There thou shalt again see the object of thy love
in agony ; again transpierced ; and thou wilt not be able
to die, and the anguish of thousands of souls will be in-
carnated in thee !
in agony ; again transpierced ; and thou wilt not be able
to die, and the anguish of thousands of souls will be in-
carnated in thee !
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
"
This is not, however, the supreme denial of the doc-
trines of the Saviour. Their utter negation has been in-
9*
98
POLISH POETRY IN
carnated by the poet in the person of Masinissa, who is
perhaps the most profound and original conception of
the whole drama. The counselor of Iridion is not
simply a ^^ wa'idelote,^^ he is the Spirit of Evil, Satan
himself, — but Satan ingloriously reduced to antique pro-
portions, such as a mythology always seeking beauty and
serenity, even in the darkest and saddest creations, would
have pictured him. Masinissa has neither the bitter and
desolating irony of Mephistopheles, nor the tempestuous
rage of Milton's fallen angel ; he is a grave and majestic
old man. Seek not in him that "eternal and infinite ne-
gation" which Goethe has given to Evil; his hatred
is, on the contrary, very determinate and very plastic.
Christianity repels him by that which must have deeply
wounded all minds truly and classically antique, — by its
apparent absence of virile energy, its want of sensuous
beauty. The doctrines of submission and resignation,
always preached by the confessors of the Cross, appeared
to him unworthy of a manly spirit, of a free man ; he
called them cowardice ; and there was nothing in Chris-
tianity, even to its rehabilitation of woman, — one of
the immense benefits of the Gospel, — which was not re-
volting to all his instincts. " They adore a maid," he
says, " a creature whose infancy is eternal, whose old age
precocious ; they build a strange, mysterious worship
upon the ruins of their carnal lusts, and they prostrate
themselves before a woman, — before the slave of the hus-
band. " . . . Thus, as he saw it, but little fit to inspire
vigorous acts, the Christian ideal seemed also to him
essentially ugly. " They are full of admiration for this
crucified body, for the features they imagine so exquisite
in the hour they call the triumph of love. They have not
known him ; they did not see him when he agonized, a pi'ey
to all the hideousness of suffering, faint with torture, cov-
ered with blood, and with his hair disordered by the
winds which whistled round his head. " . . . Here is in-
deed the beauty-seeking naturalism of the ancient world
protesting against modern spirituality, which exalts the
soul, even at the exi)ense of the body. Let the reader
examine for a moment the figures of the antique group
which our poet has placed in contrast with the spirit of
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
99
Christianity, that he may obtain a due conception of the
grand sense of justice and poetry which presides over the
whole of this remarkable composition.
Thus impartial in his pictures of the classic world, our
author is no less just in his sketches of the early societies
of the Christians. He has taken care not to give them
that beatified placidity, that detachment from all the pas-
sions of humanity, so willingly attributed to them by mer-
cenary and conventional art. In the primitive church, as
represented in our drama, the Holy Spirit alone is great
and infallible ; man is weak as he ever is, subject to
temptation and sudden falls. Not that the association of
Christians does not contain characters of sublime abne-
gation and sanctity, of invincible resolution, and of
angelic purity, such as Bishop Victor, the true servant of
God, the admirable head of a Christian community; but
together with those who realize the Christian ideal in all
its purity, we also meet with Christians less resigned, em-
bittered by grief, and aspiring to sunshine, joy, and life.
They are men, and as men they suffer, hope ; they want
a terrestrial base for their actions ; they wish to tear the
cross from the bowels of the earth, and plant it on the
Roman Forum. Remark attentively Simeon of Corinth,
only an episodic sketch, but drawn with a bold, free
hand, as is the wont of the Anonymous Poet. ' Simeon
had once loved ; a single day separated him from wedded
bliss, when a centurion tore the plighted maiden from his
arms to throw her to the Flavian amphitheatre. A skull
was all left to him by the tiger's teeth ! Then he em-
braced the cross with fervor, a burning asceticism puri-
fied his soul from all dreams of vengeance, he meditated
profoundly on the passion of the Lord, and was touched
with boundless love by memories of Golgotha. . . .
"And if God himself, to save the world, has taken a
body, why should not His Bride, the Church, to save the
world, also put on a body? Until now, she has been
only spirit; where are her temples, sanctuaries, powers? "
He exclaims in one of his solitary ecstasies, " To possess
the world, — not that which glitters in gold or groans in
iron ; but the infinite world, — the world of souls, — and
there in Thy name to reign, O God ! " Here we may
UNIVERSITY
fERfelTY \
lOO POLISH POETRY IN
already see the Spiritual contemplating the reign over the
Temporal. With spirits of this stamp Iridion succeeds,
and is listened to when, in place of the victory promised
them by Victor, "before the face of the Lord," he in-
cites them " to a combat and triumph which are of this
world, near them, and not at an infinite distance. "
Above all, however, it behooved the son of Amphilochus
to gain to his side Cornelia Metella, the saintly virgin
whom the Christians loved. The poet has surrounded
this noble victim with every grace, and the Son of
Vengeance is himself moved by the divine charm she
exhales around her, but Masinissa has designated her
as the principal and indispensable instrument of his un-
dertaking. To associate Christianity with his work of
destruction, to incarnate in human passions a force which
is not of this world, a woman is a necessity ! These Naza-
renes adore a virgin ! Then let Iridion choose the purest
and fairest of their maidens, inflame her with his own
ideas, and like a burning brand throw her in their midst.
With Satanic perspicacity the terrible old man has per-
ceived the danger incurred by the female heart in the
depths of Christian mysticism, the tendency of all ec-
static love to materialize itself even through the excess of
its own refinement, and he has traced for Iridion his line
of conduct : " Praise her God, adore his wounds, speak
tenderly of the nails which pierced his limbs, . . . and
then attract her thoughts from the crucified, and fix them
on yourself. . . . He is so far, He has been on the
earth, but will never return to it : but you live, breathe,
and are beside her. . . . You will become her God !
And when her head shall rest upon your breast, then will
the soul forget itself in the passion of the body, — then,
O my Son, my spirit will be with you, and you will find
adherents in the Catacombs. " The struggle which oc-
curs between Iridion and Metella, between the ideal of
classic beauty and the ascetic spirituality of the Christian
heart, is full of pathos and passion. The son of Amphilo-
chus breaks forth before the sainted maid in all the vio-
lence of his love, his hate; he kindles her soul with his
burning breath, he explains to her the odious past of
Rome, he entreats her to love, to live, and to revetige the
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. loi
Saviour. The Christian resists, but is fascinated ; for the
first time she fears tlie dead who lie around her ; she makes
an effort to fly to Christ, to escape the Greek, who ap-
pears to her as Prophet or Archangel. At last the de-
cisive moment comes. Before the tombs of the martyrs,
and appealing to their bones to bear him witness, the
Greek tears off the veil of the maiden while lost in prayer,
and sullies her brow with a kiss, while she believes him
now to be a messenger from heaven.
Master of Metella, Iridion hastily repairs to Ehitn,
the most holy s])Ot within the Catacombs, where the faith-
ful are assembled. Clad in armor, and sword in hand, he
declares to the just that the time of resignation is past, the
measure full ; that this is the decisive moment : division
distracts the city, the son of shame totters on his throne,
the Prtetorians have turned away their hearts from him,
the people, like a troubled sea, know not to what wind to
yield. The legions throughout Asia are in insurrection ;
the Germans on the Rhine revolt ; Cssar and Alexander
arm for their last combat ; but what matters it to the
Christians who shall be the conqueror? Whoever it may
be, will he not murder them, and blaspheme Christ?
The signs perdicted are upon them, let them be recog-
nized ; let them K'/7//V_/fr;;//)'— and they are /r^<? . /" . . .
But who has commissioned him to lead the people of God ?
ask those who hesitate. Who will assure them that the
Lord has ordered them to rise? Simeon of Corinth
answers that he will bear witness to the mission of Iridion.
He begs the brethren not to suffer the propitious hour to
escape. From this moment, which will never return, let
them strike the spark of life, for in it, and in it alone,
sleeps the germ of future ages. Metella, maddened, in-
spired, and panting with haste, rushes in at this moment,
crying: "To arms ! to arms ! " This testimony from the
consecrated virgin determines the doubters. The bap-
tized barbarians are glad to find the messenger of the
Messiah in the grandson of Sigurd ; the young, the strong,
they who live and feel, swear to be exact at the hour and
place of meeting: the old, the pure, the saints, resist and
pray. The confusion is at its height, the eartli yawns
and trembles, the community disperses on all sides,
I02 POLISH POETRY IN
some applauding the avenger, others crying Anathema,
and mercy ! The holy place is finally empty, and Masi-
nissa appears in Eloim, thus deserted by the Christians,
surrounded by the infernal spirits who chant their victory.
Here, and in this scene alone, the Spirit of Evil steps
beyond the frame so ingeniously wrought for him by the
poet. For this time only he assumes the vast proportions
of the Christian Satan, and betrays the boundless hate of
Lucifer ; indeed, the spectacle he had just witnessed was
well fitted to swell his pride. He has seen the first rup-
ture in the Christian community founded upon peace,
unity, and love ; he regards it as the forerunner of all the
schisms yet to be, of the persecutions in the name of faith,
and of the terrible religious wars which through ages yet
to come shall rend and distract that humanity which
Christ had died to redeem. His soul dilates with this
hope, and he hurls defiance at Christ, his enemy.
"Great Enemy! Thou knowest that the souls of men
have gone astray from the beginning of the world ! From
this time forth no day will ever pass in which, disputing
on thy nature and thy substance, they will not excite
sterile, but bloody contests !
" In Thy name will they rise, revolt, destroy, burn, mas-
sacre ; in Thy name will they lose human life in dreamy
ecstasies, renounce the gift of speech, and die !
"And without ceasing, will they crucify Thee; as in
their wisdom so in their ignorance ; their reason as their
folly ; in their prayers of base humility, as in the haughty
blasphemy of their pride !
"On Thy far Heaven heights, empty the cup of gall they
hold to Thy wrung lips, until in Thy turn, Thou tooshalt
curse them !
" And even on the summit of Thy sky, with all Thy
glory and omnipotence, Thou shalt at last feel agony,
and learn to know what our hell truly is ! "
The denouement approaches, and Iridion redoubles his
activity. Sent by Caesar to treat with tiie revolted troops
marching upon the city, and whom Severus has joined,
he intentionally irritates them, and renders all accommo-
dation impossible. When returned to Rome, he prepares
the Praetorians to attack the invaders, and at the same
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
103
time marshals the slaves, gladiators, and barbarians to
fall on either party, to massacre and burn the city as soon
as they shall see him appear at the head of the Christians.
He again visits Heliogabalus to tear from him the last
symbol of power, the imperial ring ox\. which the Genius
of Rome is graven. Possessor of this talisman, he no
longer thinks of the son of Caracalla, but another has
thought of this crowned child :
^' £Isinoe. Brother, what will become of him?
*' I}-idion. It matters not. I care not for his life, nor
for his death. That which he was, now glitters on my
hand (showing the ring) ; that which he is, is scarcely
worth a thought.
" Elsinoe. If that be so, come near, come nearer still !
Canst hear my lightest whisper now?
'' Iridion. What is the matter, sister? Wherefore
tremble so? (He takes her in his arms. ) Thy small
hand burns in mine, — I feel thy heart throb wild against
my breast-plate !
" E/sinoe. The eyes whose fires withered my soul, must
die ! The arms which clasped my neck, must fall like
mangled adders ! The lips which first touched mine,
must crumble into dust !
*' Iridion. Yes. He shall perish. "
At last the hour for the execution of the plot arrives.
All have kept faith except the Christians, who do not
come. What can detain them ? Simeon swore to lead
them forward at the appointed time ; all hope for the
avenger lies in them. Iridion's anguish is extreme, the
anguish of Prometheus, when but a cloud divides him from
the heaven flame he means to seize ! " Why are you silent ?
Masinissa, speak! Cry: Long live Hellas! " — "I am
silent" — replies the old man — "because the hour ap-
pointed has already passed ! • Each feather in its wings
as it flies on rustles with long-drawn sneers. " — Iridion feels
that the work of his whole life is escaping his grasp ; he
hastes from his palace to unearth the Christians, his un-
sheathed sword in his hand, his head bare: "To con-
quer, his sword suffices; to die, he needs no helmet! "
His fears were well founded with regard to the Catacombs.
Bishop Victor had arrested, on the threshold of Eloim,
I04
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all the armed men who were marching upon the city.
When Iridion enters the sanctuary, most of the men had
already deserted him. Simeon persists in the revolt, and
is excommunicated. Metella, too, ceases not to acknowl-
edge the envoy of heaven in Iridion, or to cry : " To
arms! " and around this deluded, wandering soul Victor
and Iridion hold their last combat. Exorcised by the
Bishop, touched by the cross, she grows weak and faint,
and dies, renouncing the Spirit of Evil. Iridion casts a
last curse at the cowards, placing their whole trust in the
words of a woman, and departs to fight without a hope of
conquest. Indeed, victory is no longer possible ; the de-
fection of the Christians has ruined all ; the Praetorians
have not resisted the troops of Severus ; the gladiators,
slaves, and barbarians have fallen in the streets without
plan or direction, and have been everywhere repulsed.
The son of Amphilochus will sell dearly his defeat ; he
reunites all those still devoted to him, fights fiercely, and
repels with disdain the pardon sent him by the new Em-
peror through Domitian. In the long and admirable
scene between Domitian and himself, the combat between
Hellas and Rome is renewed and brilliantly discussed, —
the contest between the beautiful genius of Ancient Lib-
erty and the harsh and cruel domination of the Romans
is eloquently argued. All negotiations are broken, and
the struggle is renewed ; the issue is no longer doubt-
ful. Heliogabalus has been murdered, Elsinoe has taken
her own life, Rome still stands, and Alexander Severus
is proclaimed Emperor. The triumph of Severus, who
neither in Christian graces nor antique virtues ever soars
above mediocrity, is one of the deepest lessons contained
in the Drama; it is therefore intentionally that the poet
has given to the son of Mammea a character deprived of
all the stronger traits. For in the sublime struggle of
two titanic princij)les, the victory too often remains with
dull mediocrity ! Happy indeed if it should prove honest,
— as Alexander really was.
At last Iridion, without forces, deserted even by the most
faithful, his friends dead, gorged with bitterness, mounts
the funeral pyre to end his days. At this moment Masi-
nissa appears, of whom nothing had been seen after the
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
105
defection of the Christians. He takes Iridion in his
arms, carries him away, and places him upon a mountain
near the sea, whence he can see Rome still standing entire,
"still showing its marbles to the sun like the white teeth
of a tiger. " Then the first doubt of the legitimacy of
his work rushes upon the son of Amphilochus ; then for
the first time he asks " if the God of Metella be not per-
chance the greatest of the gods, and if the Nazarenes do
not possess the only truth in the world? " "The Naza-
renes? " replies Masinissa, sneeringly, to him, — "truly
you owe them much in the past ; will owe them more in
the future ! . . . Not falsely did your mother Crimhild
speak ; her predictions will be all accomplished ! The
peoi)le of the North will yet ravage Italy, covering it with
blood and ashes ; but do you know who will tear the
accursed city from the hands of your barbarian brothers ?
The Nazarene ! In him the perfidy of the senate and the
cruelty of the Roman people will still live, as an eternal
heritage ; his heart will be as merciless as that of the first
Cato, although his words will often be sweet and effemi-
nate. And the warriors of the North will be as little
children at his feet, and for the second time he will
make Rome godlike, above all the nations of the earth ! "
— "What! " cries the Greek in the accents of despair,
"After Rome, will there be still another Rome? The
city accursed is then to be eternal? And this is the an-
nouncement which the friend of Amphilochus reserves for
Crimhild's son to bless his dying hour? " . . . Masi-
nissa replies: "Do not despair! The time is coming
wlien the shadow of the cross will oppress the nations
like a tropic heat ; when it too will stretch out its arms
in vain to press again to its heart those who forsake it !
One after another they will arise and say : ' We will no
longer serve thee ! ' Then will be heard at all the city
gates complaints and sobs, and the Roman Genius will
veil his face, his tears will never end, his humiliation will
be as great as has ever been his pride. " — The heart of
Iridion again begins to beat, his eyes regain their lustre.
— "O that I might see that day of chastisement and
vengeance ! " — " Then be it so ! " replies Masinissa. He
bears away his pupil from the life of earth, rocks him to
Io6 POLISH POETRY IN
sleep upon oblivion's heart, from which he will not wake
for many centuries, until the appointed hour comes:
" When on the Forum only dust shall be, — the Am[)hi-
theatre hold only skeletons, — the Capitol be crumbled
into infamy. " The antique drama is now finished, and
the epilogue transports us into modern times, into the
Rome of our own days. Through centuries, Iridion has
slept the sleep of Epimenides; neither the terrible days
of Alaric nor of Attila, nor the renovation of the em-
pire by Charlemagne nor the struggle of Rienzi, have
been able to arouse him from his sleep; the holy masters
of the Vatican have, one by one, like shadows glided by
this shade : " but in our times he awakes. " Masinissa has
kept his word, and he again places his pupil before Rome,
o'errun with creeping vines, through which a creeping
people move. The Son of the Centuries now crosses the
deserted Forum, and gazes round the desolate city, and
"every ruin is to him a recompense. "
" Two hoary-headed old men stand in the vestibule of
a Basilica, robed in purple mantles ; and monks salute
them with the names of Fathers, Princes of the Church ;
and poverty of spirit is graven on their faces. They en-
ter a chariot drawn by two dark, meagre horses, behind
them is a servant holding a dim lantern, such as a poor
widow hangs above a child who dies of hunger ; on the
panels of this chariot are seen what once was gilding.
The creaking wheels have passed, and with them disap-
pear two snowy, bent, and weary heads. "
"The fearful leader says: ' Such are the successors of the
Caesars ! Such is the Car of Fortune ! Such the Victors ! '
"And the son of Greece looks on, and claps his hands
in joy. "
As striking as may be this final picture, as closely as it
may seem to respond to the preoccui)ations and passions
of the times we are traversing, we would be mistaken if
we should think to see in it the innermost thought of the
drama; above all, we would be wrong not to observe
closely the change which has occurred in Iridion himself;
for if Rome is no longer to be recognized, the son of
Amphilochus has also been transformed during his sleep
of ages. He no longer hates the Cross ; its fate appears
rilE NINETEENril CENTURY.
107
as sad to him as did in other days that of his Hellas;
" under the rays of the moon, he has felt that the sign of
redemption is holy for ever and ever; he clasps his arms
round it, — and Masinissa leaves him step by step y . . .
Here, in truth, lies the bearing of the poem ; it flashes
clearly upon us in the voice from Heaven which sends
Iridion to Poland, to be subjected there to another and
more glorious proof.
"Go," cries the voice to him, — "go toward the North
in the name of Christ ! Go, and stop not until thou
standest in the land of graves and crosses ! Thou wilt
know it by the silence of the warriors, the wails of the
women, and the sadness of the children ; thou wilt know
it by the burning cottages of the poor and the desolated
palaces of the exiled ; thou wilt know it by the moans of
my angels who pass there by night ! Go, and dwell among
the new brothers I give to thee. There shall thy second
trial be !
There thou shalt again see the object of thy love
in agony ; again transpierced ; and thou wilt not be able
to die, and the anguish of thousands of souls will be in-
carnated in thee ! Go, and have faith in my name !
Think not of thine own glory, but of the welfare of those
I intrust to thee. Becalm before the pride, oppression,
and the scorn of the unjust ! They will pass away, but
my Thought and Thou, ye shall endure forever!
"And after a long martyrdom I will kindle my dawn
around thee ; I will give thee what my angels have enjoyed
for ages, — bliss ! And tliat which I promised men from
the beginning, from the summit of Golgotha, — Liberty !
Go and act ! Act, even though thy heart be withering
in thy breast; act even when thou doubtest thine own
brethren, when thou despairest of my aid ! Act ! Act
without cessation or repose ! And thou shalt outlive the
vain, the happy, the illustrious ; thou shalt arise again,
not from a sterile sleep, but from the work of the centu-
ries, and shalt become one of the free sons of the skies! "
Such is the dramatic poem of Iridion in its original and
powerful unity. That such a poem should have been
hitherto almost unknown in Western Europe, — so eager to
know and enjoy the literary productions of all nations as
almost to realize that " universal literature" (Welt litter-
lo8 POLISH POETRY IN
atur) whicli was the dream of Goethe, — proves how, heavily
the forgetfuhiess of the world still weighs upon the unfor-
tunate country of the Anonymous Poet ; it also proves
how much the easy enjoyment of light productions, void
of all sublime ideas, has deteriorated our tastes, causing
us to turn away from all serious, even if eloquent, works.
At any rate, they who pretend to penetrate the meaning
of Faust and Manfred, can find no difficulty in the com-
prehension of Iridion. It is at least certain that Poland
immediately caught the dominant idea of the drama, and
easily unraveled the profound signification of its allegory.
This poem told them that patriotic suffering effects no-
thing when it is based on negation and hatred. It further
told them that an enemy might find new strength, life,
and rejuvenation in the very means by which an imscru-
pulous vengeance sought to overthrow him or sharpen
mortal arms against him ; as Rome found a second era of
greatness in Christianity, which Iridion intended should
become the instrument of his hatred ; as the Teutonic
order encountered the like in the Reformation ; or as
Russia shall perhaps yet meet in the material civilization
of our century. That which Poland above all understood,
was the mysterious voice which ordered Iridion toward
the North, to be there subject to a second proof, that com-
mand which sent this ideal of Hellenic patriotism " to the
land of graves and crosses," but which at the same time
sent it transformed, purified from all pagan feelings of
hate, illumined by the Christian faith, and holding in its
arms the cross. The national ideal of Wallenrod thus
received a complete and moral transfiguration in Iridion,
after having passed through its transition in the admirable
and significant character of Robak, in the Sir Thaddeus.
And let us dwell for a moment upon the fact that this suc-
cessive purification of the patriotic sentiment in ourpoetry
was not accomplished at a time even relatively mild and
peaceful; it coincided with a period of the most bitter
suffering ; with the epoch of the direst and most impla-
cable punishments and persecutions, with the reign of the
cruel Emperor Nicholas. The very year in which Iridion
appeared saw an auction opened assuredly, at least, en-
tirely new in the annals of the world ; at Warsaw, and in
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
109
the principal cities of the country, the transportation of
thousands of Polish children into the steppes and among the
Oural Mountains was offered at public sale to the highest
bidder. Certainly if the feeling of national hate were
ever to be permitted to poets, it would be to those fired
by the manifold torments inflicted upon the most unfor-
tunate of nations; — and it stamps the character of origi-
nal greatness upon the Anonymous Poet to have raised,
precisely at such a dark epoch, a protest so energetic
against all ideas of vengeance, to have placed Eternal
Love, not only as did Dante at the gates of the city of
Eternal Grief, but in the very deepest of the Circles of
Hell!
IV.
Hate is impotent, vengeance creates nothing; to en-
able us to triumph over an enemy, it is not sufficient
to have just causes of complaint, we must also surpass
him by moral superiority ! Such was the lesson the Anon-
ymous Poet gave to his subjugated nation. But how to
attain this superiority? How to maintain it? By devo-
tion, immolation, self-sacrifice, replies the Poet. To
expect deliverance, not from the evil which may be called
down on or inflicted upon the oppressor, but from the
good ^\vic\\ maybe developed in the stormful bosom of
the avenger ; to look to God alone for decisive justice,
and to renounce all measures of dissimulation and con-
spiracy, which only tarnish the national character and ob-
scure the purity of the Polish soul ; to persevere in faith,
in spite of all possible trials; to defy heaven itself by the
absolute trust we repose in it ; and on great occasions to
give witness of true life by receiving death without giving
it, going to execution even as the early Christians, the
cross in hand, and prayer and confession on the lips; —
it was thus that this inspired patriot understood the duties
of the enslaved Poles ; duties which he summed up in the
word sacrifice. Round this word will henceforth revolve
the works of the author of Iridion ; it will illumine them
all with its rays, it will be their very soul. He passed his
whole life in developing this doctrine under the must
10*
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varied ft)rms and in the most diverse creations; it may
be found in "The Temptation," as in "The Dream of
Cesara;" in the " Christmas Night," as in "The Present
Day;" in the "Last," as in "The Dawn," "The Psalms
of the Future," and the " Resurrecturis. "
Abstraction made of the genius which flashes through
these various works, there is assuredly something very im-
posing in this perseverance in upholding an idea so com-
pletely out of keeping with the general modes of thought
in the times in which we live. It required the greatest
courage, and a faith no less great, to attempt to convert
one of the most ardent, most impulsive, high-mettled,
and fiery people on the face of the earth to such a doc-
trine. But what exquisite art, what passion did he not
employ to persuade the nation to adopt the truths with
which he was himself so fully penetrated ! Let Poland be
but once confirmed in this belief in pure and fruitful mar-
tyrdom, and the Poet will fear for her neither the reverses
of fortune nor the temptations of despair ; he accepts
even with joy all that separates her from the living world,
and all that renders her a stranger to the happy of the
earth ! What matters it to Poland that others declare
her "as obstinate as she is powerless"? — that they cry
out importunately to her to " fold the shroud around her
dying limbs as rapidly as possible ; to die at once, and
not disturb the world by the protracted agony of her
death-rattle"? What matters it? The time will come
when both the refined and the cruel will beg her to arise
and walk ! Whilst waiting this, she must submit with
tranquillity to the outrages always heaped on the unfortu-
nate ; look trustingly on high, "as only an orphan has
the right to look ;" and, to insulting pride, oppose a
silent dignity. He says: "The angel of pride, before
his fall, had a sister in the sky, who remained there, —
and she is called Dignity f
Our author did not limit himself to the preaching of
this doctrine of sacrifice for the Present and Future ; he
extends it and applies it to the whole Past of his People,
presenting it as the soul of their entire secular existence.
With lofty art and perfect sincerity, he labors to prove
that Poland has always realized the ideal of a Christian
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. m
nation ; has always been disinterested for herself, and
ever interested for humanity, and he finds the proof of
this in the very character of the calamities which have
finally overwhelmed her. Here lies the sole debatable
ground of his magnanimous doctrines. It cannot be de-
nied that the seal of chivalric generosity and self-sacrifice
has been set upon the history of Poland. Her people
have always defended Christianity against its most dan-
gerous enemies, never asking anything from Europe in
exchange for the service rendered ; demanding no pay-
ments for troops ; showing neither astonishment nor re-
sentment at the subsequent ingratitude. Suffer us also to
remark that Poland has never known aught of the cruel-
ties, the regicides, the revolutions of the palace, the
religious wars, which have dyed in blood the annals of
so many other countries ; that she has always given a
generous asylum to all the victims of persecution ; that
it was in her bosom the Jews found refuge, as well as the
emigrants of the wars of the Hussites, of the Reforma-
tion, and of the Thirty Years' War; that they not only
found in her the widest tolerance, but even the unwonted
power of governing themselves by their own laws. We
must, however, confess that more than one of these merits
arose from a defect as much as from a virtue ; that this
policy was more the result of an impulsive generosity
than the growth of a firm and logical will ! It was de-
cidedly virtue, but virtue singularly favored by the im-
providence and recklessness of the national spirit. If the
thinker can scarcely accept, without protest, this high
claim for the whole past of a nation, will he not exclaim
against the extension of this idea, even through the times
of the fall of Poland, and protest against the bold image
of the "Christ of nations," to which the patriot poet
has given so strange a development in " The Dawn" and
the "Psalms"? Poland, in accordance with the views
of the Anonymous Poet, has not only been crucified
as Christ was, to rise as he did to higher life, but per-
ished voluntarily to redeem the sins of other nations, and
died pure of all reproach! Is this historically true?
May it not contain a latent poison even for those whose
faith it was intended to revive in the depths of despair ?
112 POLISH POETRY IN
Alas ! though not so deeply burdened as other nations,
Poland cannot pretend to expiate their faults, — she has
too many of her own ! She has no right to proclaim
herself innocent of all her calamities ; she has herself
contributed to them ; she went to sleep upon a volcano ;
she was guilty of a marvelous inertia, of a frivolous im-
providence, of an incomprehensible torpidity. (Gen-
erous to others, ay; provident for herself, nay! ) Bat
these internal faults in nowise justify or excuse the assas-
sination committed against her, and this assassination is
so much the more odious in that it was consummated at
the very moment in which Poland began to rise, — to
waken from her anarchic torpor ; at the moment in
which she originated for herself the Constitution of the
3d of May, 1 791 ; a constitution which will be her eter-
nal defense against all the slanders of her enemies. But
even this noble and generous effort, as well as all her
magnanimous attempts for more than half a century,
prove that Poland had much to amend, to learn, and to
forget. It is not by blinding herself to her old caprices,
but rather by enlightening herself with regard to her past
mistakes, that she will be able to save herself from future
disasters, and conciliate the sympathies of all honest
minds. As Poland and her poets are so fond of quoting
the Bible and of speaking of the People of God, it
might perhaps be useful to remind them that it is pre-
cisely the ])eople of Israel who have, in the Book of
books, left us the example of three great prophets, whose
reunion forms a complete circle of the poetry inspired by
an ardent patriotism. First comes Isaiah, who scathes
the fiiults of the nation, and predicts its chastisement ;
then Jeremiah, who, when the yoke grew heavy upon the
people, weeps over the ruins of the city once so power-
ful ; finally, it is Ezekiel who, in the captivity of Baby-
lon, falls into sublime ecstasies, and sees the temple and
the city rebuilt. Certainly Poland has had her Jere-
miahs and her Ezekiels, but she needs an Isaiah with a
tongue of fire, a pitiless and courageous Dante, to sing
boldly in her ears some painful truths, to probe her many
wounds in i)lace of caressing them.
It is above all in his poem of *' The Dawn" (^1843)
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. n^
that our author has exposed his views with regard to the
Past and Future of his nation, in all the exaltation of his
generous errors. It possesses also the additional interest
of standing as a monument of a feeling of the heart. It
is the only work in which the author has given utterance
to his personal sentiments ; effusions in nowise com-
monplace, but of a highly poetic and elevated form. As
Dante made of Beatrice the symbol of his faith, the type
of theology, the Anonymous Poet regards his Beloved
as the type and ideal of his patriotic aspirations. He
expressly says, like Dante, he has passed through Hell,
and like him has had for guide a lady of grace and pity,
. . . *' a Beatrice as beautiful as the first, but far more
Christian, for she has not chosen the sky as her abode to
shelter herself from sufferings below; she has remained
with her brother upon earth. " Sad and gloomy, they
have met in highest spheres, " like two dark clouds
which, meeting in the air, pour forth torrents of tears,
but from which flash the lightnings which pierce the
vault of heaven, and for a moment show the glittering
Home of God," It is this Beatrice who is the confidante
of all his thoughts upon his country; it is to her he re-
lates all his emotions, all his presentiments; his nation
and his beloved melt into each other in the successive
stanzaf of "The Dawn. " The poem begins with a de-
scription of one of those lovely nights in Italy which
have before awakened so many deep emotions. Lost in
a sweet ecstasy, the two lovers of their fatherland breathe
the fragrant freshness of the air, and gaze into the im-
mensity of the starry vault. What holy calm ! What
divine peace ! The universe is an immense Lyre. , . .
A sublime chant is heard, — a chant of concord, — the
harmony of the spheres. . . . But in this concord is
there not one tone wanting? In this sheaf of light, has
not one ray been broken ? " O my sister, utter the tone
wanting in the lyre of life; point out the star eclipsed
but not extinct ; pronounce, pronounce the name : Po-
land ! — our Poland ! At such an hour ])erhaps God
hearkens to us ; will gather from thy lips the long-lost
tone, and will again restore it in His glorious Hymn !
. . . Ah ! thy lips tremble, and thy breast oppressed can
114
POLISH POETRY IN
only breathe a sigh. . . . My sister, God will under-
stand thee well ; He knows a sigh is now the only name
of thy sad country. " Thus begins a series of stanzas
in which the Poet paints with high poetic power the mis-
ery of the Present, the glories of the Past, and the hopes
of the Future. We are born orphans, — he says to his
Ladye when speaking of the actual generations, — posthu-
mous children ; our only cradle has been the grave of
our mother; "the sweet maternal gaze has ne'er illu-
mined our innocent play; and our young heads have
never reposed upon a warm and palpitating breast, but
on the cold stones of the cemeteries. "
One of the most beautiful stanzas of the poem is that in
which the Poet invokes the ancient senators, the heroes,
the illustrious captains and glorious kings of Poland, from
their graves. Covered with their armor of steel, and
wearing their rusty helmets, they march in endless train ;
and before this sublime Diet of Shadows, the Poet, at first
discouraged, accusing the ancestors of having destroyed
in advance the inheritance of their children, is reanimated
to new hope by the words of one of the shades, Stephen
Czarniecki, one of the purest heroes of the country. The
poet here introduces his idea of the " Christ of nations. "
It is not only Poland that he sees, he embraces humanity
entire. He compares our epoch to that which preceded
the Christian era, and many analogies are not wanting.
Then, as now, social wars had upturned the soil and de-
stroyed the old institutions; then, as now, a Caesar ap-
peared (Napoleon), who arrested society upon the brink
of the abyss, re-established a ma/eria/ order, and inaugu-
rated an epoch of great expansion for a civilization
thoroughly materialistic. Then, as now, discontent was
general; humanity suffered in its soul, and divined the
(oming of a great moral change. A Man at last came to
teach men the unknown law of love, to abolish slavery, to
preach fraternity. He was crucified, but He rose from the
dead, and His law reigned upon earth. This law still
reigns, but unhappily, though tlie divine doctrines of the
Saviour have changed and ameliorated the relations be-
tween individuals, they have not yet penetrated the rela-
tions among nations ; these are still regulated by the
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
115
ancient rights, the pagan laws, those of conquest and op-
pression. A single Peoj)le has not followed this example,
her history has remained jnire from all international in-
justice ; it has always fulfilled the law in the affairs of this
world ; it has never enslaved nor subjugated any of its
neighbors, it has only used its power to protect the fee-
ble, it has sacrificed itself for the safety of others, — and
this people has been crucified as was the Saviour. The
last stanzas of "The Dawn" celebrate the resurrection of
this martyr, and with her a new reign of love among all
nations, the fraternity of all the Peoples crowning and re-
alizing the fraternity of men taught by Christ. In pro-
found emotion, wealth of imagery, purity of form, the
poet has never written anything which surpasses "The
Dawn," and enraptured by the vision of a near and
glorious future, he bids an eternal farewell to Poetry, ex-
claiming in the final strophe, which so many hearts have
repeated with enthusiastic fervor: "Our whole soul, O
my sister, we have expressed in this hymn ; let us now say
farewell to the lyre, farewell to all words ! Let children
delight forever to warble their songs ; far other ways are
open before us ; let my songs perish, let ftiy actions live ! ''
Illusion of the Poet, and yet partaken by a great part
of the nation, which was soon to be followed by a most
bitter awakening ! But this cry was not the less an ex-
pression of a true presentiment 1 New paths really soon
opened before the Poet ; we are now touching uj^on the
last i)eriod of his poetic activity, the very saddest of all,
and yet the most inextricably interwoven with the events
of the day, bound up as it was with a terrible catastrophe,
with a great national misfortune.
Moved and charmed by the accents of the Anonymous
Poet, Poland was still very far from following him into
the high, pure regions of moral life which he pointed out
to her. With regard to her aspirations, she still lingered
with Count Henry in the delusions of his youth, and even
Pancras loomed upon her horizon without affrighting her.
The revolution of 1831 had thrown thousands of Poles
into France, then deeply moved with revolutionary pas-
sions. The tortured exiles drank deeply at this boiling and
troubled spring, and a democratic propaganda, which has
Il6 POLISH POETRY IN
indeed produced its heroes, even its loyal martyrs, but
more than all, its blinded adepts, imbued with true revolu-
tionary doctrines, soon acquired an immense influence over
the country. That this movement had its origin in the
most generous feelings, in an impetuous desire to deliver
the wretched nation, in a vivid, though not enlightened
interest in the cause of the peasants, we are very far from
wishing to deny ; but it is not the less beyond doubt that
inflated declamation, and the infantile desire of imitating
the radicalism of the West, had also their share in hasten-
ing the insurrection. For example, the Polish democrats
imitated their French brethren in their hatred of Catho-
licity ; and tried to sap the religious faith of the nation at
the very moment when the Emperor Nicholas, more cir-
cumspect than these visionary patriots, renewed the most
vigorous persecutions against the Polish Church I The
" strong-minded," the leaders of the propaganda, did not
hesitate to adopt the dogmas of materialism, to proclaim
a cynic skepticism. "They desired the Resurrection of
a People," said upon this subject, at a later date, the
Anonymous Poet, "and they did not themselves believe
even in the immortality of the soul ! " But it was above
all in preaching hate against the nobility, which it stigma-
tized as "a decaying and corrupt class, inimical to the
people, and an eternal foe to progress," that the Polish
democracy manifested how far the spirit of imitation had
stifled not only all sense of justice, but even the most
evident perception of reality, for if there is anything
clear and manifest in this world, it is that the Polish no-
bility resembles absolutely in nothing the nobility of any
country of Western Europe. It is, in the first place, utterly
different in numbers ; it is not a class, but an entire popu-
lation. It was the only element which in the past had
been able to develop fully in itself the consciousness of its
own nationality; and at present it is the class of the pro-
prietors, the land-owners (of which the Polish nobility
consists), which bears in its breast the historic traditions
as well as the vivid prevision of the Future of Poland. It
constitutes the moral antl intellectual force of the country;
it issimjily its " tiers-elat," — for Poland has had no other:
and instead of being opposed to modern progress and
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
117
principles, it leans too fnuch for safety to modern ideas !
To propose the destruction of such a nobility was — as the
Anonymous Poet justly asserted — " to commit self-mur-
der, in order, after our suicide, to act and conquer. " It
was, nevertheless, recommended by the democratic propa-
ganda, which called upon the people to rise as one man
to deliver the country, to make way with every suspected
proprietor at the commencement of the insurrection, to
divide the lands of the nobles, who had no right to na-
tional life at all except in so far as tliey made part of the
people. And what was most tragically fantastic in this
melancholy attempt was, that its apostles, as well as its
disciples, were themselves of the nobility, for the demo-
cratic propaganda had no influence whatever among the
peasants, neither by its publications nor its emissaries; it
addressed itself to the proprietors, to the gentlemen of the
country ; it was by them it was so eagerly received, and
through them organized into a vast conspiracy, ready to
break out at a given signal. That the Polish nobility
should have so magnanimously and almost so universally
accepted the word of command from Paris, which sounded
for themselves the knell of spoliation and death, while it
certainly argues a great want of political intelligence, also
incontestabiy proves into what deep and hopeless despair
the country had been driven by foreign domination : it
must prove also above all else how cruel and unjust were
the declamations then made — as indeed they still are —
against the selfish and aristocratic spirit of this poor Polish
nobility, generous enough to accept even communism,
sufficiently devoted to what it believed to be the interest
of the country to subscribe to its ozan suicide ; which sfjirit
the Powers of the North at the time of the dismember-
ment, as also Nicholas in 1831, denounced as confirmed
Jacobinism.
It is difficult to imagine the rapidity and extent of the
democratic movement which then seized upon Poland,
the result of which, for any clear-sighted mind, could
only be a powerless insurrection, aggravated by social
rupture and distraction. How heart-rending the situa-
tion of the Anonymous Poet in such events ! It can-
not be denied that some of his poems, magnanimous and
II
Ii8 POLISH POETRY IN
sublime as they are, — especially those which appeared
after " Iridion," — have erred through an excess of spir-
itual optimism ; that his poetry forgot too much the con-
ditions of this world ; that it evangelized and ange/ized
men with too little regard to their situation and duty as
citizens ; and that the influence of these works is still,
in more than one respect, enervating for young souls.
Alas ! the Poet was soon to be cruelly recalled from these
ethereal and cloudy spheres by the most bitter reality;
a period of two years only intervened between the en-
trancing visions of " The Dawn" and the heart-rending
lamentations of ''The Psalms of the Future" (1845).
This " Christ of Nations," proclaimed so near its Resur-
rection, with its mission of new life to enslaved Nations,
must now be preserved from suicide ! Our Poet did not
shrink from this painful duty, and, if we consider his
personal position and the general state of the public
mind, it was in him a great act of civic courage. He
brought to the fulfillment of this task all the fire, elo-
quence, logic, and passion of his heart. The first two
Hymns are still kept in the realms of the Future ; he
again represents to the Nation the ideal which God cre-
ated her to realize; but in the third Psalm he enters
upon the fiery questions of the moment ; exposes the
elements of the propaganda, resolution by resolution ;
boldly pronounces the words, " Massacre of the nobles,"
which might be found in the logic of the new doctrines,
or in the progress of events. To the " conventioners"
of the Convention, who were always calling for vigorous
acts, he declared that murders were no actions ; that de-
struction was not regeneration; that there was but one
true law of public safety for the nation: "the Polish
nobles with the Polish people. '^ After having recalled the
eternal principles of justice and humanity, he undertakes
the defense of the Polish nobility, then so loudly decried
by a blinded radicalism. Was it not the nobility whose
breast forever bloomed into scars and gashes? Was it
not always ready to offer up itself in holocaust upon the
altar of the country? Had it not even consented to sui-
cide? In the great Diet of 1791, who ojiened to the
people the golden doors of the Future ? Was it not this
THE NINE TEE. y Til CENTURY.
119
maligned race of nobles — a race which had never con-
sented to a truce with the oppressor — which had offered
itself as autumn grain to be harvested on every battle-
field, and which had actually peopled Siberia ?
"Everywhere, everywhere upon this globe, I see the
footprints of my brothers, and your words will never be
able to efface them. It is they whom the world has per-
secuted ', it is they whom the hangmen have tortured ; it
is they who forever wander in the polar snows, and who
crowd the dungeons of the citadels T
"Upon the arid peaks of the Alps, upon the billowy
azure of the Mediterranean, upon the Italian Apennines,
upon the summits of the Sierras of Spain, upon the wide
plains of Germany, upon the snows and ices of the Mos-
covites, upon the fields of friendly France, upon every
land, on every sea, they have scattered the seed of our
future country ; a seed divine, the blood of martyrs —
and you are the sons of their agonies ! "
The Anonymous Poet regards persecution as a small
ill ; the obscuration of truth is the real and terrible evil ;
the changes forced upon the true life of the national soul
by constant oppression, the reign of morbid and funereal
ideas, is the great misfortune. He says : "Alas ! slavery
distills a poison which decomposes the soul ! Siberia is
nothing; the knout is nothing; nothing the racks and
tortures which rend the body ; but alas for the spirit of
the nation when it is poisoned ! This is the most bitter
of all woes! " The poet conjures his country to repel
all evil counsels, all inspirations of despair, "Let the
demagogues howl on, the sophists whisper that a high
and mysterious aim may justify infamous means ; that the
happiness of ail h worth the death of t\\efe-aj; that love
may spring from a work of hate. . . . No ! no ! IVe
can build nothing of mire ; and the highest Wisdom is
Virtue J"
Thus, invoking the most glorious memories of the Past
for the salvation of the Present, passing from flashes of
anger to accents of soul-subduing pity, and placing all
his luxuriant imagination in the service of common sense,
did the inspired patriot continue to write. But it was a
voice in the desert ; it was lost without echo in the pros-
120 rOLISH POETRY hV
tration of the clear-sighted, and the disdainful silence of
the party of action. As too often happens in moments
of public excitement, our author was not jia/ged, he was
classed ; he was placed among the enemies of progress, —
and then all was over ! One man, however, broke the
silence to rejily to the singer of the " Psalms," to defend
the honor of the denounced propaganda, to avenge "the
outraged people," and this man was also a Bard, and for-
merly a friend of the Anonymous Poet. Of an ardent
and wayward temperament, consumed by a sombre mysti-
cism as well as by a haughty pride, exceedingly jealous,
uniting to a splendid imagination a power of language
never equaled, even by Mickiewicz, Julius Slowa^ki sud-
denly entered the lists, and gave to the propaganda what
had hitherto been wanting to it — the support of his
marvelous genius. Raillery, anger, disguised allusions,
stormy passions, true sufferings, and fictitious com-
plaints, all the flashing and sometimes poisoned weapons
of his brilliant armory, were made use of in his "Reply
to the Author of the Psalms. "
Let us cast a brief glance on this " Reply," as it is an
important element in this characteristic and almost na-
tional debate. Slowa(;ki therein calls back the author of
the "Psalms" to his visions in his " Dawn," to the final
cry in which he invokes "his actions," at the same time
cruelly satirizing the "seraphic doctrines of the noble
dreamer. ^' The double-bladed sword glitters from the
very commencement. "To believe thee, my ^<^(;v///c7//<7//,
it would be a virtue in us to endure slavery patiently !
Thou changest our sad existence in this valley of tears
into a life of pure and shadowy spirits in the silver
moon ; with the voice of an infant thou criest : 'Action !
action ! action ! ' And the nation prepares for it, and
thou instantly beginnest to tremble when the face of the
people appears, and when the voice of God resounds
from the burning bush ! " Slowa^ki continues : " Once,
the Elect of noble Poetry were the first to proclaim new
truths, and to excite the masses to the combat of freedom.
But now behold ! a great Lord, a grand singer, shows
himself as a ' proj^het of the people,' but in the mode of
the Ifcau mondc, as a highly fashionable Prophet ! He
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 121
places Christ in his poetic car as Ovid did his Phaeton,
and with light, rose-colored steeds, he traverses the aerial
depths of a harmless ideal ! When the universe is per-
ishing in agony, when the tide of action rises high, be-
hold I he places himself as barrier across it, forbids the
century itself to move, and from his breast, shivering
with fear, we only hear the hoarse, shrill cry, in the name
of the red God, wliomsoever thou mayst be : ' Kill not
the nobility! ' The nobility? But where may it be
found? By what mark sliall we recognize it? " In a
celebrated stanza, Slowa^ki, who more than once recalls
his own noble origin, denies that the Polish nobility is
still in existence, making only one injurious exception
for Prince Czartoryski, in attributing to him dynastic
ambition, — an accusation frequently brought against a
tried patriot by the ungrateful companions of his exile.
"Yes, you were once numerous; formerly there were
hundreds of thousands of your nobles ; nobles by heart
and bearing ! But in our days I have known but one
noble; the whole country has never seen another. He
alone, by the misery of his heart, by his intentions if
not by his success ;. by a silent, proud, and grand sad-
ness ; by a hand always full of gifts, by an antique, quiet
glory, was a noble, and had the right so to call himself.
And now he, the sole and only noble, has abandoned
your ranks ; he has himself resigned his dignity; he has
gone down to rot atnong the kings / He is no longer, and
you are no more ! "
It has always been the tactics of revolutionists to pre-
sent their programmes as utterly harmless ; and Slowagki
did not fail to follow this course. He boldly asks our
poet : Where he had ever heard massacre spoken of ; who
had threatened with the dagger? Mere visions of a
troubled brain were all such idle thoughts, hallucinations
of a frightened fancy. A plaintive tone had perhaps
reached him through the air; a (^///■w/1'^* celebrating the
ancient combats of the Zaparogues ; and you ivere afraid,
son of the noble ! or perhajjs some brilliant morning a ray
of sunshine pierced into the room of the Psalmist, made
* . \ Dirge from the Ukraine.
This is not, however, the supreme denial of the doc-
trines of the Saviour. Their utter negation has been in-
9*
98
POLISH POETRY IN
carnated by the poet in the person of Masinissa, who is
perhaps the most profound and original conception of
the whole drama. The counselor of Iridion is not
simply a ^^ wa'idelote,^^ he is the Spirit of Evil, Satan
himself, — but Satan ingloriously reduced to antique pro-
portions, such as a mythology always seeking beauty and
serenity, even in the darkest and saddest creations, would
have pictured him. Masinissa has neither the bitter and
desolating irony of Mephistopheles, nor the tempestuous
rage of Milton's fallen angel ; he is a grave and majestic
old man. Seek not in him that "eternal and infinite ne-
gation" which Goethe has given to Evil; his hatred
is, on the contrary, very determinate and very plastic.
Christianity repels him by that which must have deeply
wounded all minds truly and classically antique, — by its
apparent absence of virile energy, its want of sensuous
beauty. The doctrines of submission and resignation,
always preached by the confessors of the Cross, appeared
to him unworthy of a manly spirit, of a free man ; he
called them cowardice ; and there was nothing in Chris-
tianity, even to its rehabilitation of woman, — one of
the immense benefits of the Gospel, — which was not re-
volting to all his instincts. " They adore a maid," he
says, " a creature whose infancy is eternal, whose old age
precocious ; they build a strange, mysterious worship
upon the ruins of their carnal lusts, and they prostrate
themselves before a woman, — before the slave of the hus-
band. " . . . Thus, as he saw it, but little fit to inspire
vigorous acts, the Christian ideal seemed also to him
essentially ugly. " They are full of admiration for this
crucified body, for the features they imagine so exquisite
in the hour they call the triumph of love. They have not
known him ; they did not see him when he agonized, a pi'ey
to all the hideousness of suffering, faint with torture, cov-
ered with blood, and with his hair disordered by the
winds which whistled round his head. " . . . Here is in-
deed the beauty-seeking naturalism of the ancient world
protesting against modern spirituality, which exalts the
soul, even at the exi)ense of the body. Let the reader
examine for a moment the figures of the antique group
which our poet has placed in contrast with the spirit of
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
99
Christianity, that he may obtain a due conception of the
grand sense of justice and poetry which presides over the
whole of this remarkable composition.
Thus impartial in his pictures of the classic world, our
author is no less just in his sketches of the early societies
of the Christians. He has taken care not to give them
that beatified placidity, that detachment from all the pas-
sions of humanity, so willingly attributed to them by mer-
cenary and conventional art. In the primitive church, as
represented in our drama, the Holy Spirit alone is great
and infallible ; man is weak as he ever is, subject to
temptation and sudden falls. Not that the association of
Christians does not contain characters of sublime abne-
gation and sanctity, of invincible resolution, and of
angelic purity, such as Bishop Victor, the true servant of
God, the admirable head of a Christian community; but
together with those who realize the Christian ideal in all
its purity, we also meet with Christians less resigned, em-
bittered by grief, and aspiring to sunshine, joy, and life.
They are men, and as men they suffer, hope ; they want
a terrestrial base for their actions ; they wish to tear the
cross from the bowels of the earth, and plant it on the
Roman Forum. Remark attentively Simeon of Corinth,
only an episodic sketch, but drawn with a bold, free
hand, as is the wont of the Anonymous Poet. ' Simeon
had once loved ; a single day separated him from wedded
bliss, when a centurion tore the plighted maiden from his
arms to throw her to the Flavian amphitheatre. A skull
was all left to him by the tiger's teeth ! Then he em-
braced the cross with fervor, a burning asceticism puri-
fied his soul from all dreams of vengeance, he meditated
profoundly on the passion of the Lord, and was touched
with boundless love by memories of Golgotha. . . .
"And if God himself, to save the world, has taken a
body, why should not His Bride, the Church, to save the
world, also put on a body? Until now, she has been
only spirit; where are her temples, sanctuaries, powers? "
He exclaims in one of his solitary ecstasies, " To possess
the world, — not that which glitters in gold or groans in
iron ; but the infinite world, — the world of souls, — and
there in Thy name to reign, O God ! " Here we may
UNIVERSITY
fERfelTY \
lOO POLISH POETRY IN
already see the Spiritual contemplating the reign over the
Temporal. With spirits of this stamp Iridion succeeds,
and is listened to when, in place of the victory promised
them by Victor, "before the face of the Lord," he in-
cites them " to a combat and triumph which are of this
world, near them, and not at an infinite distance. "
Above all, however, it behooved the son of Amphilochus
to gain to his side Cornelia Metella, the saintly virgin
whom the Christians loved. The poet has surrounded
this noble victim with every grace, and the Son of
Vengeance is himself moved by the divine charm she
exhales around her, but Masinissa has designated her
as the principal and indispensable instrument of his un-
dertaking. To associate Christianity with his work of
destruction, to incarnate in human passions a force which
is not of this world, a woman is a necessity ! These Naza-
renes adore a virgin ! Then let Iridion choose the purest
and fairest of their maidens, inflame her with his own
ideas, and like a burning brand throw her in their midst.
With Satanic perspicacity the terrible old man has per-
ceived the danger incurred by the female heart in the
depths of Christian mysticism, the tendency of all ec-
static love to materialize itself even through the excess of
its own refinement, and he has traced for Iridion his line
of conduct : " Praise her God, adore his wounds, speak
tenderly of the nails which pierced his limbs, . . . and
then attract her thoughts from the crucified, and fix them
on yourself. . . . He is so far, He has been on the
earth, but will never return to it : but you live, breathe,
and are beside her. . . . You will become her God !
And when her head shall rest upon your breast, then will
the soul forget itself in the passion of the body, — then,
O my Son, my spirit will be with you, and you will find
adherents in the Catacombs. " The struggle which oc-
curs between Iridion and Metella, between the ideal of
classic beauty and the ascetic spirituality of the Christian
heart, is full of pathos and passion. The son of Amphilo-
chus breaks forth before the sainted maid in all the vio-
lence of his love, his hate; he kindles her soul with his
burning breath, he explains to her the odious past of
Rome, he entreats her to love, to live, and to revetige the
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. loi
Saviour. The Christian resists, but is fascinated ; for the
first time she fears tlie dead who lie around her ; she makes
an effort to fly to Christ, to escape the Greek, who ap-
pears to her as Prophet or Archangel. At last the de-
cisive moment comes. Before the tombs of the martyrs,
and appealing to their bones to bear him witness, the
Greek tears off the veil of the maiden while lost in prayer,
and sullies her brow with a kiss, while she believes him
now to be a messenger from heaven.
Master of Metella, Iridion hastily repairs to Ehitn,
the most holy s])Ot within the Catacombs, where the faith-
ful are assembled. Clad in armor, and sword in hand, he
declares to the just that the time of resignation is past, the
measure full ; that this is the decisive moment : division
distracts the city, the son of shame totters on his throne,
the Prtetorians have turned away their hearts from him,
the people, like a troubled sea, know not to what wind to
yield. The legions throughout Asia are in insurrection ;
the Germans on the Rhine revolt ; Cssar and Alexander
arm for their last combat ; but what matters it to the
Christians who shall be the conqueror? Whoever it may
be, will he not murder them, and blaspheme Christ?
The signs perdicted are upon them, let them be recog-
nized ; let them K'/7//V_/fr;;//)'— and they are /r^<? . /" . . .
But who has commissioned him to lead the people of God ?
ask those who hesitate. Who will assure them that the
Lord has ordered them to rise? Simeon of Corinth
answers that he will bear witness to the mission of Iridion.
He begs the brethren not to suffer the propitious hour to
escape. From this moment, which will never return, let
them strike the spark of life, for in it, and in it alone,
sleeps the germ of future ages. Metella, maddened, in-
spired, and panting with haste, rushes in at this moment,
crying: "To arms ! to arms ! " This testimony from the
consecrated virgin determines the doubters. The bap-
tized barbarians are glad to find the messenger of the
Messiah in the grandson of Sigurd ; the young, the strong,
they who live and feel, swear to be exact at the hour and
place of meeting: the old, the pure, the saints, resist and
pray. The confusion is at its height, the eartli yawns
and trembles, the community disperses on all sides,
I02 POLISH POETRY IN
some applauding the avenger, others crying Anathema,
and mercy ! The holy place is finally empty, and Masi-
nissa appears in Eloim, thus deserted by the Christians,
surrounded by the infernal spirits who chant their victory.
Here, and in this scene alone, the Spirit of Evil steps
beyond the frame so ingeniously wrought for him by the
poet. For this time only he assumes the vast proportions
of the Christian Satan, and betrays the boundless hate of
Lucifer ; indeed, the spectacle he had just witnessed was
well fitted to swell his pride. He has seen the first rup-
ture in the Christian community founded upon peace,
unity, and love ; he regards it as the forerunner of all the
schisms yet to be, of the persecutions in the name of faith,
and of the terrible religious wars which through ages yet
to come shall rend and distract that humanity which
Christ had died to redeem. His soul dilates with this
hope, and he hurls defiance at Christ, his enemy.
"Great Enemy! Thou knowest that the souls of men
have gone astray from the beginning of the world ! From
this time forth no day will ever pass in which, disputing
on thy nature and thy substance, they will not excite
sterile, but bloody contests !
" In Thy name will they rise, revolt, destroy, burn, mas-
sacre ; in Thy name will they lose human life in dreamy
ecstasies, renounce the gift of speech, and die !
"And without ceasing, will they crucify Thee; as in
their wisdom so in their ignorance ; their reason as their
folly ; in their prayers of base humility, as in the haughty
blasphemy of their pride !
"On Thy far Heaven heights, empty the cup of gall they
hold to Thy wrung lips, until in Thy turn, Thou tooshalt
curse them !
" And even on the summit of Thy sky, with all Thy
glory and omnipotence, Thou shalt at last feel agony,
and learn to know what our hell truly is ! "
The denouement approaches, and Iridion redoubles his
activity. Sent by Caesar to treat with tiie revolted troops
marching upon the city, and whom Severus has joined,
he intentionally irritates them, and renders all accommo-
dation impossible. When returned to Rome, he prepares
the Praetorians to attack the invaders, and at the same
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
103
time marshals the slaves, gladiators, and barbarians to
fall on either party, to massacre and burn the city as soon
as they shall see him appear at the head of the Christians.
He again visits Heliogabalus to tear from him the last
symbol of power, the imperial ring ox\. which the Genius
of Rome is graven. Possessor of this talisman, he no
longer thinks of the son of Caracalla, but another has
thought of this crowned child :
^' £Isinoe. Brother, what will become of him?
*' I}-idion. It matters not. I care not for his life, nor
for his death. That which he was, now glitters on my
hand (showing the ring) ; that which he is, is scarcely
worth a thought.
" Elsinoe. If that be so, come near, come nearer still !
Canst hear my lightest whisper now?
'' Iridion. What is the matter, sister? Wherefore
tremble so? (He takes her in his arms. ) Thy small
hand burns in mine, — I feel thy heart throb wild against
my breast-plate !
" E/sinoe. The eyes whose fires withered my soul, must
die ! The arms which clasped my neck, must fall like
mangled adders ! The lips which first touched mine,
must crumble into dust !
*' Iridion. Yes. He shall perish. "
At last the hour for the execution of the plot arrives.
All have kept faith except the Christians, who do not
come. What can detain them ? Simeon swore to lead
them forward at the appointed time ; all hope for the
avenger lies in them. Iridion's anguish is extreme, the
anguish of Prometheus, when but a cloud divides him from
the heaven flame he means to seize ! " Why are you silent ?
Masinissa, speak! Cry: Long live Hellas! " — "I am
silent" — replies the old man — "because the hour ap-
pointed has already passed ! • Each feather in its wings
as it flies on rustles with long-drawn sneers. " — Iridion feels
that the work of his whole life is escaping his grasp ; he
hastes from his palace to unearth the Christians, his un-
sheathed sword in his hand, his head bare: "To con-
quer, his sword suffices; to die, he needs no helmet! "
His fears were well founded with regard to the Catacombs.
Bishop Victor had arrested, on the threshold of Eloim,
I04
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all the armed men who were marching upon the city.
When Iridion enters the sanctuary, most of the men had
already deserted him. Simeon persists in the revolt, and
is excommunicated. Metella, too, ceases not to acknowl-
edge the envoy of heaven in Iridion, or to cry : " To
arms! " and around this deluded, wandering soul Victor
and Iridion hold their last combat. Exorcised by the
Bishop, touched by the cross, she grows weak and faint,
and dies, renouncing the Spirit of Evil. Iridion casts a
last curse at the cowards, placing their whole trust in the
words of a woman, and departs to fight without a hope of
conquest. Indeed, victory is no longer possible ; the de-
fection of the Christians has ruined all ; the Praetorians
have not resisted the troops of Severus ; the gladiators,
slaves, and barbarians have fallen in the streets without
plan or direction, and have been everywhere repulsed.
The son of Amphilochus will sell dearly his defeat ; he
reunites all those still devoted to him, fights fiercely, and
repels with disdain the pardon sent him by the new Em-
peror through Domitian. In the long and admirable
scene between Domitian and himself, the combat between
Hellas and Rome is renewed and brilliantly discussed, —
the contest between the beautiful genius of Ancient Lib-
erty and the harsh and cruel domination of the Romans
is eloquently argued. All negotiations are broken, and
the struggle is renewed ; the issue is no longer doubt-
ful. Heliogabalus has been murdered, Elsinoe has taken
her own life, Rome still stands, and Alexander Severus
is proclaimed Emperor. The triumph of Severus, who
neither in Christian graces nor antique virtues ever soars
above mediocrity, is one of the deepest lessons contained
in the Drama; it is therefore intentionally that the poet
has given to the son of Mammea a character deprived of
all the stronger traits. For in the sublime struggle of
two titanic princij)les, the victory too often remains with
dull mediocrity ! Happy indeed if it should prove honest,
— as Alexander really was.
At last Iridion, without forces, deserted even by the most
faithful, his friends dead, gorged with bitterness, mounts
the funeral pyre to end his days. At this moment Masi-
nissa appears, of whom nothing had been seen after the
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
105
defection of the Christians. He takes Iridion in his
arms, carries him away, and places him upon a mountain
near the sea, whence he can see Rome still standing entire,
"still showing its marbles to the sun like the white teeth
of a tiger. " Then the first doubt of the legitimacy of
his work rushes upon the son of Amphilochus ; then for
the first time he asks " if the God of Metella be not per-
chance the greatest of the gods, and if the Nazarenes do
not possess the only truth in the world? " "The Naza-
renes? " replies Masinissa, sneeringly, to him, — "truly
you owe them much in the past ; will owe them more in
the future ! . . . Not falsely did your mother Crimhild
speak ; her predictions will be all accomplished ! The
peoi)le of the North will yet ravage Italy, covering it with
blood and ashes ; but do you know who will tear the
accursed city from the hands of your barbarian brothers ?
The Nazarene ! In him the perfidy of the senate and the
cruelty of the Roman people will still live, as an eternal
heritage ; his heart will be as merciless as that of the first
Cato, although his words will often be sweet and effemi-
nate. And the warriors of the North will be as little
children at his feet, and for the second time he will
make Rome godlike, above all the nations of the earth ! "
— "What! " cries the Greek in the accents of despair,
"After Rome, will there be still another Rome? The
city accursed is then to be eternal? And this is the an-
nouncement which the friend of Amphilochus reserves for
Crimhild's son to bless his dying hour? " . . . Masi-
nissa replies: "Do not despair! The time is coming
wlien the shadow of the cross will oppress the nations
like a tropic heat ; when it too will stretch out its arms
in vain to press again to its heart those who forsake it !
One after another they will arise and say : ' We will no
longer serve thee ! ' Then will be heard at all the city
gates complaints and sobs, and the Roman Genius will
veil his face, his tears will never end, his humiliation will
be as great as has ever been his pride. " — The heart of
Iridion again begins to beat, his eyes regain their lustre.
— "O that I might see that day of chastisement and
vengeance ! " — " Then be it so ! " replies Masinissa. He
bears away his pupil from the life of earth, rocks him to
Io6 POLISH POETRY IN
sleep upon oblivion's heart, from which he will not wake
for many centuries, until the appointed hour comes:
" When on the Forum only dust shall be, — the Am[)hi-
theatre hold only skeletons, — the Capitol be crumbled
into infamy. " The antique drama is now finished, and
the epilogue transports us into modern times, into the
Rome of our own days. Through centuries, Iridion has
slept the sleep of Epimenides; neither the terrible days
of Alaric nor of Attila, nor the renovation of the em-
pire by Charlemagne nor the struggle of Rienzi, have
been able to arouse him from his sleep; the holy masters
of the Vatican have, one by one, like shadows glided by
this shade : " but in our times he awakes. " Masinissa has
kept his word, and he again places his pupil before Rome,
o'errun with creeping vines, through which a creeping
people move. The Son of the Centuries now crosses the
deserted Forum, and gazes round the desolate city, and
"every ruin is to him a recompense. "
" Two hoary-headed old men stand in the vestibule of
a Basilica, robed in purple mantles ; and monks salute
them with the names of Fathers, Princes of the Church ;
and poverty of spirit is graven on their faces. They en-
ter a chariot drawn by two dark, meagre horses, behind
them is a servant holding a dim lantern, such as a poor
widow hangs above a child who dies of hunger ; on the
panels of this chariot are seen what once was gilding.
The creaking wheels have passed, and with them disap-
pear two snowy, bent, and weary heads. "
"The fearful leader says: ' Such are the successors of the
Caesars ! Such is the Car of Fortune ! Such the Victors ! '
"And the son of Greece looks on, and claps his hands
in joy. "
As striking as may be this final picture, as closely as it
may seem to respond to the preoccui)ations and passions
of the times we are traversing, we would be mistaken if
we should think to see in it the innermost thought of the
drama; above all, we would be wrong not to observe
closely the change which has occurred in Iridion himself;
for if Rome is no longer to be recognized, the son of
Amphilochus has also been transformed during his sleep
of ages. He no longer hates the Cross ; its fate appears
rilE NINETEENril CENTURY.
107
as sad to him as did in other days that of his Hellas;
" under the rays of the moon, he has felt that the sign of
redemption is holy for ever and ever; he clasps his arms
round it, — and Masinissa leaves him step by step y . . .
Here, in truth, lies the bearing of the poem ; it flashes
clearly upon us in the voice from Heaven which sends
Iridion to Poland, to be subjected there to another and
more glorious proof.
"Go," cries the voice to him, — "go toward the North
in the name of Christ ! Go, and stop not until thou
standest in the land of graves and crosses ! Thou wilt
know it by the silence of the warriors, the wails of the
women, and the sadness of the children ; thou wilt know
it by the burning cottages of the poor and the desolated
palaces of the exiled ; thou wilt know it by the moans of
my angels who pass there by night ! Go, and dwell among
the new brothers I give to thee. There shall thy second
trial be !
There thou shalt again see the object of thy love
in agony ; again transpierced ; and thou wilt not be able
to die, and the anguish of thousands of souls will be in-
carnated in thee ! Go, and have faith in my name !
Think not of thine own glory, but of the welfare of those
I intrust to thee. Becalm before the pride, oppression,
and the scorn of the unjust ! They will pass away, but
my Thought and Thou, ye shall endure forever!
"And after a long martyrdom I will kindle my dawn
around thee ; I will give thee what my angels have enjoyed
for ages, — bliss ! And tliat which I promised men from
the beginning, from the summit of Golgotha, — Liberty !
Go and act ! Act, even though thy heart be withering
in thy breast; act even when thou doubtest thine own
brethren, when thou despairest of my aid ! Act ! Act
without cessation or repose ! And thou shalt outlive the
vain, the happy, the illustrious ; thou shalt arise again,
not from a sterile sleep, but from the work of the centu-
ries, and shalt become one of the free sons of the skies! "
Such is the dramatic poem of Iridion in its original and
powerful unity. That such a poem should have been
hitherto almost unknown in Western Europe, — so eager to
know and enjoy the literary productions of all nations as
almost to realize that " universal literature" (Welt litter-
lo8 POLISH POETRY IN
atur) whicli was the dream of Goethe, — proves how, heavily
the forgetfuhiess of the world still weighs upon the unfor-
tunate country of the Anonymous Poet ; it also proves
how much the easy enjoyment of light productions, void
of all sublime ideas, has deteriorated our tastes, causing
us to turn away from all serious, even if eloquent, works.
At any rate, they who pretend to penetrate the meaning
of Faust and Manfred, can find no difficulty in the com-
prehension of Iridion. It is at least certain that Poland
immediately caught the dominant idea of the drama, and
easily unraveled the profound signification of its allegory.
This poem told them that patriotic suffering effects no-
thing when it is based on negation and hatred. It further
told them that an enemy might find new strength, life,
and rejuvenation in the very means by which an imscru-
pulous vengeance sought to overthrow him or sharpen
mortal arms against him ; as Rome found a second era of
greatness in Christianity, which Iridion intended should
become the instrument of his hatred ; as the Teutonic
order encountered the like in the Reformation ; or as
Russia shall perhaps yet meet in the material civilization
of our century. That which Poland above all understood,
was the mysterious voice which ordered Iridion toward
the North, to be there subject to a second proof, that com-
mand which sent this ideal of Hellenic patriotism " to the
land of graves and crosses," but which at the same time
sent it transformed, purified from all pagan feelings of
hate, illumined by the Christian faith, and holding in its
arms the cross. The national ideal of Wallenrod thus
received a complete and moral transfiguration in Iridion,
after having passed through its transition in the admirable
and significant character of Robak, in the Sir Thaddeus.
And let us dwell for a moment upon the fact that this suc-
cessive purification of the patriotic sentiment in ourpoetry
was not accomplished at a time even relatively mild and
peaceful; it coincided with a period of the most bitter
suffering ; with the epoch of the direst and most impla-
cable punishments and persecutions, with the reign of the
cruel Emperor Nicholas. The very year in which Iridion
appeared saw an auction opened assuredly, at least, en-
tirely new in the annals of the world ; at Warsaw, and in
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
109
the principal cities of the country, the transportation of
thousands of Polish children into the steppes and among the
Oural Mountains was offered at public sale to the highest
bidder. Certainly if the feeling of national hate were
ever to be permitted to poets, it would be to those fired
by the manifold torments inflicted upon the most unfor-
tunate of nations; — and it stamps the character of origi-
nal greatness upon the Anonymous Poet to have raised,
precisely at such a dark epoch, a protest so energetic
against all ideas of vengeance, to have placed Eternal
Love, not only as did Dante at the gates of the city of
Eternal Grief, but in the very deepest of the Circles of
Hell!
IV.
Hate is impotent, vengeance creates nothing; to en-
able us to triumph over an enemy, it is not sufficient
to have just causes of complaint, we must also surpass
him by moral superiority ! Such was the lesson the Anon-
ymous Poet gave to his subjugated nation. But how to
attain this superiority? How to maintain it? By devo-
tion, immolation, self-sacrifice, replies the Poet. To
expect deliverance, not from the evil which may be called
down on or inflicted upon the oppressor, but from the
good ^\vic\\ maybe developed in the stormful bosom of
the avenger ; to look to God alone for decisive justice,
and to renounce all measures of dissimulation and con-
spiracy, which only tarnish the national character and ob-
scure the purity of the Polish soul ; to persevere in faith,
in spite of all possible trials; to defy heaven itself by the
absolute trust we repose in it ; and on great occasions to
give witness of true life by receiving death without giving
it, going to execution even as the early Christians, the
cross in hand, and prayer and confession on the lips; —
it was thus that this inspired patriot understood the duties
of the enslaved Poles ; duties which he summed up in the
word sacrifice. Round this word will henceforth revolve
the works of the author of Iridion ; it will illumine them
all with its rays, it will be their very soul. He passed his
whole life in developing this doctrine under the must
10*
no
POLISH POETRY IN
varied ft)rms and in the most diverse creations; it may
be found in "The Temptation," as in "The Dream of
Cesara;" in the " Christmas Night," as in "The Present
Day;" in the "Last," as in "The Dawn," "The Psalms
of the Future," and the " Resurrecturis. "
Abstraction made of the genius which flashes through
these various works, there is assuredly something very im-
posing in this perseverance in upholding an idea so com-
pletely out of keeping with the general modes of thought
in the times in which we live. It required the greatest
courage, and a faith no less great, to attempt to convert
one of the most ardent, most impulsive, high-mettled,
and fiery people on the face of the earth to such a doc-
trine. But what exquisite art, what passion did he not
employ to persuade the nation to adopt the truths with
which he was himself so fully penetrated ! Let Poland be
but once confirmed in this belief in pure and fruitful mar-
tyrdom, and the Poet will fear for her neither the reverses
of fortune nor the temptations of despair ; he accepts
even with joy all that separates her from the living world,
and all that renders her a stranger to the happy of the
earth ! What matters it to Poland that others declare
her "as obstinate as she is powerless"? — that they cry
out importunately to her to " fold the shroud around her
dying limbs as rapidly as possible ; to die at once, and
not disturb the world by the protracted agony of her
death-rattle"? What matters it? The time will come
when both the refined and the cruel will beg her to arise
and walk ! Whilst waiting this, she must submit with
tranquillity to the outrages always heaped on the unfortu-
nate ; look trustingly on high, "as only an orphan has
the right to look ;" and, to insulting pride, oppose a
silent dignity. He says: "The angel of pride, before
his fall, had a sister in the sky, who remained there, —
and she is called Dignity f
Our author did not limit himself to the preaching of
this doctrine of sacrifice for the Present and Future ; he
extends it and applies it to the whole Past of his People,
presenting it as the soul of their entire secular existence.
With lofty art and perfect sincerity, he labors to prove
that Poland has always realized the ideal of a Christian
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. m
nation ; has always been disinterested for herself, and
ever interested for humanity, and he finds the proof of
this in the very character of the calamities which have
finally overwhelmed her. Here lies the sole debatable
ground of his magnanimous doctrines. It cannot be de-
nied that the seal of chivalric generosity and self-sacrifice
has been set upon the history of Poland. Her people
have always defended Christianity against its most dan-
gerous enemies, never asking anything from Europe in
exchange for the service rendered ; demanding no pay-
ments for troops ; showing neither astonishment nor re-
sentment at the subsequent ingratitude. Suffer us also to
remark that Poland has never known aught of the cruel-
ties, the regicides, the revolutions of the palace, the
religious wars, which have dyed in blood the annals of
so many other countries ; that she has always given a
generous asylum to all the victims of persecution ; that
it was in her bosom the Jews found refuge, as well as the
emigrants of the wars of the Hussites, of the Reforma-
tion, and of the Thirty Years' War; that they not only
found in her the widest tolerance, but even the unwonted
power of governing themselves by their own laws. We
must, however, confess that more than one of these merits
arose from a defect as much as from a virtue ; that this
policy was more the result of an impulsive generosity
than the growth of a firm and logical will ! It was de-
cidedly virtue, but virtue singularly favored by the im-
providence and recklessness of the national spirit. If the
thinker can scarcely accept, without protest, this high
claim for the whole past of a nation, will he not exclaim
against the extension of this idea, even through the times
of the fall of Poland, and protest against the bold image
of the "Christ of nations," to which the patriot poet
has given so strange a development in " The Dawn" and
the "Psalms"? Poland, in accordance with the views
of the Anonymous Poet, has not only been crucified
as Christ was, to rise as he did to higher life, but per-
ished voluntarily to redeem the sins of other nations, and
died pure of all reproach! Is this historically true?
May it not contain a latent poison even for those whose
faith it was intended to revive in the depths of despair ?
112 POLISH POETRY IN
Alas ! though not so deeply burdened as other nations,
Poland cannot pretend to expiate their faults, — she has
too many of her own ! She has no right to proclaim
herself innocent of all her calamities ; she has herself
contributed to them ; she went to sleep upon a volcano ;
she was guilty of a marvelous inertia, of a frivolous im-
providence, of an incomprehensible torpidity. (Gen-
erous to others, ay; provident for herself, nay! ) Bat
these internal faults in nowise justify or excuse the assas-
sination committed against her, and this assassination is
so much the more odious in that it was consummated at
the very moment in which Poland began to rise, — to
waken from her anarchic torpor ; at the moment in
which she originated for herself the Constitution of the
3d of May, 1 791 ; a constitution which will be her eter-
nal defense against all the slanders of her enemies. But
even this noble and generous effort, as well as all her
magnanimous attempts for more than half a century,
prove that Poland had much to amend, to learn, and to
forget. It is not by blinding herself to her old caprices,
but rather by enlightening herself with regard to her past
mistakes, that she will be able to save herself from future
disasters, and conciliate the sympathies of all honest
minds. As Poland and her poets are so fond of quoting
the Bible and of speaking of the People of God, it
might perhaps be useful to remind them that it is pre-
cisely the ])eople of Israel who have, in the Book of
books, left us the example of three great prophets, whose
reunion forms a complete circle of the poetry inspired by
an ardent patriotism. First comes Isaiah, who scathes
the fiiults of the nation, and predicts its chastisement ;
then Jeremiah, who, when the yoke grew heavy upon the
people, weeps over the ruins of the city once so power-
ful ; finally, it is Ezekiel who, in the captivity of Baby-
lon, falls into sublime ecstasies, and sees the temple and
the city rebuilt. Certainly Poland has had her Jere-
miahs and her Ezekiels, but she needs an Isaiah with a
tongue of fire, a pitiless and courageous Dante, to sing
boldly in her ears some painful truths, to probe her many
wounds in i)lace of caressing them.
It is above all in his poem of *' The Dawn" (^1843)
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. n^
that our author has exposed his views with regard to the
Past and Future of his nation, in all the exaltation of his
generous errors. It possesses also the additional interest
of standing as a monument of a feeling of the heart. It
is the only work in which the author has given utterance
to his personal sentiments ; effusions in nowise com-
monplace, but of a highly poetic and elevated form. As
Dante made of Beatrice the symbol of his faith, the type
of theology, the Anonymous Poet regards his Beloved
as the type and ideal of his patriotic aspirations. He
expressly says, like Dante, he has passed through Hell,
and like him has had for guide a lady of grace and pity,
. . . *' a Beatrice as beautiful as the first, but far more
Christian, for she has not chosen the sky as her abode to
shelter herself from sufferings below; she has remained
with her brother upon earth. " Sad and gloomy, they
have met in highest spheres, " like two dark clouds
which, meeting in the air, pour forth torrents of tears,
but from which flash the lightnings which pierce the
vault of heaven, and for a moment show the glittering
Home of God," It is this Beatrice who is the confidante
of all his thoughts upon his country; it is to her he re-
lates all his emotions, all his presentiments; his nation
and his beloved melt into each other in the successive
stanzaf of "The Dawn. " The poem begins with a de-
scription of one of those lovely nights in Italy which
have before awakened so many deep emotions. Lost in
a sweet ecstasy, the two lovers of their fatherland breathe
the fragrant freshness of the air, and gaze into the im-
mensity of the starry vault. What holy calm ! What
divine peace ! The universe is an immense Lyre. , . .
A sublime chant is heard, — a chant of concord, — the
harmony of the spheres. . . . But in this concord is
there not one tone wanting? In this sheaf of light, has
not one ray been broken ? " O my sister, utter the tone
wanting in the lyre of life; point out the star eclipsed
but not extinct ; pronounce, pronounce the name : Po-
land ! — our Poland ! At such an hour ])erhaps God
hearkens to us ; will gather from thy lips the long-lost
tone, and will again restore it in His glorious Hymn !
. . . Ah ! thy lips tremble, and thy breast oppressed can
114
POLISH POETRY IN
only breathe a sigh. . . . My sister, God will under-
stand thee well ; He knows a sigh is now the only name
of thy sad country. " Thus begins a series of stanzas
in which the Poet paints with high poetic power the mis-
ery of the Present, the glories of the Past, and the hopes
of the Future. We are born orphans, — he says to his
Ladye when speaking of the actual generations, — posthu-
mous children ; our only cradle has been the grave of
our mother; "the sweet maternal gaze has ne'er illu-
mined our innocent play; and our young heads have
never reposed upon a warm and palpitating breast, but
on the cold stones of the cemeteries. "
One of the most beautiful stanzas of the poem is that in
which the Poet invokes the ancient senators, the heroes,
the illustrious captains and glorious kings of Poland, from
their graves. Covered with their armor of steel, and
wearing their rusty helmets, they march in endless train ;
and before this sublime Diet of Shadows, the Poet, at first
discouraged, accusing the ancestors of having destroyed
in advance the inheritance of their children, is reanimated
to new hope by the words of one of the shades, Stephen
Czarniecki, one of the purest heroes of the country. The
poet here introduces his idea of the " Christ of nations. "
It is not only Poland that he sees, he embraces humanity
entire. He compares our epoch to that which preceded
the Christian era, and many analogies are not wanting.
Then, as now, social wars had upturned the soil and de-
stroyed the old institutions; then, as now, a Caesar ap-
peared (Napoleon), who arrested society upon the brink
of the abyss, re-established a ma/eria/ order, and inaugu-
rated an epoch of great expansion for a civilization
thoroughly materialistic. Then, as now, discontent was
general; humanity suffered in its soul, and divined the
(oming of a great moral change. A Man at last came to
teach men the unknown law of love, to abolish slavery, to
preach fraternity. He was crucified, but He rose from the
dead, and His law reigned upon earth. This law still
reigns, but unhappily, though tlie divine doctrines of the
Saviour have changed and ameliorated the relations be-
tween individuals, they have not yet penetrated the rela-
tions among nations ; these are still regulated by the
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
115
ancient rights, the pagan laws, those of conquest and op-
pression. A single Peoj)le has not followed this example,
her history has remained jnire from all international in-
justice ; it has always fulfilled the law in the affairs of this
world ; it has never enslaved nor subjugated any of its
neighbors, it has only used its power to protect the fee-
ble, it has sacrificed itself for the safety of others, — and
this people has been crucified as was the Saviour. The
last stanzas of "The Dawn" celebrate the resurrection of
this martyr, and with her a new reign of love among all
nations, the fraternity of all the Peoples crowning and re-
alizing the fraternity of men taught by Christ. In pro-
found emotion, wealth of imagery, purity of form, the
poet has never written anything which surpasses "The
Dawn," and enraptured by the vision of a near and
glorious future, he bids an eternal farewell to Poetry, ex-
claiming in the final strophe, which so many hearts have
repeated with enthusiastic fervor: "Our whole soul, O
my sister, we have expressed in this hymn ; let us now say
farewell to the lyre, farewell to all words ! Let children
delight forever to warble their songs ; far other ways are
open before us ; let my songs perish, let ftiy actions live ! ''
Illusion of the Poet, and yet partaken by a great part
of the nation, which was soon to be followed by a most
bitter awakening ! But this cry was not the less an ex-
pression of a true presentiment 1 New paths really soon
opened before the Poet ; we are now touching uj^on the
last i)eriod of his poetic activity, the very saddest of all,
and yet the most inextricably interwoven with the events
of the day, bound up as it was with a terrible catastrophe,
with a great national misfortune.
Moved and charmed by the accents of the Anonymous
Poet, Poland was still very far from following him into
the high, pure regions of moral life which he pointed out
to her. With regard to her aspirations, she still lingered
with Count Henry in the delusions of his youth, and even
Pancras loomed upon her horizon without affrighting her.
The revolution of 1831 had thrown thousands of Poles
into France, then deeply moved with revolutionary pas-
sions. The tortured exiles drank deeply at this boiling and
troubled spring, and a democratic propaganda, which has
Il6 POLISH POETRY IN
indeed produced its heroes, even its loyal martyrs, but
more than all, its blinded adepts, imbued with true revolu-
tionary doctrines, soon acquired an immense influence over
the country. That this movement had its origin in the
most generous feelings, in an impetuous desire to deliver
the wretched nation, in a vivid, though not enlightened
interest in the cause of the peasants, we are very far from
wishing to deny ; but it is not the less beyond doubt that
inflated declamation, and the infantile desire of imitating
the radicalism of the West, had also their share in hasten-
ing the insurrection. For example, the Polish democrats
imitated their French brethren in their hatred of Catho-
licity ; and tried to sap the religious faith of the nation at
the very moment when the Emperor Nicholas, more cir-
cumspect than these visionary patriots, renewed the most
vigorous persecutions against the Polish Church I The
" strong-minded," the leaders of the propaganda, did not
hesitate to adopt the dogmas of materialism, to proclaim
a cynic skepticism. "They desired the Resurrection of
a People," said upon this subject, at a later date, the
Anonymous Poet, "and they did not themselves believe
even in the immortality of the soul ! " But it was above
all in preaching hate against the nobility, which it stigma-
tized as "a decaying and corrupt class, inimical to the
people, and an eternal foe to progress," that the Polish
democracy manifested how far the spirit of imitation had
stifled not only all sense of justice, but even the most
evident perception of reality, for if there is anything
clear and manifest in this world, it is that the Polish no-
bility resembles absolutely in nothing the nobility of any
country of Western Europe. It is, in the first place, utterly
different in numbers ; it is not a class, but an entire popu-
lation. It was the only element which in the past had
been able to develop fully in itself the consciousness of its
own nationality; and at present it is the class of the pro-
prietors, the land-owners (of which the Polish nobility
consists), which bears in its breast the historic traditions
as well as the vivid prevision of the Future of Poland. It
constitutes the moral antl intellectual force of the country;
it issimjily its " tiers-elat," — for Poland has had no other:
and instead of being opposed to modern progress and
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
117
principles, it leans too fnuch for safety to modern ideas !
To propose the destruction of such a nobility was — as the
Anonymous Poet justly asserted — " to commit self-mur-
der, in order, after our suicide, to act and conquer. " It
was, nevertheless, recommended by the democratic propa-
ganda, which called upon the people to rise as one man
to deliver the country, to make way with every suspected
proprietor at the commencement of the insurrection, to
divide the lands of the nobles, who had no right to na-
tional life at all except in so far as tliey made part of the
people. And what was most tragically fantastic in this
melancholy attempt was, that its apostles, as well as its
disciples, were themselves of the nobility, for the demo-
cratic propaganda had no influence whatever among the
peasants, neither by its publications nor its emissaries; it
addressed itself to the proprietors, to the gentlemen of the
country ; it was by them it was so eagerly received, and
through them organized into a vast conspiracy, ready to
break out at a given signal. That the Polish nobility
should have so magnanimously and almost so universally
accepted the word of command from Paris, which sounded
for themselves the knell of spoliation and death, while it
certainly argues a great want of political intelligence, also
incontestabiy proves into what deep and hopeless despair
the country had been driven by foreign domination : it
must prove also above all else how cruel and unjust were
the declamations then made — as indeed they still are —
against the selfish and aristocratic spirit of this poor Polish
nobility, generous enough to accept even communism,
sufficiently devoted to what it believed to be the interest
of the country to subscribe to its ozan suicide ; which sfjirit
the Powers of the North at the time of the dismember-
ment, as also Nicholas in 1831, denounced as confirmed
Jacobinism.
It is difficult to imagine the rapidity and extent of the
democratic movement which then seized upon Poland,
the result of which, for any clear-sighted mind, could
only be a powerless insurrection, aggravated by social
rupture and distraction. How heart-rending the situa-
tion of the Anonymous Poet in such events ! It can-
not be denied that some of his poems, magnanimous and
II
Ii8 POLISH POETRY IN
sublime as they are, — especially those which appeared
after " Iridion," — have erred through an excess of spir-
itual optimism ; that his poetry forgot too much the con-
ditions of this world ; that it evangelized and ange/ized
men with too little regard to their situation and duty as
citizens ; and that the influence of these works is still,
in more than one respect, enervating for young souls.
Alas ! the Poet was soon to be cruelly recalled from these
ethereal and cloudy spheres by the most bitter reality;
a period of two years only intervened between the en-
trancing visions of " The Dawn" and the heart-rending
lamentations of ''The Psalms of the Future" (1845).
This " Christ of Nations," proclaimed so near its Resur-
rection, with its mission of new life to enslaved Nations,
must now be preserved from suicide ! Our Poet did not
shrink from this painful duty, and, if we consider his
personal position and the general state of the public
mind, it was in him a great act of civic courage. He
brought to the fulfillment of this task all the fire, elo-
quence, logic, and passion of his heart. The first two
Hymns are still kept in the realms of the Future ; he
again represents to the Nation the ideal which God cre-
ated her to realize; but in the third Psalm he enters
upon the fiery questions of the moment ; exposes the
elements of the propaganda, resolution by resolution ;
boldly pronounces the words, " Massacre of the nobles,"
which might be found in the logic of the new doctrines,
or in the progress of events. To the " conventioners"
of the Convention, who were always calling for vigorous
acts, he declared that murders were no actions ; that de-
struction was not regeneration; that there was but one
true law of public safety for the nation: "the Polish
nobles with the Polish people. '^ After having recalled the
eternal principles of justice and humanity, he undertakes
the defense of the Polish nobility, then so loudly decried
by a blinded radicalism. Was it not the nobility whose
breast forever bloomed into scars and gashes? Was it
not always ready to offer up itself in holocaust upon the
altar of the country? Had it not even consented to sui-
cide? In the great Diet of 1791, who ojiened to the
people the golden doors of the Future ? Was it not this
THE NINE TEE. y Til CENTURY.
119
maligned race of nobles — a race which had never con-
sented to a truce with the oppressor — which had offered
itself as autumn grain to be harvested on every battle-
field, and which had actually peopled Siberia ?
"Everywhere, everywhere upon this globe, I see the
footprints of my brothers, and your words will never be
able to efface them. It is they whom the world has per-
secuted ', it is they whom the hangmen have tortured ; it
is they who forever wander in the polar snows, and who
crowd the dungeons of the citadels T
"Upon the arid peaks of the Alps, upon the billowy
azure of the Mediterranean, upon the Italian Apennines,
upon the summits of the Sierras of Spain, upon the wide
plains of Germany, upon the snows and ices of the Mos-
covites, upon the fields of friendly France, upon every
land, on every sea, they have scattered the seed of our
future country ; a seed divine, the blood of martyrs —
and you are the sons of their agonies ! "
The Anonymous Poet regards persecution as a small
ill ; the obscuration of truth is the real and terrible evil ;
the changes forced upon the true life of the national soul
by constant oppression, the reign of morbid and funereal
ideas, is the great misfortune. He says : "Alas ! slavery
distills a poison which decomposes the soul ! Siberia is
nothing; the knout is nothing; nothing the racks and
tortures which rend the body ; but alas for the spirit of
the nation when it is poisoned ! This is the most bitter
of all woes! " The poet conjures his country to repel
all evil counsels, all inspirations of despair, "Let the
demagogues howl on, the sophists whisper that a high
and mysterious aim may justify infamous means ; that the
happiness of ail h worth the death of t\\efe-aj; that love
may spring from a work of hate. . . . No ! no ! IVe
can build nothing of mire ; and the highest Wisdom is
Virtue J"
Thus, invoking the most glorious memories of the Past
for the salvation of the Present, passing from flashes of
anger to accents of soul-subduing pity, and placing all
his luxuriant imagination in the service of common sense,
did the inspired patriot continue to write. But it was a
voice in the desert ; it was lost without echo in the pros-
120 rOLISH POETRY hV
tration of the clear-sighted, and the disdainful silence of
the party of action. As too often happens in moments
of public excitement, our author was not jia/ged, he was
classed ; he was placed among the enemies of progress, —
and then all was over ! One man, however, broke the
silence to rejily to the singer of the " Psalms," to defend
the honor of the denounced propaganda, to avenge "the
outraged people," and this man was also a Bard, and for-
merly a friend of the Anonymous Poet. Of an ardent
and wayward temperament, consumed by a sombre mysti-
cism as well as by a haughty pride, exceedingly jealous,
uniting to a splendid imagination a power of language
never equaled, even by Mickiewicz, Julius Slowa^ki sud-
denly entered the lists, and gave to the propaganda what
had hitherto been wanting to it — the support of his
marvelous genius. Raillery, anger, disguised allusions,
stormy passions, true sufferings, and fictitious com-
plaints, all the flashing and sometimes poisoned weapons
of his brilliant armory, were made use of in his "Reply
to the Author of the Psalms. "
Let us cast a brief glance on this " Reply," as it is an
important element in this characteristic and almost na-
tional debate. Slowa(;ki therein calls back the author of
the "Psalms" to his visions in his " Dawn," to the final
cry in which he invokes "his actions," at the same time
cruelly satirizing the "seraphic doctrines of the noble
dreamer. ^' The double-bladed sword glitters from the
very commencement. "To believe thee, my ^<^(;v///c7//<7//,
it would be a virtue in us to endure slavery patiently !
Thou changest our sad existence in this valley of tears
into a life of pure and shadowy spirits in the silver
moon ; with the voice of an infant thou criest : 'Action !
action ! action ! ' And the nation prepares for it, and
thou instantly beginnest to tremble when the face of the
people appears, and when the voice of God resounds
from the burning bush ! " Slowa^ki continues : " Once,
the Elect of noble Poetry were the first to proclaim new
truths, and to excite the masses to the combat of freedom.
But now behold ! a great Lord, a grand singer, shows
himself as a ' proj^het of the people,' but in the mode of
the Ifcau mondc, as a highly fashionable Prophet ! He
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 121
places Christ in his poetic car as Ovid did his Phaeton,
and with light, rose-colored steeds, he traverses the aerial
depths of a harmless ideal ! When the universe is per-
ishing in agony, when the tide of action rises high, be-
hold I he places himself as barrier across it, forbids the
century itself to move, and from his breast, shivering
with fear, we only hear the hoarse, shrill cry, in the name
of the red God, wliomsoever thou mayst be : ' Kill not
the nobility! ' The nobility? But where may it be
found? By what mark sliall we recognize it? " In a
celebrated stanza, Slowa^ki, who more than once recalls
his own noble origin, denies that the Polish nobility is
still in existence, making only one injurious exception
for Prince Czartoryski, in attributing to him dynastic
ambition, — an accusation frequently brought against a
tried patriot by the ungrateful companions of his exile.
"Yes, you were once numerous; formerly there were
hundreds of thousands of your nobles ; nobles by heart
and bearing ! But in our days I have known but one
noble; the whole country has never seen another. He
alone, by the misery of his heart, by his intentions if
not by his success ;. by a silent, proud, and grand sad-
ness ; by a hand always full of gifts, by an antique, quiet
glory, was a noble, and had the right so to call himself.
And now he, the sole and only noble, has abandoned
your ranks ; he has himself resigned his dignity; he has
gone down to rot atnong the kings / He is no longer, and
you are no more ! "
It has always been the tactics of revolutionists to pre-
sent their programmes as utterly harmless ; and Slowagki
did not fail to follow this course. He boldly asks our
poet : Where he had ever heard massacre spoken of ; who
had threatened with the dagger? Mere visions of a
troubled brain were all such idle thoughts, hallucinations
of a frightened fancy. A plaintive tone had perhaps
reached him through the air; a (^///■w/1'^* celebrating the
ancient combats of the Zaparogues ; and you ivere afraid,
son of the noble ! or perhajjs some brilliant morning a ray
of sunshine pierced into the room of the Psalmist, made
* . \ Dirge from the Ukraine.
