MICHNIK
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impossible to understand the history of the Polish intelligentsia-and
perhaps the history of Poland . But I'd also like to write about it in order
to send myself a warning about the secret venom concealed within the
books and articles of these great people and great writers.
"People who were young at that time grew up with the belief that to
live life to the full one had to be involved. 'Standing on the sidelines'
meant not knowing what life was about." Perhaps this was the source
of the poison? Activism, involvement, searching in this adventure for a
full life? I have always loved the writings of Jan Kott, although it's only
now that I have discovered in them the monologue that winds through
successive volumes written over many years, the monologue of the hero
of
Lost Illusions,
the lost illusions of our era. I have always been
enchanted by his language, pithy and nimble, adroit and rich, and have
marveled at his ability to recreate himself and read the signs of the
times, and at his unequaled humor. I have even marveled at his ability
to use Stalinist language. How did he do it?
However, Kott did not understand the Poland that was traditional,
provincial and rural, the Poland that was naively patriotic, Catholic,
well-intentioned, and imbued with complexes. He didn't understand its
moral principles, or its phobias and fears. One may take issue with this
Poland; but without understanding it, light-handed irony becomes ven–
omous meanness .
Kott was saved by his exceptional talent and by his ability to laugh.
He was lucky-the merciful God is indulgent towards people with a
sense of humor. He likes quick-witted scoffers. But the Good Lord is not
only merciful. He is also just.
It
is from the Good Lord that we get our
sense of honor.
It
was the Good Lord who inspired Conrad to persuade
us that honor isn't something thought up by shipowners looking to
make a profit. One of Kott's most moving essays is the one about dying.
Death asks the ultimate question. Honor really does exist.
We are reconciled after a long quarrel
knowing that of human happiness not a single stone will remain.
The earth will open wide its mouth, and in its hollow cathedral
the last pagans will be baptized.
Thus ends the story of a realistic person who danced with masks .
Translated from the Polish
by
Jane Cave
