What Discoveries await in the Provinces? Or: A rather unusual thesis novel

Aneta Mazur

The psychology of passion with an archetype in the background

It seems that the most attractive aspect of Na prowincji today its study of the protagonists’ passions and love lives. It is no accident that the origins of the roman à thèse can be found in the tradition of roman de passion and it is not by chance that Chmielowski recognized the work as a psychological novel.^[1] It again becomes tempting to draw on biographical contexts. While Orzeszkowa’s third novel does not include such clear Allusions as those present in Ostatnia miłość, it nevertheless works through the writer’s failed marriage, illustrating the “handcuffs and hell,” “the heavy mutual misfortune of such casual relationships.”^[2] The novel anticipates the expected relationship with Święcicki in the form of Wincunia and Bolesław’s unrealized model married couple.^[3] Their story would have manifested itself as a Freudian symptom of the subconscious fear of matrimonial failure.

While interpretations have readily classified Orzeszkowa’s third novel as an anti-romance, it is difficult to deny that the work does indeed contain numerous relicts stemming from the tradition of romance novels or, as some call wish to term them, sentimental novels.^[4] These remnants include the classical antinomy of the beauty of a golden-haired heroine and a brunette antiheroine (“Madonna or a whore”), the idealization of lovers, elements of intrigue and foreboding, unfulfilled and tragic passion, the “martyrdom” of the heroine, a melodramatic finale with the scene of her death given particular prominence, and, above all, the motif of love being ascribed crucial, existential significance.^[5] Of course, there is still the question of the extent to which this is a sentimental love or indeed an edifying love. Beyond Bolesław’s amor patriae and caritas, or Kalikst’s sensible yet peculiar fixation, it seems that every love-related act of the protagonists – from parental feelings to various form of eroticism – proves destructive. Reinforcing the author’s motto, a paraphrase of the famous dictum that “Where reasons sleeps, spectres awake,”^[6] dangerous “frenzy” “hallucination,” “instinct,” “madness” and “sickness” destroy the victims afflicted by them (parents are no exception). Signs of passion are demonstrated by almost all the protagonists in the novel: Wincunia, observed in the various stages of becoming enamoured, falling in love and experiencing passion, with the “various symptoms of her fiery nature” (part 1, chapter III) also put under the microscope; Aleksander with his hedonistic nature; the romantic and fiery Karliczowa; even the cold Kalikst, who keeps his emotions under wraps; and Bolesław, where the narrative emphasizes his “trembling voice” and “suddenly fiery face” to signal his “fiery, passionate nature” (part 1, chapter II). It could be argued that the leitmotif of sensual passion, while not depicted overly overtly in the novel, is nevertheless omnipresent. It features in one of the initial landscape scenes, revealing the vitality of nature in the depths of the grove, where “the densest, lushest and most diverse forms of natural life were rampant […], millions of tiny, singing and enamoured creatures were moving as if in a race” (part 1, chapter II).

The sentimental aspects of Topolski’s eulogy have not usually attracted much attention, yet it is he who in fact represents the romance tradition in its purest form. He is a sensitive nature lover and demonstrates reflexes and responses typical of a romantic lover. After his fiancée leaves him, he contemplates revenge and killing his rival; he attempts suicide (something that does not align with his other personality traits), and he wishes to die together with his beloved.^[7] Topolski’s desperate and occasionally frenetic passion could justifiably be described as Wertherian. He is saved from it only thanks to an intervention involving Andrzej Orlicki, the embodiment of stoicism, altruism, and rationalism. Indeed, the Wincunia-Bolesław-Aleksander triangle ultimately resembles Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, albeit with the difference that it is the male characters who undergo modification. Na prowincji recalls other tropes of Romantic “high” culture. The relationship between the teacher Bolesław and the pupil Wincunia also resembles in some way the story of Abelard and Heloise and the other figures in Rousseau’s Julie, or the New Heloise. What is also expressed is the irrevocable Dantean motif of the two would-be lovers reading the same book, with the “brigand-book” (to use the Mickiewiczian term^[8]) in this case being Słowacki’s epic poem W Szwajcarii (In Switzerland), which lends the unhappy couple the words they need to articulate their unspoken feelings before Wincunia’s death^[9] Topolski’s faithfulness, which he maintained until his death – the point at which Wincunia finally reciprocated these feelings, resonates with the myth of Tristan and Isolde. The repeated motif of Wincunia’s hair seems to be a clear reference to Isolde the Golden Hair.^[10] Further associations are created by reference to “the expression of her eyes, that strange, deep expression of hers that is immersed in mysterious flames” (part 2, chapter X), with this line recalling the gaze of the mysterious Ligeia in Edgar Allan Poe’s eponymous short story. There the heroine gave expression to her will to live and love that was more powerful than death. The golden-haired female protagonist in Orzeszkowa’s novel ultimately suffers a death that in literary and romance terms is pure, as she suffers exemplary punishment. She does not die of consumption but because of irrepressible feelings for Bolesław and her guilty conscience (“the young woman is being killed by moral suffering”, part 2, chapter X).

That is the full extent of the connections to the tradition of romance literature that Orzeszkowa employs for polemic purposes. The ending of her novel generates a psychological study of a heroine reflecting on her life as it nears its conclusion^[11] while also levelling accusations at the sacrament of marriage and the vows that block women’s attempts to secure emancipation.^[12] It is difficult to state categorically to what extent this accusation, repeated three times by Bolesław (and at one point implied by the narrator), is logical and credible. The unproblematic divorce that Chmielowski justifiably mocked^[13] ultimately became the fate of the unhappy wife in Ostatnia miłość. Of course, the customs that applied to the higher echelons of society did not function so smoothly among the provincial (minor) nobility. Such ideas about escaping a marriage appear, perhaps only in the mind of the nonchalant Aleksander, yet without any serious consequences. However, it is impossible to ignore the impression that there is a certain artificiality to the disaster that befalls the protagonists in the finale. This conclusion was something demanded not so much by the logic of the situation they found themselves in but by the need for didactic clarity in presenting the idealistic message of the novel, something that would otherwise have destroyed any prospect of compromise with the pragmatic demands of real life.

Still, the material contained in the love story running through Orzeszkowa’s third novel leads us to employ further interpretive models drawn from research on fairy-tale and mythical archetypes in romance novels.^[14] The reworking of the parable of the Beauty and the Beast is evident in Na prowincji, albeit with the obvious caveat that “in Orzeszkowa’s work, the Beast does not become more beautiful under the influence of the Beauty, […] but remains a Beast,” with the horror revealed rather than tamed.^[15] More interesting perspectives are opened up by drawing on the myth of Cupid and Psyche, a philosophical fairy-tale about “being seduced by beauty whose charm is grounded in the unconscious and mystery. Seeking this state is presented […] as a kidnapping where the perpetrator remains unknown and then, at the point of recognition, disappears.”^[16] The beautiful Aleksander (surely it is not by chance that he bears the second name of Paris?) casts such a powerful charm over Wincunia that she allows herself to be captured by him before he then disappears from her life. While her husband remains a sensual Cupid, the path of suffering taken by a wife who performs a penance for having desired beauty, leads her to become aware of a painful truth and thus she transforms into a spiritual individual, Psyche. Thus, she goes from “the silken swaddling cloths of a caterpillar to being a spiritual butterfly, spreading her wings” part 2, chapter I) before ultimately abandoning her corporeality completely. An allegorical Platonic-Christian interpretation of the myth, marked by Gnostic tendencies, is fulfilled. The desire for beauty (sensual with respect to Aleksander, spiritual-corporeal when it comes to Bolesław), even if it is connected to a downfall nevertheless leads to a heroic, transcendental victory. Platonic connotations, understood in symbolic-archetypal terms, also define the relationship between Wincunia and Bolesław. They, of course, constitute two halves of an unhappily divided whole, the two mutually attractive elements of anima and animus, the two complementary elements of femininity and masculinity (something that is also signalled by the semantics of the surnames: the tall popular tree (Polish: topola, hence Topolski) and the fluid element of the river Niemen, hence Niemeńska). The two Platonic “halves” might also be perceived in the rather peculiar spatial arrangement of the novel – the semicircular configuration of the manor houses of Topolin and Niemenka that are connected by a grove that acts like a sanctuary, with the path running through it resembling an umbilical cord that maintains the life-giving relationship.^[17] In the story of these two protagonists, the myth of Cupid and Psyche is actually reversed with the female partner’s “eternal femininity” being sensual, erotic and elusive, being desired by the male partner who per aspera ad astra achieves perfect fulfilment in the world of spiritual values, ridding himself of corporeal desires.

However, the most relevant mythographic and archetypal context would be Pygmalion and Galatea, which lies below the surface of Na prowincji. The theme of a man creating a woman is omnipresent in Orzeszkowa’s novel on the levels of the narrative, the plot, its ideology and its symbolism.^[18] The novel features three Pygmalions. The most important of which is, of course, Bolesław Topolski, Wincunia’s proud demiurge: “I can indeed state that to some extent I myself created the soul in her” or “Yes, he did consider himself, quite rightly, to be the father of her soul!” (part 1, chapters IV and VII). For the first time, the girl is presented as if she were a fascinating work of art, a living sculpture on a pedestal. She stands on a stone bench, feeding pigeons as she is admired by the men gazing at her.^[19] Bolesław’s deed is, however, an incomplete act of creating a soul, for it is rendered inexperienced and lacks consciousness of having a body. It is for this reason that the provincial Pygmalion, paradoxically, does not create this being for himself but for another, namely Aleksander, who would become the true, mythological Pygmalion. It is only Aleksander who can bring to life Wincunia’s stony, dormant nature, awakening the woman in her, her body, sensuality, and mutual, authentic emotions.^[20] And again, paradoxically, Aleksander ultimately acquires a different Galatea to the one he had desired. By satisfying her sensual needs and more, he brings about the full development of Wincunia’s personality who only at that moment becomes the ideal woman that Bolesław had dreamed of (“she seemed to be a hundred times more beautiful to him than before, radiating with a maturity of spirit that shone through in her gaze, more luminescent and clearer than before,” part 2, chapter I). She was, finally, a woman who loved him. It is doubtful whether either Pygmalion, passing back and forth between each other their psychosomatic creative raw material, gave Wincunia a chance to develop autonomously. Even as she grows older as a disappointed wife and dedicated mother, Wincenta draws inspiration from what her guardian had sown (and continues to sow) in her. But since the ultimate fusion of Wincunia-Galatea and Bolesław-Pygmalion proves impossible, the heroine comes back to the point she started from: she lies “for days on end like a white statue,” with her gaze fixed, immobile, on the sun and on the one who created her (part 2, chapter X).

The third, unmistakable Pygmalion is Kalikst, who did not hide the pleasure he took in creating a new Matilda, although the conditions that made this possible might take the shine off his achievement. “Offering you my estate at the moment you most need it gives me great pleasure,” he said (part 2, chapter VII). This does reflect the crude joy of a wealthy man, delighted at purchasing a desired object but rather the pure delight of an act of creation, or at least taking delight in improving an initially failed endeavour, namely the “peculiar psychological mystery” of his chose one. As he says, “it seemed to me that I was reading a strange book where one page was written by an angel, another by the devil. […] I was overcome by a desire to […] put other pages into your book of spirit, ones that I had written myself” (part 2, chapter VII). The contrite femme fatale would become the only happy Galatea of the happy Pygmalion of the provinces. Following the death of the unhappy Galatea, the unhappy Pygmalion Topolski would go on to focus entirely on trying to make those around him happy and his surroundings a happy place.

Today’s feminists and those campaigning for emancipation should find Orzeszkowa’s novel hugely offensive. The image of a passive womanhood, immersed in a sense of martyrdom and destined to be subordinate to the creative hand of men – a structure that is perhaps more a legacy of romance novels than a genuine commentary on the customs of the time – is shocking today. The only autonomous act the female protagonists can undertake is to choose between the desires and passions that their emotional, corporeal nature calls forth. While the latter element might indeed draw praise from many readers today, for Orzeszkowa, the actual Pygmalion of all the female characters, this was a bone of contention and left her subject to stark criticism. She had a different understanding of emancipation – a humanist rather than gender-based one – and it was this idea that led her to defend womanhood against itself.