The Undivine Comedy, and Other Poems/Biography of Krasinski
BIOGRAPHY OF KRASINSKI.
The following imperfect sketch of the "Anonymous Poet" is the only account we have been able to find of him in European literature. It is translated chiefly from "Unsere Zeit Jahrbuch zum Conversations Lexikon. No. 55. 1862. L. A. Brockhaus, Leipzig."
"The silent organ loudest chants the master's requiem."
So chants the fact that as yet no details of the life of the great Pole can appear, because they might compromise friends once very dear to him, living within reach of the vengeful arm of Russia. He renounced all fame while living, ever publishing anonymously, and the manifold experiences of his internal life, with his numerous historical and political letters, must slumber in the shroud of silence, until Polish patriotism is no longer crime, and confiscation and exile cease to be the doom of all connected with those daring enough to defend their native land.
The reader may, however, round this skeleton biography into flesh, by clothing its bones from the veined tissues he will not fail to find in the nervous pages of Julian Klaczko.
When Napoleon entered Poland, in 1806, the leader of the Polish Legions, General Dombrowski, summoned the fiery patriot, Wybicki, to unite himself with armed hand to the conqueror of nations; and as Napoleon spoke freely of the reconstitution of the country, such summons fell not upon unheeding ears in Poland. Many patriots of high distinction offered up property and life in the new-born hopes for fatherland, and, captivated by the fallacious promises of Napoleon, hurried to join the French eagles. Count Vincent Krasinski, then about twenty-four years of age, a man of great wealth and high distinction, was one of the first to greet the French Emperor on Polish ground, and afterwards accompanied him in his campaigns as adjutant.
For a time Count Krasinski resided in Paris, in which city his wife, Maria, a princess of the house of Radziwill, presented him with a son, born on the 19th of February, 1812, who received in baptism the name of Sigismund Napoleon. This boy became the "Anonymous Poet of Poland."
Bitterly deceived were the high hopes of the Poles. After the signing of the act of abdication by Napoleon, April 11, 1814, Count Vincent Krasinski, then under orders from the Czar Alexander, led the unhappy remnants of the Polish legions back from France into Poland.
His countess soon after joined him there with the little Sigismund, then about three years old. Upon the immense estates of his forefathers, under the tender care of a devoted but very sickly mother, lived for many happy years the young Sigismund, a dark-eyed boy with long, fair curls, remarkable from his earliest years for rare powers of wit and intellect, for rapid and acute answers to difficult questions, for true and chivalric feeling, for high-strung and self-sacrificing ardor. His health, however, was exceedingly delicate. When but five years of age he was presented to the Czar, an especial friend of his parents, and recited for him the lines of Voltaire, "Tu dors, Brute!" meantime fearlessly gazing with childlike confidence into the keen eyes of the autocrat. Two years later he was introduced to the Empress, whom he pleased greatly. She said laughingly to him, "I acknowledge you as my knight. Will you accept the appointment, and defend me against my enemies?" His answer was as acute as chivalric. "I cannot," he replied; "your Majesty has no need of defenders, since you have no enemies."
He had instructors of great ability, and so rapidly was he advanced in his studies, that he was soon able to enter the sixth class in the College of Warsaw. Uncommon powers of intellect, united with a great memory, ardent and unceasing efforts for thorough mental cultivation, distinguished him in his intercourse with his fellowstudents. But however rapid his advances, he failed to satisfy his eager desire for exact and wide learning.
His mother died in 1822, and so bitter was the distress of his father, that he withdrew himself from all social intercourse, save that forced upon him by his official position, and devoted himself exclusively to the advancement of his idolized boy. He followed his mental and spiritual culture with eyes of constant watchfulness, and, at an examination to which the savants interested in the cause of education had been invited, he had the gratification of seeing his son, then but twelve years of age, astonish all present by his accurate knowledge of grammar, literature, geography, and history.
Although Sigismund was too young as yet to take any part in the meetings and discussions of the learned Poles so frequently held in the house of his father, they nevertheless exerted great influence over the precocious boy, and aided in preparing him for the vocation of an author. His susceptible nature readily seized upon whatever appealed to the imagination or soul, and he would often reproduce his impressions for the entertainment and instruction of his companions. When but fourteen years of age, he wrote a tale which he caused to be secretly printed, and then presented to his father, who approved the gift, but forbade all further essays at that time, fearing that the facility of composition might lead his son astray from more severe studies. But the boy stole from the hours allowed for sleep the time to write another tale, entitled "The Grave of the Family of Reichstal." This was followed by another, "Ladislaus Hermann and his Court," written in the style of the novels of Sir Walter Scott, of whose works he was at that time deeply enamored. Both of these tales were printed in 1829.
But a dreadful crisis was approaching in the fate of the dutiful, loving, beloved, and patriotic son. His father and his country were to stand in deadly opposition to each other, and his young dreams of fame to be forever sacrificed. His life was a long penitential offering to his incensed country for the faults of his father. He sacrificed all glory to win silence and pardon for the illustrious offender.
The year 1825 was a memorable one in Russian history, in consequence of the sudden death of Alexander, and the outbreak of a wide-spread conspiracy for a constitutional government in Russia, of which the leaders were Pestel, Orloff, Ryléiéf, Bestuchef-Rumin, and Kachowski. During the inquiries instituted at St. Petersburg, it became evident that there were societies existing in Poland whose principal object was the restoration of that country to independence. Uminski, Jablonowski, Soltyk, Kryzanowski, Lukasinski, and others, members of one of these societies, were indicted for high treason. The trial fell under the jurisdiction of the ancient kingdom of Poland, whose capital was the city of Warsaw.
The reduced Poland of the Congress of Vienna enjoyed a nominal constitution, and the Polish Senate was convoked to preserve, ostensibly at least, a legal form. Some Senators were then living abroad, as Prince Adam Czartoryski, but they hastened home to record their patriotic votes. The President of this high tribunal was elected in the person of the Palatine, Peter Bielinski. The Commission of Inquiry classed the accused under five categories, and the Senate was charged to decide on their fate. It appointed lawyers as counsel for the prisoners; the proceedings were public, and lasted a month, when the court, with the exception of one dissentient voice, set aside the charge of high treason, and gave their decision: "Not guilty;" a decision based on the principle that all Poles naturally desire the independence of their fatherland. The one dissenting Polish voice was that of General Count Vincent Krasinski, the father of our Poet!
The Emperor ordered the judges to be reprimanded, a thing before unheard of, and consoled himself by confining the accused in the dungeons of St. Petersburg, in direct violation of the constitution,—and this was one of the grievances subsequently alleged in defense of the Polish revolution.
The constitutional victory of Poland, so full of patriotic joy, was, however, greatly saddened by the fact that a patriot so distinguished as Vincent Krasinski should have voted on the side of the absolute Russian Government, then represented in Warsaw by the Grand Duke Constantine, famous for his persecution of all patriotic Poles, as well as of the students of the university.
Peter Bielinski, the President of the Senate and Commission of Inquiry, died soon afterward, and, on the day of his funeral, the fiery fellow-students of young Sigismund Krasinski made a strong demonstration, in the way of threats and insulting expressions, against the young man, judging him utterly unworthy of their fellowship, because of the unpatriotic vote rendered by his father on the trial above mentioned.
An eye-witness, Professor Podbielski, then a fellow-student of young Sigismund on the benches of the university, thus describes the occurrence: "On one of the subsequent days, after the public lecture to the students in common of the faculties, I observed quite a commotion among the young men; many leaving the hall, rushed to Krasinski, and as they tore the badges of the university away from him, I heard them cry: 'You are not worthy to be our fellow-student, because your father cast his decision against our brothers, our noble patriots!' Sigismund, with chivalric and undaunted bearing, though of exceedingly slight form and delicate and refined appearance, met them fearlessly, and with true Polish spirit offered them a sincere pardon for their insults to himself, so utterly innocent in his own person of all wrong; but their leader, young Lubinski, and others, refused to listen to his manly explanations. I was astonished at proceedings so unjust, but our Professor, with some friends, finally interfered; I left the hall, and never again saw our great Anonymous Poet, our long unknown, pure, and noble patriot."
This college occurrence was, without doubt, the original of the scene described by "The Young Man" to "Dante" in the first part of "The Unfinished Poem" or "Fragment."
Constantine was greatly enraged at the decision of the Polish Senators, tortured Lukasinski in prison, and sent Krzyzanowski to Siberia. The Polish revolution broke out in 1830, November 29th. Flying with the Russian army from Poland, Constantine, cruel to the last, caused the unfortunate Lukasinski to be chained to a cannon and dragged with the flying troops.
There is but little doubt that the iron entered deeply into the soul of the brilliant and enthusiastic boy at the epoch of the mortifying scene above described. The struggle must have been terrible in the heart of this devoted son, this enthusiastic patriot. It was probably at that time he made the double resolve which filled his entire life with conflict. He piously determined to do all in his power to contribute to the happiness of the father who idolized him, never to desert him, and yet to make his whole life a silent expiation for the crime of that father; to live only for the moral elevation of the wronged country; to devote all his powers to her resurrection; never to yield to the seductions of ambition; never to permit himself to wear the laurel crown with which his unhappy country would so gladly have wreathed his brow of genius. Is there in the whole range of literature a cry more full of heart-rending pathos to be found than in the sole allusion he ever suffered himself to make to his father, in the appeal to his country, found on the last page of his weird tale, "Temptation"?
From the time he quitted the university, his life was but an unbroken chain of wanderings in search of health. Always delicate, the shock he had received told sadly upon him, and, as he grew older, his sufferings assumed many depressing and severe forms. Henceforth the reader must expect little but dates, reading the history of his mind and soul in the original works marking the times and places of his pilgrimage.
On quitting the university, he went first to Geneva, where he wrote for the journals; among such articles, were some written in French for the "Revue Encyclopédique." Falling ill, his physician advised him to seek a milder climate, and he spent the winter in Italy. Returning again to Switzerland, he met there with Mickiewicz, and they made together the tour of that romantic country. The daily association with that far-famed poet kindled the slumbering sparks of creative genius in the soul of Sigismund.
The close of the year 1830 found him in Italy, where he received the distressing intelligence of the disastrous events occurring in Warsaw. They made a profound impression on the enthusiastic and patriotic young Pole, but he was thoroughly unable to follow the dictates of his heart. His moral strength would have been sufficient to have supported him through the conflict then so wildly raging in his breast, but he was forced to succumb to physical weakness: the consequent struggle brought upon him an illness which chained him to his bed during a whole year. He has often declared that this was the most painful period of his existence, and a state of bodily suffering began in it which was to last as long as life endured.
At the urgent request of his father he returned to Warsaw in 1832. Thence he went to St. Petersburg, where the Emperor offered him such position in the service of the state as he should deem most congenial with his tastes and wishes. He, however, begged permission to continue his travels, and as the court physician declared the severity of the climate would prove disastrous to health so delicate, and his eyesight grew every day weaker and weaker, it was decided that he should at once repair to one of the foreign watering-places. His stay in St. Petersburg having lasted all winter, gave him an opportunity to become thoroughly acquainted with Count Branicki, in whose house he first saw the maiden whom Heaven had destined to be the partner of his life.
It was about this date that Priessnitz, of water-cure fame, began to be celebrated, and Sigismund, with other Poles, hastened to Gräfenberg to try that mode of cure. He found it, to a limited extent, beneficial, and it enabled him to pass the winters of 1833 and 1834 with some degree of comfort in Vienna. It was then and there he wrote the tale "Agai-Chan," in which there is a sketch of the usurper Dimitri, as well as "Maryna," a tale which he afterwards discarded as unsatisfactory.
The terrible disasters which had convulsed his native land in 1831 awakened in him the deepest sympathy, the most concentrated reflection. He gave words to the thoughts and feelings thus suggested in a marvelous drama, "The Undivine Comedy," the second part of which was written in Vienna, and in which he evinced not only the clearest insight into the perplexed Present, but even tore the blinding veil from the distant Future.
The year 1838 he spent in Italy, where, surrounded by the immortal memories of Rome, he wrote his "Iridion," a work which entitled him to a high rank in the literary world. He also visited Warsaw in 1838, but was not able to remain there for any length of time, for, though a true Pole, he could not bear the rigor of his native air; after a short stay in Karlsbad and Teplitz, he returned to Italy, meeting and associating with many of his beloved compatriots in Rome and Naples.
In 1842, Count Branicki, with his three accomplished daughters, visited Rome. It had long been the wish of Count Vincent Krasinski that his son should seek his life-companion in this family; that wish was now fulfilled. Sigismund sued for the hand of Elizabeth Branicka, celebrated his betrothal, and was married at Dresden. The blessing of the Church gave him a wife richly gifted in body and soul, of an amiable temper, and possessing that ready conception of the sublime and beautiful so calculated to throw over the life of the poet the atmosphere necessary for full poetical development. The young couple spent the first two years of their married life in the land of their fathers, not indeed wholly untroubled, but far from the vexatious turmoil of the world. The malady of his eyes, as well as his general ill health, held him aloof from society, limiting his intercourse to a few trusted friends, among whom was Amilie Zaluska, who had grown up with him, and whom he loved as a sister. His first son, Ladislaus, was born in 1844. He would gladly have continued to reside in his native land, but as this could not be without the most injurious influence upon his health, he was forced to resume his wanderings, tarrying for some time in Nice. The frightful occurrences of which Galicia was the theatre, in 1846, affected him most painfully. When referring to an opinion regarding these circumstances expressed by him at a much earlier date, he passionately exclaimed: "Ah! why was I not a false prophet?" and almost cursed the exactness of his prophetic vision. These startling events gave rise to a discussion with the fiery poet, Julius Slowacki. This discussion awakened intense interest, and will ever remain a most valuable exposition of the political opinions of the times; it also placed in the strongest light the antagonistic genius of the two poets.
Toward the end of the year 1847, and about a year after the birth of his second son, Sigismund returned to Rome, and was consequently an eye-witness of the political scenes occurring during 1848 in the capital of the world. His religious feelings were always deep, and it was most natural that during his sojourn in Rome, a man of his character and antecedents should become through conviction an ardent champion of the Catholic Church. In June, 1848, he returned to Heidelberg, whence he paid a short visit to France, then convulsed by revolution. After a trial of sea-bathing, he remained some time in Baden, where, in spite of severe physical suffering, he labored upon the first and third divisions of "The Undivine Comedy," of which, as already stated, he had finished the second part in Vienna. It was his custom while thus occupied to have his wife seated at the piano, that he might hear her play the melodies he loved. When Baden was also drawn into the whirlpool of the revolution, he went to Berne, in which place he was utterly prostrated by sickness. When just beginning to recover, he received a command from the Government to return immediately home. He obeyed the summons, and suffered the necessary results. He spent that winter in Warsaw, but in consequence of the disastrous effects of the rigor of the climate upon his delicate organization, he was threatened with total loss of eyesight. With great difficulty he obtained from Russia permission again to leave Poland. He tried sea-bathing at Triport, which, instead of mitigating, greatly increased his maladies. He was allowed to select Heidelberg as his residence for the winter, where his wife soon joined him. The disease of his eyes had so increased as to incapacitate him for all literary labor. The following summer he spent at Baden; the following winter in Rome. He took great interest in the excavations and disinterments then being made in the Appian Way, finding in them the subject of a masterly poem dedicated to his wife, which has never as yet been published. He went also again to Naples, and was a frequent guest in the Palace of the Grand Duchess, Stephanie von Baden, who took as great pleasure in the society of the Polish poet as she had already taken in the perusal of such of his works as she could obtain in French. He then went to the Rhine, but was ordered by the Government to return to Poland, where he arrived with his family late in the autumn of 1852, and remained there until the close of the next summer. But as his residence in that climate would have been certain death to him, he again applied for permission to go abroad. Having obtained it, he went to Boppard, on the Rhine, to try for the second time the water-cure, but he derived no benefit therefrom. His sons remained in Warsaw with their grandfather, while he, tortured by continual suffering, remained upon the Rhine. His wife, after having given birth to a daughter, followed him to Heidelberg,—the only place abroad in which the Russian Government would allow him to remain for any length of time. Dreadfully emaciated, he had become so weak that, with tottering steps, he was only able to walk for a few moments during the day under the shadow of the trees in front of his dwelling, and could only Avrite with his pencil. In this pitiable condition, the command was again issued for his immediate return to Poland! His wife instantly returned to Warsaw, to endeavor to have the order canceled. After the most untiring efforts she obtained its recall, but with the express understanding that permission to remain abroad was granted for the last time. Return was certain death, but as Russia knouts her own poets, she could scarcely be expected to attach any importance to the prolongation of the life of the noble Pole.
The death of the stern Nicholas, in 1855, so for alleviated the position of Krasinski that his residence abroad was no longer bound by conditions so rigorous. The nomination of his father as Governor of Poland gratified him exceedingly, so much the more as the appointment was received with general satisfaction by his countrymen.
He tried the water-cure again at Kissingen in 1856, but he remained so ill and debilitated that during a period of ten months he was only able to move about by the aid of crutches. He spent the following winter in Paris, and was advised by his attending physician there to try sea-bathing the ensuing summer.
But a heavy misfortune now fell upon him. Through the failure of the house Thurneissen, he lost not only a considerable portion of his own, but nearly the whole of his wife's property.
As the old general greatly longed to see his son and grandchildren once more around him, Sigismund determined to gratify the wishes of his father, although he was well aware that such a journey in his state of health would prove highly injurious to him. A new and deeper sorrow awaited him on his return to his native land: the death of his idolized daughter, Elizabeth. Utterly prostrated, he hastened to Heidelberg, to place himself under the advice of Dr. Chelius. He spent the remainder of that winter tortured by perpetual cramps and spasms. He also lost his beloved friend, Ary Scheffer. Dr. Walther, of Dresden, pronounced his lungs affected, and advised him to try Plombieres, from which trial, however, he derived no benefit. He also tried the springs at Ems, but with no better effect. He then returned to Dresden, to place himself under the immediate care of Dr. Walther: useless efforts! The skillful physician saw at once the rapid ravages of the deadly disease, and could only advise Italy or Algiers. Krasinski, not satisfied with the advice of one physician, went to Dr. Louis, in Paris, for additional consultation, but, too timid to tell him the whole truth, that physician gave him so much encouragement that he resoved to remain in that city. A new method of medical treatment was essayed, but at its very commencement his heart was again wrung by severe affliction. A telegraphic dispatch announced that his father was lying at the point of death. In consequence of his utter exhaustion, he was 3* unable to hasten to the dying bed, and was forced to commit this tender duty to his wife, who fulfilled it so efficiently that she arrrived in time to close the dying eyes of Count Vincent Krasinski. The news of this death fearfully shattered the sinking frame of Sigismund; he withdrew from society, and was scarcely to be seen even by his most intimate friends. He tried to soothe his aching heart by preparing a sketch of his father's life for the Italian sculptor who was to execute the monument of General Krasinski, but was only able to bring it down to 1827.
Meanwhile, he was constantly urged by his friends, who saw how rapidly he was declining, to seek a milder clime; but he would not listen to their entreaties, and remained in Paris. He watched the course of political events with intense interest, and his soul was filled with divinations of important and widely-spread changes yet to be. His illness now suddenly assumed a form so marked that he at last became alarmed, and recalled to Paris his wife, who, at his request, had remained in Warsaw to attend to the inheritance left him by his father. His three physicians agreed in the opinion that his days were numbered, and his wife saw on her return that there was no hope for the husband so dearly loved.
The seal of death was indeed already upon him, and, after a painful struggle, lasting through ten entire days, his pure and immortal soul left his racked and suffering body during the night of the 23d to the 24th of February, 1859.
The coffin containing his mortal remains was placed temporarily in the Church of the Madeleine; but later, accompanied by Count Zamoyiski, it was taken to Poland, and at Opingora, the ancestral seat of the Krasinskis, his body found its final resting-place, surrounded by illustrious ancestors.
And this is all our author, who evidently loved the subject of his biography, ventures to tell us of the internal life of the man, of the exhausting conflict between filial veneration and duty and intense and glowing patriotism, forever surging through the soul of the sublime Poet.
After a judicious analysis of the works of Krasinski, which we omit because the subject is more widely treated by the older and younger Mickiewicz, as well as by Julian Klaczko, our biographer continues:
A fragment only has as yet appeared of an apparently large work, entitled "Cracow in 1858," which seems to be written in the style peculiar to this poet. A volume of extracts from his letters has also been published in Paris, under the supervision of one of his dearest friends, Constantine Gaszynski, under whose name Krasinski published "The Dawn."
Poland venerates in him the distinguished author, the inspired poet, the sublime spirit, the brave man who knew how to sustain hope in adversity, and to quicken with new powers the sinking soul. The effort of his life was to attain moral perfection in his own being. But he rested not in this alone; he strove, even through his own constant sickness and sorrow, to call it forth not only in individuals, but to make it the life-pulse of his entire nation! The character of his works, and their marvelous influence upon his countrymen, have justly entitled him to the rank of a truly National Poet. Every chord which as an individual he struck upon his lyre rang in harmony with the desires, feelings, thoughts, and hopes of the Polish People. There certainly have been men on earth who could absorb into their own wider and deeper being all the thoughts, feelings, and hopes of their country; who were capable of fusing them in the glow of their own genius, and of bringing them forth in the clear light and close unity of art. Undoubtedly Krasinski takes a high, if not indeed the very highest, place among such rare national creators. Continually crushed under the weight of severe bodily afflictions, deeply wounded in heart, he took into his inmost soul the sad history of his People; he felt it as his own anguish, and placed it as his peculiar seal upon everything he has written. Sincerity, truth, glow of sympathy, knowledge, nay, clear prophetic insight, were the strong rounds of the ladder by which he ascended to such glittering heights. Wherever his people still breathed, not yet crushed to dust under the merciless foot of the spoiler, there the Poet, raising his own sorrow-crowned head above the miseries of Time, gazed with the holy trust of the martyr far into the heavens, and "there saw God," divining with sacred pride and joy that Future which the Polish people see clearly revealed to them through their present agonies, and which their poets, in spite of chains, prisons, torture, and exile, never cease to sing to them. In the vast world of thought and the wide regions of poetry there were no limits for Krasinski, and he reveled in that mystic freedom of art which was alike denied to himself and country in the sphere of politics. But no impurity ever sullies his noble pages, and what he wrote on political regeneration is already graven on the heart of the world.
And yet he never once stooped to win popular applause. Compared with the contemporary writers of Poland, he is especially distinguished by a nature not objectively, but essentially and spiritually poetic, which is stamped deeply upon all his writings. But his peculiar traits are not to be found in the rich gifts of an excitable fancy, wealth of imagery, charms of vivid description, or luxury of ever-varying combinations. They are to be looked for in a higher region,—in a love for justice, and a clear and far-reaching insight into truth, into its development in things yet to be, a power of so distinctly portraying the future that one is strongly disposed to characterize his works as "Apocalyptic."
Known until now only as the "Anonymous Poet," he never sought literary fame, but concealed the good he was effecting as sedulously as others conceal shame. Enjoying the love and esteem of his countrymen, blessed with a wife as high-souled as beautiful, and lovely children, surrounded by many and true friends, and in the possession of large property, he might have been regarded as one highly favored by destiny. But health, that most inestimable of blessings, was denied him from youth until his last sigh; and his heart was wrung by never-uttered sorrows. He was thus no friend to idle and useless amusements, and was seldom seen in the saloons of the gay world; but he loved social intercourse with the friends whom he trusted, and it always gave him pleasure to converse upon the historical and philosophical questions of the day. Then would he open a mine of intellectual wealth, of original and striking views, of profound ideas, which, under more favorable circumstances, would have made him at least the equal of the statesmen of his time.
Devout in the very depths of his soul, he shrank from no sacrifice for his family or friends, and was generous and magnanimous almost to prodigality. His own words, uttered in defense of the spirit of knighthood, are wonderfully appropriate to himself:
"He burned, a never-consumed offering, upon the altar of his country."