George Brandes
🟨
PART I OBSERVATIONS & APPRECIATIONS
FIRST IMPRESSION(1885)
IV
THE POLES AND THE FRENCH —— INSTABILITY, DILETTANTISM —— FEVERISH CHARACTER OF THE PLEASURES OF LIFE —— STRENGTH AND SUSCEPTIBILITY OF THE NATIONAL FEELING
🟨
IN many ways Warsaw affects the foreigner almost as if it
were a French city. French is the auxiliary language of the
Poles, the language which among the higher classes all know
perfectly although I met several who had half forgotten it
during a twenty years' exile in Siberia-the language which
is spoken as fluently as the mother-tongue and even better
than the Russians speak it. In aristocratic circles Poles fre-
quently converse with one another in French, a state of things
which from the beginning of the century was promoted not
only by the continual intellectual intercourse with France,
and the emigration thereto, but by the need of being able
to meet the Russians on neutral territory so far as language
is concerned. As the Poles in addition are now frequently
called the Frenchmen of the North or East, and as they
themselves believe that they are closely related to the French
through their defects, which they themselves characterise as
inconstancy and instability, the foreigner is constantly asked
if he does not see a great and lamentable similarity between
the Poles and the French.
🟨
This great similarity is purely imaginary.
🟨
The trifling similarity which does exist consists in a cog-
nate capacity for swift enthusiasms and violent revulsions of
feeling, a craving for adventures and emotions, and a love
of fame and show.
🟨
But these points of similarity do not exclude a funda-
mental difference. The rationalistic, argumentative basis of
The
the French character is entirely absent in the Pole.
algebraic, arithmetical basis of the French manner of thought
is wholly wanting in the Pole. The Frenchman is a great
writer of prose, the Pole is a poet. On this account the
stronghold of the French world of letters is prose, that of
the Polish, poetry-verse. In addition nothing can well be
less French than the continual and perfect use of a foreign
language, the remarkable knowledge of foreign authors,
which meet one everywhere in Poland. Young girls of
twenty who speak six languages perfectly and without
accent are met in Poland, certainly not in France. Almost
every young man or woman of the higher classes knows the
most important capitals of Europe, and knows the most
important literatures to a great extent. The passionate
fondness for travel and the versatility of culture resulting
therefrom are in the highest degree un-French. The Pole
widens his purview and diminishes his brain power by
learning four or five foreign languages; the Frenchman as
a rule is either ignorant or a specialist.
🟨
But the most striking difference assuredly lies in the
relations between the sexes. The fundamental trait of the
Polish national character is a certain combination of mild-
ness and energy. But what gives Polish character, and
especially Polish patriotism in this century, its special stamp,
is the preponderance of the feminine elements over the
masculine.
🟨
That the relations between man and woman are very
different in Poland and in France is quickly perceived
in daily conversation. While the tone among French-
men, whenever conversation turns on women, is always
extremely free, sometimes to a foreigner repulsive, and
generally lascivious, the Poles as a rule in discussing
women manifest warmth, often tenderness or indulgence,
but, so far as I could judge, seldom frivolity.
🟨
I have found a remark in an Italian author which possibly
goes to the root of this. He thinks that while as a rule
among the Germanic races the man is more gifted than the
woman, and while among the Latin races man and
woman on an average stand on the same level as to
intellectual qualities, among the Poles, the most character-
istic Slav race, woman is decidedly superior to man. If
we set aside the power of invention or production, we must
be struck with the truth of these words. The men in
Poland are certainly not wanting in passion, in courage and
in energy, in wit, in love of freedom, but it seems as if the
women have more of these qualities. In Poland's great up-
risings they have been known to enter into conspiracies, to do
military duty, and frequently enough of their own free will to
accompany their loved ones to Siberia. Mickiewicz's Gracyna,
who led an army on horseback, has had successors in this
century. Celebrated above all others is Emilia Plater, a
young lady of one of the first families of Poland, who in
1830 induced a whole district to rise in rebellion, took part
in several battles, and at last, having joined the detachments
under Dembinski which refused to take refuge on Prussian
soil, attempted to cut her way with her corps through the
hostile army, but in December, 1831, died of want and over-
exertion at the age of 26, in the hut of a forester. Mickie-
wicz's, beautiful poem, The Colonel's Death, celebrated her
memory. During the rebellion of 1830-31 there was not
a battalion nor a squadron of the Polish army in which
there were not female combatants; after a battle or a march
the soldiers always arranged a bivouac for the women, just
as they took care that no word was spoken which could
offend their ears.¹
1 In his book on Poland General Roman Solyk says: "When Warsaw was
attacked, I noticed in the midst of the fire a soldier of the fifth light regiment who
continually leaned against the breastworks, did not trouble himself in the least about
the bombs and cannon-balls, but cheered his comrades on with vigorous gestures and
cries. Though he stood in the front rank I could not at first see his face; but when
he turned I discovered him to be a beautiful girl of 18.”
🟨
The time for such achievements is now past, but still
the women are ever the most earnest patriots, because they
feel the most warmly and criticise the least keenly. Never-
theless, the influence of woman has somewhat fallen off in the
last twenty years. Once the women laboured as the chief
supporters of the Catholic faith; but faith is vanishing where
it has not vanished. Once the woman laboured in the same
way as the priest, but the union between the women and
the clergy is dissolving, just as culture and the Church are
drifting apart. And in addition to this, as all public life
is forbidden, and there are neither assemblies nor unions
of any kind, the men seek each other almost exclusively
in social life. Since the reception-room does duty as a
place of political and literary assemblies, the men think
less of winning women to their interests there. The latter
feel themselves set aside, overlooked and abandoned, as
in South Germany, where the man passes all his evenings
in the ale-house, only the desertion has other causes.
The pressure from above has evidently greatly aided in
separating the sexes and diminishing the social influence of
woman. It may at the present time be weaker in Poland
than in France. The education of the young girls, more-
over, is conducted in much the same way as there-they
are never left a moment unprotected-and marriages are
made in the same manner as in France; the contracting
parties seldom know much of each other before the wedding,
and generally see each other for the first time a few weeks
before.
🟨
So far as the Polish instability is concerned, it also has
no similarity to the French. The instability of the French
shows itself more particularly in public life, especially where
they are collected in masses, as in public meetings or mobs.
It depends on the sudden change of mood, for which no
single person feels himself responsible. The instability of
the Poles is personal, depends partly on the propensity to
change, and partly on an instinctive inclination to universality.
🟨
In France the ruling principle is a prudent and some-
times subtle egoism which runs in the family and is in-
herited by the children, which is impressed upon them
from the beginning, and which as a rule directs their lives.
Parents do not, as in England and America, first strive to
develop the youth into a capable man, able to help himself,
but they try to smoothe his path in life, procure for him
favours, connections, patronage, assure his future or his
advancement. And if the path is smoothed, the young
man will not willingly abandon his career before the highest
rung of the ladder of honour is reached.
🟨
The situation is entirely different in Poland, where the
young man in private life far oftener allows himself to be
led by fleeting instinct than by prudent egoism, and where
a single public interest (the lost fatherland, the lost inde-
pendence, the mother-tongue, the national literature and art),
stands immutable and imperishable.
🟨
Undoubtedly the foreign rule has tended to obliterate
Polish inconstancy in this highest domain; on the other
hand, it has necessarily increased the national instability
within the circle of private life.
🟨
For what can an educated young man do in Russian
Poland? For instance, he studies law; he can never become
a judge, generally not even an official, without separating
himself from all intercourse with his countrymen.
He studies medicine; he can never obtain a post at a university,
never be at the head of a hospital, never conduct a public
clinic, therefore can never attain the first rank in his science.
The result is that if he has means—and there is still great
wealth in Poland, since to be rich is almost the only thing
which is permitted to every one-he goes from one study to
another, obtains a smattering of different branches of science,
surprises the foreigner by the versatility of his knowledge
and information, but has no real mastery of anything.
🟨
The following instances were given me in my own
circle: A very able young man began as a jurist, passed on
to medicine and became a physician, then gave that up and
bought an estate, studied agriculture, mechanics, &c., for four
years, introduced many improvements on his estate, shortly
after sold it, and at the present time is the best theatrical
critic in Warsaw. Another young man began life as a
farmer, had given up agriculture for music, qualified as a
virtuoso, abandoned the career, established a manufactory
of instruments, made violoncellos for several years, lost
interest in that, and is now working at the Academy of Art
in Munich as a genre-painter.
🟨
They have too many talents and too little inducement
to persevere.
🟨
The women complain bitterly of this. Like good wives
they endeavour to share their husbands' interests, to identify
themselves with their occupations, and are in despair that
every second or third year they have to interest themselves
in something quite different. They meditate with anxiety
on what the next year may bring.
🟨
One evening, when Feuillet's Dalila was acted at the
theatre, and when the actor who took the part of Carnioli
was not especially happy, I could not suppress an out-
burst of wonder that the actor could be in want of a type
of the genial dilettante who educates the young composer,
in a city like Warsaw, where there are so many men of
Carnioli's stamp. The most admirable type stood by my
side behind the scenes. And the same evening, when in
a large circle I was asked how as a critic I would characterise
Polish society, I answered: "You are a society of dilettanti."
🟨
I believe that the definition is correct, taking the word in
its broad sense, and bearing in mind how the Poles have
come to be what they are.
🟨
We must picture to ourselves a naturally very energetic
people, against whose energy a barrier not to be broken
down has been erected, a warlike people, who only reluc-
tantly enter the army, in which practically no young man
voluntarily chooses the post of officer; an extremely am-
bitious people, to whom all high positions and offices are
closed, and to whom all distinctions and demonstrations of
honour are forbidden, in so far as they are not bought
with sacrifice of conviction or denial of solidarity with their
countrymen; a people naturally hostile to Philistine ideals,
but who needed to acquire the civic virtues, and whose
circumstances now give them constant encouragement to
unsteadiness; a pleasure-loving people, in whose capital not
a single public place of entertainment is found; a people
with a lively irresistible inclination to politics, for whom all
political education has been made impossible, because they
are allowed neither to elect representatives nor to discuss
affairs of state, and whose political press is silenced in all
political matters; to speak of political newspapers in Poland
is like speaking of nautical journals in Switzerland. Let
us imagine to ourselves this people, constituted for a large
free life in the broad daylight of publicity, imprisoned in the
chiaroscuro of private life; let us conceive a people who, from
the time of Arild, had the most extravagant conceptions of
the rights of the individual in regard to the power of the
state, living their life without any sort of public security
against encroachments on the part of an accidental superior
official, thinking of Siberia, as we think of a disease, which
may come when least expected.
🟨
Conceiving all this, we shall understand that under the
pressure, which has been exerted simultaneously from so
many sides, there necessarily sprang up an extraordinary con-
centrated activity, a boiling intensity of life, in the narrow
circle which remained to them.
🟨
As the actual people were shut out, as all education of
them, all approach to knowledge was made impossible, the
higher classes, which could not adequately recruit themselves,
came to lead a kind of island life of the highest and most
refined culture, a life, which is indeed national in every heart-
beat, but cosmopolitan in every form of expression, a hot-
house life, where flowers of all the civilisations of Europe
have come to development and exhale fragrance, an eddy-
ing, seething maëlstrom life of ideas, endeavours, amusements
and fêtes. The best society scarcely ever goes to bed before
four o'clock in the morning in the month of February. In
carnival time the day in Warsaw has twenty hours, and
so long as the season lasts they are prodigal of time and
strength.
🟨
"Life in Warsaw is a neurosis," said one of the most in-
telligent men of the city to me; "no one can keep it up
long."
🟨
This people, who discovered the dance of the planets
around the sun, also, as is well known, invented the polonaise
with its proud solemnity, and the mazurka, with its contrast
of masculine force and feminine gentleness, and the people
are perhaps almost as proud of the mazurka as of Coperni-
cus. In Poland the mazurka is not the dance we call by
that name, but a long, difficult, and impassioned national
dance, in which the gentlemen and ladies, though they dance
hand in hand, constantly make different steps in the same
time. It is a genuine sorrow to the Poles that the
consistent Russian government has forbidden the dancing of
this dance in the national costume; and the fourth or fifth
question the foreigner is asked in Warsaw is this: "Have
you seen our national dance?" In every other country it
would at least be the thirtieth or fortieth.
🟨
They dance all through the carnival time as people dance
in no other place. Probably nowhere else are so many charity
balls given. They dance for everything-for "the poor
sewing girls," for "the poor students," &c. I do not deny
that many times, when I stood watching the dances-some-
times I was invited to two balls on the same night—I could not
help remembering the old hard adage: slavus saltans! But
as a young girl said in allusion to a moralising article in
Prawda: "What would be the advantage if we left off dancing
in Warsaw?"
🟨
Yet the gaiety with which they whirl is not the common
joy of life; it reminds us rather of that which the prisoners
of the Revolution displayed in their ignorance as to what
the next day would bring forth. This levity is not common
levity, but a lightness often found in those who daily defy
suffering and death.
🟨
For like reasons at times they are more serious than
people on similar occasions in other countries.
At a very sedate entertainment which the representatives of literature
and art gave me, when there were a series of speeches
in French and Latin, the ancient festival tongue of the
Poles, it happened, when one of the speakers said some
words which especially excited those assembled, that tears
at once stood in their eyes, and that old men, who had
passed a whole period of their lives in Siberia, and hundreds
of times had seen death staring them in the face, sprang
up, and while the tears rolled down their cheeks, embraced
the speaker. It seems, then, as if the foreign rule had
equally increased the susceptibility to social enjoyment and
the susceptibility to serious emotion. The power of feeling
pleasure and pain, the disposition to tears and laughter, seem
to be as strong as in the sick.
🟨
Besides, passionately as the Poles are a people of the
moment, just as thoroughly are they a people of memories.
Nowhere else can be found such a religion of remembrance,
such a clinging to national recollections. They cling to
everything that can recall the Poland of the past. It is
true that all the works of art of the city and all the
treasures of the nation have been carried away to St. Peters-
burg; the city has even been robbed of the great Zaluski
library of 300,000 volumes, but the more stubbornly do the
people hold on to national recollections. They have
been assisted in this endeavour in the most forcible manner
by the fact that all the Polish poetry and historical
writings of this century, as well as Polish painting, have
been pressed into the service of the national idea. Artists
like Mateiko and Brandt-both admirable colourists who
fall short in simplicity and perspicuity of composition-
almost constantly treat national historical subjects; their
poets have treated Poland and Poland's fate, even when, like
Krasinski in Irydion, they place the action in old Rome, or like
Slowacki in Anheli, transfer the scene to a fantastic Siberia.
Poetry in the Polish home has the same importance as
religion. The best works are, or have been, strictly forbidden
reading. Their acquisition as well as their possession was
perilous. Generally the books, when they had been carefully
read till the thoughts were remembered, even if the words
were forgotten, were burned-with the same pain with which
a woman who is not free burns a letter from the man
she loves. But they have not forgotten in Poland, how,
when the young Lévitoux was put into the citadel in Warsaw
because a copy of Mickiewicz's Dziady had been found in
his house, in his despair after the torture he had suffered,
and in his anxiety lest in his ravings he should name his
comrades, he with his manacled hands pulled his night-lamp
under his bed of rushes, and burned himself to death; nor
have they forgotten that several hundred Lithuanian students
were sent to Siberia for having published the Temptation of
Krasinski in book form after the poem, which the censor had
not understood, had seen the light in the feuilleton of a little
paper.
🟨
The national authors are found to-day in every house,
and even if the Poles have been obliged to establish their
national museum at Rapperswyl, Switzerland, for safety, still
there is to be found in almost every home in Warsaw an
album with reproductions of Arthur Grottger's remarkable
paintings at Cracow, representing the history of the sufferings
of Poland, a (prohibited) lithograph of the same artist's
March of the Exiles to Siberia, and some pictures of the defence
of Warsaw in 1831, representing the last Polish regiment,
which blew itself up with Ordon's redoubt. The Poles regard
with tenderness and emotion not only the faces, but the
antique, semi-comical chasseur uniform of the soldiers, with
the swallow-tail coats. This was, it is true, the last Polish
military uniform.
🟨
It is in accordance with this national feeling, made vigilant
by oppression, that they cherish a hatred for all foreign
authors who occasionally or systematically depreciate the
Poles. Not that they took Heine's celebrated lampoon
(Zwei Ritter) about the two valiant noblemen, Krapülinski and
Waschlapski much to heart. They have laughed at its wit
and know it by heart, and they know very well how
warmly he expressed himself in many places about Poland.
But they are familiar with Freytag's Soll und Haben; they
attach great importance to a casual remark of the younger
Dumas about the Poles from everywhere, who took part in
the insurrection of the Commune, and in February they
were in an uproar over the word ausrotten (exterminate), in
reference to the Poles in Prussia, used by Eduard von Hart-
mann in an article in a review, an expression which they
took too much au sérieux. The Poles pay altogether too
much attention to what is written about them in Europe.
Anxiety as to what is said about one is a general accompani-
ment of weakness.