A History of Bohemian Literature

by hrabe Francis Lützow

The originators of the Bohemian revival, drawn together by a common passionate love for the national language, were mostly on terms of intimacy, and their correspondence, very voluminous, as was formerly the custom, gives a very clear insight into the views of the writers, and the disheartening circumstances under which they pursued their work. Of Jungmann's letters, the most interesting are those addressed to Kollar, who will be mentioned presently, and to Anthony Marek, an intimate friend of Jungmann, who was one of the minor Bohemian writers of this period. The degree of intimacy which existed among the small band of patriots is well described in one of Jungmann's letters to Kollar, written in February 1821: "I am writing to-day," he says, "to our dear Šafařik also, and to Palacký. You three form indeed my most beloved Trinity." The general impression of Jungmann's letters is distinctly a depressing one. The writer refers constantly to the incessant, often very puerile, vexations which he encountered from the Austrian authorities. Jungmann complains incessantly of the "censors", and we shall find the same complaints later when dealing with Palacký. Every book published in Austria had at that period to be previously submitted to the "censure-office" for inspection. There were two "censors" to each book, one of whom had to guard against anything contrary to the views of the Austrian Government being printed, while the other suppressed everything contrary to the teaching of the Church of Rome. Kollar had sent some sonnets, that were afterwards printed in his Daughter of Sláva, to Jungmann for the purpose of submitting them to the censors. Jungmann writes in answer: "The poems confided to me I should be glad to get published, but the censure suppresses everything.... Those beautiful (O most beautiful) parts of your poem which refer to Sláva I cannot even present to the censors without much danger to the good cause" (i.e. the revival of the Bohemian language). "The other part also it will hardly be possible to publish. The other day Ziegler[144] complained that the censor had struck out thirty sheets from his writings, even love-songs set to music. We must touch neither Eros nor politics; such are the orders and commands of the censure."

Jungmann's letters to Marek, written in a very familiar manner, also give an interesting insight into the lives and thoughts of the little group of Bohemian literary men; they show their intense devotion to the national language, their firm belief in the solidarity of the Slavic races, which was intensified by the Russian victories over Napoleon, their heartfelt delight when one of the then almost Germanised Bohemian nobles appeared to be favourable to the national cause, their dissatisfaction with the Government of Vienna, which always regarded them with suspicion. To the last-named subject Jungmann refers in some of his earliest letters to Marek. Writing on May 29, 1809, he says: "On me truly falls every burden of human life. On one hand the malice of neighbours, magistrates, school directors, vintagers and ploughers,[145] soldiers (who give it me well[146]), and other ruffians oppress me; on the other hand, I have little hope of obtaining my object (which, between us, is to obtain the professorship of physics at the University of Prague), because of the fearful number of competitors, and also because of the injustice of the Austrian Government, which recently transferred to Prague three professors from Vienna, as if we Bohemians were all donkeys." ... The passage of the Russian army through Bohemia naturally greatly interested the Slavic enthusiasts. On September 24, 1813, Jungmann writes to Marek: "The Russian troops march through here (Leitmeritz) constantly. To-day 120,000 (?) are expected, whose passage will cost the town 9000 florins. I diligently govorju [Russian for talking] with them, and find that there are among them very good-natured men, and that that which is—principally by Germans—said of their stealing and robbing is not their fault, but that of the badly organised commissariat.... On the whole, they are not worse than our own soldiers. It will not be to the disadvantage of the Bohemians that they should become better acquainted with the Russians. They will at least know that there are more Slavs in the world than they fancied." On May 4, 1814, Jungmann writes to Marek: "The Germans and half-Germans here" (at Leitmeritz) "are very angry with the newspapers, because they always—so they say—mention the Russians as if they were everything. This war has been advantageous to the Slav world, and has contributed in no slight degree to its advancement. Not in vain has Europe learned to know the Slavs and they Europe. I think the Slav languages will become better known than they are now. It is already certain, now that the Muses are establishing their realm in the North. I must endeavour to obtain a few Russian books.... Perhaps Count Waldstein[147] will be favourable to the Bohemians, as he knows Slavic languages. God be praised there is another nobleman who is not a German!"

When more peaceful times began, Jungmann's correspondence deals mainly with literary matters, but he continues to uphold the principle of solidarity or mutual intercourse (vzájemnost Slovanská) between the Slavs. On January 3, 1827, Jungmann writes to Marek: "Of what else should I write but of the subject which we both carry in our hearts—Slavic literature. Yes, Slavic literature, I say, for I may at least name in writing to my friend what in print we can scarcely mention. So low have we fallen through the misdeeds of our countrymen,[148] that we scarcely dare openly to profess that we are Slavs.... They treat even the word 'Slav' with great suspicion at the censure-office, and Palacký has made it a rule to mention the Slavs as little as possible in the journal of the Museum.... How little they love us can be seen by the fact that the censors at Vienna only gave permission to print an ancient Bohemian chronicle on condition that it should be printed in Latin characters and published at a high price, that it may come into the hands of but few, and of none that are 'unholy' (i.e. whom the Government distrusts).[149] ... We have pleasanter news from the East. According to a letter of Šafařik, the treaty of Akjerman between Russia and Turkey guarantees freedom to the Servian nationality; so a new epoch for that nation and its literature may begin. At four Russian universities—Petersburg, Moscow, Kazan, and Charkov—professorships of general Slavic literature will be founded, and one at Warsaw is also in contemplation. There, then, the Bohemian language will be heard and its best works published. The Englishman Povring,[150] is translating Servian songs into English, and, stimulated by Šafařik, he will also translate the MS. of Königinhof. In England very many are learning Slavic languages, particularly Russian. Whenever a learned Englishman acquires a taste for one Slavic dialect, he wishes to learn a second," &c.[151] As a last quotation from Jungmann's letters, I shall give a short extract from one written in 1837, which is curious as referring to Count Kolovrat, one of the founders of the Bohemian Museum, who was then one of the principal members of the Austrian cabinet. It proves that Jungmann was by no means hostile to the Austrian Government, except when that Government treated its Slav subjects unjustly. Jungmann writes: "Gay,[152] the Croatian, is at Karlsbad. The Hungarians wished to imprison him because he published some national songs; now to their great grief he has received permission from Vienna to establish a printing-press. Our Kolovrat obtained this favour for him, though the Hungarian Chancellor opposed it. This minister (Kolovrat) has acted like a true Slav. Thanks and glory to him!"

Closely connected with Jungmann is his friend Kollar, whose name has already been mentioned frequently in this chapter. He was the greatest poet of the early Bohemian revival, though living Bohemian poets have undoubtedly surpassed him. John Kollar (1793-1852) was born at Mošovec, in the Slav district of Northern Hungary. His parents were Protestants, and it was decided that he should become a minister of that Church. In 1815 he proceeded to the then famous University of Jena in Germany, for the purpose of finishing his theological studies. The University of Jena was then one of the centres of the movement in favour of the unity of the German race, which has since been effected by "blood and iron". It does not seem improbable that the contact with the German patriots laid the germ of Kollar's passionate devotion to the idea of the unity of the Slav nations; though of course it was of a literary, not a political union of these nations—that are separated from each other by millions of aliens—that Kollar dreamt. It is, however, anticipating the future if we assume that these ideas exclusively, or even principally, occupied young Kollar while at Jena. An event during his stay at Jena influenced his whole life, and became the origin of the only one of his works that will live. He became passionately attached to Mina (or Wilhelmina) Schmidt, the daughter of a Protestant clergyman who lived in a village near Jena. How the German country girl was by Kollar transformed into the Daughter of Sláva is one of the curiosities of literature. Kollar's suit for Mina Schmidt was for the present unsuccessful. Frau Schmidt declared that she would never allow her daughter to live in a "savage country," as she termed Hungary; and it was to that country that Kollar's ecclesiastical career obliged him to return. Kollar afterwards became minister to the Protestant Church at Pest, and continued there up to the year 1849. He corresponded with Mina for some time after his departure from Jena, but news—incorrect, as it afterwards turned out—was brought from Germany announcing Mina's death. The news proved untrue, and fifteen years after Kollar's departure from Jena, and some years after he had raised Mina to the Slav heaven, she became his wife. Kollar's life, like that of all the Bohemian patriots, was a very laborious and painful one. His letters contain constant complaints of the incessant persecutions on the part of the Hungarian Government which his Slav sympathies brought on him. A plot on the part of Hungarians to murder Kollar was even discovered. Kollar several times appealed, and appealed successfully, to the Emperor Francis I. for protection. Kollar's ideas of Slavic solidarity also resulted mainly in disappointment. The separation of the Slavs on the whole continued as before, and even Kollar's own language, the Bohemian, was abandoned by Kollar's own countrymen. The Slavs of Northern Hungary, identical in race with the Bohemians and Moravians, had always used the Bohemian language. Šafařik, as well as Kollar himself, both born in the Slavic districts of Hungary, wrote in Bohemian. In the present century only the Slavs of Northern Hungary adopted as a written language a dialect that slightly differs from Bohemian. The result of this injudicious step, which Kollar from the first strongly blamed, has been the almost complete absorption by the Magyars of the isolated Slavs of Northern Hungary.

During the Hungarian revolution Kollar left Pest. Like most Slavs, his sympathies were rather with the Austrians than with the Hungarians, who had, indeed, constantly persecuted him. He spent some time travelling in Germany and Italy. One of the results of his visit to the last-named country was that deplorable work, Staroitalia Slavjanská ("Slavic Ancient Italy"). In recognition of his faithfulness to the Austrian Government, Kollar, immediately after the suppression of the Hungarian revolution in 1849, was awarded the professorship of Slavic archaeology at the University of Vienna. He did not live long to enjoy the comparative prosperity of which he was now assured. He died at Vienna on January 24, 1852, leaving his wife and children in a state of great destitution.

Kollar's Slávy Deera ("Daughter of Sláva") perhaps contributed more than any other work to the revival of Bohemian literature. Its first appearance was received with great enthusiasm, which continued for many years. Some of the Bohemian patriots boasted that they knew the whole enormous collection of sonnets by heart. The book, at first a small collection of sonnets, gradually grew to one of the largest books consisting entirely of sonnets which exists. The first collection was published in 1821, and consisted principally of reminiscences of Mina and of Jena, though Kollar's enthusiasm for the Slav race also already finds expression here. It was impossible that so fervent a Slav should love a German girl, but Kollar discovered that the family of Schmidt had come to Thuringia from Lusatia, which was formerly a Slav country, and where, indeed, a Slav dialect lingers to the present day. Mina thus being a Slav, it was possible to celebrate her as the "Daughter of Sláva", a goddess who personifies the Slavic race. Kollar firmly maintained that such a goddess had existed in the heathen mythology of the Slavs, but recent and more critical writers have expressed doubts on the subject. At any rate, Kollar gave the name of the Daughter of Sláva to the second and enlarged edition of his sonnets, which appeared in 1824. While the first collection had consisted mainly of love songs, the national Slav motive now becomes equally prominent. Kollar was greatly struck by the fact that large parts of Northern Germany, including the country near Jena, where Kollar had first loved and written, were formerly inhabited by Slavs. Constant warfare with the Germans, which began at the time of Charles the Great, has indeed long since destroyed all trace of these Slavs, but Kollar's imagination recalled them to life. Though very little is known of the Slav inhabitants of Northern Germany, there is no doubt that Kollar has greatly idealised them. The edition of the Daughter of Sláva published in 1824 consisted of three cantos. The poet, accompanied by Milek (the Slavic god of love), who has descended from heaven to bring him news of Mina, visits the countries that are watered by the Saale, the Elbe, and the Danube, and the three rivers give their names to the three cantos. Kollar and his companion everywhere search and find traces of the former Slav inhabitants of the countries which they visit. The edition of 1824 first contained the "fore-song" (předzpěv), or introduction, written in distichs, in which Kollar bewails the fate of the early inhabitants of Northern Germany. These verses rank among the finest in the whole range of modern Slav poetry. In 1832 Kollar published a third, again enlarged, collection of his sonnets. The second canto was considerably added to, and now entitled The Elbe, the Rhine, and the Vltava.[153] Two new cantos were added under the names of Lethe and Acheron. Kollar chose those names to give unity to his poem, as the former cantos had also been named after rivers. But the two new cantos are really a Slavic Paradiso and Inferno modelled on Dante. Kollar has here glorified and stigmatised those whom he considered prominent friends or enemies of the Slav race. It must be confessed that large portions of these cantos consist in a mere enumeration of names, often of persons who have long sunk into oblivion. Thus we find in hell a Miss Pardoe, who wrote a long-forgotten book of travels in Hungary, in which she, it appears, adopted the Hungarian standpoint, always hostile to the Slavs. Kollar, in his new peregrinations, is no longer accompanied by Milek, but by the "Daughter of Sláva," the glorified Mina Schmidt. The last sonnet of the poem, which I shall translate, contains an appeal of the "Daughter of Sláva" to all her countrymen, exhorting them to concord.

Though no subject could then be more original than the glorification of the then little-known Slav races, Kollar's poem yet contains many reminiscences of other writings. It has already been stated that the leading idea of the two last cantos is borrowed from Dante. The pilgrim in the earlier cantos sometimes recalls Childe Harold. Mina, or the "Daughter of Sláva," is sometimes modelled on Beatrice, sometimes on Laura. Kollar indeed never made a secret of the fact that he had studied the poetry of Western Europe. Such study was indeed a necessity at a time when, with the exception of the songs of the people, the Slavs possessed no poetry. Bohemian critics agree in asserting that the first canto of the Slávy Deera, written under the influence of a passionate love for Mina, is infinitely the best. The introduction to the poem has also been justly admired. It is interesting also as containing a general exposition of the author's views and dreams concerning the past and future of the Slavic race. Want of space will oblige me to quote only a portion of the "fore-song." Kollar, viewing the former homes of his race, exclaims: "Here before my tearful eyes lies the land, Once the cradle, now the tomb, of my nation. Stop! it is holy ground on which you tread. Son of the Tatra (Carpathian mountains), raise your head towards heaven, Or rather guide your steps towards that oak-tree Which yet defies destructive Time. But worse than Time is man, who has placed his iron sceptre on thy neck, O Sláva; Worse than wild war, more fearful than thunder, than fire, Is the man who, blinded by hate, rages against his own race.[154] O ancient times that surround me as with night! O land that art a record of all glory and all shame! From the treacherous Elbe to the perfidious plains near the Vistula, From the Danube to the devouring waves of the Baltic, In all these lands the harmonious language of the brave Slavs once resounded. Succumbing to hatred, it now has perished. And who has committed this offence that cries to heaven for vengeance? Who has in one nation dishonoured humanity in its entirety? Blush, envious Germany, the neighbour of Sláva! It is thy hands that once committed this guilty deed. No enemy has spilt so much blood—and ink, As did the German to destroy the Slavs. He who is worthy of liberty respects the liberty of all. He who forges irons to enslave others is himself a slave. Be it that he fetters the language or the hands of others, It is the same; he proves himself unable to respect the rights of others...." Kollar then proceeds to give the idealised account of the ancient Slav inhabitants of Germany, to which I have already referred. He attributes to them a very advanced degree of culture, and describes them as instructing Europe in seamanship, agriculture, and mining. Enumerating the Slav tribes, he writes: "Whither have you vanished, dear Slav nations, Nations that once drank the waters of Pomerania and the Saale, Peaceful tribes of the Sorbs, descendants of the Obotrites? And you tribes of the Ukres and Wiltes, whither have you gone? I look far to the right, I glance to the left, But in vain does my eyes seek Sláva in Slavic land. Tell us, O tree, growing as a temple, under which sacrifices were once offered to the ancient gods, Where are the nations, the princes, the towns, Who first spread civilisation in these northern lands?"

Writing as a poet, not as a politician, Kollar believed the Germanisation of these ancient Slav lands to be far less complete than it actually is. He writes: "As two rivers, though their waters have joined in one channel, yet differ in colour during a long part of their course, thus these two nations (the Germans and Slavs), though intermingled by the force of fierce war, yet still differ visibly in their manner of life. But the degenerate sons of Sláva often insult their mother, while they kiss the rod of their hateful stepmother (Germany). They are neither Slavs nor Germans in their ways. Hybrids, they belong half to one race, half to the other. Thus has the race of Osman settled down in the Hellenic lands. Its horsetails are prominent on the summit of Olympus. Thus, too, did the avaricious Europeans ruin the two Indian worlds, giving the people indeed education, but robbing them of their virtue, their land, their colour, and their language. Nationality and honour with us, too, have disappeared; Nature alone has remained unchanged. Woods, rivers, towns, and villages would not abandon their Slav names.[155] The sound still remains, but the Slavic spirit has fled...." The introduction ends thus: "It is shameful when in misery to moan over our fate; he who by his deeds appeases the wrath of Heaven acts better. Not from a tearful eye, but from a diligent hand fresh hope will blossom. Thus even evil may yet be changed to good. A crooked path may indeed lead men astray, but not humanity at large. The confusion of individuals may yet serve to the advantage of the community. Time changes everything, even past times. The errors of centuries may yet be repaired by time."

The fame of Kollar's introduction is so great that I have translated a considerable part of it, and I am therefore yet more limited in my quotations from the sonnets themselves. Those of the first canto, where the love-motive is still strong and enters into a quaint rivalry with the author's Slav enthusiasm, are the earliest and most valuable fruits of Kollar's muse. Čelakovský[156] was undoubtedly right in stating that the poetic genius of Kollar left him with his younger years. In the twelfth sonnet of the first book Kollar describes his hesitation between the two subjects that inspired him. There is an easily noticeable echo of Anacreon in the song. The poet writes:—

"I wished to sing of the thrones of the Bohemian kings, of the arrival of the brothers, of Vlasta and Libussa,[157] of Attila, the scourge of God, and how he taught his Huns to use the crossbow.