VI
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
In a private letter to a friend, written in 1896, the late Mr. CharlesDudley Warner remarked: "I am just reading _Children of the Soil_, whichI got in London before I sailed. It confirms me in my very high opinionof him. I said the other day that I think him at the head of livingnovelists, both in range, grasp of a historical situation, intuition andknowledge of human nature. Comparisons are always dangerous, but I knowno historical novelist who is his superior, or who is more successful increating characters. His canvas is very large, and in the beginning ofhis historical romances the reader needs patience, but the picturefinally comes out vividly, and the episodes in the grand story areperfectly enthralling. Of his novels of modern life I cannot speak toohighly. The subtlety of his analysis is wonderful, and the shades ofcharacter are delineated by slight but always telling strokes. There isthe same reality in them that is in his romances. As to the secret ofhis power, who can say? It is genius (I still believe in that word) butre-enforced by very hard labour and study, by much reading, and by acuteobservation."
This letter may serve as an excellent summary of the opinions of manyintelligent American critics concerning a writer whose name was unknownto us in 1890, and of whom the whole world was talking in 1895.[5] Onereason--apart from their intrinsic excellence--for the Byronicsuddenness of the fame of the Polish Trilogy, was the psychologicalopportuneness of its appearance. In England and in America the recentRomantic Revival was at its flood; we were all reading historicalromances, and were hungry for more. Sienkiewicz satisfied us byproviding exactly what we were looking for. In his own country he wasidolised, for his single pen had done more than many years of tumultuousdiscussion, to put Poland back on the map of Europe. At the exercisescommemorating the five hundredth anniversary of the University ofCracow, the late President Gilman, who had the well-deserved honour ofspeaking for the universities of America, said: "America thanks Polandfor three great names: Copernicus, to whom all the world is indebted;Kosciuszko, who spilled his blood for American independence; andSienkiewicz, whose name is a household word in thousands of Americanhomes, and who has introduced Poland to the American people."[6]
[5] His name does not appear in standard English biographicaldictionaries or literary reference books for 1893 or 1894.
[6] See an interesting article in the _Outlook_ for 3 August, 1901, _AVisit to Sienkiewicz_, by L. E. Van Norman.
Sienkiewicz was born in 1845. After student days at Warsaw, he came overin 1876-1877 to California, in a party that included Madame Modjeska.They attempted to establish a kind of socialistic community, which bearsin the retrospect a certain resemblance to Brook Farm. Fortunately forthe cause of art, which the world needs more than it does socialism, theenterprise was a failure. Sienkiewicz returned to Poland, and began hisliterary career; Madame Modjeska became one of the chief ornaments ofthe English stage for a quarter of a century. Her ashes now rest in theancient Polish city where President Gilman uttered his fine tribute tothe friend of her youth.
The three great Polish romances were all written in the eighties; and atabout the same time the author was also engaged in the composition ofpurely realistic work, which displays his powers in a quite differentform of art, and constitutes the most original--though not the mostpopular--part of his literary production. The _Children of the Soil_,which some of the elect in Poland consider his masterpiece, is a novel,constructed and executed in the strictest style of realism; _WithoutDogma_ is still farther removed from the Romantic manner, for it is astory of psychological analytical introspection. Sienkiewicz himselfregards _Children of the Soil_ as his favourite, although he is "notprepared to say just why." And _Without Dogma_ he thinks to be "in manyrespects my strongest work." It is evident that he does not considerhimself primarily a maker of stirring historical romance. But in thenineties he returned to this form of fiction, producing his Romanpanorama called _Quo Vadis_, which, although it has made the biggestnoise of all his books, is perhaps the least valuable. Like _Ben Hur_,it was warmed over into a tremendously successful melodrama, andreceived the final compliment of parody.[7] Toward the close of thecentury, Sienkiewicz completed another massive historical romance, _TheKnights of the Cross_, which, in its abundant action, strikingcharacterisation, and charming humour, recalled the Trilogy; this wasfollowed by _On the Field of Glory_, and we may confidently expect more,though never too much; he simply could not be dull if he tried.
[7] One of the most grotesque and laughable burlesques ever seen on theAmerican stage was the travesty of _Quo Vadis_, with the heroine Lithia,who drew a lobster on the sand: the strong man, Zero, wrenched the neckoff a wild borax.
In a time like ours, when literary tabloids take the place of wholesomemental food, when many successful novels can be read at a sitting or alying--requiring no exertion either of soul or body--the portentous sizeof these Polish stories is a magnificent challenge. If some books are tobe tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed anddigested, what shall we do with Sienkiewicz? In Mr. Curtin's admirabletranslation, the Trilogy covers over twenty-five hundred closely printedpages; the _Knights of the Cross_ over seven hundred and fifty,_Children of the Soil_ over six hundred and fifty; _Without Dogma_(Englished by another hand) has been silently so much abridged intranslation that we do not know what its actual length may be. We do notrebel, because the next chapter is invariably not a task, but atemptation; but when we wake up with a start at the call _Finis_, whichmagic word transfers us from the seventeenth to the twentieth century,and contemplate the vast fabric of our dream, we cannot help asking ifthere is any law in the construction that requires so much material.Gogol, in his astonishing romance, _Taras Bulba_, which every lover ofSienkiewicz should read, gives us the same impression of Vastness, in abook Lilliputian in size. Nor is there any apparent reason why thePolish narratives should stop on the last page, nor indeed stop at all.Combat succeeds combat, when in the midst of the hurly-burly, the Masterof the Show calls time. It is his arbitrary will, rather than anyinevitable succession of events, that shuts off the scene: the men mightbe fighting yet. This passion for mere detail mars the first part of_With Fire and Sword_; one cannot see the forest for the trees.
One reason for this immensity is the author's desire to be historicallyaccurate, the besetting sin of many recent dramas and novels. Beforebeginning to write, Sienkiewicz reads all the authorities anddocumentary evidence he can find. The result is plainly seen in theearly pages of _With Fire and Sword_, which read far more like a historythan like a work of fiction--note the striking contrast in _PanMichael_! The _Knights of the Cross_ appeared with maps. The topographyof _Quo Vadis_ was so carefully prepared that it almost serves as aguide-book to ancient Rome. Now the relation of History to Fiction hasnever been better stated than by Lessing: "The dramatist uses history,not because it has happened, but because it has so happened that hecould scarcely find anything else better adapted to his purpose." Nowork of fiction has ever gained immortality by its historical accuracy.
Everyone notices that the works of Sienkiewicz are Epics rather thanNovels. Even bearing Fielding clearly in mind, there is no betterillustration to be found in literary history. The Trilogy bears the samerelation to the wars of Poland that the Iliad bears to the struggle atTroy. The scope and flow of the narrative, the power of the scenes, thevast perspective, the portraits of individual heroes, the impassionedpoetry of the style--all these qualities are of the Epic. The intensepatriotism is thrilling, and makes one envy the sensations of nativereaders. And yet the reasons for the downfall of Poland are madeperfectly clear.
Is the _romanticist_ Sienkiewicz an original writer? In the narrow andstrict sense of the word, I think not. He is eclectic rather thanoriginal. He is a skilful fuser of material, like Shakespeare. At anyrate, his most conspicuous virtue is not originality. He has enormousforce, a glorious imagination, astonishing facility, and a remarkablepower of making pictures, both in panorama and in miniature; but hiswork shows constantly the inspiration
not only of his historicalauthorities, but of previous poets and novelists. Those who are reallyfamiliar with the writings of Homer, Shakespeare, Scott, and Dumas, willnot require further comment on this point. The influence of Homer isseen in the constant similes, the epithets like "incomparable bowman,"and the stress laid on the deeds of individual heroes; a thing quitenatural in Homeric warfare, but rather disquieting in the days ofvillainous saltpetre. The three swordsmen in _With Fire and Sword_--PanYan, Pan Podbienta, and Pan Michael--infallibly remind us of Dumas'sthree guardsmen; and the great duel scenes in the same story, and in the_Knights of the Cross_, are quite in the manner of the Frenchman. Wouldthat other writers could employ their reminiscences to such advantage!In the high colouring, in the management of historical events, and inpatriotic enthusiasm, we cannot help thinking of Scott. But be the debtto Dumas and to Scott as great as one pleases to estimate, I am free toacknowledge that I find the romances of the Pole more enthralling thanthose of either or both of his two great predecessors.
With reference to the much-discussed character of Zagloba, I confess Icannot join in the common verdict that pronounces him a "new creation inliterature." Those who believe this delightful person to be somethingnew and original have simply forgotten Falstaff. If one will begin allover again, and read the two parts of _Henry IV_, and then take a lookat Zagloba, the author of his being is immediately apparent. Zagloba isa Polish Falstaff, an astonishingly clever imitation of the real thing.He is old, white-haired, fat, a resourceful wit and humorist, better atbottles than at battles, and yet bold when policy requires: in everyessential feature of body and mind he resembles the immortal creation ofShakespeare. Sienkiewicz _develops_ him with subtle skill andaffectionate solicitude, even as Dickens developed Mr. Pickwick; theZagloba of _Pan Michael_ is far sweeter and more mellow than when wemake his acquaintance in the first volume of the Trilogy; but the lastword for this character is the word "original." The real triumph ofSienkiewicz in the portrayal of the jester is in the fact that he couldimitate Falstaff without spoiling him, for no other living writer couldhave done it. A copy that can safely be placed alongside the originalimplies art of a very high class. To see Zagloba is to realise the truthof Falstaff's remark, "I am not only witty in myself, but the cause thatwit is in other men."
Sienkiewicz himself perhaps does not appreciate how much he owes toShakespeare, or possibly he is a bit sensitive on the subject, for heexplains, "If I may be permitted to make a comparison, I think thatZagloba is a better character than Falstaff. At heart the old noble wasa good fellow. He would fight bravely when it became necessary, whereasShakespeare makes Falstaff a coward and a poltroon."[8] If the last twoepithets were really an accurate description of Falstaff, he would neverhave conquered so many millions of readers.[9]
[8] See Mr. Van Norman's article.
[9] It would be well for Sienkiewicz (and others) to read the brilliantessay that appeared, "by another hand," in the First Series of Mr.Birrell's _Obiter Dicta_.
In power of description on a large scale, Sienkiewicz seems to take aplace among the world's great masters of fiction. The bigger the canvas,the more impressive he becomes. His pictures of the boundless steppes byday and night, and in the varying seasons of the year, leave permanentimages in the mind. Especially in huge battle scenes is his geniusresplendent. It is as if we viewed the whole drama of blood from aconvenient mountain peak. The awful tumult gathers and breaks like somehideous storm. So far as I know no writer has ever excelled thisVerestchagin of the pen except Tolstoi--and Tolstoi's power lies more inthe subjective side of the horrors of war. The Russian's skill is moreintellectual, more psychological, of a really higher order of art. Forin the endeavour to make the picture vivid, Sienkiewicz becomes at timesmerely sensational. There is no excuse for his frequent descent intoloathsome and horrible detail. The employment of human entrails as anecklace may be historically accurate, but it is out of place in a workof art. The minute description of the use of the stake is anotherinstance of the same tendency, and the unspeakably horrid torture ofAzya in _Pan Michael_ is a sad blot on an otherwise splendid romance.The love of the physically horrible is an unfortunate characteristic ofour Polish novelist, for it appears in _Quo Vadis_ as well as in theTrilogy. The greatest works appeal to the mind rather than the senses._Pan Michael_ is a great book, not because it reeks with blood andabounds in hell's ingenuity of pain, but because it presents thecharacter of a hero made perfect through suffering; every sword-strokedevelops his spirit as well as his arm. Superfluous events, so frequentin the other works, are here omitted; the story progresses steadily; itis the most condensed and the most human book in the Trilogy. Again, in_The Deluge_, the author's highest skill is shown not in the portrayalof moving accidents by flood and field, but in the regeneration ofKmita. He passes through a long period of slow moral gestation, whichultimately brings him from darkness to light.
To non-Slavonic readers, who became acquainted with Sienkiewicz throughthe Trilogy, it was a surprise to discover that at home he was equallydistinguished as an exponent of modern realism. The acute demand foranything and everything from his pen led to the translation of _TheFamily of Polanyetski_, rechristened in English (one hardly knows why)_Children of the Soil_; this was preceded by the curious psychologicalstudy, _Without Dogma_. It is extremely fortunate that these two workshave been made accessible to English readers, for they display powersthat would not otherwise be suspected. It is true that English novelistshave shone in both realism and romance: we need remember only Defoe,Dickens, and Thackeray. But at the very moment when we were all thinkingof Sienkiewicz as a reincarnation of Scott or Dumas, we were compelledto revise previous estimates of his position and abilities. Geniusalways refuses to be classified, ticketed, or inventoried; just as youhave got your man "placed," or, to change the figure, have solemnly anddefinitely ushered him to a seat in the second row on the upper tier,you discover that he is much bigger than or quite different from yourdefinition of him. Sienkiewicz is undoubtedly one of the greatest livingmasters of the realistic novel. In the two stories just mentioned above,the most minute trivialities in human intercourse are set forth in astyle that never becomes trivial. He is as good at external descriptionas he is at psychological analysis. He takes all human nature for hisprovince. He belongs not only to the "feel" school of novelists, withZola, but to the "thought" school, with Turgenev. The workings of thehuman mind, as impelled by all sorts of motives, ambitions, andpassions, make the subject for his examination. In the Trilogy, he tookan enormous canvas, and splashed on myriads of figures; in _WithoutDogma_, he puts the soul of one man under the microscope. The events inthis man's life are mainly "transitions from one state of spiritualexperience to another." Naturally the mirror selected is a diary, for_Without Dogma_ belongs to a school of literature illustrated by suchexamples as the _Sorrows of Werther_ and _Amiel's Journal_. It must beremembered that we have here a study primarily of the Slav character.The hero cleverly diagnoses his own symptoms as _Slave Improductivite_.He is perhaps puzzling to the practical Philistine Anglo-Saxon: but notif one has read Turgenev, Dostoievsky, or Gorky. Turgenev's brilliantanalysis of Rudin must stand for all time as a perfect portrait of theeducated Slav, a person who fulfils the witty definition of a Mugwump,"one who is educated beyond his capacity." We have a similar characterhere, the conventional conception of Hamlet, a man whose power ofreasoning overbalances his strength of will. He can talk brilliantly onall kinds of intellectual topics, but he cannot bring things to pass. Hehas a bad case of _slave improductivite_. The very title, _WithoutDogma_, reveals the lack of conviction that ultimately destroys thehero. He has absolutely no driving power; as he expresses it, _he doesnot know_. If one wishes to examine this sort of mind, extremely commonamong the upper classes of Poles and Russians, one cannot do better thanread attentively this book. Every futile impulse, every vain longing,every idle day-dream, is clearly reflected. It is a melancholyspectacle, but fascinating and highly instructive. For it is not merelyan individual, but the nationa
l Slavonic character that is revealed.
Sienkiewicz is not only a Romanticist and a Realist--he is also aMoralist. The foundations of his art are set deep in the bed-rock ofmoral ideas. As Tolstoi would say, he has the right attitude toward hischaracters. He believes that the Novel should strengthen life, notundermine it; ennoble, not defile it; for it is good tidings, not evil."I care not whether the word that I say pleases or not, since I believethat I reflect the great urgent need of the soul of humanity, which iscrying for a change. People must think according to the laws of logic.And because they must also live, they want some consolation on the roadof life. Masters after the manner of Zola give them only dissolution,chaos, a disgust for life, and despair."[10] This is the signal of astrong and healthy soul. The fact is, that at heart Sienkiewicz is asstout a moralist as Tolstoi, and with equal ardour recognisesChristianity as the world's best standard and greatest need. The basisof the novel _Children of the Soil_ is purely Christian. Thesimple-hearted Marynia is married to a man far superior to her in mentalendowment and training, as so often happens in Slavonic fiction; shecannot follow his intellectual flights, and does not even understand theprocesses of his mind. She has no talent for metaphysical discussion,and no knowledge of modern science. But although her education does notcompare with that of her husband, she has, without suspecting it,completely mastered the art of life; for she is a devout and sincereChristian, meek and lowly in heart. He finally recognises that while hehas more learning, she has more wisdom; and when the book closes, we seehim a pupil at her feet. All his vain speculations are overthrown by thepower of religion manifested in the purity, peace, and contentment ofhis wife's daily life. And now he too--
"Leads it companioned by the woman there. To live, and see her learn, and learn by her, Out of the low obscure and petty world.... To have to do with nothing but the true, The good, the eternal--and these, not alone, In the main current of the general life, But small experiences of every day, Concerns of the particular hearth and home: To learn not only by a comet's rush But a rose's birth,--not by the grandeur, God-- But the comfort, Christ."
This idea is revealed positively in _Children of the Soil_, andnegatively in _Without Dogma_. The two women, Marynia and Aniela, arevery similar. Aniela's intellect is elementary compared with that of herbrilliant lover, Leon Ploszowski. But her Christian faith turns out tobe a much better guide to conduct than his flux of metaphysics. She is agood woman, and knows the difference between right and wrong withouthaving to look it up in a book. When he urges her to a _liaison_, andoverwhelms her objections with a fine display of modern dialectic, sheconcludes the debate by saying, "I cannot argue with you, because youare so much cleverer than I; but I know that what you want me to do iswrong, and I will not do it."
[10] Taken here and there from his essay on Zola.
We find exactly the same emphasis when we turn to the historical romance_Quo Vadis_. The whole story is a glorification of Christianity, ofChristian ethics and Christian belief. The despised Christians havediscovered the secret of life, which the culture of Petronius sought invain. It was hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes.The influence of Lygia on Vinicius is, with a totally differentenvironment, precisely the same as the influence of Marynia on PanStanislav.
Sienkiewicz seems to have much the same Christian conception of Love asthat shown in so many ways by Browning. Love is the _summum bonum_, andevery manifestation of it has something divine. Love in all its formsappears in these Polish novels, as it does in Browning, from the basestsensual desire to the purest self-sacrifice. There is indeed a streak ofanimalism in Sienkiewicz, which shows in all his works; but, if we maybelieve him, it is merely one representation of the great passion, whichso largely controls life and conduct. Love, says Sienkiewicz, withperhaps more force than clearness, should be the foundation of allliterature. "L'amour--c'est un droit eternel, une force vitale, c'est legenie--bienfaiteur de notre globe: l'harmonie. Sienkiewicz croit quel'amour, ainsi compris, est le fondement de la litterature polonaise--etque cet amour devrait l'etre pour toute la litterature."[11] Some lightmay be thrown on this statement by a careful reading of _Pan Michael_.
[11] Sent to me by Dr. Glabisz.
Sienkiewicz is indeed a mighty man--someone has ironically called him aliterary blacksmith. There is nothing decadent in his nature. Comparedwith many English, German, and French writers, who seem at times toexpress an anaemic and played-out civilisation, he has the veryexuberance of power and an endless wealth of material. It is as if theworld were fresh and new. And he has not only delighted us with thepageantry of chivalry, and with the depiction of our complex moderncivilisation, he has for us also the stimulating influence of a greatmoral force.