The Shakespeare Of Poland

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 737, 9 August 1929, Page 14

The Shakespeare Of Poland

* Written for The Sun .j YESTERDAY -was unveiled the monument to Adam Mickiewicz, given by the Polish nation to the fefty ot Paris. In a city crammed with bad statues, this would be of no pigniflcance, but that the sculptor was po less a person than Antoine Bourpelle. The many New Zealanders who know Paris are sure to have seen least one piece by Bourdelle, as the most remarkable thing in the Luxembourg is a large statue called ♦Herakles Archer,” a strong biting port of thing, modern in style but w ith something of classic vigour and beauty. The Mickiewicz monument |s a statue of the poet standing on t tall Egyptian column, against which Is an angel, with one or two other things. In my opinion the monument Is much inferior to such other work as t have seen by this very great sculptor; but the figure itself is very good. What I mean is that one expected Something better of Bourdelle.

On Saturday night was the usual how-wow at the Sorbonne, as boring *s usual. A strange-looking, LatinJoolting man with long black hair and r. drees suit, a man who looked in fact like a professional poet, recited, dei mimed, ranted French translations ••£ Mickiewicz. No worse fate can be imagined for any poetry than to be translated into French. The statue certainly has a good position In the Place d’Alma and, as the pest statue in the city, deserves it. fThe Place was crowded when the (ceremony began. Various high French dignitaries made speeches, ■which, instead of dealing with Mickiewicz, consisted of the usual French panegyrics on France. The Marshal pf the Polish Diet snoke, and the high Polish nobility (called so charmingly •'slachta karmazynowa,” from the Itrimson robes they used to wear) was represented by Prince Sapieha. Prince Adam Czartorywcki, Prince J .dziwill, Count Chrapowicki, and • 'mints Franciszek and Wladyslaw Polocki. Count Franciszek Potocki and £ sr Ignace Paderewski also spoke. There were the Polish peasants in lli'eir colourful dresses, tittering be- • use the name of the sculptor is a 1 d word in Polish. The Polish Ambassador, His Excellence M. Chapow- « ;<i, was also seen to smile.. Young Polish men, in national costume, bore proudly the eagle banners ot their reborn country. "Folonia Restltuta.” Even there were some young women p" noble birth wearing the ancient (costume of the nobility. Then such of us as had invitations from the Ambassador went to the Polish Academy. Personally I listened with great interest to speeches by various Polirh nobles, of which X understood no more than an odd phrase or two at a time. At last, sifter all that, came what I was waiting for—several very good readings in Polish from the werks of the great poet. I enjoyed this immensely. In France one cultivates quite a taste for hearing poetry in languages one doesn't understand. Besides this, pongs by Mickiewicz wero sung by a ghoir ot young people. Mickiewicz is supposed to rank as p poet with Shakespeare and Goethe. As far as 1 aru able to judge. I should think he was entitled to be ranked with Goethe, though, with the pride pt an English poet, I think that Shakespeare has no peer. But it is curious to reflect that Mickiewicz has not had even such international fame as translations can give—why? Because he wrote in the language of a people that had no political status. And now that Polonia is Restituta, shares in Mickiewicz are going up ou the artistic market. Really, I cannot understand the human race and its fabled Intelligence. Whatever has the political and commercial importance of Poland to do with the everlasting, unchanging value of a poet of the first rank? So far, educated English people. who all kuow Goethe's “Faust,” Dostoyevsky’s 'Brothers Karamazov,” Tchekov’s “Cherry Orchard,” and so on, have Cover even heard the name of Mickie■wicz's masterpiece, “Pan Padeusz”— fhat is, “Lord Theodore.” I guess 1 have more first-hand knowledge of this epic than any English writer living or dead, aud I am prepared to risk fit assertion that its value, as estimated by the Poles, is net in the least (exaggerated. Later on, when my Polish is stronger than at present, I shall translate It and you will be able to {judge for yourselves. Enfln. As the Count Adam ChraJiowlcki and I were walking away from the Sorbonne, an astonishing man dressed as a Greek, with bare legs, a band round his hair, and a long hand-made white robe, got into ft beautiful car. “Kto Jest?” said His Excellence laughing. “That’s Raymond Duncan,” said I. “I won't have you laughing at our resident English poet. He has como to pay homage to the memory of gVlfckiewicz.” “Mais il est fou!” protested His Excellence. switching into French, and fctfll laughing. “Is he, though?” I said. "Anyhow he makes a lot of money walking round Paris in sandals. And that’s liis own car.” I knew that that was an argument that, never fails, though I can’t see what that has to do with it either.

All around uh Poles were saying excitedly in Polish: “That’s the brother of Isadora Duncan!” So the “insular” English race was represented at this tribute to the Shakespeare ot Poland, after all; though wait —I don’t really know whether Raymond Duncan Is English nr Greek or American. Anyhow, I represented New Zealand, the New Hellas.

GEOFFREY DE MONTALK Paris, Hotel St. Louis, Boulevard St. Michel, 29/4/29,