- Performer Name:
- Mickiewicz
- Performance Venue:
- Paris
- Performance Date:
- 1840
- Author:
- Sand, George
- Date Written:
- 1839 [1840]
- Language:
- English
- Publication Title:
- Journal intime
- Article Title:
- Page Numbers:
- 395-96
- Additional Info:
- Published in Horizon 10 (1944): 395-398; qtd from 1995 edn.
- Publisher:
- Seuil
- Place of Publication:
- Paris
- Date Published:
- 1995
Text:
[395] Something happened recently which is rather strange at the present time. At a reunion of Polish emigrés a certain poet who is said to be rather mediocre and was a little jealous, recited a poem addressed to Mickiewicz in which, amidst lavish praises, he complained of the superiority of this great poet with a frank vexation which was not in bad taste. It was obviously at once homage and reproach. But the sombre Mickiewicz, insensible to both, rose and improvised a reply, or rather a speech in verse, which had a prodigious effect. No one can say exactly what happened; each of those present has retained a different memory of it. Some say he spoke for five minutes, others for an hour. It is clear that he spoke to them so finely and that he said such beautiful things, that they all fell into a kind of delirium. One heard nothing but cries and sobs; some had nervous hysterics, others couldn't sleep that night. Count Plater was in such an [396] extraordinary state of exaltation when he got home that his wife thought he had gone mad and was completely terrified. But as he told her as best he could, not Mickiewicz's actual improvisation–of which no one was able to repeat a word — but the effect of his words on his audience, the Countess Plater fell into the same state as her husband and began to weep, pray and rave. So there they are, all convinced that there is something superhuman in this great man, that he is inspired like the prophets, and their superstition is so strong that one of these days they might well make him into a God.
I have succeeded in discovering the theme on which Mickiewicz improvised; it was this: you complain that you are in no way a great poet; that's your own fault. No one can be a poet if he has not within himself both love and faith. On this idea, which is indeed beautiful, Mickiewicz could and could not but speak brilliantly. He doesn't himself remember a single word of his improvisation, and his friends say that he is more scared than flattered by the effect that he produced on them. He also confesses to them that something mysterious and unexpected happened in him, in fact that though he was quite calm as he began to speak, he suddenly felt himself carried beyond himself with enthusiasm, and one of them who saw him next day found him in a state of prostration such as follows a grave crisis.
In hearing this and collecting the same reports from all sides I seemed to be listening to the story of some scene of past times, for nothing like this happens any more nowadays, and in spite of what Liszt and Madame d'Agoult say, it's only the dilettantism of the arts that displays similar ecstasies. I don't believe in the improvisations of our philosophical and literary charlatans. Poets and teachers are all comedians. While applauding them, the public isn't taken in, and as for our political orators, they have so little elevation or poetry in their souls that their speeches are nothing but declamations doled out more or less well.
What happened to Mickiewicz belongs to the series of occurrences which one used to call miracles, and which today might be called ecstasies.
Notes:
Dated December 1839, Paris, Rue Pigalle 16. Trans. by L. L. Whyte. In a note prefacing the translation, Whyte mentions that 1839, the date Sand has recorded for the journal entry, is likely an error because the date of the performance being described is 24 December 1840.
- Collected by:
- DP