Storieta illustrated edition
by Henryk Sienkiewicz
English380 downloads on Project GutenbergDownload EPUB
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #35736.
The volume gathers a series of short narratives that blend myth, folklore, and moral reflection, all rendered into English from Henryk Sienkiewicz’s original Polish. The collection opens with a Hindu legend that imagines two vast plains, Life and Death, governed by the deities Vishnu and Shiva, and follows the human quest for eternal rest that ultimately summons Fear and Pain to guard the passage between realms. Subsequent pieces, such as the tender dialogue between a mother and a wandering messenger and a sea‑bound tale, continue the pattern of concise, allegorical storytelling, each anchored in a distinct cultural setting while echoing universal concerns about love, sacrifice, and the limits of human desire.
Sienkiewicz’s prose, filtered through the late‑19th‑century translation of Jeremiah Curtin, carries a measured, almost didactic cadence that feels both formal and lyrical. The language is richly descriptive yet economical, allowing vivid images of lotus‑filled ponds, luminous plains, and rustic cottages to emerge without excess. Readers who appreciate compact, philosophically charged tales, especially those that draw on Eastern and Slavic mythic traditions, will find the book’s blend of narrative clarity and reflective depth a rewarding entry point into Sienkiewicz’s broader literary world.
The opening · free to read
There were two regions lying side by side, as it were two immense plains, with a clear river flowing between them.
At one point the banks of this river sloped gently to a shallow ford in the shape of a pond with transparent, calm water.
Beneath the azure surface of this ford could be seen its golden bed, from which grew stems of lotus; on those stems bloomed white and rose-colored flowers above the mirror of water. Rainbow-hued insects and butterflies circled around the flowers and among the palms of the shore, while higher up in the sunny air birds gave out sounds like those of silver bells. This pond was the passage from one region to the other.
The first region was called the Plain of Life, the second the Plain of Death.
The supreme and all mighty Brahma had created both plains, and had commanded the good Vishnu to rule in the Region of Life, while the wise Siva was lord in the Region of Death.
"Do what ye understand to be best," said Brahma to the two rulers.
Hence in the region belonging to Vishnu life moved with all its activity. The sun rose and set; day followed night, and night followed day; the sea rose and fell; in the sky appeared clouds big with rain; the earth was soon covered with forests, and crowded with beasts, birds, and people.
So that all living creatures might increase greatly and multiply, the kindly god created Love, which he made to be Happiness also.
After this Brahma summoned Vishnu and said to him:
"Thou canst produce nothing better on earth, and since heaven is created already by me, do thou rest and let those whom thou callest people weave the thread of life for themselves unassisted."
Vishnu obeyed this command, and henceforward men ordered their own lives. From their good thoughts came joy, from their evil ones, sorrow; and they saw soon with wonder that life was not an unbroken rejoicing, but that with the life thread which Brahma had mentioned they wove out two webs as it were with two faces,--on one of these was a smile; there were tears in the eyes of the other.
They went then to the throne of Vishnu and made complaint to him:
"O Lord! life is grievous through sorrow."
"Let Love give you happiness," said Vishnu in answer.
At these words they went away quieted, for Love indeed scattered their sorrows, which, in view of the happiness given, seemed so insignificant as to be undeserving of notice.
But Love is also the mighty mother of life, hence, though the region which Vishnu ruled was enormous, it was soon insufficient for the myriads of people; soon there was not fruit enough upon trees there, nor berries enough upon bushes, nor honey enough from cliff bees.
Thereupon all the men who were wisest fell to cutting down forests for the clearing of land, for the sowing of seed, for the winning of harvests.
Thus Labor appeared among people. Soon all had to turn to it, and labor became not merely the basis of life, but life itself very nearly.
But from Labor came Toil, and Toil produced Weariness.
Great throngs of people appeared before Vishnu a second time.
"O Lord!" exclaimed they, stretching their hands to him, "toil has weakened our bodies, weariness spreads through our bones, we are yearning for rest, but Life drives us always to labor."
"The great and all mighty Brahma has not allowed me to shape Life any further, but I am free to make that which will cause it to halt, and rest will come then to you."
And Vishnu made Sleep.
Men received this new gift with rejoicing, and very soon saw in it one of the greatest boons given by the deity thus far. In sleep vanished care and vexation, during sleep strength returned to the weary; sleep, like a cherishing mother, wiped away tears of sorrow and surrounded the heads of the slumbering with oblivion.
So people glorified sleep, and repeated:
"Be blessed, for thou art far better than life in our waking hours."
And they had one regret only, that it did not continue forever. After sleep came awakening, and after awakening came labor with fresh toil and weariness.
This thought began soon to torture all men so sorely, that for the third time they stood before Vishnu.
"O Lord," said they, "thou hast given us a boon which, though great and unspeakably precious, is incomplete as it now appears. Wilt thou grant us that sleep be eternal?"
Vishnu wrinkled his brows then in anger at this their insistence, and answered:
"I cannot give what ye ask of me, but go to the neighboring ford, and beyond ye will find that for which ye are seeking."
The people heard the god's voice and went on in legions immediately. They went to the ford, and, halting there, gazed at the shore lying opposite.
Beyond the clear, calm, and flower-bedecked surface stretched the Plain of Death, or the Kingdom of Siva.
The sun never rose and never set in that region; there was no day and no night there, but the whole plain was of a lily-colored, absolute clearness. No shadow fell in that region, for clearness inhered there so thoroughly that it seemed the real essence of Siva's dominions.
The region was not empty. As far as the eye could reach were seen heights and valleys where beautiful trees stood in groups; on those trees rose climbing plants, while ivy and grapevines were hanging from the cliff sides.
But the cliffs and the tree trunks and the slender plant stems were almost transparent, as if formed out of light grown material. The leaves of the ivy had in them a delicate roseate light as of dawn. And all was in marvellous rest, such as none on the Plain of Life had experienced; all was as if sunk in serene meditation, as if dreaming and resting in continuous slumber, unthreatened by waking.
In the clear air not the slightest breeze was discovered, not a flower was seen moving, not a leaf showed a quiver.
The people who had come to the shore with loud conversation and clamor grew silent at sight of those lily-colored, motionless spaces, and whispered:
"What quiet! How everything rests there in clearness!"
"Oh, yes, there is rest and unbroken repose in that region."
So some, namely, those who were weariest, said after a silence:
"Let us find the sleep which is surely unbroken."
And they entered the water. The rainbow-hued surface opened straightway before them, as if wishing to lighten the passage. Those who remained on the shore began now to call after them, but no man turned his head, and all hurried forward with willingness and lightly, attracted more and more by the charm of that wonderful region.
The throng which gazed from the shore of Life at them noted this also: that as they moved forward their bodies grew gradually less heavy, becoming transparent and purer, more radiant, and as it were blending with that absolute clearness which filled the whole Plain of Death, Siva's kingdom.
And when they had passed and disposed themselves amid flowers and at trees or the bases of cliffs, to repose there, their eyes were closed, but their faces had on them not only an expression of ineffable peace, but also of happiness such as Love itself on the Plain of Life had never given.
Seeing this, those who had halted behind said one to another:
"The region belonging to Siva is sweeter and better."
And they began to pass to that shore in increasing numbers. There went in solemn procession old men, and men in ripe years, and husbands and wives, and mothers who led little children, and maidens, and youths, and then thousands and millions of people pushed on toward that Calm Passage, till at last the Plain of Life was depopulated almost entirely.
Then Vishnu, whose task it was to keep life from extinction, was frightened because of the advice which he had given in his anger, and not knowing what to do else hastened quickly to Brahma.
"Save Life, O Creator!" said he. "Behold, thou hast made the inheritance of Death now so beautiful, so serene, and so blissful that all men are leaving my kingdom."
"Have none remained with thee there?" inquired Brahma.
"Only one youth and one maiden, who are in love beyond measure; they renounce endless bliss rather than close their eyes and gaze on each other no longer."
"What dost thou wish, then?"
"Make the region of Death less delightful, less happy; if not, even those two when their springtime of love shall be ended will leave me and follow the others."
Brahma thought for a moment and answered:
"No! Oh no! I will not decrease beauty and happiness in the region of Death, but I will do something for Life in its own realm. Henceforward people will not pass to the other shore willingly, they must be forced to it."
When he had said this he made a thick veil out of darkness which no one could see through, and next he created two terrible beings, one of these he named Fear and the other one Pain. He commanded them then to hang that black veil at the Passage.
Thereafter Vishnu's kingdom was as crowded with life as it had been, for though the region of Death was as calm, as serene, and as blissful as ever, people dreaded the Passage.
IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?
In the distance a dark strip of pine wood was visible. In front of the wood was a meadow, and amid fields of grain stood a cottage covered with a straw roof and with moss. Birch trees hung their tresses above it. On a fir tree stood a stork on its nest, and in a cherry garden were dark beehives.
Through an open gate a wanderer walked into the yard and said to the mistress of the cottage, who was standing on its threshold:
"Peace to this quiet house, to those trees, to the grain, to the whole place, and to thee, mother!"
The woman greeted him kindly, and added:
"I will bring bread and milk to thee, wayfarer; but sit down the while and rest, for it is clear that thou art coming back from a long journey."
"I have wandered like that stork, and like a swallow; I come from afar, I bring news from thy children."
Her whole soul rushed to the eyes of that mother, and she asked the wayfarer straightway:
"Dost thou know of my Yasko?"
"Dost thou love that son most that thou askest first about him? Well, one son of thine is in forests, he works with his axe, he spreads his net in lakes; another herds horses in the steppe, he sings plaintive songs and looks at the stars; the third son climbs mountains, passes over naked rocks and high pastures, spends the night with sheep and shouts at the eagles. All bend down before thy knees and send thee greeting."
"But Yasko?" asked the mother with an anxious face.
"I keep sad news for the last. Life is going ill with Yasko: the field does not give its fruit to him, poverty and hunger torment the man, his days and months pass in suffering. Amid strangers and misery he has even forgotten thy language; forget him, since he has no thought for thee."
When he had finished, the woman took the man's hand, led him to her pantry in the cottage, and, seizing a loaf from the shelf, she said:
"Give this bread, O wayfarer, to Yasko!"
Then she untied a small kerchief, took a bright silver coin from it, and with trembling voice added:
"I am not rich, but this too is for Yasko."
"Woman!" said the wayfarer now with astonishment, "thou hast many sons, but thou sendest gifts to only one of them. Dost thou love him more than the others? Is he the dearest one?"
She raised her great sad eyes, filled with tears, and answered:
"My blessing is for them all, but my gifts are to Yasko, for I am a mother, and he is my poorest son."
There was a ship named "The Purple," so strong and so great that she feared neither winds nor waves, even when they were raging most terribly.
"The Purple" swept on, with every sail set, she rose upon each swelling wave and crushed with her conquering prow hidden rocks on which other ships foundered. She moved ever forward with sails which were gleaming in sunlight, and moved with such swiftness that foam roared at her sides and stretched out behind in a broad, endless road-streak.
"That is a glorious craft," cried out crews on all other ships; "a man might think that she sails just to punish the ocean."
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