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Life and Death

_And Other Legends and Stories_




THE WORKS OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL POLISH BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.


_The Zagloba Romances_

  WITH FIRE AND SWORD. 1 vol.
  THE DELUGE. 2 vols.
  PAN MICHAEL. 1 vol.


  QUO VADIS. 1 vol.
  THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS. 2 vols.
  CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 1 vol.
  HANIA, AND OTHER STORIES. 1 vol.
  SIELANKA, AND OTHER STORIES. 1 vol.
  IN VAIN. 1 vol.
  LIFE AND DEATH AND OTHER LEGENDS AND STORIES. 1 vol.


  WITHOUT DOGMA. (Translated by Iza Young.) 1 vol.




[Illustration: HOUSE PRESENTED TO HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ BY THE POLES

Mr. Sienkiewicz and Mr. Curtin in the foreground]




  Life and Death

  _And Other Legends and Stories_


  By Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Author of "With Fire and Sword," "The Deluge,"
  "Pan Michael," "Quo Vadis," "Knights
  of the Cross," etc.


  _Translated from the Original Polish by_
  Jeremiah Curtin


  Boston
  Little, Brown, and Company
  1904




  _Copyright, 1897, 1899, 1900, 1904_,
  BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.

  _All rights reserved_


  THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
  CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.




PREFACE


_"Is He the Dearest One?" was produced under the following circumstances:
About fourteen years ago there was a famine, or at least hunger, in
Silesia. Though that land is a German possession at present, it was once a
part of the Polish Commonwealth, and there are many un-Germanized Poles in
it yet._

_The mother in this sketch is Poland. Yasko, the most unfortunate of her
sons, is Silesia. Poor, ill-fated, he neglects his own language, forgets
his mother; but she does not forget him, as was shown on the occasion of
that hunger in Silesia. The Poles of Russian Poland collected one million
marks and sent them to Yasko._

_The ship "Purple" represents Poland and its career, and is a very brief
summary of the essence and meaning of Polish history. Like some of the
author's most beautiful short productions, it was written for a benevolent
object, all the money obtained for it being devoted to that object._

_All persons who have read "Charcoal Sketches," in Sienkiewicz's "Hania,"
will be interested to learn the origin of that striking production. It was
written mainly and finished in Los Angeles, Cal., as Sienkiewicz told me
in Switzerland six years ago, but it was begun at Anaheim Landing, as is
described in the sketch printed in this volume, "The Cranes." Besides
being begun at Anaheim Landing, the whole plan of "Charcoal Sketches" was
worked out there. "The Cranes" appeared in Lvov, or Lemburg, a few years
ago, in a paper which was published for one day only, and was made up of
contributions from Polish authors who gave these contributions for a
benevolent purpose. The Hindu legend, "Life and Death," to be read by
Sienkiewicz at Warsaw in January, is his latest work._

_JEREMIAH CURTIN._

  _Torbole, Lago di Garda, Austria,
      December 18, 1903._




CONTENTS


                                              _Page_

  LIFE AND DEATH: A HINDU LEGEND                   3

  IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?                          21

  A LEGEND OF THE SEA                             29

  THE CRANES                                      41

  THE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS       55




LIFE AND DEATH _A HINDU LEGEND_


LIFE AND DEATH _A HINDU LEGEND_


I

LIFE AND DEATH


There were two regions lying side by side, as it were two immense plains,
with a clear river flowing between them.

At one point the banks of this river sloped gently to a shallow ford in
the shape of a pond with transparent, calm water.

Beneath the azure surface of this ford could be seen its golden bed, from
which grew stems of lotus; on those stems bloomed white and rose-
flowers above the mirror of water. Rainbow-hued insects and butterflies
circled around the flowers and among the palms of the shore, while higher
up in the sunny air birds gave out sounds like those of silver bells. This
pond was the passage from one region to the other.

The first region was called the Plain of Life, the second the Plain of
Death.

The supreme and all mighty Brahma had created both plains, and had
commanded the good Vishnu to rule in the Region of Life, while the wise
Siva was lord in the Region of Death.

"Do what ye understand to be best," said Brahma to the two rulers.

Hence in the region belonging to Vishnu life moved with all its activity.
The sun rose and set; day followed night, and night followed day; the sea
rose and fell; in the sky appeared clouds big with rain; the earth was
soon covered with forests, and crowded with beasts, birds, and people.

So that all living creatures might increase greatly and multiply, the
kindly god created Love, which he made to be Happiness also.

After this Brahma summoned Vishnu and said to him:

"Thou canst produce nothing better on earth, and since heaven is created
already by me, do thou rest and let those whom thou callest people weave
the thread of life for themselves unassisted."

Vishnu obeyed this command, and henceforward men ordered their own lives.
From their good thoughts came joy, from their evil ones, sorrow; and they
saw soon with wonder that life was not an unbroken rejoicing, but that
with the life thread which Brahma had mentioned they wove out two webs as
it were with two faces,--on one of these was a smile; there were tears in
the eyes of the other.

They went then to the throne of Vishnu and made complaint to him:

"O Lord! life is grievous through sorrow."

"Let Love give you happiness," said Vishnu in answer.

At these words they went away quieted, for Love indeed scattered their
sorrows, which, in view of the happiness given, seemed so insignificant as
to be undeserving of notice.

But Love is also the mighty mother of life, hence, though the region which
Vishnu ruled was enormous, it was soon insufficient for the myriads of
people; soon there was not fruit enough upon trees there, nor berries
enough upon bushes, nor honey enough from cliff bees.

Thereupon all the men who were wisest fell to cutting down forests for the
clearing of land, for the sowing of seed, for the winning of harvests.

Thus Labor appeared among people. Soon all had to turn to it, and labor
became not merely the basis of life, but life itself very nearly.

But from Labor came Toil, and Toil produced Weariness.

Great throngs of people appeared before Vishnu a second time.

"O Lord!" exclaimed they, stretching their hands to him, "toil has
weakened our bodies, weariness spreads through our bones, we are yearning
for rest, but Life drives us always to labor."

To this Vishnu answered:

"The great and all mighty Brahma has not allowed me to shape Life any
further, but I am free to make that which will cause it to halt, and rest
will come then to you."

And Vishnu made Sleep.

Men received this new gift with rejoicing, and very soon saw in it one of
the greatest boons given by the deity thus far. In sleep vanished care and
vexation, during sleep strength returned to the weary; sleep, like a
cherishing mother, wiped away tears of sorrow and surrounded the heads of
the slumbering with oblivion.

So people glorified sleep, and repeated:

"Be blessed, for thou art far better than life in our waking hours."

And they had one regret only, that it did not continue forever. After
sleep came awakening, and after awakening came labor with fresh toil and
weariness.

This thought began soon to torture all men so sorely, that for the third
time they stood before Vishnu.

"O Lord," said they, "thou hast given us a boon which, though great and
unspeakably precious, is incomplete as it now appears. Wilt thou grant us
that sleep be eternal?"

Vishnu wrinkled his brows then in anger at this their insistence, and
answered:

"I cannot give what ye ask of me, but go to the neighboring ford, and
beyond ye will find that for which ye are seeking."

The people heard the god's voice and went on in legions immediately. They
went to the ford, and, halting there, gazed at the shore lying opposite.

Beyond the clear, calm, and flower-bedecked surface stretched the Plain of
Death, or the Kingdom of Siva.

The sun never rose and never set in that region; there was no day and no
night there, but the whole plain was of a lily-, absolute
clearness. No shadow fell in that region, for clearness inhered there so
thoroughly that it seemed the real essence of Siva's dominions.

The region was not empty. As far as the eye could reach were seen heights
and valleys where beautiful trees stood in groups; on those trees rose
climbing plants, while ivy and grapevines were hanging from the cliff
sides.

But the cliffs and the tree trunks and the slender plant stems were almost
transparent, as if formed out of light grown material. The leaves of the
ivy had in them a delicate roseate light as of dawn. And all was in
marvellous rest, such as none on the Plain of Life had experienced; all
was as if sunk in serene meditation, as if dreaming and resting in
continuous slumber, unthreatened by waking.

In the clear air not the slightest breeze was discovered, not a flower was
seen moving, not a leaf showed a quiver.

The people who had come to the shore with loud conversation and clamor
grew silent at sight of those lily-, motionless spaces, and
whispered:

"What quiet! How everything rests there in clearness!"

"Oh, yes, there is rest and unbroken repose in that region."

So some, namely, those who were weariest, said after a silence:

"Let us find the sleep which is surely unbroken."

And they entered the water. The rainbow-hued surface opened straightway
before them, as if wishing to lighten the passage. Those who remained on
the shore began now to call after them, but no man turned his head, and
all hurried forward with willingness and lightly, attracted more and more
by the charm of that wonderful region.

The throng which gazed from the shore of Life at them noted this also:
that as they moved forward their bodies grew gradually less heavy,
becoming transparent and purer, more radiant, and as it were blending with
that absolute clearness which filled the whole Plain of Death, Siva's
kingdom.

And when they had passed and disposed themselves amid flowers and at trees
or the bases of cliffs, to repose there, their eyes were closed, but their
faces had on them not only an expression of ineffable peace, but also of
happiness such as Love itself on the Plain of Life had never given.

Seeing this, those who had halted behind said one to another:

"The region belonging to Siva is sweeter and better."

And they began to pass to that shore in increasing numbers. There went in
solemn procession old men, and men in ripe years, and husbands and wives,
and mothers who led little children, and maidens, and youths, and then
thousands and millions of people pushed on toward that Calm Passage, till
at last the Plain of Life was depopulated almost entirely.

Then Vishnu, whose task it was to keep life from extinction, was
frightened because of the advice which he had given in his anger, and not
knowing what to do else hastened quickly to Brahma.

"Save Life, O Creator!" said he. "Behold, thou hast made the inheritance
of Death now so beautiful, so serene, and so blissful that all men are
leaving my kingdom."

"Have none remained with thee there?" inquired Brahma.

"Only one youth and one maiden, who are in love beyond measure; they
renounce endless bliss rather than close their eyes and gaze on each other
no longer."

"What dost thou wish, then?"

"Make the region of Death less delightful, less happy; if not, even those
two when their springtime of love shall be ended will leave me and follow
the others."

Brahma thought for a moment and answered:

"No! Oh no! I will not decrease beauty and happiness in the region of
Death, but I will do something for Life in its own realm. Henceforward
people will not pass to the other shore willingly, they must be forced to
it."

When he had said this he made a thick veil out of darkness which no one
could see through, and next he created two terrible beings, one of these
he named Fear and the other one Pain. He commanded them then to hang that
black veil at the Passage.

Thereafter Vishnu's kingdom was as crowded with life as it had been, for
though the region of Death was as calm, as serene, and as blissful as
ever, people dreaded the Passage.


[Illustration: SMALL CHAPEL ON THE SIENKIEWICZ ESTATE]




IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?


II

IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?


In the distance a dark strip of pine wood was visible. In front of the
wood was a meadow, and amid fields of grain stood a cottage covered with a
straw roof and with moss. Birch trees hung their tresses above it. On a
fir tree stood a stork on its nest, and in a cherry garden were dark
beehives.

Through an open gate a wanderer walked into the yard and said to the
mistress of the cottage, who was standing on its threshold:

"Peace to this quiet house, to those trees, to the grain, to the whole
place, and to thee, mother!"

The woman greeted him kindly, and added:

"I will bring bread and milk to thee, wayfarer; but sit down the while and
rest, for it is clear that thou art coming back from a long journey."

"I have wandered like that stork, and like a swallow; I come from afar, I
bring news from thy children."

Her whole soul rushed to the eyes of that mother, and she asked the
wayfarer straightway:

"Dost thou know of my Yasko?"

"Dost thou love that son most that thou askest first about him? Well, one
son of thine is in forests, he works with his axe, he spreads his net in
lakes; another herds horses in the steppe, he sings plaintive songs and
looks at the stars; the third son climbs mountains, passes over naked
rocks and high pastures, spends the night with sheep and shouts at the
eagles. All bend down before thy knees and send thee greeting."

"But Yasko?" asked the mother with an anxious face.

"I keep sad news for the last. Life is going ill with Yasko: the field
does not give its fruit to him, poverty and hunger torment the man, his
days and months pass in suffering. Amid strangers and misery he has even
forgotten thy language; forget him, since he has no thought for thee."

When he had finished, the woman took the man's hand, led him to her pantry
in the cottage, and, seizing a loaf from the shelf, she said:

"Give this bread, O wayfarer, to Yasko!"

Then she untied a small kerchief, took a bright silver coin from it, and
with trembling voice added:

"I am not rich, but this too is for Yasko."

"Woman!" said the wayfarer now with astonishment, "thou hast many sons,
but thou sendest gifts to only one of them. Dost thou love him more than
the others? Is he the dearest one?"

She raised her great sad eyes, filled with tears, and answered:

"My blessing is for them all, but my gifts are to Yasko, for I am a
mother, and he is my poorest son."




A LEGEND OF THE SEA


III

A LEGEND OF THE SEA


There was a ship named "The Purple," so strong and so great that she
feared neither winds nor waves, even when they were raging most terribly.

"The Purple" swept on, with every sail set, she rose upon each swelling
wave and crushed with her conquering prow hidden rocks on which other
ships foundered. She moved ever forward with sails which were gleaming in
sunlight, and moved with such swiftness that foam roared at her sides and
stretched out behind in a broad, endless road-streak.

"That is a glorious craft," cried out crews on all other ships; "a man
might think that she sails just to punish the ocean."

From time to time they called out to the crew of "The Purple":

"Hei, men, to what port are ye sailing?"

"To that port to which wind blows," said the men on "The Purple."

"Have a care, there are rocks ahead! There are whirlpools!"

In reply to this warning came back a song as loud as the wind was:

"Let us sail on, let us sail ever joyously."

Men on "The Purple" were gladsome. The crew, confiding in the strength of
their ship and the size of it, jeered at all perils. On other ships stern
discipline ruled, but on "The Purple" each man did what seemed good to
him.

Life on that ship was one ceaseless holiday. The storms which she had
passed, the rocks which she had crushed, increased the crew's confidence.
"There are no reefs, there are no winds to wreck this ship," roared the
sailors. "Let a hurricane shiver the ocean, 'The Purple' will always sail
forward."

And "The Purple" sailed; she was proud, she was splendid.

Whole years passed--she was to all seeming invincible, she helped other
ships and took in on her deck drowning passengers.

Blind faith increased every day in the breasts of the crew on "The
Purple." They grew slothful in good fortune and forgot their own art, they
forgot how to navigate. "Our 'Purple' will sail herself," said they. "Why
toil, why watch the ship, why pull at rudder, masts, sails, and ropes? Why
live by hard work and the sweat of our brows, when our ship is divine,
indestructible? Let us sail on, let us sail joyously."

And they sailed for a very long period. At last, after years, the crew
became utterly effeminate, they forgot every duty, and no man of them
knew that that ship was decaying. Bitter water had weakened the spars, the
strong rigging had loosened, waves without number had shattered the
gunwales, dry rot was at work in the mainmast, the sails had grown weak
through exposure.

The voice of sound sense was heard now despite every madness:

"Be careful!" cried some of the sailors.

"Never mind! We will sail with the current," cried out the majority. But
once such a storm came that to that hour its like had not been on the
water. The wind whirled ocean and clouds into one hellish chaos. Pillars
of water rose up and flew then with roars at "The Purple"; they were
raging and bellowing dreadfully. They fell on the ship, they drove her
down to the bottom, they hurled her up to the clouds, then cast her down
again. The weak rigging snapped, and now a quick cry of despair was heard
on the deck of that vessel.

"'The Purple' is sinking!"

"The Purple" was really sinking, while the crew, unaccustomed to work and
to navigate, knew not how to save her.

But when the first moment of terror had passed, rage boiled up in their
hearts, for those mariners still loved that ship of theirs.

All sprang up speedily, some rushed to fire cannon-balls at the winds and
foaming water, others seized what each man could find near him and flogged
that sea which was drowning "The Purple."

Great was that fight of despair against the elements. But the waves had
more strength than the mariners. The guns filled with water and then they
were silent. Gigantic whirls seized struggling sailors and swept them out
into watery chaos.

The crew decreased every minute, but they struggled on yet. Covered with
water, half-blinded, concealed by a mountain of foam, they fought till
they dropped in the battle.

Strength left them, but after brief rest they sprang again to the
struggle.

At last their hands fell. They felt that death was approaching. Dull
despair seized them. Those sailors looked at one another as if demented.

Now those same voices which had warned previously of danger were raised
again, and more powerfully, so powerfully this time