. Krakôw, 1923. Twàrczoié Jana Kasprowicza. Krakôw, 1924. Konopczyùski, Wiadyslaw. Stanislaw Konarski. Warszawa, 1926. Kot, Stanislaw. A. Frycz Modrzewski. Krakôw, 1923. Krzyzanowski, Juljan. Jan Kochanowski. Warszawa, 1948. Romans polski w. XVI. Lublin, 1934. Wl.St.Reymont. Twôrca i dzielo. Lwôw, 1937. Ksifga pamiqtkowa ku czci Leopolda Staffa. Warszawa, 1949. Kucharski, Eugenjusz. Chronologja komedji Fredry. Krakôw, 1920. Fredro a komedja obca. Stosunek do komedji wloskiej. Krakôw, 1921. Leéniewski, Czestaw. Stanislaw Staszic. Warszawa, 1926. Matuszewski, Ignacy. Siowacki i nowa sztuka. Warszawa, 1901. Pigoà, Stanislaw. O Ksifgach narodu i pielgrzymstwa polskiego. Krakôw, 1911. Pan Tadeusz, wzrost, wielkoic, slawa. Warszawa, 1934. Piohin-Noyszewski, S. Stefan2eromski. Dom, dzieciiistwo, mlodosc. Warszawa, 1928. Porçbowicz, Edward. A. Morsztyn, przedstawiciel baroku w poezji polskiej. Krakôw, 1893. Rocznik literacki. 1932-38. Rzeuska, Marja. "Chlopi" Reymonta. Warszawa, 1950. SlawiAska, Irena. O komedjach Morwida. Lublin, 1953. Szweykowski, Zygmunt, "Dzieje powieici w Polsce," in Dzieje literatury pifknej w Polsce. Krakôw, 1935. "Lalka" B. Prusa (Warszawa, 1935). Twôrczoic Boleslawa Prusa. Poznart, 1947. Weintraub, Wiktor. Styl Kochanowskiego. Krakôw, 1939. Windakiewicz, Stanislaw. Jan Kochanowski. Krakôw, 1930. Piotr Skarga. Krakôw, 1925. Teatr ludowy h» dawrtej Polsce. Krakôw, 1902. Wojciechowski, Konstanty. Henryk Sienkiewicz. Lwôw-Warszawa, 1925. Historja powieici w Polsce. Lwôw, 1925. Kajetan Koimian. Lwôw, 1897. Wyka, Kazimierz. Cyprjan Norwid. Krakôw, 1948.

INDEX OF NAMES

Abraham, Jan, 398 Adalberg, S., 400 Adelaida, duchess, 10 Albert of Brandenbrug, 39, 51 Aleksander, king, 39, 89 Alexander I, tsar, 194, 197, 199-200, 292 Alexandreide, 29 Anczyc, Ludwik, 396 Ariosto, 154 Askenazy, Szymon, 398 Asnyk, Adam, 390-91, 393, 403, 411 August II, king, 123 August III, king, 123, 188 Bacciarelli, Marcello, 189 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 188 Balicki, Zygmunt, 358 Bahicki, Michal, 395 Balzer, Oswald, 398 Batory, Stefan, king, 40,41,67, 81, 86, 89, 93, 194; and humanism, 47 Becu, August, 194, 268, 271 Bekwark, Walenty (Greff-Bakfark), 91 Bern, Jozef, general, 247, 307 Benni, Tytus, 506 Berent, Wactaw, 447-50, 494 Berga, Auguste, 83, 84 Bernatowicz, Feliks, 212 Berwinski, Ryszard, 329 Biblja Krolowej Zofli (Queen Sophie's Bible), 28 Bielowski, August, 244, 292 Biernat of Lublin, 53 Birkowski, Fabjan, 117 Bliziriski, Jozef, 395 Bobrzynski, Michal, 397 Bogurodzica dziewica (Mother of God and Virgin), 14-15, 30 Boguslawski, Wojciech, 165, 189, 204 Boguszewska, Helena, 498 Boguszewski, Krzysztof, 122 Bohomolec, Franciszek, 165-66

Bohusz, Marjan (J. K. Potocki), 358 Boileau — Despreaux, Nicolas, 154, 156, 162, 172 Bojanus, Ludwik Henryk, 194 Bojko, Jak6b, 351 Boleslaw the Bold, king, 13, !4, 17. 31, 450, 451, 470 Bolestaw the Brave, king, 13, 17 Boleslaw the Wry-mouthed, king, 13, 17 Borbone, Pedro, 122 Borowski, Waclaw, 508 Borowy, Waclaw, 160, 506 Borzymowski, Wojciech, 122 Boy-2elenski, Tadeusz, 493-95, 506 Branicka, Eliza, 294 Brodzinski, Kazimierz, 209-11 Broniewski, Wladyslaw, 490-91 Brozek, Jan, 98 Bruchnalski, Wilhelm, 400 Brückner, Aleksander, 16, 18, 41, 48, 99, 399-400, 480 Brzozowski, Karol, 329, 417 Brzozowski, Stanislaw, 466-67, 506 Brzozowski-Korab, Stanislaw, 417 Buonacorsi, Philip (Kallimach), 45, 64 Budny, Szymon, 52 Burke, Edmund, 142 Camoens, Luis de, 308 Canaletto (Bernardo Belotto), 189 Canute the Great, 10 Catherine, saint, 31 Catherine II, tsarina, 133, 134, 143, 160, 194 Celtes, 25, 45 Charles XII, king of Sweden, 123 Chelmonski, J6zef, 402 Chesterton, G. K., 497 Chlapowski, Dezydery, 246 Chlebowski, Bronislaw, 399, 400 Chmielnicki, Bohdan, 93-94 Chmielowski, Benedykt, 126

INDEX OP NAMES Chmielowski, Piotr, 399, 401 Chodkiewicz, Jan Karol, 107, 108, 163 Chodowiecki, Daniel, 189 Chodzko, Ignacy, 341 Chotoniewski, Stanislaw, 233 Chopin, Frederic, 306, 308-9, 314, 345, 346 Choromaûski, Michal, 497-98 Christopher, saint, 31 Chryslus zmartwychwstal je (Christ Was Resurrected), 22 Chrzanowski, Ignacy, 504 Cieszkowski, August, 319 Ciotek, Stanislaw, 38 Ciszewski, Stanislaw, 400 Clement XIV, pope, 139 Cnapius, George, 98 Comestor, Peter, 28 Comte, Auguste, positivism of, in Poland, 352-53 Conrad, Joseph (Joseph Conrad Korzeniowski), 484, 495, 504 Constantine, grand duke, 199, 238, 241 Copernicus, Nicholas, 25, 26 Corneille, Pierre, 204 de Courtenay, Jan Baudouin, 400 Crocus, Cornelius, 58 Cwojdziäski, Antoni, 504 Czacki, Tadeusz, 195 Czarniecki, Stefan, 117 Czarnocki, Adam, 211 Czarnowski, Stefan, 507 Czartoryska, Isabelle, princess, 207 Czartoryska, Marja, duchess, 212 Czartoryski, Adam Jerzy, prince, 194, 197, 201, 244, 317, 453 Czartoryski, Adam K&zimierz, prince, 139, 186, 194, 266 Czartoryski family, 145, 173, 189, 319 Czechowicz, Jôzef, 492 Czechowicz, Marcin, 52 Czechowicz, Szymon, 188, 189 Czernecki, Stanislaw, 124 Czuchnowski, Marjan, 492 D^browska, Marja, 499-500 D^browski, Henryk, general, 197, 202, 260, 431 D^browski, Ignacy, 446 Danilowski, G us taw, 445 Dante Alighieri, 201, 277, 286, 308, 485, 504 Daszynski, Ignacy, 359

519

DeLille, Jacques, 204 DembiÄski, Henryk, general, 247, 345 Dembowski, Edward, 246 Dlugoraj, Wojciech, 91 Dhigosz, Jan, abp., 22,25,26-27,89,163, 164, 315 Dmochowski, F. S., 141, 183 Dmochowski, Ks., 185 Dmowski, Roman, 358, 374 Dorothea, saint, 31 Druzbacka, Elzbieta, 128 Dubrawka, princess, 11 Dunikowski, Ksawery, 470 Duns Scotus, John, 26 Dürer, Hans, 91 Dygasinski, Adolf, 387 Dzierzwa, chronicler, 14 Eisner, Jözef Ksawery, 345 Etzenberg, Henryk, 507 Enlightenment: characteristics of, in Poland, 134-37; literary effects of, 137-38 Estreicher, Karol, 18, 400 Fajans, Kazimierz, 507 Faleiiski, Felicjan, 394 Feldman, Wilhelm, 467-68 Felinski, Alojzy, 204-5 Finck, Heinrich, 89 Finkel, Ludwik, 398 Fitelberg, Jerzy, 510 Fredro, Aleksander, 244, 321-26, 506 Fredro, Andrzej Maksymiljan, 116-17 Galecki, Tadeusz (Andrzej Strug), 44546, 494 Gatka, Jfdrzej, 34 Gallus Anonymus, chronicler, 9, 13, 14 Ganszyniec, Ryszard, 507 Garczyriski, Stefan, 248 Gawronski, Andrzej, 507 Gerson, Wojciech, 345 Gessner, Salomon, 162 Geza, duke, 10 Gierymski, Aleksander, 402 Gierymski, Maksymilian, 402 Gloger, Zygmunt, 400 Glowacki, Aleksander (Boleslaw Prus), 355, 360-73, 374, 424, 435 Godebski, Cyprjan, 202 Goetel, Ferdynand, 497 Gojawiczynska, Marja, 498-99 Gohichowski, Agenor, 349

520

INDEX OF NAMES

Gom6Hca, Mikofaj, 69, 90 Gomulkki, Wiktor, 394 G6raicki, Lukasz, 86-47, 91 Goszczyfiski, Scvcryn, 237-38, 239, 240, 269, 306,411 Grabowski, Michal, 240, 334 Le Grain (Jan Ziamko), 122 Gresset, Jean Baptiste, 156 Groddeck, Ernest, 194 Grottger, Artur, 345, 401 Gruszecki, Artur, 390 Gruszecka, Aniela (Jan Powalski), 499 Grzegorz of San ok, abp., and humanism, 45 Handelsman, Marceli, 507 Heidenstein, Reinhold, 88-89 Heltman, Wiktor, 317 Henry of Valois, king, 40 Hevelius, Jan, 98 Hoehne-Wroiiski, J6zef, 319 Hoffman, Karol, 317 Hoffman, E. T. A., 345 Hofman, J6zef, 510 Horace, 154, 203 Horszowski, Mieczyslaw, 510 Hosius (Hose), cardinal, 18, 77; and Catholic Reform, 49; and Society of Jesus, 50 Huberman, Bronislaw, 510 Hussowski, Mikotaj, 53 Hymn o Duchu iwiftym (Hymn about the Holy Ghost), 30 Ibrahim, chronicler, 9, 10 IHakowiczAwna, Kazimiera, 487-88 Ingarden, Roman, 507 Irzykowski, Karol, 506 Ivan III, tsar, 23 Ivan IV (the Terrible), tsar, 40, 89, 93 Iwaszkiewicz, Jaroshtw, 498 Jacek, saint, 13 Jadwiga, queen, 19, 20, 22, 163 Jadwiga, saint, 13 Jak6b of Paradyz, 26 Jan of Glog6w, 26 Jan of Lublin, 90 Jan of Ludzisko, 45 Jan of Stobnica, 26 Jan of Wiilica, 53 Jan II (Kazimierz), king, 94, 104 Jan i n (Sobieski), king, 94, 97, 104, 122. 123, 152, 175, 189, 398

Janicki, KJemens, 53 Janko of Czarnk6w, 21 Jan Olbracht, king, 22, 23, 45, 89, 91 JaAski, Bohdan, 318 Januszkiewicz, Eustachy, 319 Jarocki, Wladyslaw, 468 Jarz^bski, Adam, 121 JasiAski, Jak6b, 139 Jetowicki, Aleksander, 319 Jez, Teodor Tomasz (Zygmunt Milkowski), 342-43 Jezierski, T. S., 185 Jezus Chryslus Bdg-cziowiek (Jesus Christ, God and Man), 22 Jundzill, Stanistaw Bonifacy, 141 Junosza, Klemens (Klemens Szaniawski), 387-88 Kaczkowski, Zygmunt, 342 Kaden-Bandrowski, Juljusz, 501 Kadhibek, Wincenty, 14 Kalinka, Walerjan, 317, 318, 397 Kallimach (Philip Buonacorsi), 45, 64 Kamieriski, Henryk, 246, 317 KamieAski, Maciej, 189 Karlowicz, Jan, 400 Karlowicz, Mieczyslaw, 471 Karptiski, Franciszek, 169-73, 174, 201; quoted, 170, 171 Kasprowicz, Jan, 412-16, 492, 506; quoted, 414 Kazania Gnieinienskie (Gniezno Sermons), 21 Kazanie na dzien Wszech Swiftych (Sermon on All-Saints Day), 29 Kazania Swiftokrzyskie (The Holy Cross Sermons), 16, 21, 22 Kazimierz III (the Great), king, 19, 20, 21, 29, 35, 120, 450, 451, 462 Kazimierz IV (the Jagiellonian), king, 22, 26,45 Kempa, Jan, bp., 37 Kinga, saint, 13 Kisielewski, August, 464-65 Klaczko, Juljan, 317-18 Kleiner, Juljusz, 504 Klonowicz, Sebastjan, 85-86 Kniaziewicz, Karol, general, 260 Kniainin, Franciszek Dyonizy, 173-76 Kochanowski, Jan, 15, 23-24, 53, 62-76, 85, 90, 91, 92. 101, 104, 108, 110, 113, 148, 170, 190, 211, 266, 399 Kochanowski, Piotr, 106

INDEX OF NAMES

Kochowski, Wespazjan, 114 Kolberg, Oskar, 400 Kobczkowski, Stefan, 506 Koft|taj, Hugo, 139, 140, 181-85, 435; quoted, 184-85 Komenski, Jan (Comenius), 98 Komorowska, Gertruda, 236 Konarski, Stanislaw, 128-32, 139, 176, 206,247 Kondratowicz, Ludwik (Wladyslaw Syrokomla), 328 Konicz, Tadeusz, 188 Konopnicka, Marja, 392-94, 403, 411 Konopczyriski, Wl„ 507 Kopczyiiski, Onufry, 141 Kopera, S., 401 Korbut, Gabijel, 400, 506 Kordccki, Augustyn, 94 Kornacki, Jerzy, 498 Korzeniowski, Apollo, 484-85 Korzeniowski, J6zef, 338-41 Korzon, Tadeusz, 398 Kossak, Juljusz, 345 Kossak-Szczucka, Zofja, 499 KoSciuszko, Tadeusz, 134, 139,186,197, 204, 308; Insurrection of, 142, 144-45, 175, 181, 185, 201 Kot, Stanislaw, 506 Kotarbrtski, Tadeusz, 507 Koimian, Kajetan, 203 Kramsztyk, Roman, 508 Krasicki, Ignacy, abp., 147-60, 163, 211; quoted, 149, 150, 151; compared with Rousseau, 157; compared with Rey, 158 Krasiriski, Wincenty, general, 292, 293 KrasiAski, Zygmunt, 122, 262, 273, 277, 283, 288, 291-305, 306, 312, 315, 339, 452, 504; on Siowacki, 289-90; quoted, 301 Kraszewski, J6zef Ignacy, 333-38, 359, 393, 399 Kremer, J6zef, 18, 318 Kromer, Marcin, bp., 18, 49, 77, 89 Kronika oliwska (Oliva Chronicle), 21 Kronika powszechna (General Chronicle), 14 Kronika wielkopolska (Wielkopolska Chronicle), 21 KropiAski, Ludwik, 212 Krowicki, Marcin, 52 Kruczkowski, Leon, 498 Krytiski, Adam Antoni, 400

521

Krzycki, Andrzej, 53, 64 Krzyzanowski, Juljan, 13, 504 Krzywicki, Ludwik, 361, 401 Ksifga Henrykowska (Book of Henryków), 14, 16 Rubala, Ludwik, 398 Kucharski, Aleksander, 189 Kucharski, Eugenjusz, 505 Kuna, Henryk, 470 Kuncewicz, Marja, 498 Kuntze, Tadeusz, 189 Kurek, Jalu, 492 Kurpióski, Karol, 345 La Fontaine, Jean de, 149, 160, 161 Lalewicz, Marjan, 509 Lam, Jan, 388 Landowska, Wanda, 510 Lange, Antoni, 416-17 Lechoó, Jan (Leszek Serafinowicz), 477, 484-85; quoted, 485 Lednicki, Waclaw, 504 Legenda o iwiftym Aleksym (Legend of St. Alexis), 30-31 Lehr-Splawihski, T., 506 Lelewel, Joachim, 18, 194, 217, 315-16, 453 Lenartowicz, Teofil, 327-28 Leopolita, Jan, 51 Leopolita, Marcin, 90 Leimian, Boleslaw, 417 Leiniewski, Stanislaw, 507 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 149 Libelt, Karol, 18, 246, 318-19 Linde, Samuel, 18 LipiAski, Karol Józef, 346 Liske, Ksawery, 398 Lorentowicz, Jan, 468 Louis XV, king of France, 132 Lubecki, Ksawery, prince, 198-99 Lubieniecki, Krzysztof, 122 Lubieniecki, Theodore (Bogdan), 122 Ludwik I (the Hungarian), king, 20 Ludwik II (Jagielto), 40 Laskarz, Andrzej, bp., 24 Laski, Jan, 51 Lempicki, Stanislaw, 506 Lempicki, Zygmunt, 504 Lozióski, Wladyslaw, 398 Lukasiewicz, Jan, 507 Mahrburg, Adam, 401 Maklakiewicz, Jan Adam, 510

522

INDEX OF NAMES

Malczewski, Antoni, 236, 240, 269 Malczewski, Jacek, 407, S08 Malczewski, Rafal, 508 Malecki, Antoni, 399 Malinowski, Bronistaw, 507 Malinowski, Mikotaj, 233 Marcinkowski, Karol, 246 Matejko, Jan, 345, 401 Mateusz of Kraków, cardinal, 25-26 Matuszewicz, Marcin, 126-27 Matuszewski, Ignacy, 465-66 Mauritius, chronicler, 9 Maximilian I, emperor, 39 Michal of Bystrzyków, 26 Michalowski, Piotr, 345 Micióski, Tadeusz, 417, 464 Mickiewicz, Adam, 62,112,148,172,194, 200, 202,213-35,236,237, 240, 247-67, 250-52, 268, 269, 270, 273, 282, 288, 291, 292, 299, 302, 306, 308, 318, 327, 330, 394, 399, 452, 462, 482, 504; on Kochanowski, 69; on Trembecki, 160; quoted, 220, 221-23, 228-29, 231-32, 234-35, 253, 258-59 Miechowita, chronicler, 89 Mielczewski, Marcin, 121 Mielzynski, Maciej, 246 Mieszko I, prince, 6, 7, 10, 11, 17, 164 Mieszko II, king, 17 Mikotaj of Kraków, 90 Mikotaj of Kwidzyn, 26 MHkowski, Zygmunt (Teodor Tomasz Jez), 342-43 Milosz, Czeslaw, 492 Mochnacki, Maurycy, 239-40, 241, 316317, 484 Modlitwy Waclawa (Prayers of Vaclav), 29 Modrzejewska, Helena (Modjeska), 401 Modrzewski, Andrzej Frycz, 53, 76-81, 84, 87, 97, 132, 176, 190, 435 Mohyla, Piotr, 119 Molière, Jean Baptiste, 168, 325, 493 Moniuszko, Stanislaw, 346 Moraczewski, Jçdrzej, 246 Morawski, Kazimierz, 506 Morsztyn, Andrzej, 104-6, 174; quoted, 105 Morsztyn, Hieronim, 119 Mostowska, Anna (née Radziwitt), 212 Murzynowski, Stanislaw, 51 Mycielski, Jerzy, 401 Myszkowski, Piotr, 63

Nalkowska, Zofla, 495-96, 503 Nalkowski, Wactaw, 401 Napoleon I, 197, 257, 260 Naruszewicz, Adam, bp., 162-65, 315 Narzymski, Jozef, 395 Nehring, Wladyslaw, 399 Nicholas I, tsar, 200, 283 Nicholas of Radom (Mikotaj Radomczyk), 37-38 Niedzwiedzki, W., 400 Niedzwiecki, Zygmunt, 389-90 Niemcewicz, Juljan Ursyn, 139, 185-87, 201, 205-7 Niemojewski, Andrzej, 418 Niesiecki, Kasper, 127 Nitsch, Kazimierz, 506 Norblin, Jean-Pierre, 189 Norwid, Cyprjan, 306-15, 392, 418, 506; quoted, 310, 311, 312 Noskowski, Zygmunt, 471 Novosiltsov, Nicholas, senator, 226, 248 Nowaczynski, Adolf, 503 Oginski, Michal, 188 Olesnicki, Zbigniew, cardinal, 24, 25, 26 Oleszczyriski, Wladyslaw, 344 Oleszkiewicz, Jözef, 344 Opalinski, Krzysztof, 114 OpalMski, Lukasz, 116 Orkan, Wladyslaw (Wladyslaw Smreczyhski), 418, 444 Orlowski, Aleksandcr, 344 Orzechowski, Stanislaw, 87-88 Orzeszkowa, Eliza, 355, 356, 373-80,424, 435 Osinski, Ludwik, 203^, 209 Ossolinski, 124 Ostrorög, Jan, 27-28; and humanism, 45 Paderewski, Ignacy Jan, 471, 474 Palester, Roman, 510 Parkosz, Jak6b, 35 Pasek, Jan, 117-18, 399 Pautsch, Fryderyk, 468 Pawel, Grzegorz, 52 Pawinski, Adolf, 398 Pawlicki, Stefan, 401 Pawlikowska, Marja, 488-90 Peiper, Tadeusz, 491-92 Perzynski, Wlodzimien-, 495, 503-4 Peter I (the Great), tsar, 123, 249 Petricius, Sebastian, 98

INDEX OF NAMES Pfkiel, Bartlomiej, 121 Piesn o zabiciu Andrzeja Tfczynskiego (Song of the Murder of Andrzej T?czyúski), 34 Piesñ o mfce Pañskiej (Song of O u r Lord's Passion), 29, 30 Piesn o Zwiastowaniu (Song of the Annunciation), 29 Pigón, Stanislaw, 504 Pilsudski, Józef, 358, 473, 475, 484 Piramowicz, Grzegorz, 139, 141 Piwiñski, Leon, 506 Plersch, J. B., 189 Poczobut, Marcin, 140, 141 Pol, Wincenty, 244, 327, 328, 330 Polak, Jakób, 91 Polak, Marcin, 14 Poniatowski, Józef, prince, 145, 198, 199, 322, 344, 431 Poplawski, J. L„ 358 Por^bowicz, Edward, 504 Potocka, Delfina, 294 Potocki, Antoni, 468 Potocki, Ignacy, 130, 139, 141, 181, 183 Potocki, Jan, 211 Potocki, J. K. (Marjan Bohusz), 358 Potocki, Stanislaw, 204 Potocki, Szcz?sny, 145, 161, 236 Potocki, Wactaw, 106-11, 112 Powfski — Skarga, Piotr, see Skarga Powiesc o papiezu Urbanie (Story of Pope Urban), 29 Powalski, Jan (Aniela Gruszecka), 499 Prus, Boleslaw (Aleksander Glowacki), 355, 360-73, 374, 424, 435 Pruszkowski, Tadeusz, 508 Przesmycki, Zenon, 306, 405-6 Przybos, Juljan, 492 Przybyszewski, Stanislaw, 408-10, 4 4 6 47, 448, 464 Psalterz Ftorjanski (St. Florian's Psalter), 21, 28, 68

Psalterz Pulawski (Putawy Psalter), 28, 68 Pulaski, Kazimierz, 133

Radomczyk, Mikolaj (Nicholas of Radom), 37-38 Radziwill, Barbara, 204, 205 RadziwiU, Franciszka, 128 Radziwill, Karol, 145 Radziwill, Marja, 292 Radziwill, Mikolaj, 51, 81

523

Rey, Mikolaj, 46, 53-62, 64, 78, 84, 85, 100, 110, 117, 399, 400; quoted, 56, 60; compared with Krasicki, 158 Reymont, Wladyslaw Stanislaw, 435-43, 444; quoted, 441-43 Rittner, Tadeusz, 465 Rocznik Kapituly Krakowskiej (Annal of the Kraköw Chapter), 13 Rocznik Swiftokrzyski (Holy Cross Annal), 13 Rocznik Wielkopolski (Annal of Wielkopolska), 13 Rodakowski, Henryk, 345 Rodziewiczöwna, Marja, 389 Rodzidski, Artur, 510 Romanowski, Mieczyslaw, 329 Rostworowski, Karol Hubert, 502-3 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 157, 177, 208, 493 Rozmowa Mistrza ze Smierciq (Dialogue between the Master and Death), 32-33 Rozmyslanie o zywocie Pana Jezusa (Meditations on the Life of Jesus), 28 Rozwadowski, Jan, 506 Rubinstein, Artur, 510 Rustem, Jan, 344 Rydel, Lucjan, 417, 456, 465 Rzewuski, Henryk, 227, 328, 330-33, 334, 342 Rzewuski, Waclaw, 128

Salomea, saint, 13 Sarbiewski, Maciej, 103-4 Sards-Patak Bible (Biblja Krdlowej Zofji), 28 Satyra na chlopdw (Satire on the Peasants), 34 Schultz, Bruno, 502 Sciegienny, Piotr, 247 Scislo, Jan, 189 Sebastjan of Felsztyn, 89 Seklucjan, Jan, 51 Serafinowicz, Leszek (Jan Lechon), 477, 484-85 Sichulski, Kazimierz, 468 Siedlecki, Franciszek, 506 Sienkiewicz, Henryk, 112, 380-87, 393, 403 Sienkiewicz, Karol, 317 Sieroszewski, Wactaw, 444-45 Simmler, Jozef, 345 Sinko, Tadeusz, 507

524

INDEX OF NAMES

Skarbek, Stanislaw, count, 244 Skarga Matki Bolesnej pod Krzyzem (Mary's Complaint under the Cross), 29 Skarga, Piotr, 50, 53, 97, 117, 132, 176, 190 Skarga Umierajqcego (A Dying Man's Complaint), 33 Skoczylas, Wladyslaw, 508, 509 Skalkowski, Adam, 507 Sklodowska-Curie, Marja, 507 SlendziAski, Ludomir, 508 Stonimski, Antoni, 481-84, 504 SloAski, Edward, 417 Slota (Zlota), poet, 32 Slowacki, Juljusz, 63, 194, 213, 214, 237, 262, 268-91, 292, 302, 306, 314-15, 393, 399, 405, 411, 418, 427, 450, 451, 504 Smolensk!, Wladyslaw, 398 Smolka, Franciszek, 349 Smolka, Stanislaw, 397-98 Smreczyäski, Wladyslaw (Wladyslaw Orkan), 418,444 Smuglewicz, Antoni, 189 Sniadecki, Jan, 141, 194 Sniadecki, Jfdrzej, 141, 194, 268 Sobieski, Jaköb, 107 Society of Jesus, 95-96 Sokotowski, Marjan, 401 Sowirtski, Leonard, 330 Srebrny, Stefan, 507 Stachowicz, Micha), 345 Staff, Leopold, 418-21, 493; quoted, 419, 420 Stanislaw I (Leszczyiiski), king, 123, 13233 Stanislaw II (Augustus), king, 131, 133, 134, 136, 138, 142-43, 163, 165, 398 Stanislaw, saint, 13, 14, 31, 451 Stanko, Jan, 26 Stapiris ki, Jan, 351 Starowoiski, Szymon, 99, 114-16 Staszic, Stanislaw, 176-81, 182, 199, 435; quoted, 180-81 Stattler, Wojciech Korneli, 344 Stephen, saint, 10 Strug, Andrzej (Tadeusz Galecki), 445446, 494 Stryjeiiska, Zof)a, 508 Stwosz, Wit, 36 Swi?tochowski, Aleksander, 354,355, 396 Swift, Jonathan, 159 Syrokomla, Wladyslaw (Ludwik Kondratowicz), 328

Szajnocha, Karol, 244 Szaniawski, Jerzy, 503 Szaniawski, Klemens (Klemens Junosza), 387-88 Szarzyriski, Mikotaj S?p, quoted, 85 Szczepkowski, Jan, 470 Szelburg-Zarembina, Ewa, 499 Sztyrmer, Ludwik, 342 Szujski, Jözef, 397 Szydlowita, musician, 37 Szymanowska, Celina, 260 Szymanowska, Marja, 230, 260, 346 Szymanowski, Karol, 510 Szymariski, Adam, 388 Szymonowicz, Szymon, 101-3, 104, 108, 113, 170, 211; quoted, 102 Tansman, Aleksander, 510 Taubenschlag, Rafal, 507 Tetmajer, Kazimierz, 410-12,443-44,456 Tetmajer, Wlodzimierz, 456 T^czyhski, voyevoda, 81 Thietmar, chronicler, 9 Tolwinski, T., 509 Tomicki, Piotr, bp., 47 TowiaAski, Andrzej, 302; influence on Mickiewicz, 262-63; on Slowacki, 28284 Tr^ba, abp., 24 Trembecki, Stanislaw, 160-62, 163 Trentowski, Ferdynand Bronislaw, 319 Tretko, Jan Aleksander, 122 Tuwim, Juljan, 478-81; quoted, 479, 481 Twardowski, Kazimierz, 507 Twardowski, Samuel, 111-12, 399 Tylicki, bp., 98 Tymowski, Kantorbery, 202 Tyzenhaus, Antoni, 138 Ujejski, Jözef, 504 Ujejski, Kornel, 326-27, 330 Ulanowski, Boleslaw, 398 Vasa dynasty, 40, 93 Voltaire, 135, 156, 181,493 Waclaw of Szamotuly, 90 WaAkowicz, Walenty, 344 Warchalowski, Jerzy, 510 Waryriski, Ludwik, 357, 491 Wqsowicz, Waclaw, 508 Wfdkiewicz, Stanislaw, 504

INDEX O F NAMES

Wereszczaköwna, Mary la, 219 Wcyssenhoff, Jözef, 389 W$zyk, Franciszek, 205 Wieniawski, Henryk, 470 WierzyÄski, Kazimierz, 486-87 WilkoÄski, August, 342 Winawer, Bruno, 504 Wisniowiecki, Jeremi, prince, 383 Wisniowiecki, Michal, king, 94, 118 Witkiewicz, Stanislaw, 468-69, 509-10 Witkiewicz, Stanislaw Ignacy, 502, 505 Witos, Wincenty, 351 Wittig, Edward, 470 Wittlin, Jözef, 500-501 Witwicki, Stefan, 314 Wladyslaw I (Lokietek), king, 17, 19, 21 Wladyslaw 11 (Jagiello), king, 19, 20, 22, 37, 163 Wladyslaw IV, king, 93, 97, 103, 104, 111, 119, 121 Wladyslaw, king of Hungary and Bohemia, 23 Wladyslaw of Gielniow, 30, 37 Wladyslaw of Warna, king, 22, 23, 45 Wlodkowic, Pawel, 26 Wojciech of Brudzew, 26 Wojciech, saint (St. Adalbert), 9, 13, 15 Wojciechowski, Tadeusz, 397 Wojniakowski, Kazimierz, 189 Wolska, Maryla, 417 Worcell, Stanislaw Gabrjel, 318 Woronicz, Jan Pawel, abp., 207 Wracislaw, prince, 6 Wujek, Jaköb, 50 Wybicki, Jözef, 202 Wyclif, John, 34 Wyczölkowski, Leon, 509 Wyslouch, Boleslaw, 351 Wyslouch, Marja, 351

525

WyspiaAski, Stanislaw, 399, 407, 450-64, 468, 502, 506; quoted 458, 459, 461 Zaor, Jan, 122 Zablocki, Franciszek, 166-69; quoted, 166, 168

Zaleski, Jözef Bohdan, 239, 240,269, 306, 307, 328 Zalewski, Kazimierz, 395-96 Zaluski, Andrzej, bp., 127, 176, 243 Zamelius, Jan, 99 Zamoyski, Andrzej, count, 347 Zamoyski, August, 470 Zamoyski, Jan, 40, 74, 93, 98, 101, 287 Zapolska, Gabrjela, 389, 396-97 Zawiejski, Jan, 470 Zawistowska, Kazimiera, 417 Zawodzinski, Karol, 506 Ziarnko, Jan (Le Grain), 122 Zielinski, G us taw, 330 Zielifcki, Mikolaj, 121 Zieliriski, Tadeusz, 507 Ziemowit, prince, 164 Zimorowicz, Bartlomiej, 113 Zimorowicz, Szymon, 112-13, 170, 211 Znaniecki, Florjan, 507 Zygmunt I, king, 39, 40, 46, 47, 88 Zygmunt II (August), king, 40,41,47, 63, 86, 89, 91, 204; and humanism, 47 Zygmunt III, king, 40, 82, 93, 119, 122, 125 2ak, Eugeniusz, 508 Zeleriski, Wladyslaw, 470 2eromski, Stefan, 421-35, 444, 445, 494, 495, 503; quoted, 425-26, 428 Zmichowska, Narcyza, 341 ¿ötkiewski, Stanislaw, 93, 432 2u!awski, Jerzy, 418