A History of Hungarian Literature/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV ALEXANDER PETŐFI IN 184 1, a young actor stepped into the sacred bower of Hungarian poetry, and suddenly, everything became changed there. New ftowers sprang up from the soil, and the very air seemed different. This revival of poetry, which occurred simultaneously with the political revival, was brought about by ALEXANDER PETŐFI (1822-1849). His personality was as extraordinary as his life and his poetry. At the age of eighteen he was a private soldier, and at twenty, a strolling actor leading a life of great privation. Yet by the time he was twenty-seven, he was the most famous poet in Hungary, and in the same year, on July 31, 1849, he died on the battlefield. His short life was one of r:estless wa ndering. For a long time the place of his birth was as littie known as that of his death . As a boy we find him mentioned now at this sch ool, and now at that. He was still a boy when he became a soldier, and in the course of a very sh ort time, he had lived in three countries, Hungary, Croatia and Styria. Next he was an actor, and the wanderer's knapsack, though more like a beggar's wa llet, fell to his share. He always put at the foot of a poem the name of the town in which it was written, and those names would furnish a list long enough to teach us the geography of Hungary. Doring the last yeaJ;" of his life, he was again in the army ALEXANDE R PETOFI 191 for the third time. Three times he left Transylvania to return to Hungary, and three times he went back to Transylvania, where, on the third time, he met his death. The swift movement of his life certainly helped to develop his talents. But in his career of wandering and excitement there was one period of rest : four years of peace and undisturbed happiness, of love and poetic activity. That time of quiet was like the one calm point in the centre of · an ocean whirlpool. It is weil known to sailors that wh en a ship has been caught by a cyclone and whirled round, it arríves at length at a central point where all is still. It seems as though the storm h as ceased and th e waves have become gentle. The sea appears blue and smiling. But soon the currents on the other side of the wh irlpool begin to draw the ship into their clutches ; the merciless storm is renewed, and the ship is at last wrecked by the hurricane. Petőfi was horn in the central portion of the lowlands, and was brought up amid the surroundings which are so faithfully depicted in his poems. The wide plain (puszta) , the roadside inns (csárda), the fata tn orga ta, the storks and the stud-farms, were the first sights with which the child became familiar ; and the popular songs were the first poetry that he heard . And the impressions then receíved had a profound effect upon his whole life. Petőfi' s father, Stephen Petrovics, was a buteber at Aszód in the province of Pest, like his father before bim. He was a man of strong passions, of unpolished man n ers, but thoroughly good-natured and honest, and not altagether uneducated, knowing even a littie Latin . He married a young peasant girl from the province of Turóc, who probabiy only learned Hungarian after her marriage. She was a lively, amiable and tender-hearted woman, with a gift for singing. It was at Kis-Körös, in the first hour of the year 1823, that Alexander Petőfi first saw the light. His parents often changed their dwelling-place, and when the boy was ten years old, they sent him to a school in the cap ital. From his class-room the young Petőfi could look out on to the square in which his statue has since been erected . At the age of twelve, we find him in Aszód, where for three years he attended the grammar school.
It often seems as if the story of our life were all written down beforehand, in the depths of our soul, in our inclinations and talents, and as though life itself were but the unfolding and development in time and space of what lay hidden within us.
Petőfi had, in boyhood, three marked characteristics: a love of independence, a desire to became an actor, and a genius for poetry. For three months he was at the high school in Selmecz, but his father stopped his allowance on learning that his son, in spite of repeated warnings, associated with actors.
Deprived of that support, Petőfi left Selmecz and went to Budapest, travelling on foot. This was his first pedestrian adventure, and was full of hardships, but it was not his last, nor his most arduous. At Budapest, quite by chance he met his father, but he escaped and went to the National Theatre, where for some time he served in the double capacity of supernumerary and messenger, carrying the various actors' parts to their houses. Then suddenly a brighter day dawned for him. A relative, an engineer, gave him shelter at his house, and here the boy, quitting his hard service at the theatre, lived the life of a gentleman's son, riding, driving, boating, and hunting. Here also he commenced to write, imitating the Latin ALEXANDER PETŐ FI 193 poets, and made verses about a pretty girl wh o lived in the neighbourhood, whom, however, he never dared to look in th e face. Petőfi was now sixteen years of age, of medium height, with a dark olive ca mplexion and a thick and somewhat stubborn growth of brown hair ; his eyes were full of fire and indomitble spirit, and his long n:eck was usually bare of collar and necktie. · But his relative soon gave bim up as hopeless. He declared that the boy would never become anything but a comedian . Petőfi sullenly, and despondingly, went to Sopron and joined the army. There never was a soldier who .loathed comput sio n more, or loved freedom more dearly than he, yet he remained in the army for eighteen months. ln 1840 his regiment was ordered to Graz, where he was struck down with typhoid fever. His military life was full of hardships. Even in the severest winter weather, he had to do the roughest kind of work in the courtyard of the barracks. " It is only now and then," he writes in one of his letters, 11 that with the aid of sacred, heavenly poetry, I am Iifted out of this heU . If it were not for this treasure enshrined in my bosom , despair would kill me." At last, through the interventien of a kind -hearted doctor, he was declared unfit for service, and sent home. ln 1841 he left Zágráb, the capital of Croatia, for Hungary. Weak, haggard, his countenance of an ashen pallor, and in a worn-out uniform, Petőfi erossed the frontier of his country. Once more there stretched before the fevered, sunken eyes of the poor soldier the land of his fathers, which he was soon to leave again. Here, at this eritical point in his life, Fate seems to have said to bim : 11 l will give thee eight full and rich years, a time of vigorous youth ; eight years in which to attain the summit of genius. During N 194 H UNGARIAN LITERATU RE this short time thou shalt express all that was slumbering in the heart of thy nation for a thousand years. Thou wilt have to feel in thy heart every thrill, each pang, multiplied a thousandfold in intensity, but thy joy and thy sorrow will live for ever. For thy sufferings, and restiess wanderings, thy reward shall be supreme inspira tion and an early death." ln the course of the following year he hesitated between two careers. Alternately, he was student at the College of Pápa, and actor. The stage seems to have presented irresistible attractions. During the summer of 1843 he lived by his pen, translating Freneh and English novels, but in the autumn he returned to his old love, and agai n became an actor. The winter {1843-44} he spent in great misery in Debreczen, for after rarnhling about the country as an actor, he became dangerously ill. At first he lived with a friend, and then he hired a littie room in the house of an aged widow. Throu gh the window of this room, if it was not thickly coated with frost, he could see the town gallows. A large clay stove was his writing-desk. The only ornaments were the portraits of Vörösmarty and Sch iller. During his illness, Petőfi made collection of his poems, and at the end of February, he went to Buda pest. This j ourney, the last of those marked by privation, he des cribes in a letter as follows : 1 1 l went on foot, in ragged cloths, with a few coppers and a volume of poems in my pocket . AU my hopes were centred in that collection of vrses. If l could seU them, ali would be weil. If not, then it wo uld also be weil, for l should either starve or be frozen to death, and my sufferings would be ended. l was wanderi ng alone. Far as l could see, there was n o living being in sight. Every one had ALEXAN DER PETŐ FI I95 sought shelter, for the weather was terrible. The shrieking wind drove the icy- cold rain into my face. The tears forced from my eyes by the cold and the thought of my misery, froze on my cheeks. After a week's painful journeying I arríved at Pest. There I stood then, at the last gasp. Th e courage of despair entered my heart and I went to see one of the greatest men of Hungary, with a feeling n ot unlike that of a gambler who stakes his last coin, knowing that the result means either life or death." The great man to whom he refers was the immortal V ö rösmarty, who succeeded in finding a publisher for Petőfi The year 1844 was the tuming point in Petőfi's life. His wanderings ceased, his poems appeared, and he bade a final farewell to the stage . Petőfi certainly had some talent for acting, or he would scarcely have clung to it so long, seeing how m uch he was drawn towards a literary career. He rapidly rose to fame. Th e surprising o rigi nality and freshness of his poetry carr ied ali before them . In a short time he carne to be reckoned amongst the most renowned men of Hungary. For some time he worked as a sub-editor. I t was during this period, at the heginning of 1845, when he was twenty-two years of age, that he experienced his great love sorrow. The daughter of a friend, a charming being, half woman, half child, died, and th e poet wreathed her tomb with his Cyp ress Branches, a series of poems written _ in her memory. It was partly to escape from his grief that he travelled for some months in the north of H un gary, the first journey on which he was not driven by n ecessity nor harassed by privations. In the autumn he returned to the capital, his sp irit healed, his heart full of courage and inspiration, and confident in hímself and his future. 196 HUNGARIAN LITERATU RE Th e follawing year was a time of poetica! enthusiasm and happy love. It was on September 8, 1846, that Petőfi first saw Julia Szendrey, and on the first ann iver sary of that day he married her. The early months of his marr ied life were spent in the romantic castle of Koltó, with his high -minded and poe tical young wife. From Koltó they went to Szalonta, to pay a visit to John Arany . A few months before, Arany's grand epic, Toldi, had won the prize in a literary competition. Petőfi had greeted h is unknown fellow poet with a beautifui poem, and soon afterwards th ey met and became firm friends. At the time of his visít, Petőfi wrote to a fri end : 11 Do you know why l was longing to come to Szalonta ? Because it is the dwelling-place of a great man, who is at the same time my frie nd, J ohn Arany, the author of Toldi. If you have n ot yet read the book i t would be vain for me to try and describe it, and if you have read it, it would be superfiuaus for me to say one word. And this great book is the work of a simple country notary. The week I have spent with my new friend l reckon amongst the happiest of my life . " Next year, in 1848, his poems sh ow a more marked political tendency. He felt in advan ce the revolution which was impending, 11 as animals perceíve the coming earthquake." This presentiment is expressed in the poem, The Country, * o f wh ich we quote a few stanzas. The sun went down, but not a starlet Appeared in heaven-all dark above No light around, exeept the taper Dim glimmering, and my homely love. That homely love's a star in beaven That shines taround both near and far,
- BoWRING, " Translations from Petö:fi.. " ALEXANDER PETŐFI
A home of sadness-sad Hungaria l Where wilt thou find that lovely star 1 And now my taper flickers faintly, And midnight comes, but in the gleam, Faint as it is, I see a shadow Which half reveals a future dream. It briglitens as the daybreak brigh tens, Each flame brings forth a mightier flame ; Tilere stand two figures in the nimbus- Old Magyar honour-Magyar fame. O Magyars l look not on your fathers, But bid them hide their brows in night ; Your eyes are weak, those suns are dazzling, Ye cannot bear that blasting light. Time was those ancient, lionoured fathers, Could speak the threatening, th 1mdering word ; 'Twas lihe the tJursting of the stcwm-wind, And Europe, ali responsive, Ileard l Great was the Magyar Illetl-his country Honoured-his name a history Of glory--now a star e.rtinguished A fallen star in Magyar sea. 'Twas long ago_.:_the laurel garland Was round the Magyar forehead bound ; Shall fancy-eagle -pinioned-ever See Magyar hero-brow recrowned 1 That laurel crown so long has faded So long thy light has ceased to gleam ; Thy greainess seems a myth, thy story A fable of the past-a dream l Long liave mine eyes been dry and tearless, But now I weep, and can it be That these are dews of spring-the daruning Of brighter days for Hungary 1
197 And can it—can it be—a meteor,
That for a moment burst and blazed
Lighted with brightness all the heavens,
And sunk in darkness while we gazed.
No! 'tis a comet, whose returning
Is sure as is the march of doom:
Hungary shall hail it, blazing, burning,
It cannot, will not fail to come.
It was on the 14th of March, 1848, that the first news reached Pest of the Viennese revolution, which forced the Cabinet to resign.
The event inspired Petőfi to write the poem Talpra Magyar, which he recited to a vast crowd, amidst tumultuous applause, on the following day, the 15th of March. The refrain, "And we swear that we shall never more be slaves," was repeated by the crowd as though it were a sacred vow which they were making before the bard. When he had finished, the crowd made its way to the printing office, which had formerly been under the yoke of the censor, took possession of the machines and printed the poem, the people waiting outside until it was ready.
It was the first poem printed with out the license of the censor.
NATIONAL SONG.[1]
Magyars, up! your country calls you.
Break the chain which now enthralls you.
Freemen be, or slaves for ever.
Choose ye, Magyars, now or never.
For by the Magyar's God above
We truly swear
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke
No more to bear
Alas! till now we were but slaves;
Our fathers resting in their graves
Sleep not in freedom's soil. In vain
They fought and died free homes to gain
But by the Magyar's God above, etc.
A miserable wretch is he
Who fears to die, my land, for thee!
His worthless life who thinks to be
Worth mare than thou, sweet liberty!
Now by the Magyar's God above, etc.
The sword is brighter than the chain,
Men cannot nobler gems attain;
And yet the chain we wore, Oh, shame!
Unsheath the sword of ancient fame!
For by the Magyar's God above, etc.
The Magyar's name will soon once more
Be honoured as it was before!
The shame and dust of ages past
Our valor shall wipe out at last,
For by the Magyar's God above, etc.
And where our graves in verdure rise
Our children's children to the skies
Shall speak the grateful joy they feel,
And bless our names the while they kneel.
For by the Magyar's God above,
We truly swear
We truly swear the tyrant's yoke
No more to bear.
Petőfi served the cause of freedom as a revolutionary poet, as an orator, and as a journalist. His soul was burning with enthusiasm, and its flame was always pure. "No sound of my lyre, no stroke of my pen, has ever served a mercenary purpose. I sang and wrote as inspired by the 2oo HUNGARIAN LITERATDRE deity within my soul, and that deity was Freedom," he said of himself, and rightly. But his exaggerated ideas were certain to awaken a reaction. His poem 1o Kings, wi th the refrain, "There is now no king who sh ould be beloved," met with great disapproval. 11 A few weeks after the I 5th of March," wrote Petőfi in an article, "and lo, I am one of the most hated of men. Here I stan d, in the abyss, my wreath tom from me, but at least I stand erect." It was partly due to this reaction, that when, at the elections, he stood as a parliamentary candidate, he was not returned. It is true that his speech to the constituents was proud and imperious, reminding us of the manner of Coriolanus in soliciting votes. "The time of speeches is over, said Petőfi, 11 and th e hour for deeds has arrived, and the event proved that he was right. The decisive struggle carne. Petőfi could not remain quietly at his desk while such events were stirring. There are noble natures in whom there dwells a ccrtain self-sacriticing restlessness. They yearn to per form greater deeds than those of the common round. Such was Petőfi. He felt that revolution, war, and death were approaching, and longed to go to meet them. ln 1845 he had wished to die where the trumpets of hattie were sounding. 11 God did not create me for solitude. I a m called to the battlefield," he said. "Oh that l might hear the brazen trumpets resounding, calling to war. M y restiess sa ul c a n scarcely wait for the signal." He obeyed the inward promptings of his soul, and also the call of duty, when he joined the 11 Honvéd " army. ln October 1848 he was promoted to the rank of ca·ptain, and in 1849 he asked permission to join General Bem's division.•
- When Bem and Petöli met, the latter said : I offer you my ALEXAN DER PETŐFI
201 Bem had been an eminent Polisb general, who had distinguished bimself in the revolt of the Poles agai nst Ro ssia in 1 83o. And therefore Louis Kossuth offered bim the command of the army in Transylvania, where he would be opposed to the Russians. Petőfi was Bem's aide-de-camp and favourite officer. Tbree times Petőfi left Transylvania, but each time he went back, as though drawn by an irresistible force to Bem, who understood bim better than any other of his superiors ever did , and consequently was more ready to overlook the faults due to his impetuosity. When Petőfi returned for the third time, and met Bem, four days before the poet's death, the general embraced bim with tears in his eyes, and exclaimed "My son l My son l Petőfi had already given his nation the treasures of poetry, which will be cherished so long as the H ongarian language endures. Now there was but one supreme gift which he c ould bestow on it-his life. Petőfi has described in prophetic language the death he fond l y hoped to die. It was to die young, on th e battlefield, fighting for Freedom, and when death carne, to be buried in one common grave with those who had given their heart's blood for the same s acred cause . Fate granted his wish. Onthe31st ofJuly he fell by the hand of a Russian Cossack, at the battle of Segesvar. The bard who had sung of the common feelings of his countryme n was buried in a common grave . The two main themes of his poetry, to wh ich he was faithfui to the end, are indicated in the motto of one of his volumes of poems. sword." "I shal l not be satistied with that," replied the great general, " I want your heart as weil." 202 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE Ali other things above A re liberty and love ; Life would I glatl l y lender For love : yet foyfully Would love ilselj surrender For liberly. The poem in which he prophesied his own death is the follawing :- ONE ONLY THOUGHT.* One thoughl tormenls me sorely-'lis that l, Pillo wed on a soft bed of down, may die pal le slowly, like a flower, and pass away Under the genile pressure of decay, Paling as pales a fading, flickering light ba the dark, Zonesome solitude of night. O God l let not my Magyar name Be linked with such a death of shame ; No l ralher let it be A lighlning-struck, uprooted Iree- A rock, which tom from mountain-brow, Comes rattling, titunuring down below. Where every fettered race tired with their chains Muster their ranks and seek the baltie plains ; And with red flushes the red {lag unfold, The sacred signal there inscribed in gold- " For the world's liberty l " And, far and wide, the summons to be free Fills east and west,-and to the gloriaus fight Heroes press forward, battling for the right : There will I die l There, drawned in mine own heart's-blood, tie Poured out so willing/y : th' epiring voice, Even in its own etinction sitali refoice. White the sword's clashing and the trumpet's sound, And ri{les and artillery thuntler round ; Then may the trampling horse Gallop upon my corse,
- BowRING, " Translations from Pfi." ALEXAN DER PETŐFI
WMtlo'wthebtiUhfill41/Jewamors· Ther• let "" rest tili glorious victory Shal l crown 1/Je righl-my bons upgathered b1 Atthe subli"" interment of thejrul W/Jen mil l ion voices shoul their ll l gy Untlw 1/Je unfurled bannws waving high ,· On the gigantic grav1 which covws ali The hwoes, who for frudom fali. And wllcotfi iJ death blcaus1 1/Jey die for thee A ll holy l world-deliulring liberty l 203 Petöfi's place in Hungarian poetry is easily defined. He is the greatest Hungarian lyric p oet. Song was the natural and spontaneous expression of · his personality. Feelings were eve r weiling up .in his soul and finding an outlet in song. He was an 11 impressionist " in the highest sense of the word. AU his feelings-patriotism, friend ship, . love, anger, political sympathy-quickly rose to passion. "My heart," he once said, 11 is like the echoing fo rest, to one call it responds with a hundred cries." He never endeavoured to maderate his feelings or to sup press them. He followed the first írnpulse a nd unre strai nedly gave bimself up to the impression of the moment. He enj oyed the glad ness of his heart, and suffered from its sorrow, in a measore quite unknown to other men. " Though the earth were covered with snow, if I could but sow in it the seeds of my joyful spirit, a forest of roses would lighten the winter's gloom." His great capacity of feeling naturally made bim ex tremely sensitive and excitable. Sanguine by nature, and full of youthful fervour, he was easily írnpelled to rash deeds, but never to any course wh ich deviated from the path of h onour. He was content with no compromise, could endure no compulsion, and wished to enj oy free dom in all its futness and perfection. In the interecurse 204 HUNGARIAN LITERATDRE of everyday life there was a repelling restlessness in him, some stiff pride, and occasionally a certain superficiality, but in the service of freedom he was thorough and faithfui to the end. For freedom he was ready to give al i, even life itself. Petőfi, like his great contemporary and fellow-worker, Arany, based his poetry upon popular traditions and feeli ngs. He embodies many of them in his verses, but always uses them with the conscious art of a cultured poet. It was as if he had grafted the c ultivated r ose of true poetry upon the wild rose of the popular imagination . The former gave the beauty, an!; the latter the sap and strength. Both Petőfi and Arany were pupils of the people. Arany learnt from them his graph ic language, the plastic simpticity of his sentences and his epic construction. Petőfi used the features of the popular songs, though altered in accordance with his own individuality. Th e essential characteristics of the popular Hungarian songs may be discerned in his poetry. We feel while reading his verses that we are standing on Hungarian soil. Nowhere can we find the qualities of the people and the c haracter of their daily life better portrayed. The char acters that he introd uces are typicaily H ungarian, and the sober self-consci ousness of th e people, their quiet dignity and their we ll-known discreet reserve, are as faith fully depicted in his poetry as their warm feelings are reflected in himself. In the mature poetry of Petőfi we see love as the Hungarians conceive it, full of strength and warmth, and without any touch of Freneh frivolity or German sentimentalism. Petőfi' s writings give us a glimpse of H ungarian life and the H ungari an soul, lighted up by the flame of p oetica} exaltation . ALEXANDER PET6FI He ofte n borroed the subj ects and the rhythmical beauty of the popular songs. Those songs, horn of the people, never treat the feelings in an abstract way, never merely mention that in the soul of the sioger this or that sentiment is present, for one reason or anoth er, but place the wh ole situation before us in a littie scene. They scarcely ever contain a general expression of joy or grief; it is nearly always the joy or grief of a clearly outlined in dividual in certain well-defined surroundings. H e n ce the great piasticity of the scene. This draroatic power is one of Petófi's most striking ch aracteristics. N early ali his songs make us the witnesses of some littie drama. Another poet might say " Sweet maid, I loved thee at first sight. Our eyes just met and thy glance set my heart on fire." But Petófi writes a charming littie peasant song, Into the Kitchen door I strolled. The cottage door stood open wide, To light my pipe l stepped inside, But, oh l behold, my pipe was lit, There was indeed a glow in it. But since my pipe was ali aglow With other thoughts inside l go, A genUe winning maiden fair That l perchance saw sitting there, Upon her wonted task intene To stir the fire aflame, she bent; But oh l dear heart, her eyes so bright Were radiant with more brilliant light. She looked at me as in l passed Some spell she must have o'er me case. My burning pipe went out, but oh l My sleeping heart was all aglow. Pet6fi's lyrics posse ss a genui ne freshness, wh ich 2o6 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE is found in such perfection in no poetry outside the popular songs. It cannot be acquired ; the more the poet strives after it, the farther does he drift away from it. The songs of the people, on the other hand, are invariably full of it. Those nameless singers composed their songs under the overpowering írnpulse of strong feeling and were írnpelled by no other motive. And if a popular song is not full of life, if it is not simple and genuine, it quickly perishes and fails to win the ear of ali men . Poets by profession achieve the triumph of perfect sincerity and freshness much more rarely than the unknown autb ors of the songs of the people. But Petőfi's verses were very different from the oratorical composi tions of his contemporaries. Ali he says is simple, and expressed with fervour and the instinctive sin cerity of a just mind. Deep, strong feelings, put into the simplest possihle words-that is the typical Petőfi poem. Related to his fresh ness is his sincerity. He shows hímself to us as he is. For hím poetry is not a means of enabling hím to assume this character or that, but an opportunity to lay bare his inmost soul. His poetry is an open confession. AU the incidents of his life, the news he hears, and th books he reads, profoundly írnpress his heart and his whole being . It never occurs to him to pander with the truth, and he pours his whole soul into his poems. Other poets reveal thernselves most frequ ently in care fuily chosen moods. Not so Petőfi. He pours forth like a torrent ali he thinks and feels and suffers. He telis u s that he has been hugry, and cold and penniless, or that his father struck him, or that he was a strolling player, and that his coat was ragged. Who would have dared to speak like this before him ? The poets would ALEXANDER PETŐ FI have been ashamed to appear in such sorry garb before the public. They thought a holiday mood needfui to their sing ing, and that a gaia dress must commend their poetry. The classical Berzsenyi, by the way, actually used to put on a Roma n toga when he wished to feel in the proper mood for writing odes. With some poets we feel as if a barrier existed between them and us. Petőfi never makes us feel like that. He is not afraid of standing near us, that we may feel in close touch with bim. He does not disdain to sp eak of subjects commonly thought trivial, and he allows us to see into the depths of his soul. How did he dare to do this ? Because he knew that the depths of his soul could only reveal his absolute sincerity. He could venture to speak of trivial, every-day matters, because his personality turned even the grayest and dullest incident to gold. His imitators en deavoured to copy his sincerity, and tried to speak in his claring way. Apollo might appear uncla d, yet not every naked Greek youth carrying a lyre was an Apollo. The mantle of Petőfi did not descend on his imitators. Through his poems, the subj ect s he used to treat became fashionable. Every yo ung poet, as a matter of course, must needs have the same kind of father, some what rough, vehement and uncultured, though before Petőfi's time young men would have been silen t about that kind of father, and if he had been a buteber or an innkeeper, would not have mentioned bim for their lives. Now ali of them spoke of their mothers who silently loved them, and if their fathers had been too severe, secretly kissed them. They forgot that Petőfi had been kissed by the M use as w ell. They suddenly became interested in stud-farms, and horse-herds and strolling players. 2o8 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE Petőfi was the first who dared to see, as the poet ought to see, and his observation is always sincere. He sees everyth ing arou nd him, and speaks of it, but he sees it with the poet's eye. He was the first whose eye dis covered the beauty of the Hungarian Lowlands. Hun dreds of poets may have passed through the Lowlands and have seen their plains and farms, their roadside inns, horse-herds and highwaymen, but no one detected the element of poetry in them. Petőfi discovered the Low lands for poetry. He seems to have thought : 1 1 Why speak about the snow-capped peaks of Helvetia, or the 'melodious bowers of Arcad ia, ' or the sources of Tiber, when the Hortobágy is here ? Learn to see, and you may find_ poetry in the homely scenes around you." But it was not only that he looked at the Lowlands with other eyes. He differed fro m other poets in his attitude to Nature. Nowhere has Nature been reflected with more youthful freshn ess and dewy beauty, than in his poems . She was no mere spectacie for him, but the extension so to speak of his own mental self. The clouds were his brothers. The Lowlands were the symbol of freedom. On an autumn day he says to his wife : "When thou kissest me, touch my li ps lightly, that we may not disturb the heginning of Nature's Slumber." In his songs, Nature is spiritualised and endowed with feeling. Hills and valleys find voice in his verses, but not to teach some moral lesson, as in fables, but to express their own joys and sorrows. Petőfi not only feels Nature but describes her. His descriptions of scenery are remarkably clear and plastic. An artist could paint them or an engineer draw them on a map. And even these poems are not merely de scriptive, but lyrical as weil, because they are pen etrated by the poet's strong individual feeling. When he describes a dingy, neglected roadside inn, in his Kutyakaparó, he not only draws a graphic picture of the scene, but he conveys that feeling of leaden dulness and tediousness which benumbs the traveller as he enters the house. We not only see a rickety, weatjer-beaten house, neglected rooms, and a morose inn-keeper, but we become a prey to the very feeling which overpowered the author. Another happy feature of his descriptions is that he does not depict an object as an isolated existence in space and time, but introduces it to us as the scene of a series of incidents.
He probes deeply into the mysteries of human existence, and displays an inclination to muse on the transient nature of things. For him, the present hour is filled with thoughts of the future. His poem At the End of September, reveals not only the happiness of the moment, his rapturous love for his wife, and the beauty of the castle garden around them, but also contains forebodings of the future, his early death and his widow's quick forgetfulness. Lyrics have three themes recurring: Love, Nature and Death. The three eternal motives are united by a melancholy presentiment in At the End of September.[2] He commences by musing on Nature, then dwells on the idea of Death, and finally arrives at the third motive, Love.
210The lindens are scattering their fragrance like clover,
While the gay flowers bloom in the garden below;
A fawn-coloured mist spreads its canopy over
The earth, and the mountains are covered with snow.
HUNGARIAN LITERATURE On the bosom of youth summer's brighiness is glowing, And the buds and the blossoms abundantly spread ; But the dews and the darkess my path are o'erflowing, And the dead leaves of autumn are dropt on my head. For so our lives jade, like the bud and the biossom ; But come to me sweet one l in gentleness come l And lay thy dear heád on my welcoming bosom, That bead which to-morrow may bend o'er my tomb. If i die, wilt thou shed tears of sorrow above me, When my eyes shall be elosed in the dark silent grave 1 Ah l May not the words of some youth who will love thee Make thee willing to part with the name which I gave l Then take thou the veil of the widow and bind it, A dark -waving {lag, to the cross o'er my tomb ; I shall rise from the death-world, beloved, to find it A kerchief /or tears in that far land of gloom. But thought of oblivion shall never, oh never Weigh low on my spirit, or cause me to grieve, For my love will be with thee for ever and ever, And live while eternity's eyeles shall live. Even in his epic poems, Petőfi was <a.bove aU a lyric poet. He was too subjective to become an impartial narrator of events. Whenever the characters in his epics speak, it is from the heart of Petőfi that the w ords rise to their lips. His most popular epic poem is János Vitéz. Petőfi wrote it at the age of twenty- one, in a fortnight, in a mean, dingy littie back room. János Vitéz is the most truly Hungarian fabulous story ever told. What other poets tried to accomplish .w hen their talents had attained their fullest development, that is, to write an epic poem thoroughly popular and national in its spirit, Petőfi did with playfui ease at the very commeneement of his career. There is no imitation, in his work, of the poets of any other ALEXANDER PETŐ FI 211 country. The characters are ali drawn from the fountain head of Hungaria n life. The hero himself, a young peasant lad, a sheph erd who becomes a soldier, is a typical H ungarian. The form of the verse and the language of the poem are in entire barmony with the popular songs. The way he relates an event is precisely th e way a tale is told among the people. The miraculous element in the poem is also horrowed from the popular imagination. Petőfi did not, like Vörösmarty, laboriously explore the ancient Hungarian mythology to find his subj ects, but with the good fortune of genius, grasped ·the treasures which lay stored up and ready to hand in the p opular fairy tales. The poem is exactly like a fable told by the people, but with the superior and conscious art of a good story-teller. The hero is a brave, honest, and dignified young peasant lad, a shepherd, in whose manly breast there dwel ls a tender heart. He loves with all his soul a littie orphan peasant girl, Iluska. Once when they meet in the fields and speak words of comfort to one another (for they both lead a rather hard life at home), János forgets to look after his flock, and the sheep go astray. His master's anger knows no bounds and he is dismissed from his service. Th e lad knows that he has deserved this, but his grief is very great, for he has to leave Iluska, who suffers much at the bands of her beartless step-mother. I n the course of the wanderings of J ános, one adventure follows another. First he is attacked in the dark forest by highwaymen, but they are so struck by his calm, un flinching courage (alas l he is not carefui of his life now, once he has lost his happiness) that they tell bim he must joi n them, as he is cut out for a highwayman. During the night, however, he leaves them secretly, sets fire to the house, and although aU the treasures of the sleeping high212 HUNGAR.IAN LITERATURE way men were at his mercy, he would not touch wealth which was stained with blood. He continues his journey, when suddenly he becomes aware of the approach of a gay cavalcade. A troop of hussars is passing along the road. János can hardly contain his excitement. He goes up to the captai n and says : " I am a wanderer, without a home in the whole wide world, but if I could become a hussar, I would not change places with any one." H Remember," replies the captain, H that we are going to the war, to aid the Freneh agaiost the Turks." "My life," János answers, H is of no va lue. It is true that as a sheph erd I have only ridden a donkey, but that doesn't matter, for I am an Hungarian, and every Hungarian is cut out for a horseman ." He turns out a splendid Hussar. They pass through the land of the H dog-headed " Tartars, and the rosemary groves of Italy. They come to the vast mountains of India, amid which they wander at such altitudes that the sun is only an hour's distance above their heads. Thus the heat is very great and they suffer from thirst, but fortunately they can easily reach the clouds and squeeze the water out of them. At length they reach the rich country of the French . The Freneh king telis them of his great grief. The Turks have devastated his dominions and carried off his daughte r. The Hussars do not hesitate a moment, but set off on the track of the Turks, and destroy their army, and János has the good luck to rescue the princess. The grateful pri n cess offers her hand to her gallant defender, but János remains faithfui to Iluska and declines the honour. The Freneh king then gives our hero a large sack of gold, and he turns homeward joyfully, for he is now rich and can marry his true love. He embarks on a ship, but suddenly a storm arises 11 and the sea moans in pain, ALEXANDER PETŐ FI 213 beneath the lashing of the wind." The ship is wrecked but János, after a hair-breadth escape from drowning, reaches the shore and finds a roc's nest. The bussar throws bimself on the back of the powerful hird, plunges his spurs into bim, and is carried homeward, to Iluska . But when he arríves there he hears from one of the young girl's friends that she is dead . " Why did I not fali on the battlefield ? " cries out J án os in the agony of his grief. "Or why did not the waves overwhelm me ? " He goes to the church yard, plucks a rose from the maiden 's grave, a nd leaves the village, never to return. Two companions accompany him, wherever he goes his grief and his sword. He seeks death in heroic adventures in order that he may soon rej oin Iluska. Once, on the borders of a large forest, he reaches the frontier of the land of giants. Close beside a stream stands a giant, who cries out with a voice of thunder : " There seems to be something movi ng down below there, in the grass ; it's a man ; let me tread upon bim." But János quickly holds up his sword, the giant treads upon it and tumbles into the brook. János uses his body as a bridge, and when he reaches the opposite bank, proceeds straight to th e eastie of the giant king. The family is at dinner, and swallowing huge pieces of rock. The king mockingly breaks off a piece weigh ing four or fi ve pounds and bands it to the visitor for bim to eat. János grasps the stone, and hurls it at the king, striking bim on the temple and kining him instantly. The frighten ed giants do homage to our hero and ask him to be the ir king, giving bim a littie whistle, one blast of which would bri ng them to his aid. At length, with the help of the giants, János reaches Fairyland, the realm of love and happiness. But he feels 2r4 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE sad and lonely even here, for the sight of others' love and joy makes bim feel the more keenly the greatness of his own loss. Once, weighed down with grief, he proceeds to the margin of a beautifui lake and throws into its waters his only treasure, the rose which he has kept all this wh ile. He bids it show bim the path to death, and he will follow. But, oh, wonder of wonders, the rose is suddenly transforrned into a lovely maiden. It is Iluska who stands before bim. The lake is the wa ter of life, and revíves everything which is thrown into it, and as the rose grew from the ashes of the maid, the magic water recalls her to life . She is so lovely that the fairy maidens elect her to be their queen, while the fairy knights want János for their king, so there they both live happy ever after. Petőfi's last great epic poem, The Apostle, is a series of boldly drawn but exaggerated events and feelings. The hero is a man of the people, full of lofty ideas, which , however, cannot be realised in actual life. He ends his life as the murderer of the king. In the story of his love thcre a re some of the features of Petőfi's love-story, but chiefly the sadder ones, such as the obsta cles to his mar riage. The account of the hero's cheerless childhood reminds the reader of Dickens's novels, which were so much admired by Petőfi. The bírd which chcers the írn prisoned apostle seems to have flown to his cell from that of th e prisoner of Chillon. It is certainly reminiscent of Byron . ln the pathos of the hero there is a resemblance to the Girondins of Lamartine, white his bold defiant attitude recalls the manner of Coriolamts. Petőfi's conception of th e world is based on strong demoeratic convictions. It might be su mmed up thus : Mankind is continually developing. Great men and great ideas have the greatest influence on the education of the ALEXAN DER PETŐ FI 215 race. Yet this education is the common work of all men, an d each must contribute his share. Every life leaves some trace in its deeds. "A grape," he says, "is a small thing, yet it requires a whole summer to ripen it. The world requires much more. How many thousands of sunrays have toucbed one single berry. How many millions may the world need ? But the rays which help to develop and ripen the world are the souls of men. Every gre at soul is such a ray, " continues the apostle, 11 I feel that I am one of those who are helping to ripen the earth. " Petőfi once called bimself "the wild flower of Nature." But it would be a mistake to think that he did not study poetry. Certainly, he was always true to himself, bnt his talents were not altagether uncultivated. ln his selection of themes he was influenced by Lenau. His humour reminds us of Csokonai, his irony and his descriptions, of Hei ne. His boldly expressed love of freed om has much in common with the temper of Shelley and Byro n, while some of his genre poems resemble those of Béranger. His thrilling oratory shows that he admired Shakespeare, and his dramatic style, full of striking anti theses, recalls that of Victor Hugo. In some of his patriotic poems we seem to recognise the melancholy of Vörösmarty, and certain of his popular romances reveaJ clearly the influence of Arany. Many a river and brook flowed into that vast and deep ocean, the soul of Petőfi, and yet its most striking and ch aracteristic features, and its peculiar colours, are ali his own, and his are the pearls, too, wh ich forrned in its depths. Petőfi's poetry is the poetry of youth . People say, there are no Ionger any children, and that youth is dying 216 HUNGARIAN LITERAT URE out. If it were so, it could be reawakened by the poems of Petőfi. AU that is great and bright in youth, its gen erous emotions, its ardour, and sensitiveness, its feverish energy and its purity, its recklessness and its exaggerations, are to be found in bim. If we wish to estimate his talents, we ought to compare his poetry with the works wh ich other great lyric poets have written before their twenty-sixth year. If we did so, we sh ould realise how phenomenal was his ge nius. Two perso nalities seem to have been blended in bim. One resembled the brass statue in Budapest, which shows Petőfi as the brillian t orator and leader of the people, who by his eloquen ce awakened the wildest enth usiasm, the bearer of the ban ner of freedom and revolution. But there was another Petőfi, the contemplative poet of the old gard en at Koltó, th e poet of Nature and Love, who wh ile he saw the early snow on the mountains, and the first touch of autumn on the trees in the park, carried summer in his heart-who fett ali that is sweet and grand in life, and who expressed his mortal feelings in immortal verse.