Jan Kasprowicz

Author(s): Monica M. Gardner

Source: The Slavonic Review, Vol. 5, No. 14 (Dec., 1926), pp. 340-346
Published by: the Modern Humanities Research Association and University College London, School of
Slavonic and East European Studies
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 JAN KASPROWICZ.
JANKASPROWICZ, whodiedin thePolishCarpathians on i August,
was the greatestsurvivingpoet of Poland's bondage. His is a
figurewhichstandsalone and aloofin thehistoryofhis country's
literature.He resemblesno otherPolishpoet. If we inay allow
ourselvesa seemingparadox,nowhereis he moreunlikehisprede-
cessorsthanin thosepassageswherewe mightbe temptedto draw
a parallelbetweenhimand them. The verysourceof his inspir-
ationwas different fromtheirs. Mickiewiczand Slowackiwere
sonsofeasternPoland. Krasinski'supbringing was in thepalaces
of the Warsaw aristocracy.Wyspianskiwas nurturedon the
historicaland artisticmonumentsof the beautifulold city of
Cracow. But Kasprowiczwas a peasant,bornand bred in the
westernPolishmarshlands; the firstof Poland's greatpoets to
rise fromwhat was at the timeof his birthknownas Prussian
Poland. The conditionsunderwhichhis earlylifewas passed
give us the keynoteto the characterofhis mindand work. The
harshnessand ruggedness of his poeticstyle,an unusualquality
in Polishletters,is mainlyderivedfromhis rusticorigin. As a
childhe saw and sharedthepeasant'shardlot,toilingin thefield,
battlingwithunpropitious seasonsforthe meansof subsistence,
Later, the active part he played in supportingPolish national
claimsin Silesiabroughthimintocollisionwiththerulersof Prus-
sian Poland. He was sent to a Prussianprison,and thethirty-
nine sonnetswhichare amonghis earlypoeticalworkand which
areincludedintheseriesentitledFrom theBattleArenawerewritten
in his prisoncell. These circumstances of his life-his peasant
birthwiththepracticalknowledge thatit entailedofthehardships
whichmakeup the existenceofthe tillerofthe soil,and the fact
that he lived undera nationaloppressionfromwhichhe had
suffered in person-affectthe natureofhis workso strongly that
we mustalwaysbear themin mindif we wouldwishto under-
stand arightthis difficultpoet.
For throughnearlythe whole of Kasprowicz'spoetrythere
is the senseof a spiritat war withinimicalforces,struggling to
rendits fettersasunder. Take Kasprowicz'sattitudeto Nature.
340

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 JAN KASPROWICZ. 341

He has all the Slav's passionatelove of the soil. His pages are
filledwithsilhouettesof the Polish countrysideand the great
furrows overwhichhe himselfhad followedthe plough,autumn
blasts trumpeting throughhis native forests,thundercrashing
in the cragsof the PolishCarpathians,the shimmerof peacock-
huedtarns-the simileis Kasprowicz'sown-nestlingamongthe
mountains. Thereis perhapsno otherpoetin thePolishlanguage
whohas so madeNatureonewiththehumanand spiritualdrama.
To KasprowiczNature is inseparablefromthe passions,the
sorrows, the strugglesof humanity. Forhim,who is above all a
symbolist, theblastbeforewhichtheforeststrembleas thoughat
the trumpetof the Last Judgmentis the cry of his own soul,
battlingwiththemysteries ofexistenceand destruction (Autumn
Chords). Nature is his perpetualbackground, even whereshe
seemsextrinsicto his subject. Yet this peasant poet looks on
Naturewiththe eyes of fearno less than withthe eyes of love.
"Earth, mysecondmother,"' he singsin hisAutumnChords; " I
have loved thysoil,thoughthyscantears of corngive fruitso
grudginglythat hungergnaws our hearts. Motherof hired
slaves,thymiseryhas draggedus down,thoughourheartscleave
to thee."
This distrustof Naturefollowshimto the mountainswhich,
whenseen forthe firsttimeby the son of theplains,profoundly
affectedhis psychologyand, sensitivethoughhe was to their
terror,so won his love thathe choseto spendhis last yearsand
to die amongthem. As in thecase ofSlowacki'sIn Szwitzerland,
Kasprowicztakeshis love storyto a mountainbackground. But
whereasin Slowacki'slove poem the Alpinesettingis exquisite
and ethereal,the wild stormsand mistssweepingoverthe Car-
pathians are the fit companionsto Kasprowicz'sdefiantand
primitivepassion. Death lurksin his mountainchasms. The
peaks are shapes of dread. He too sang of the Alps; but the
virginsnowsare the immovableand inexorablewitnessto the
Prometheanstruggleof man,who perishesin his efforts to con-
quer the heights(In the Alps: The Jungfrau).The symbols
which KasprowiczchoosesforEternityand Destinyare those
of giddy and fearfulmountainpeaks, over whichthe soul is
poised as over the jaws of destruction(AmongthePrecipices).
Such gems of tranquilbeauty as the foursonnetsto the wild
rose-bushin the Tatra,strikea notethatis foreign to the poet's
usual mood offireand tempest. The crimsonroseclingsto the
side ofthegorgeas thoughsheltering fromthe blast. The foam
of the mountaintorrentplays rainbow-wise about her. Far off

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342 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW.

thereare echoesof mountainmusic. But deathwas once even

here, and may be here again; forthe rose is bloomingat the
side of a witheredfir,broughtdown long ago by some moun-
tain storm.
Kasprowicz'streatmentof the peasant is equally character-
istic. He makes no attempt to idealise the peasants. His
peasantpoemsareon suchthemesas thepoorold woman,sleeping
forpurewearinessof lifeaftertoilingabove herstrength in the
fields; a King Lear in humblelifethrustout underthe winter
skies by ungratefulchildren; the defencelessvillagegirlgoing
to servicein the townwhereshe findsher ruin. The tales are
generallytold in peasantlanguage,and always withouta trace
of sentimentality;but beneaththeirroughsurfacethereis ever
presentthe undercurrent of the poet's boundlesspity and his
burning indignationagainst Fate. Here again the village
tragedyis wontto be playedoutin thesettingofa pitilessNature.
The openingof one ofthe mostpowerful ofhis peasantpoems-
AttheCrossRoads,thestoryoftheruinedgirlwho,thrustout of
hervillage,standsabandonedin the windsweptplain-is typical
of the poet's methods.
The autumnwind,
Pitilessas our humanheartsunkind,
Hath shatteredunderneathits gloomywing
All that remainsof life. " Ha! Ha! Say,
Are now the flowersof May? Who now shall see
Thy smileagain? Ha! Ha! Wherehast thou shed
Thy cloak of greenwhichin the vanishedspring
Poplar and willowdecked? " Thus the blast
Mockedat our earth,our mother. Who in vain
Besoughtthe sun. " Oh, sun, forpity cast
Thy flamesof fireupon the meads again
Ere they be whollydead."
But She
Stood there.
As the poem begins,so it goes on. The girl'sdespair,the
dun, dark skies,the autumnwind,the muddystreamcrawling
its way over the fieldsto the villagewhereshe was born and
whichshe may neverentermore,the monotonyof the refrain
" She stood"; all these are the inseparableadjuncts to one
anotherin a picturerepresenting desolation.
Kasprowiczis the poet of revolt. The endlessquestionings
ofhis disturbedsoul are flungforthwithsomething of the effect

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 JAN KASPROWICZ. 343

on the reader'smindoftempestlet loose. Theytake the shapes

of materialism,pantheism,blasphemy,despair,until the cul-
minatingpoint of the poet's combat with Heaven is reached,
togetherwith the greatestmomentof his poeticinspiration, in
his songsTo theDying World.
All that Kasprowiczhad seen and experienced of sufferingin
a hard life,all the accumulatedbitternessof a centuryand a
halfofnationaloppressionbehindhim,combinein his hymnsto
thedyingworldto tearfromhislipsaccentsofterrorand despair
thatbreakforthlikea torrentofburninglava fromsubterranean
fires. It is the spectacleof evil triumphant overgood and the
suffering ofthehumanrace thathaunt his mind. Thesethings
movethe poetto thecataclysmalvisionofhis Dies Irea,wherein
all the sonorityof the Polish tongue,pealingforthamidstthe
crashingfoundations of the perishinguniverse,alternating with
the cryof KyrieEleison,he depictsman striving in vain to hide
fromthe avengingGod. Or again,the well-known wordsof the
old Polishchurchhymn,Holy God,Holy StrongGod,changeon
his lips intoa streamofimpiety. He willsinghis EveningSong
in the peace of the Polish summercountryside;but it is an
outburstof savage and bitterirony. His Judas, represented
somewhatafterthe legendof the WanderingJew,is an outcast
driveneternallyby the winds. As willbe seen,the songsTo the
Dying Worldare generallyengraftedon the Christianimagery
familiarfromchildhoodto the Polishpeasant; but, treatedas
theyareherein no conventional or orthodoxfashion,theymerely
serveas motifs, moreor lessremote,forthepoet's outpourings of
anguish. With somethingof the abandonmentof a primitive
peasant nature,the poet will utterprayersbreathingprofound
and personalreligiousfaith,only to followthemin the same
breathwithblasphemiesthat appal the Christianear. But in
the two songs that are generallyconsideredthe finestof the
cycle-The Hymnof St. Francis of Assisi, and Salve Regina-
suffering takes gentlerforms; in the one case that of seraphic
mysticism, in the otherof a sorrowwhichreachesHeaven.
be thoupraised,forlove is born of thee,"is the
" Suffering,
burdenof the hymnof St. Francis. The peculiarsystemof
rhythms and refrains, belovedof Kasprowicz,whichhe employs
with superbeffect in suchscenesof horroras his Dies Ircz,gives
a strangeand etherealmusicto that most hauntingof poems,
Salve Regina. The yearningof all mankindis gatheredintoone
symbolicfigure.
" Oh, Earth! Oh, Earth! Yearningwalkethon thee, in

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344 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW.
herwreathof olive,and carryingon her frailshoulderthe cross,
mightyand black; and she sheddethher sweat of blood, and
holdingthe bitterchalicein her white,wearyhand, kneelsat
each step on her stonyway; and she praysand she weepsand
she sighsand she prays. And her prayersand her tears and
her sighs are changedat each step into spiderywebs,like the
fibresof silk that in Octoberfloatover the fieldsand over the
blades of witheringgrass,-in all the mighty,all-embracing
spaces of the dyingworld.
"' Oh, ye prayersand tearsand sighsof our lonelyYearning,
kneelingon the stonyway withthe bitterchalicein her hand,
and the blackcrosson herfrailshoulder. You shallchangeinto
websofmist; and shrouding herforminyourfluttering webs,make
herlike untoa cloud arisingfromthe dawnin the great spaces
ofthe world,and carryherwithyou on high. Oh, olivewreath,
thouchangestintogold,a raylitwreathofstars,on theforehead
ofourYearning,and shinest,uncomprehended, in thedarkplaces
of the night. Oh, bitterchalice . . . thou changest to a cup of
alabaster . . . and with thy fragrancefillestto overflowingthe
soul ofwretchedman. Oh, crossuponthe frailshouldersofthe
Yearningofourhearts,whocarrieswiththeethemystery ofpain !
Thou arttransformed intoangelicwings,and bearesthertowards
the lightsparklingin the darkplaces of the night,and to those
millionsouls of whomall knowledgehere has long since died.
Thereflashesherwhiterobe; and fromherwhitebosomthelily
in herpuritymade white shall flower. And her shiningfoot
crusheththeserpent'shead; and withherlute,strungto eternal
tones,she singeththe all-sweethymn,heard once, so long, so
long ago that the awfultidingsof the mysteryof the cross of
pain have vanquishedtime; singethher all-holyhymn,Salve
Regina! "
Then,whenthe hostsof thosewho have lived out theirlives
of pain and are longsinceforgottenand dead,togetherwiththe
wholeuniversearoundher,breakintothesamehymn,thedemon,
knowingthe miseryofman,laughs. " Laugh! " endsthepoet.
" But mineown Yearningliftson hershoulderherheavycross,
and opensher lips, that withthe Yearningof all the worldshe
too shall sing: Salve Regina! "
Kasprowiczfollowedthe traditionsof the romanticpoets of
the two precedinggenerationsin thathe wrotea certainnumber
of nationalpoems,generallyon some episodicaltheme,such as
the translationofMickiewicz'sremainsto Cracow,or the centen-
ary ofthe passingofthe Constitutionofthe ThirdofMay. But

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 JAN KASPROWICZ. 345
here again he differs entirelyfromthe greatromanticpoets of
thePolishcaptivity. The accentsoflove and griefforan adored
motherwhichvibratewiththe intensity of passionin the poems
of Mickiewicz, Slowackiand Krasinskiare almostwhollyabsent
in Kasprowicz. We may findhis nearestapproachto themin
the lines entitledI863-I893, in whichhe invokeshis countryas
the motherofsorrows, themysticalrosebringing forthflowersof
pain,uponwhose" holysoil " shallspringforthfruitbornofthe
blood her sons have shed forher. But such expressionson the
part of Kasprowiczare in the natureof a scourgewithwhichhe
lashes the shortcomings of the generationaroundhim. Harsh
in his presentment of Nature,he is sternin his patriotism. Re-
formand action are his two clarioncalls. His appeals to his
nationare alwaysvirile. They have somethingof the hardness
of steel, temperedfor the battle. The pessimismwithwhich
much of his poeticutteranceis impregnated does not enterhis
nationaloutlook. His patrioticpoems ringwith hope.
But in one of his laterpoems,in the volumehe broughtout
duringthe war-The Book of thePoor-Kasprowicz throwsoff
his armourof reserve,and foronce lays bare the secretof his
love forhis country. " Rarelyuponmylips-so mylips confess
to-day," says he, " did that wordsoaked in blood appear, the
dearestofall words: mycountry." He saw, he goes on, howit
was profanedby menwhoused it fortheirownends; but those
who sincerelymournedforPoland knewthat he kept hername
as a possessiontoo sacredforspeechin the sanctuaryofhis soul
(The Book of the Poor, XL.).
The Book of the Poor, written,says the poet, for his own
comfortand to comfort others,is in everyrespecta drastic,and
indeedan amazing,changefromhis former work, Simplicityis
the distinguishing characteristic
of thesebeautifullyrics; and,
althoughthe GreatWar is thesubjectof manyof them,-begin-
ningwiththatsunsetat Zakopanea fewdaysbeforethewarbroke
out, whenthe wholeskyseemeda riverof blood,theportentof
the conflagration
whichwas to envelopthe world,-theirgeneral
atmosphere is one ofpeace. The poethas ceasedto fightagainst
Heaven; and God knows,he says, that he foughtbecause he
loved mankind(XI.). Naturetakes no longerthe shape of the
destroyer.Wind,storm,sun, even death,he calls his brothers.
The simplethingsof daily lifein his mountainhome take the
place ofthegiganticproblemswithwhichhis earlierpoemswere
obsessed; we walk withthe poet over the fields; the scentof
themeadowsis in ournostrils; we hearthehumming ofthebees

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346 THE SLAVONIC REVIEW.

among the cottageflowers. Life is as rich,the poet tells us,

under this more narrowhorizon,withinthese circumscribed
boundaries,as in tracklessspaces. The eternalmysteriesof
birthand death are playedout in his quiet gardenno less than
on greaterplanes (XLII.).
Afterthe publicationof this book in I9I6 Kasprowiczgave
himselfup almostexclusively to his favouriteworkoftranslating
the masterpiecesof foreignliteratureinto Polish. His last
collectionof originalworkcame out this year underthe title
My World. This small volume descends to a sphere more
primitiveeven thanthatof The BookofthePoor. It consistsof
poemsin the styleofthe folksongssungto a speciesofzitherby
the wanderingmusiciansof the Carpathians. These curious
littlepoems,in whichwe seemto catchthe twangofthe strings,
are fullof quaintnessand charm. Kasprowiczwill live in the
historyof his countryas a lyricalpoet of extraordinary power,
who dealt tempestuously withthe highestproblemsof life,and
endedby returning to the primalsimplicity of the soil whichhe
loved and whencehe sprang.
MONICA M. GARDNER.

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