The Moscow Gazette has just published an article on the great Polish poet and patriot Mickiewicz, a few extracts from which would, I am sure, interest English readers, especially now that the Polish question is undoubtedly coming to the front. A Russian translation of the poet’s most famous work, “The Book of the Polish People and the Polish Pilgrimage,” has just been issued. It may be remembered that this work, which was first published in 1832, was placed on the “Index” by the Pope very soon after its appearance, having in the meantime called forth the most rapturous and reverent eulogies from authorities like Lammenais and Montalembert. The Poles indeed look upon this book almost in the light of a national gospel. It was first published when its author had already settled in Paris, the work being directly influenced by the recent Polish rising, which Mickiewicz had personally witnessed. “It seems to me,” he wrote about that period, “ that a time will come when it will be necessary to be a saint in order to be a poet, and when divine inspiration and the comprehension of mysteries unattainable to the ordinary human mind will be indispensable to the public success of creative art. I often think that, like Moses, I shall only see from afar the Promised Land of Poetry, for I do not feel myself worthy of entering within its gates.”

It will be seen from these words that the moral tone Mickiewicz’s work is exceedingly high, and even if there is much in this book with which we Russians cannot agree, we can at least always understand and sympathize, for the spirit of all the author’s thoughts touches us nearly and deeply. 

This same divine inspiration of which he speaks, this combining of the poetical with the religious idea, is indeed well known to our own thinkers. It is to such supersensitive understanding that Dostoeffsky aspired.

Mickiewicz, in his “Book of the Polish People,” comes before us in the combined roles of philosopher, politician, religious thinker, and poet, but it is only the two latter that come naturally to him, for he is first and foremost a poet, and has neither the knowledge nor the objectiveness essential to the task of the political historian. Nevertheless, his poetical intuition is indisputable and shines through his every thought, and his ideals frequently resemble those of the Russian Slavophils, who have opened up such a wide and glorious horizon for the national ideal.

Dostoeffsky, in his system of human development, assigns a large role to the Russian people. His conception stands on the borderline between philosophy and poetry; and who among us would lay aside Dostoeffsky in favour of even the greatest among foreign thinkers?

Mickiewicz’s is in no sense a political document, but as the lyrical confession of the author’s soul, it is valuable even at the present day.

Although exiled from his beloved country, the poet, in his dreams, dwells eternally in the dear home-land. This yearning of the spirit for the past, far away from sad, contemporary actualities, is natural, and well known to all romantics. It may indeed be said that in none of his works has Mickiewicz been so romantic as in this interesting book.

The work is divided into several parts, of which the first —i.e., “The Book of the Polish People” —forms an introduction. This introduction is a history of the world according to the Polish poet’s fancy, a history divided into two epochs, the one lasting from the Creation till the martyrdom of the Polish people, the other from that martyrdom until the moment of Poland’s resurrection. This resurrection ushers in a new era, which Mickiewicz does not touch.

The world’s history is an eternal struggle for freedom, where subjection to tyranny and victory over injustice constantly alternate. In those moments when injustice triumphs nations run wild.

“The Polish people alone have refrained from bowing down to this idol, so much so that even their language has failed to find a name for the worshippers of injustice. The Polish nation has trusted in God, knowing that he who honours God honours also all that is good and noble in life.”

Injustice put an end to all this, and with its coming began the Polish Pilgrimage. In this way Mickiewicz passes to the second part of his book. “The Soul of the Polish People,” he exclaims, “that is the Polish pilgrimage.”

Poland has territory and people, but the breath of life is lacking to animate these people—the breath of life called “Liberty.” It is very unfortunate that Mickiewicz did not take the trouble to explain clearly what he meant by that greatly misunderstood and sometimes purposely misused word. In revolutionary times no doubt many words are used in a mad, hurried way, but very few people care to understand thoroughly the real sense of the word, which no doubt sounds well, and seems to fit in, and is accepted as being all right. That philological precaution is better realized in our days, and particularly now in Russia. But some hundred years ago many ideas and motives were used at random, heedlessly. The same may be said about the word “Poland,” as representing a very confused idea. Is it the realm proclaimed by the Grand-Duke Nicholas—as destined to be freed after the war, that is Russian Poland, Posen, and Galicia—or only the Russian Kingdom of Poland? That is not all: what is meant by Russian Poland? The real Kingdom of Poland annexed by Russia? or does it include a part of Russia proper, i.e., Volhynia, and even Smolensk, as was proclaimed by some Polish dreamers?

But let us return to our poet’s dream. It has not been withdrawn for ever, but it has been wafted away into the future, and its renewal will once more mean Poland’s resurrection. To attain this end is not easy. “The Pole has sworn to undertake a pilgrimage to the Holy Land of his country’s freedom, and to continue his wanderings till the goal is reached.” And so, in a long sequence of parables and word pictures, the poet points out to his beloved countrymen the way of their pilgrimage. Ever observant and thoughtful, this passionate, untiring patriot did not shut his eyes to the shortcomings of the people he strove to serve. He was ready, indeed, to forget and forgive all their past sins, because, in his own words, “one can find a judge for every judgment and an executioner for every punishment.” But Mickiewicz was far from being either a judge or an executioner; he was instead, on the contrary, a leader and a prophet. “Good people always judge from the good side,” and one can always forgive the sins of the past when they are not repeated in the present. The poet saw very clearly the hot-headedness of his compatriots, and their constant readiness to disagree and quarrel on the smallest pretext. His emigrant life in Paris, indeed, spent almost exclusively in a Polish circle, brought him, in this connection, many a bitter moment. These, his quarrelsome brothers, Mickiewicz compares to a shipwrecked crew, who, instead of devising means of escape from the desert island on which they have been stranded, spend all their time in quarrelling about who was to blame for the shipwreck!

The pages of the “Book of the Polish People” reveals great energy and that spirit of leadership which never falters, even in the most trying moments. The author never admits disappointment or the possibility of failure, even under the darkest conditions. One must always be ready for the morrow. “Prepare your souls,” says Mickiewicz. It is this wisdom, this constant readiness for action, this enthusiasm and devotion to an ideal, that win the sympathies of even the most indifferent readers of the Polish poet’s work.

Among Mickiewicz’s most cherished ideals was always that of “Messianism.” He introduced this idea everywhere, even in the course of some lectures on Slavonic literature, which he delivered at the College de France. It also shines through his correspondence, but here it is not clothed in such mystic forms as in the “Book of the Polish People.”

Our celebrated philosopher and scholar, Vladimir Solovieff, in speaking of the fate of Mickiewicz, expresses himself as follows: “The ruin of his personal happiness did not change him into a disappointed misanthrope and pessimist; the ruin of his country did not make of him an indifferent cosmopolitan; the inward struggle for sincere religious conviction, as opposed to external authority, did not turn him into an enemy of the Church. At each step upwards on the ladder of moral development he carried with him not proud and empty disdain, but only love and charity for those climes for which he was rising—that constitutes his greatness.”

There are many among us today who can in this respect learn a great lesson from the Polish poet-patriot, and I do not hesitate to recommend the perusal of his works to all who read, who think, and who understand.