{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35736/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35736","id":"gutenberg_35736","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35736","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Nobel Prizes in Literature","Polish fiction -- Translations into English"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLife and Death\n\n_And Other Legends and Stories_\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL POLISH BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.\n\n\n_The Zagloba Romances_\n\n  WITH FIRE AND SWORD. 1 vol.\n  THE DELUGE. 2 vols.\n  PAN MICHAEL. 1 vol.\n\n\n  QUO VADIS. 1 vol.\n  THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS. 2 vols.\n  CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 1 vol.\n  HANIA, AND OTHER STORIES. 1 vol.\n  SIELANKA, AND OTHER STORIES. 1 vol.\n  IN VAIN. 1 vol.\n  LIFE AND DEATH AND OTHER LEGENDS AND STORIES. 1 vol.\n\n\n  WITHOUT DOGMA. (Translated by Iza Young.) 1 vol.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: HOUSE PRESENTED TO HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ BY THE POLES\n\nMr. Sienkiewicz and Mr. Curtin in the foreground]\n\n\n\n\n  Life and Death\n\n  _And Other Legends and Stories_\n\n\n  By Henryk Sienkiewicz\n\n  Author of \"With Fire and Sword,\" \"The Deluge,\"\n  \"Pan Michael,\" \"Quo Vadis,\" \"Knights\n  of the Cross,\" etc.\n\n\n  _Translated from the Original Polish by_\n  Jeremiah Curtin\n\n\n  Boston\n  Little, Brown, and Company\n  1904\n\n\n\n\n  _Copyright, 1897, 1899, 1900, 1904_,\n  BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.\n\n  _All rights reserved_\n\n\n  THE UNIVERSITY PRESS\n  CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\n_\"Is He the Dearest One?\" was produced under the following circumstances:\nAbout fourteen years ago there was a famine, or at least hunger, in\nSilesia. Though that land is a German possession at present, it was once a\npart of the Polish Commonwealth, and there are many un-Germanized Poles in\nit yet._\n\n_The mother in this sketch is Poland. Yasko, the most unfortunate of her\nsons, is Silesia. Poor, ill-fated, he neglects his own language, forgets\nhis mother; but she does not forget him, as was shown on the occasion of\nthat hunger in Silesia. The Poles of Russian Poland collected one million\nmarks and sent them to Yasko._\n\n_The ship \"Purple\" represents Poland and its career, and is a very brief\nsummary of the essence and meaning of Polish history. Like some of the\nauthor's most beautiful short productions, it was written for a benevolent\nobject, all the money obtained for it being devoted to that object._\n\n_All persons who have read \"Charcoal Sketches,\" in Sienkiewicz's \"Hania,\"\nwill be interested to learn the origin of that striking production. It was\nwritten mainly and finished in Los Angeles, Cal., as Sienkiewicz told me\nin Switzerland six years ago, but it was begun at Anaheim Landing, as is\ndescribed in the sketch printed in this volume, \"The Cranes.\" Besides\nbeing begun at Anaheim Landing, the whole plan of \"Charcoal Sketches\" was\nworked out there. \"The Cranes\" appeared in Lvov, or Lemburg, a few years\nago, in a paper which was published for one day only, and was made up of\ncontributions from Polish authors who gave these contributions for a\nbenevolent purpose. The Hindu legend, \"Life and Death,\" to be read by\nSienkiewicz at Warsaw in January, is his latest work._\n\n_JEREMIAH CURTIN._\n\n  _Torbole, Lago di Garda, Austria,\n      December 18, 1903._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                              _Page_\n\n  LIFE AND DEATH: A HINDU LEGEND                   3\n\n  IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?                          21\n\n  A LEGEND OF THE SEA                             29\n\n  THE CRANES                                      41\n\n  THE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS       55\n\n\n\n\nLIFE AND DEATH _A HINDU LEGEND_\n\n\nLIFE AND DEATH _A HINDU LEGEND_\n\n\nI\n\nLIFE AND DEATH\n\n\nThere were two regions lying side by side, as it were two immense plains,\nwith a clear river flowing between them.\n\nAt one point the banks of this river sloped gently to a shallow ford in\nthe shape of a pond with transparent, calm water.\n\nBeneath the azure surface of this ford could be seen its golden bed, from\nwhich grew stems of lotus; on those stems bloomed white and rose-colored\nflowers above the mirror of water. Rainbow-hued insects and butterflies\ncircled around the flowers and among the palms of the shore, while higher\nup in the sunny air birds gave out sounds like those of silver bells. This\npond was the passage from one region to the other.\n\nThe first region was called the Plain of Life, the second the Plain of\nDeath.\n\nThe supreme and all mighty Brahma had created both plains, and had\ncommanded the good Vishnu to rule in the Region of Life, while the wise\nSiva was lord in the Region of Death.\n\n\"Do what ye understand to be best,\" said Brahma to the two rulers.\n\nHence in the region belonging to Vishnu life moved with all its activity.\nThe sun rose and set; day followed night, and night followed day; the sea\nrose and fell; in the sky appeared clouds big with rain; the earth was\nsoon covered with forests, and crowded with beasts, birds, and people.\n\nSo that all living creatures might increase greatly and multiply, the\nkindly god created Love, which he made to be Happiness also.\n\nAfter this Brahma summoned Vishnu and said to him:\n\n\"Thou canst produce nothing better on earth, and since heaven is created\nalready by me, do thou rest and let those whom thou callest people weave\nthe thread of life for themselves unassisted.\"\n\nVishnu obeyed this command, and henceforward men ordered their own lives.\nFrom their good thoughts came joy, from their evil ones, sorrow; and they\nsaw soon with wonder that life was not an unbroken rejoicing, but that\nwith the life thread which Brahma had mentioned they wove out two webs as\nit were with two faces,--on one of these was a smile; there were tears in\nthe eyes of the other.\n\nThey went then to the throne of Vishnu and made complaint to him:\n\n\"O Lord! life is grievous through sorrow.\"\n\n\"Let Love give you happiness,\" said Vishnu in answer.\n\nAt these words they went away quieted, for Love indeed scattered their\nsorrows, which, in view of the happiness given, seemed so insignificant as\nto be undeserving of notice.\n\nBut Love is also the mighty mother of life, hence, though the region which\nVishnu ruled was enormous, it was soon insufficient for the myriads of\npeople; soon there was not fruit enough upon trees there, nor berries\nenough upon bushes, nor honey enough from cliff bees.\n\nThereupon all the men who were wisest fell to cutting down forests for the\nclearing of land, for the sowing of seed, for the winning of harvests.\n\nThus Labor appeared among people. Soon all had to turn to it, and labor\nbecame not merely the basis of life, but life itself very nearly.\n\nBut from Labor came Toil, and Toil produced Weariness.\n\nGreat throngs of people appeared before Vishnu a second time.\n\n\"O Lord!\" exclaimed they, stretching their hands to him, \"toil has\nweakened our bodies, weariness spreads through our bones, we are yearning\nfor rest, but Life drives us always to labor.\"\n\nTo this Vishnu answered:\n\n\"The great and all mighty Brahma has not allowed me to shape Life any\nfurther, but I am free to make that which will cause it to halt, and rest\nwill come then to you.\"\n\nAnd Vishnu made Sleep.\n\nMen received this new gift with rejoicing, and very soon saw in it one of\nthe greatest boons given by the deity thus far. In sleep vanished care and\nvexation, during sleep strength returned to the weary; sleep, like a\ncherishing mother, wiped away tears of sorrow and surrounded the heads of\nthe slumbering with oblivion.\n\nSo people glorified sleep, and repeated:\n\n\"Be blessed, for thou art far better than life in our waking hours.\"\n\nAnd they had one regret only, that it did not continue forever. After\nsleep came awakening, and after awakening came labor with fresh toil and\nweariness.\n\nThis thought began soon to torture all men so sorely, that for the third\ntime they stood before Vishnu.\n\n\"O Lord,\" said they, \"thou hast given us a boon which, though great and\nunspeakably precious, is incomplete as it now appears. Wilt thou grant us\nthat sleep be eternal?\"\n\nVishnu wrinkled his brows then in anger at this their insistence, and\nanswered:\n\n\"I cannot give what ye ask of me, but go to the neighboring ford, and\nbeyond ye will find that for which ye are seeking.\"\n\nThe people heard the god's voice and went on in legions immediately. They\nwent to the ford, and, halting there, gazed at the shore lying opposite.\n\nBeyond the clear, calm, and flower-bedecked surface stretched the Plain of\nDeath, or the Kingdom of Siva.\n\nThe sun never rose and never set in that region; there was no day and no\nnight there, but the whole plain was of a lily-colored, absolute\nclearness. No shadow fell in that region, for clearness inhered there so\nthoroughly that it seemed the real essence of Siva's dominions.\n\nThe region was not empty. As far as the eye could reach were seen heights\nand valleys where beautiful trees stood in groups; on those trees rose\nclimbing plants, while ivy and grapevines were hanging from the cliff\nsides.\n\nBut the cliffs and the tree trunks and the slender plant stems were almost\ntransparent, as if formed out of light grown material. The leaves of the\nivy had in them a delicate roseate light as of dawn. And all was in\nmarvellous rest, such as none on the Plain of Life had experienced; all\nwas as if sunk in serene meditation, as if dreaming and resting in\ncontinuous slumber, unthreatened by waking.\n\nIn the clear air not the slightest breeze was discovered, not a flower was\nseen moving, not a leaf showed a quiver.\n\nThe people who had come to the shore with loud conversation and clamor\ngrew silent at sight of those lily-colored, motionless spaces, and\nwhispered:\n\n\"What quiet! How everything rests there in clearness!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, there is rest and unbroken repose in that region.\"\n\nSo some, namely, those who were weariest, said after a silence:\n\n\"Let us find the sleep which is surely unbroken.\"\n\nAnd they entered the water. The rainbow-hued surface opened straightway\nbefore them, as if wishing to lighten the passage. Those who remained on\nthe shore began now to call after them, but no man turned his head, and\nall hurried forward with willingness and lightly, attracted more and more\nby the charm of that wonderful region.\n\nThe throng which gazed from the shore of Life at them noted this also:\nthat as they moved forward their bodies grew gradually less heavy,\nbecoming transparent and purer, more radiant, and as it were blending with\nthat absolute clearness which filled the whole Plain of Death, Siva's\nkingdom.\n\nAnd when they had passed and disposed themselves amid flowers and at trees\nor the bases of cliffs, to repose there, their eyes were closed, but their\nfaces had on them not only an expression of ineffable peace, but also of\nhappiness such as Love itself on the Plain of Life had never given.\n\nSeeing this, those who had halted behind said one to another:\n\n\"The region belonging to Siva is sweeter and better.\"\n\nAnd they began to pass to that shore in increasing numbers. There went in\nsolemn procession old men, and men in ripe years, and husbands and wives,\nand mothers who led little children, and maidens, and youths, and then\nthousands and millions of people pushed on toward that Calm Passage, till\nat last the Plain of Life was depopulated almost entirely.\n\nThen Vishnu, whose task it was to keep life from extinction, was\nfrightened because of the advice which he had given in his anger, and not\nknowing what to do else hastened quickly to Brahma.\n\n\"Save Life, O Creator!\" said he. \"Behold, thou hast made the inheritance\nof Death now so beautiful, so serene, and so blissful that all men are\nleaving my kingdom.\"\n\n\"Have none remained with thee there?\" inquired Brahma.\n\n\"Only one youth and one maiden, who are in love beyond measure; they\nrenounce endless bliss rather than close their eyes and gaze on each other\nno longer.\"\n\n\"What dost thou wish, then?\"\n\n\"Make the region of Death less delightful, less happy; if not, even those\ntwo when their springtime of love shall be ended will leave me and follow\nthe others.\"\n\nBrahma thought for a moment and answered:\n\n\"No! Oh no! I will not decrease beauty and happiness in the region of\nDeath, but I will do something for Life in its own realm. Henceforward\npeople will not pass to the other shore willingly, they must be forced to\nit.\"\n\nWhen he had said this he made a thick veil out of darkness which no one\ncould see through, and next he created two terrible beings, one of these\nhe named Fear and the other one Pain. He commanded them then to hang that\nblack veil at the Passage.\n\nThereafter Vishnu's kingdom was as crowded with life as it had been, for\nthough the region of Death was as calm, as serene, and as blissful as\never, people dreaded the Passage.\n\n\n[Illustration: SMALL CHAPEL ON THE SIENKIEWICZ ESTATE]\n\n\n\n\nIS HE THE DEAREST ONE?\n\n\nII\n\nIS HE THE DEAREST ONE?\n\n\nIn the distance a dark strip of pine wood was visible. In front of the\nwood was a meadow, and amid fields of grain stood a cottage covered with a\nstraw roof and with moss. Birch trees hung their tresses above it. On a\nfir tree stood a stork on its nest, and in a cherry garden were dark\nbeehives.\n\nThrough an open gate a wanderer walked into the yard and said to the\nmistress of the cottage, who was standing on its threshold:\n\n\"Peace to this quiet house, to those trees, to the grain, to the whole\nplace, and to thee, mother!\"\n\nThe woman greeted him kindly, and added:\n\n\"I will bring bread and milk to thee, wayfarer; but sit down the while and\nrest, for it is clear that thou art coming back from a long journey.\"\n\n\"I have wandered like that stork, and like a swallow; I come from afar, I\nbring news from thy children.\"\n\nHer whole soul rushed to the eyes of that mother, and she asked the\nwayfarer straightway:\n\n\"Dost thou know of my Yasko?\"\n\n\"Dost thou love that son most that thou askest first about him? Well, one\nson of thine is in forests, he works with his axe, he spreads his net in\nlakes; another herds horses in the steppe, he sings plaintive songs and\nlooks at the stars; the third son climbs mountains, passes over naked\nrocks and high pastures, spends the night with sheep and shouts at the\neagles. All bend down before thy knees and send thee greeting.\"\n\n\"But Yasko?\" asked the mother with an anxious face.\n\n\"I keep sad news for the last. Life is going ill with Yasko: the field\ndoes not give its fruit to him, poverty and hunger torment the man, his\ndays and months pass in suffering. Amid strangers and misery he has even\nforgotten thy language; forget him, since he has no thought for thee.\"\n\nWhen he had finished, the woman took the man's hand, led him to her pantry\nin the cottage, and, seizing a loaf from the shelf, she said:\n\n\"Give this bread, O wayfarer, to Yasko!\"\n\nThen she untied a small kerchief, took a bright silver coin from it, and\nwith trembling voice added:\n\n\"I am not rich, but this too is for Yasko.\"\n\n\"Woman!\" said the wayfarer now with astonishment, \"thou hast many sons,\nbut thou sendest gifts to only one of them. Dost thou love him more than\nthe others? Is he the dearest one?\"\n\nShe raised her great sad eyes, filled with tears, and answered:\n\n\"My blessing is for them all, but my gifts are to Yasko, for I am a\nmother, and he is my poorest son.\"\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF THE SEA\n\n\nIII\n\nA LEGEND OF THE SEA\n\n\nThere was a ship named \"The Purple,\" so strong and so great that she\nfeared neither winds nor waves, even when they were raging most terribly.\n\n\"The Purple\" swept on, with every sail set, she rose upon each swelling\nwave and crushed with her conquering prow hidden rocks on which other\nships foundered. She moved ever forward with sails which were gleaming in\nsunlight, and moved with such swiftness that foam roared at her sides and\nstretched out behind in a broad, endless road-streak.\n\n\"That is a glorious craft,\" cried out crews on all other ships; \"a man\nmight think that she sails just to punish the ocean.\"\n\nFrom time to time they called out to the crew of \"The Purple\":\n\n\"Hei, men, to what port are ye sailing?\"\n\n\"To that port to which wind blows,\" said the men on \"The Purple.\"\n\n\"Have a care, there are rocks ahead! There are whirlpools!\"\n\nIn reply to this warning came back a song as loud as the wind was:\n\n\"Let us sail on, let us sail ever joyously.\"\n\nMen on \"The Purple\" were gladsome. The crew, confiding in the strength of\ntheir ship and the size of it, jeered at all perils. On other ships stern\ndiscipline ruled, but on \"The Purple\" each man did what seemed good to\nhim.\n\nLife on that ship was one ceaseless holiday. The storms which she had\npassed, the rocks which she had crushed, increased the crew's confidence.\n\"There are no reefs, there are no winds to wreck this ship,\" roared the\nsailors. \"Let a hurricane shiver the ocean, 'The Purple' will always sail\nforward.\"\n\nAnd \"The Purple\" sailed; she was proud, she was splendid.\n\nWhole years passed--she was to all seeming invincible, she helped other\nships and took in on her deck drowning passengers.\n\nBlind faith increased every day in the breasts of the crew on \"The\nPurple.\" They grew slothful in good fortune and forgot their own art, they\nforgot how to navigate. \"Our 'Purple' will sail herself,\" said they. \"Why\ntoil, why watch the ship, why pull at rudder, masts, sails, and ropes? Why\nlive by hard work and the sweat of our brows, when our ship is divine,\nindestructible? Let us sail on, let us sail joyously.\"\n\nAnd they sailed for a very long period. At last, after years, the crew\nbecame utterly effeminate, they forgot every duty, and no man of them\nknew that that ship was decaying. Bitter water had weakened the spars, the\nstrong rigging had loosened, waves without number had shattered the\ngunwales, dry rot was at work in the mainmast, the sails had grown weak\nthrough exposure.\n\nThe voice of sound sense was heard now despite every madness:\n\n\"Be careful!\" cried some of the sailors.\n\n\"Never mind! We will sail with the current,\" cried out the majority. But\nonce such a storm came that to that hour its like had not been on the\nwater. The wind whirled ocean and clouds into one hellish chaos. Pillars\nof water rose up and flew then with roars at \"The Purple\"; they were\nraging and bellowing dreadfully. They fell on the ship, they drove her\ndown to the bottom, they hurled her up to the clouds, then cast her down\nagain. The weak rigging snapped, and now a quick cry of despair was heard\non the deck of that vessel.\n\n\"'The Purple' is sinking!\"\n\n\"The Purple\" was really sinking, while the crew, unaccustomed to work and\nto navigate, knew not how to save her.\n\nBut when the first moment of terror had passed, rage boiled up in their\nhearts, for those mariners still loved that ship of theirs.\n\nAll sprang up speedily, some rushed to fire cannon-balls at the winds and\nfoaming water, others seized what each man could find near him and flogged\nthat sea which was drowning \"The Purple.\"\n\nGreat was that fight of despair against the elements. But the waves had\nmore strength than the mariners. The guns filled with water and then they\nwere silent. Gigantic whirls seized struggling sailors and swept them out\ninto watery chaos.\n\nThe crew decreased every minute, but they struggled on yet. Covered with\nwater, half-blinded, concealed by a mountain of foam, they fought till\nthey dropped in the battle.\n\nStrength left them, but after brief rest they sprang again to the\nstruggle.\n\nAt last their hands fell. They felt that death was approaching. Dull\ndespair seized them. Those sailors looked at one another as if demented.\n\nNow those same voices which had warned previously of danger were raised\nagain, and more powerfully, so powerfully this time that the roar of the\nwaves could not drown them.\n\nThose voices said:\n\n\"O blind men! How can ye cannonade wind, or flog waves? Mend your vessel!\nGo to the hold. Work there. The ship 'Purple' is afloat yet.\"\n\nAt these words those mariners, half-dead already, recovered, all rushed to\nthe hold and began then to work in it. And they worked from morning till\nnight in the sweat of their brows and with effort, seeking thus to\nretrieve their past sloth and their blindness.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CRANES\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE CRANES\n\n\nHomesickness (nostalgia) tortures mainly people who for various reasons\nare utterly unable to return to their own country, but even those for whom\nreturn is merely a question of will power feel its attacks sometimes. The\ncause may be anything: a sunrise or a sunset which calls to mind a dawn or\nan evening at home, some note of a foreign song in which the rhythm of\none's own country is heard, some group of trees which call to mind\nremotely the native village--anything suffices!\n\nAt such moments an immense, irresistible sadness seizes hold on the heart,\nand immediately a feeling comes to a man that he is, as it were, a leaf\ntorn away from a distant but beloved tree. And in such moments the man is\nforced to return, or, if he has imagination, he is driven to create.\n\nOnce--a good many years back--I was sojourning on the shore of the Pacific\nOcean in a place called Anaheim Landing. My society was made up of some\nsailor fishermen, Norwegians for the greater part, and a German, who gave\nfood to those fishermen and lodged them. Their days were passed on the\nwater; every evening they amused themselves with poker, a game at cards\nwhich years ago was common in all the dramshops of America, long before\nfashionable ladies in Europe began to play it. I was quite alone, and my\ntime passed in wandering with a gun over the open plain or along the shore\nof the Pacific. I visited the sandbanks which a small river made as with a\nbroad mouth it entered the ocean; I waded in the shallow waters of this\nriver, noted its unknown fishes, its shells, and looked at the great\nsea-lions which sunned themselves on a number of rocks at the river mouth.\nOpposite was a small sandy island swarming with mews, pelicans, and\nalbatrosses; a real and populous bird commonwealth, filled with cries and\nuproar.\n\nAt times, when the day was calm, and when amid silence the surface of the\nwater took on a tinge almost violet, changing into gold, I sat in a boat\nand rowed toward the little island, on which pelicans, unused to the sight\nof man, looked at me less with fear than astonishment, as if wishing to\nask, \"What sort of seal is this that we have not seen till to-day?\"\nFrequently I looked from that bank at sunsets which were simply\nmarvellous; they changed the whole horizon into one sea, gleaming with\ngold, fire, and opal, which, passing into a brilliant purple, faded\ngradually until the moon shone on the amethyst background of the heavens,\nand the wonderful semi-tropical night had embraced the earth and the sky.\nThe empty land, the endlessness of the ocean, and the excess of light\ndisposed me somewhat toward mysticism. I became pantheistic, and had the\nfeeling that everything surrounding me formed a certain single great soul\nwhich appears as the ocean, the sky, the plain, or diminishes into such\nsmall living existences as birds, fish, shells, or broom on the ocean\nshore. At times I thought also that those sand-hills and empty banks might\nbe inhabited by invisible beings like the ancient Greek fauns, nymphs, or\nnaiads. A man does not believe in such things when he turns to his own\nreason; but involuntarily he admits that they are possible when he lives\nonly with Nature and in perfect seclusion. Life changes then, as it were,\ninto a drowsiness in which visions are more powerful than thought. As for\nme, I was conscious only of that boundless calm which surrounded me, and I\nfelt that it was pleasant to be in it. At times I thought of future\n\"letters about my journey\"; at times, too, I, as a young man, thought also\nof \"her,\" the unknown whom I should meet and love some time. In that\nrelaxation of thought, and on that empty, clear ocean shore, amid those\nuncompleted ideas, undescribed desires, in that half dream, in\nsemi-consciousness, I was happier than ever in life before. But on a\ncertain evening I sat long on the little island and returned to the shore\nafter nightfall. The flowing tide brought me in--I scarcely had need to\nlift an oar then. In other regions the flow of the tide is tempestuous,\nbut in that land of eternal good weather waves touch the sand shore with\ngentleness; the ocean does not strike land with an outburst. Such silence\nsurrounded me that a quarter of a mile from the shore line I could have\nheard the conversation of men. But that shore was unoccupied. I heard only\nthe squeak of the oars on my boat and the low plash of water moved by\nthem.\n\nJust then, from above, certain piercing cries reached me. I raised my\nhead, but on the dark background of the sky I could discern nothing. When\nthe cries were heard a second time, directly above, I recognized in them\nthe voices of cranes.\n\nEvidently a whole flock of cranes was flying somewhere above my head\ntoward the island of Santa Catalina. But I remembered that I had heard\ncries like those more than once, when as a boy I journeyed from school for\nvacation--and straightway a mighty homesickness seized hold of me. I\nreturned to the little room which I had hired in the cabin of the German,\nbut could not sleep. Pictures of my country passed then before my mind:\nnow a pine forest, now broad fields with pear trees on the boundaries,\nnow pleasant cottages, now village churches, now white mansions surrounded\nby dense orchards. I yearned for such scenes all that night.\n\n\n[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE HOUSE FROM THE POND ON THE SIENKIEWICZ\nESTATE]\n\n\nI went out next morning, as usual, to the sand-banks. I felt that the\nocean and the sky, and the sand mounds on the shore, and the plains, and\nthe cliffs on which seals were basking in the sunlight, were things to me\nabsolutely foreign, things with which I had nothing in common, as they had\nnothing in common with me.\n\nOnly yesterday I had wandered about in that neighborhood and had judged\nthat my pulse was beating in answer to the pulse of that immense\nuniverse; to-day I put to myself this question: What have I to do here;\nwhy do I not go back to my birthplace? The feeling of harmony and\nsweetness in life had vanished, leaving nothing behind it. Time, which\nbefore had seemed so quiet and soothing, which was measured by the ebb and\nflow of the ocean, now seemed unendurably tedious. I began to think of my\nown land, of that which had remained in it, and that which had changed\nwith time's passage.\n\nAmerica and my journey ceased altogether to interest me, and immediately\nthere swarmed in my head a throng of visions ever denser and denser,\ncomposed wholly of memories. I could not tear myself free from them,\nthough they brought no delight to me. On the contrary, there was in those\nmemories much sadness, and even suffering, which rose from comparing our\nsleepy and helpless country life with the bustling activity of America.\nBut the more our life seemed to me helpless and sleepy, the more it\nmastered my soul, the dearer it grew to me, and the more I longed for it.\nDuring succeeding days the visions grew still more definite, and at last\nimagination began to develop, to arrange, to bring clearness and order\ninto one artistic plan. I began to create my own world.\n\nA week later, on a certain night when the Norwegians went out on the\nocean, I sat down in my little room and from under my pen flowed the\nfollowing words: \"In Barania Glova, in the chancellery of the village\nmayor, it was as calm as in time of sowing poppy seed.\"\n\nAnd thus, because cranes flew over the shore of the Pacific, I composed\n\"Charcoal Sketches.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS\n\n\nV\n\nTHE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS\n\nA POEM IN PROSE\n\n\nIt was a night of spring, calm, silvery, and fragrant with dewy jasmine.\nThe full moon was sailing above Olympus, and on the glittering, snowy\nsummit of the mountain it shone with a clear, pensive, greenish light.\nFarther down in the Vale of Tempe was a dark thicket of thorn-bushes,\nshaken by the songs of nightingales--by entreaties, by complaints, by\ncalls, by allurements, by languor, by sighs. These sounds flowed like the\nmusic of flutes, filling the night; they fell like a pouring rain, and\nrushed on like rivers. At moments they ceased; then such silence followed\nthat one might almost hear the snow thawing on the heights under the warm\nbreath of May. It was an ambrosial night.\n\nOn that night came Peter and Paul, and sat on the highest grassmound of\nthe slope to pass judgment on the gods of antiquity. The heads of the\nApostles were encircled by halos, which illuminated their gray hair, stern\nbrows, and severe eyes. Below, in the deep shade of beeches, stood the\nassembly of gods, abandoned and in dread, awaiting their sentence.\n\nPeter motioned with his hand, and at the sign Zeus stepped forth first\nfrom the assembly and approached the Apostles. The Cloud-Compeller was\nstill mighty, and as huge as if cut out of marble by Phidias, but weakened\nand gloomy. His old eagle dragged along at his feet with broken wing, and\nthe blue thunderbolt, grown reddish in places from rust, and partly\nquenched, seemed to be slipping from the stiffening right hand of the\nformer father of gods and men. But when he stood before the Apostles the\nfeeling of ancient supremacy filled his broad breast. He raised his head\nhaughtily, and fixed on the face of the aged fisherman of Galilee his\nproud and glittering eyes, which were as angry and as terrible as\nlightnings.\n\nOlympus, accustomed to tremble before its ruler, shook to its foundations.\nThe beeches quivered with fear, the song of the nightingales ceased, and\nthe moon sailing above the snows grew as white as the linen web of\nArachne. The eagle screamed through his crooked beak for the last time,\nand the lightning, as if animated by its ancient force, flashed and began\nto roar terribly at the feet of its master; it reared, hissed, snapped,\nand raised its three-cornered, flaming forehead, like a serpent ready to\nstab with poisonous fang. But Peter pressed the fiery bolts with his foot\nand crushed them to the earth. Turning then to the Cloud-Compeller, he\npronounced this sentence: \"Thou art cursed and condemned through all\neternity.\" At once Zeus was extinguished. Growing pale in the twinkle of\nan eye, he whispered, with blackening lips, \"[Greek: Anagke]\"\n(\"Necessity\"), and vanished through the earth.\n\nPoseidon of the dark curls next stood before the Apostles, with night in\nhis eyes, and in his hand the blunted trident. To him then spoke Peter:\n\n\"It is not thou who wilt rouse the billows. It is not thou who wilt lead\nthe storm-tossed ships to a quiet haven, but she who is called the 'Star\nof the Sea.'\"\n\nWhen Poseidon heard this he screamed, as if pierced with sudden pain, and\nturned into vanishing mist.\n\nNext rose Apollo, the Silver-bowed, with a hollow lute in his hand, and\nwalked toward the holy men. Behind him moved slowly the nine Muses,\nlooking like nine white pillars. Terror-stricken, they stood before the\njudgment-seat, as if petrified, breathless, and without hope; but the\nradiant Apollo turned to Paul, and, in a voice which resembled wondrous\nmusic, said:\n\n\"Slay me not! Protect me, lord; for shouldst thou slay me, thou wouldst\nhave to restore me to life again. I am the blossom of the soul of\nhumanity; I am its gladness; I am light; I am the yearning for God. Thou\nknowest best that the song of earth will not reach heaven if thou break\nits wings. Hence I implore thee, O saint, not to smite down Song.\"\n\nA moment of silence came. Peter raised his eyes toward the stars. Paul\nplaced his hands on his sword-hilt, rested his forehead on them, and for a\ntime fell into deep thought. At last he rose, made the sign of the cross\ncalmly above the radiant head of the god, and said:\n\n\"Let Song live!\"\n\nApollo sat down with his lute at the feet of the Apostle. The night became\nclearer, the jasmine gave out a stronger perfume, the glad fountains\nsounded, the Muses gathered together like a flock of white swans, and,\nwith voices still quivering from fear, began to sing in low tones\nmarvellous words never heard on the heights of Olympus till that hour:\n\n  To thy protection we flee, holy Mother of God.\n  We come with our prayers; deign thou not to reject us,\n  But be pleased to preserve us from every evil,\n  O thou, our Lady!\n\nThus they sang on the heather, raising their eyes like pious nuns with\nheads covered with white.\n\nOther gods came now. Bacchus and his chorus dashed past, wild,\nunrestrained, crowned with ivy and grapevine, and bearing the cithara and\nthe thyrsus. They rushed on madly, with shouts of despair, and fell into\nthe bottomless pit.\n\nThen before the Apostles stood a lofty, proud, sarcastic divinity, who,\nwithout waiting for question or sentence, spoke first. On her lips was a\nsmile of derision.\n\n\"I am Pallas Athene. I do not beg life of you. I am an illusion, nothing\nmore. Odysseus honored and obeyed me only when he had become senile.\nTelemachus listened to me only till hair covered his chin. Ye cannot take\nimmortality from me, and I declare that I have been a shadow, that I am a\nshadow now, and shall remain a shadow forever.\"\n\nAt last her turn came to the most beautiful, the most honored goddess. As\nshe approached, sweet, marvellous, tearful, the heart under her snow-white\nbreast beat like the heart in a bird, and her lips quivered like those of\na child that fears cruel punishment. She fell at their feet, and,\nstretching forth her divine arms, cried in fear and humility:\n\n\"I am sinful, I deserve blame, but I am Joy. Have mercy, forgive; I am the\none happiness of mankind.\" Then sobbing and fear took away her voice.\n\nBut Peter looked at the goddess with compassion, and placed his aged palm\non her golden hair, while Paul, bending toward a cluster of white\nfield-lilies, broke off one blossom, and touching her with it, said:\n\n\"Joy, be henceforth like this flower, and live thou for mankind.\"\n\nThen came dawn--the divine dawn that looked out from beyond a depression\nbetween two peaks. The nightingales stopped singing, and immediately\nfinches, linnets, and wrens began to draw their sleepy little heads from\nunder their moistened wings, shaking the dew from their feathers, and\nrepeating in low voices, \"_Svit! svit!_\" (\"Light! light!\").\n\nThe earth awoke, smiled, and was delighted, because Song and Joy had not\nbeen taken from it.\n\n\n\n\n_THE ZAGLOBA ROMANCES by Henryk Sienkiewicz. Translated from the Polish by\nJeremiah Curtin._\n\n\nWITH FIRE AND SWORD\n\nAn Historical Novel of Poland and Russia. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. $1.50.\n\nThe first of the famous trilogy of historical romances of Poland, Russia,\nand Sweden. Their publication has been received as an event in literature.\nCharles Dudley Warner, in _Harper's Magazine_, affirms that the Polish\nauthor has in Zagloba _given a new creation to literature_.\n\n_A capital story._ The only modern romance with which it can be compared\nfor fire, sprightliness, rapidity of action, swift changes, and absorbing\ninterest is \"The Three Musketeers\" of Dumas.--_New York Tribune._\n\n\nTHE DELUGE\n\nAn Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. A Sequel to \"With Fire\nand Sword.\" With map. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. $3.00.\n\nMarvellous in its grand descriptions.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._\n\nHas the humor of a Cervantes and the grim vigor of Defoe.--_Boston\nGazette._\n\n\nPAN MICHAEL\n\nAn Historical Novel of Poland, Russia, and the Ukraine. A Sequel to \"With\nFire and Sword\" and \"The Deluge.\" Crown 8vo. $1.50.\n\n\nThe interest of the trilogy, both historical and romantic, is splendidly\nsustained.--_The Dial_, Chicago.\n\n\nQUO VADIS\n\nA Narrative of the Time of Nero. By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. Translated from\nthe Polish by JEREMIAH CURTIN. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. $1.50.\n\nOne of the greatest books of our day.--_The Bookman._\n\nThe book is like a grand historical pageant.--_Literary World._\n\nOf intense interest to the whole Christian civilization.--_Chicago\nTribune._\n\nInterest never wanes; and the story is carried through its many phases of\nconflict and terror to a climax that enthralls.--_Chicago Record._\n\nAs a study of the introduction of the gospel of love into the pagan world\ntypified by Rome, it is marvellously fine.--_Chicago Interior._\n\nThe picture here given of life in Rome under the last of the Caesars is one\nof unparalleled power and vividness.--_Boston Home Journal._\n\nOne of the most remarkable books of the decade. It burns upon the brain\nthe struggles and triumphs of the early church.--_Boston Daily\nAdvertiser._\n\nIt will become recognized by virtue of its own merits as the one heroic\nmonument built by the modern novelist above the ruins of decadent Rome,\nand in honor of the blessed martyrs of the early Church.--_Brooklyn\nEagle._\n\nOur debt to Sienkiewicz is not less than our debt to his translator and\nfriend, Jeremiah Curtin. The diversity of the language, the rapid flow of\nthought, the picturesque imagery of the descriptions are all his.--_Boston\nTranscript._\n\n\nTHE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS\n\nAn Historical Romance of Poland and Germany. By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ.\nTranslated from the Polish by JEREMIAH CURTIN. Illustrated. 2 vols. Crown\n8vo. $2.00.\n\nThe greatest work Sienkiewicz has given us.--_Buffalo Express._\n\nIt seems superior even to \"Quo Vadis\" in strength and realism.--_The\nChurchman._\n\nThe construction of the story is beyond praise. It is difficult to\nconceive of any one who will not pick the book up with\neagerness.--_Chicago Evening Post._\n\nThere are some scenes in the book that for power and excitement remind one\nof the great encounter between Ursus and the bull in \"Quo\nVadis.\"--_Minneapolis Tribune._\n\nVivid, dramatic, and vigorous.... His imaginative power, his command of\nlanguage, and the picturesque scenes he sets combine to fascinate the\nreader.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._\n\nA book that holds your almost breathless attention as in a vise from the\nvery beginning, for in it love and strife, the most thrilling of all\nworldly subjects, are described masterfully.--_The Boston Journal._\n\nAnother remarkable book. His descriptions are tremendously effective; one\ncan almost hear the sound of the carnage; to the mind's eye the scene of\nbattle is unfolded by a master artist.--_The Hartford Courant._\n\nThrillingly dramatic, full of strange local color and very faithful to its\nperiod, besides having that sense of the mysterious and weird that throbs\nin the Polish blood and infects alike their music and literature.--_The\nSt. Paul Globe._\n\n\n\n\n_OTHER NOVELS AND ROMANCES by Henryk Sienkiewicz. Translated from the\nPolish by Jeremiah Curtin._\n\n\nCHILDREN OF THE SOIL\n\nCrown 8vo. $1.50.\n\nIt must be reckoned among the finer fictions of our time, and shows its\nauthor to be almost as great a master in the field of the domestic novel\nas he had previously been shown to be in that of imaginative historical\nromances.--_The Dial_, Chicago.\n\n\nHANIA, AND OTHER STORIES\n\nWith portrait. Crown 8vo. $1.50.\n\nAt the highest level of the author's genius.--_The Outlook._\n\n\nSIELANKA, A FOREST PICTURE\n\nAnd Other Stories. With frontispiece. Crown 8vo. $1.50.\n\nThey exhibit the masterly genius of Sienkiewicz even better than his\nlonger romances. They abound in fine character-drawings and beautiful\ndescriptions.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._\n\n\nLIFE AND DEATH AND OTHER LEGENDS AND STORIES\n\nIllustrated. 16mo. Decorated cloth, $1.00.\n\n\nWITHOUT DOGMA\n\nA Novel of Modern Poland. (Translated from the Polish by Iza Young.) Crown\n8vo. $1.50.\n\nA human document read in the light of a great imagination.--_Boston\nBeacon._\n\n\nLITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS\n\nBOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _italics_.\n\nThe original text includes Greek characters. For this text version these\nletters have been replaced with transliterations.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Life and Death, and Other Legends and Stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":6822}