st remember
was before 1826. In the poetical works of Mickiewicz there was always
traceable an inclination to break tradition and to search for new and
untried possibilities.

On this exile in Russia he learned to know Puschkin, then a young man
like himself. Puschkin has written a verse letter to him which we
transcribe in free prose. "He lived among us for a while--a people
strange to him. And yet his mind cherished no hatred and no longing for
revenge. Generous, kind of heart, noble-minded, he joined our evening
circles, and we loved him. We exchanged our dreams, our plans--our
poems. God gave him genius and inspiration. He stood always on the
heights and looked down on life. We talked of history and of nations. He
declared a time would come when races would forget all evil things--like
war, rebellion--and dwell together peaceably in one great family. We
listened to him eagerly for he had the gift of speech. After a while he
went away and we gave our blessing to him. Then we learned our
guest--spurred on by his revengeful race--had become our enemy. To
please that bitter race of his he filled his songs with hatred. Of our
beloved friend there came to us only revenge and angry thoughts. God
grant that peace may come again to his embittered heart!"

Puschkin himself wrote eloquently of these same Crimean scenes that
Mickiewicz shows us. He, too, was inspired by the old capital city of
the Tartar rulers. We recall his "Fountain of Baktschi Serai." And he,
too, brings before our eyes again that gigantic mountain world of
southern Russia in "The Prisoner of the Caucasus."

The fame of The Crimean Sonnets was so great that Mickiewicz was offered
a government position which attached him to the person of the powerful
Prince Galitzin, in Moscow. It was in Rome, and singularly enough it was
when he wrote the "Ode to Youth" that he began to devote himself to
mystical studies which had such an injurious effect upon his mind. For
some time after he had lost his fluent power as a poet, he retained his
conversational gifts which were remarkable and brought him almost as
much fame as his poetry. His life ended in a period as dramatic as that
in which it began. He entered the Turkish wars in 1855 and died in
Stamboul in that same year. It is somewhat peculiar and at the same time
no little to his credit that he should have chosen the sonnet as the
instrument of his quick sketching of Crimea on the trip of exile,
because the sonnet