Karel Capek's Contribution to Czech National Literature

B. R. BRADBROOK

National tendencies inevitably play a great part in all branches of the public life of a nation which had to struggle for centuries for its freedom. In Czech art, such tendencies have been particularly stressed and discussed by many outstanding personalities of several generations. The harder the struggle, the more emotional their attitude tended to be. In his idealism, J. K. Tyl devoted all his energies to the idea of patriot- ism, only to be snubbed later by K. Havlicek for his passive, sentimental attitude. Havlicek's idealism, however, just as Tyl's, Némcová's and that of many others, with all its effectiveness, was none the less strong. They, too, chose to encourage the nation by their writings, in spite of their poverty and starvation. From the point of view of nationalism, innovators in literature and art were not always appreciated, at first. Byronic echoes in Mácha's poetry almost excluded his first works from Czech literature; Smetana was criticized for his "Wagnerianism", and Karel Capek earned for himself the name of a "Chestertonian conservative" from the great critic, F. X. Salda.1 Was it because they refused to conform to the tradi- tional pattern of Czech culture which, in its narrow sense, excluded everything "foreign"? These limited tendencies, prevailing at the end of the last century, led almost to provincialism and lack of self-criticism; gradually this began to disturb Czech cultural leaders. T. G. Masaryk and other personalities with a broad outlook pointed out our need to learn if we were to keep pace with the rest of the world. New ideas started streaming into the country, and books in translation appeared increasingly on the market; yet Karel Capek's first literary creations, published between

1 F. X. Salda, Kritické glosy k nové poesii ceské, [Collected Works of F. X. Salda], vol. 13 (Prague, 1939), p. 281. Karel Capek's Contribution to Czech Literature 1003 1916 and 1920, which might well have fitted into this new pattern, were accepted with no great applause. Among the writers concerned with the idea of nationalism in literature, F. X. Salda made the most important contribution to the subject. In addition to his essay, "Problem narodnosti v umeni",2 published in 1905, his whole work records the development of a solution to what was to become a burning problem for him. Salda himself was taught by Western literature and never failed to stress the importance of our observing European criteria, should our culture carry any weight. Yet he detached himself from the poet Vrchlicky, whom he formerly admired, blaming him for marring the tradition of Czech verse by introducing too much influence. Can one wonder that when the brothers Capek somewhat eccentrically appeared on the literary scene, their first works, full of foreign elements, displeased the stern critic? He did his best to cool their enthusiasm, describing their Luminous Depths as "a preparatory book of school exercises and copied literary models",3 reproaching them for their debt to Neoromanticism and Neo- classicism. Ultimately, however, it was Karel Capek's pragmatism with which Salda remained unreconciled, in spite of his later, more favourable criticism of Capek's works. Like T. G. Masaryk, Salda, too, found the vague moral aspects of pragmatism unacceptable and, con- sequently, his approach to Karel Capek's work always contained a certain amount of reserve. Unfavourable criticism from such an influential judge as F. X. Salda could easily extinguish the zeal of any young writer, who might thus be lost to literature; fortunately, this was not the case with Karel Capek, who remained himself uninfluenced by the sharp words of "the guard of the values", as M. Rutte called Salda.4 After all his preoccupation with the idea of the national writer, did Salda reach the point of being able to give a definition of such a writer? National art is to him "an open way to culture". "The first sign, even the essence and purpose, of a truly national art must be its positive value; that means it must not copy, repeating thus and multiplying weaknesses and shortcomings of the present day, but must increase and multiply national values. It must, let me put it in a nutshell, dramatize national virtues." 5 Alfred de Vigny's art is mentioned as a good example

- "The Problem of Nationality in Art", Boje o zitrek (Prague, 1941), fifth edition. 3 Kriticke glosy k nove poesii ceske, p. 153. 4 Mohyly s vavrinem (Prague, 1939), p. 101. 5 Boje o zitrek, pp. 160-162. 1004 B. R. Bradbrook for this definition, as distinct from Beranger's, the banality of which only decreases the value of a national art. It is strange that Salda chose a French poet, rather than a Czech, to exemplify his idea of national greatness in literature, although there are several Czechs for whom he had a great admiration. Here, obviously, "national" and "world-famous" are fused in his thoughts. If he had spoken about music, perhaps the names of Smetana and Dvorak would have come instantly to his mind; literature, however, did not inspire him in this way. Karel Capek, who was as concerned as Salda with the problem of greatness and nationality in literature, suggested:

If our literature is not so well-known and needed by the rest of the world as we would like it to be, it probably is not that our home conditions are too small, tight and inconvenient for the creation of a great and interesting literature, but rather that our literature is not sufficiently great, interesting, mature, sincere, and experienced to express fully and clearly the conditions of our Czech life and everything from the earth to the starry sky, which is contained in the Czech fate.8

This impartial statement, written in 1936, may have aroused the resent- ment of those who are ready to enumerate our great writers and express their well-deserved praise in opposition to Capek's argument. Knowing Capek's feelings towards his country, however, it cannot but be accepted as an expression of his wish to find the heart of the matter and rouse the Czechs from their inclination towards complacency about literature. It is true, of course, that great Czech writers created their works for their own nation, without concern for the world's opinion, and that they may not have had anything of particular importance to say to foreign readers; but why, then, should Smetana's characteristically Czech opera, The Bartered Bride, be one of the most popular all over the world? Capek comments on this point, too:

Why has Dickens, this most typically English writer, become a world- renowned author? Why Gogol and the rest who wrote such specifically Russian literature, as only Russian can be? Why Hamsun, so Nordic, why Sinclair Lewis, so one-hundred per cent American, why so many others who expressed, spontaneously or deliberately, the spirit, character, types and life of their own country? I appreciate that the above-mentioned writers do not belong to the same spiritual class, but it is true of all of them that they did not write 'international' literature; on the contrary, they created works absolutely national, their own, and it did not prevent them from becoming world-famous.7

6 K. Capek, Poznamky o tvorbe (Prague, 1959), pp. 45-46. 7 Ibid., p. 45. Karel Capek's Contribution to Czech Literature 1005 Here Karel Capek and F. X. Salda were in agreement, in spite of their mutual coolness and Salda's occasional lack of understanding. If we are to weigh the merit of a nation's literature on the scales of its importance to all the world, we may conclude that perhaps the Czechs have little to offer, apart from Macha, Capek and Hasek, whose names are familiar to the world. But this presents a real discrep- ancy. Is Capek (or Hasek for that matter) a greater artist than Neruda or Bfezina? When we consider the high moral values which, according to Salda, should characterize national literature, even Neruda is re- buked:

Neruda's tragic guilt - and here we must speak of a tragic guilt, for he was a great man - was that he did not distinguish quite clearly between national virtues and weaknesses, that he put shortcomings and trifles into poetry, making them charming and entertaining, instead of whipping them in right- eous indignation.8 In spite of Salda's tremendous contribution to Czech literary criticism, severity of this kind seems almost inhuman to a present-day reader, however one may appreciate its purpose. If Bfezina's merit was different from Capek's, Neruda may be considered Capek's teacher, particularly in the "journalistic genres", where their sense of humour and human approach make their writings particularly attractive. Perhaps Capek's humanity escaped the stern critic: was it not, in fact, the human element in Smetana's and Capek's work which opened the frontiers of foreign countries to them?

One must remember that Salda was not the only one to criticize Capek, at first; yet, Capek's success at home and abroad would easily put him into the category of a "national writer" if this is understood in a more human sense than in Salda's conception. Where did Capek's appeal lie? With the London performances of R.U.R. and The Insect Play in 1923, Capek's fame was established. The English audience was so impressed that these two plays have ever since remained unsurpassed in popularity by any of Capek's later and greater works. The fairyland allegory of insects created by the brothers Capek has won popular ap- proval by its manner of dealing with human qualities in general - pleasure-seeking, avarice, exploitation, egoism, and thirst for power - personified by butterflies, beetles, crickets and ants. The basic traits can 8 Boje o zitfek, p. 164. 1006 B. R. Bradbrook be found in any nation, and Capek's original presentation was appreciated. The dream of the tramp (whose part is similar to that of the old Greek chorus), as formally enacted on the stage, had the impact of novelty. The brightness and momentum of the comedy, with its deep underlying moral, also contributed substantially to its success. In Capek's opinion, militarism and the greed for power are the worst human vices, which is why, in his hierarchy of human vices, these are presented in the last act, as the culmination of the play. For those who witnessed the rise of Hitler's Germany, this final act of The Insect Play sounds very familiar; yet, how easy to forget that Capek's play was written ten years before Hitler could have dreamed that his policy of expansion might materialize! In 1923, perhaps only Bolshevist Russia could have inspired the Capeks to a certain extent, but the authors' imagination achieved far more in the climax of the play than we now realize. Similarly, other instances of Karel Capek's accurate forecasts can be found in his Krakatit or White Disease. If one thinks of Frankenstein and other artificial creatures in literature, Karel Capek's robots are no new invention. The relationship of man and machine was already topical and Capek's original conception, combined with excellent dramatic effect, enchanted the audience. Opin- ions may vary about which of these two plays is better and critics may rebuke Capek for a degree of inconsistency when he attributes some human feeling to the non-human robots in order to disentangle the plot; but this fault (if it is one) is outweighed by Karel Capek's art9 of distracting the reader's or spectator's attention from the nature of the invention to its effects. This applies to all Capek's science fiction. In R.U.R., the dramatic presentation of the robots renders the inconsistency hardly noticeable. How many readers after all would venture to conceive of the chemical formulas in R.U.R. or Krakatit, or the elixir of life in The Macropulos Secret? The absurdity of such an invention easily escapes the reader, because his interest is completely ab- sorbed in its effects. The importance of such skill will be more apparent if one remembers, for instance, H. G. Wells's attempt to explain the substance of the chemical which makes the main character of The Invisible Man imperceptible: there, the attention of the reader is unduly drawn to all the details, leaving him finally unconvinced. Capek's great dramatic talent becomes more striking also in comparison with George Bernard Shaw. The tremendous wit of this Anglo- Irish dramatist impressed Capek so much that when he visited Shaw in ' See Vaclav Cerny, Karel Capek (Prague, 1936), p. 15. Karel Capek's Contribution to Czech Literature 1007 London,10 he felt rather shy in his company. Before they had met, both of them were interested, quite independently, in the subject of longevity, resulting in Shaw's Back to Methuselah and Capek's Macro- pulos Secret. The fact that their views and conclusions differ diame- trically is immaterial; the treatment of the subject in dramatic form again confirms Capek's unusual theatrical sense: a brisk, three-act play was sufficient for Capek to scrutinize the most important aspects of the problem, while Shaw elaborated his profound philosophy in five com- plex plays, which one of his reviewers found "rather wonderful, but distinctly boring".11 Back to Methuselah may overshadow Capek's play in its profundity of ideas, but it lacks dramatic power, in spite of the fact that The Macropulos Secret, like other Capek plays, was not merely the result of inspiration: Capek's deliberate effort to improve the standard of play-writing by the creation of a better language for the stage is apparent:

If you write for the stage, remember that you are not writing an essay. A spectator cannot think back to the beginning of the sentence; what is said to him must be complete in each moment.12

Karel Capek is known mainly as a dramatist, but his masterpiece, the trilogy Hordubal, Meteor, and An Ordinary Life, secures him a place among great novelists as well, in spite of the fact that, unlike other great novelists, he did not create great heroes. As an ardent in- novator of form, Capek tried to fulfil his wish to attempt all literary genres - a fact which may be responsible, to some extent, for Capek's failure to reach still greater brilliance in any one field. Always alert to cultural events at home and abroad, he was influenced by Cubism in so far that he introduced it into literature. In his trilogy, the different perspectives in which the heroes are drawn also help to express Capek's philosophy of relativism. From the subjective-objective view of Hordubal, Capek proceeds to present the hero of Meteor in a purely objective, three-level-conception, and, finally, depicts the plural- ity of the human mind in the individualist hero of An Ordinary Life. Philosophical ideas veiled in the art of simple story-telling were a novelty in Czech literature, and as such they were not always accepted with immediate enthusiasm; even Salda did not quite appreciate the com-

10 See B. R. Bradbrook, "Letters to England from Karel Capek", The Slavonic and East European Review, XXXIX : 92 (Dec., I960), pp. 63-64. 11 Desmond MacCarthy, Shaw (London, 1951), p. 139. 12 Poznamky o tvorbe, p. 61. 1008 B. R. Bradbrook mon denominator in Hordubal,13 but he fully acknowledged the value of An Ordinary Life:

Capek's poetical merit is his discovery of so many internal links between one man and another ... This, in Capek, is not merely a philosophical thesis; it is life, seen by a very kind, acute and observing eye.14 The latter statement deserves special attention. There is no denying that Karel Capek could be called a philosophical writer, and one must agree with René Wellek that Capek's trilogy is "one of the most success- ful attempts at a philosophical novel in any language".15 Philosophy en- riched Capek's art, but was it really his primary aim? After his success- ful study of philosophy, it was expected as a matter of course that Capek would become a university teacher of the subject, but he chose to become a writer. Naturally, philosophy was always in his subconscious, whatever he wrote, but wherever he used it deliberately, it was as a means to an artistic end, rather than an end in itself.

As far as my life's philosophy and opinions on metaphysics are concerned, I am not sure whether I have ever formed anything of the kind; they grew in me just as I got my teeth, and I realize their existence only when using them, just as my teeth come into consideration (if they are in order) only when I am eating.16 The fact that Karel Capek has not created great characters sounds like a paradox, if one only recalls his tremendous concern with human nature, his feeling for detail and all the witty observations he made, for instance, in his charming travel sketches. When writing his plays and novels, he obviously paid more attention to composition than characterisation, which was better in his short stories. At a time when the short story as a literary form was rather neglected, Capek became a real master of this genre in his Painful Stories, Tales from Two Pockets, and Apocryphal Stories. Their brevity, momentum and wit, the author's humour and his human approach to crime enchanted readers both at home and abroad; and these stories are ranked among the best Capek has written. They convey the sense of a living world better than any other work of Capek, the world of simple people who so deeply interested him. Although his philosophy and great artistic achievements are notable in the trilogy and some of his plays, these were not the only works 13 Kritické glosy, p. 344. 14 Ibid., p. 463. 15 See W. E. Harkins, Karel Capek (New York, 1962), p. 129. 16 Poznamky o tvorbé, p. 78. Karel Capek's Contribution to Czech Literature 1009 responsible for Capek's reputation as a famous writer. A good half of Capek's talent was devoted to journalism. Stern critics may sneer at this kind of professional literature, forgetting that Dickens and Chesterton, for example, as well as other great writers, were journalists and that many of the novels of Dickens, like Capek's Absolute at Large and War with the Newts, first appeared as serials; for Capek, journalism led to the creation of many excellent essays, travel books, causeries, fairy-tales and pieces of other lesser genres which might be called "journalistic". Apart from Neruda, from whom Capek learnt a good deal, it was mainly literary historians who cultivated the art of essay-writing in Czech literature before Capek. Finding great delight in reading essays by Chesterton, to whom Capek was indebted in other ways,17 the Czech writer did his best to master the form in order to enrich Czech literature by this less common genre:

In literature, as in real life, the rich live unscrupulously off other people's labour; as far as I am concerned, I belong rather to those who collect material for the future, and I should be grateful to people who can make the best use of it. I am not doing it for myself.18 Often these writings which originated in journalism are omitted when Capek's merit as a writer is assessed. This is unjust, for they complete Capek's personality as an artist and contribute considerably to his greatness as a national writer. In this field Capek's sparkling wit, his bril- liant improvisations, enviable ease of writing, immense gift of observa- tion, sense of detail and gentle humour are at least as outstanding as in his other works; his extraordinary sensitivity to the atmosphere of the countries described in the various travel books has often been praised by foreign critics:

[Capek] has none of the Teuton reverence for the special things that guide- books praise with stars, since to him everything is worthy of a star, everything an object of interest.19 It is exactly in the travel sketches and causeries that Capek's humour is "singularly revealing" 20 and his "impromptu wit and intuitive wis- dom" 21 striking.

17 See B. R. Bradbrook, "The Literary Relationship between G. K. Chesterton and Karel Capek", The Slavonic and East European Review, XXXIX : 93 (June, 1961). 18 Poznamky o tvorbe, p. 79. 19 The Times Literary Supplement, (March 23, 1933), p. 198. 20 Ibid., (1925), p. 219. 21 Ibid., (1926), p. 512. 1010 B. R. Bradbrook In his causeries, Capek revealed for us the world of small, insignif- icant things. They, too, were worthy of his notice and what he has made of them in, for instance, his Intimate Things is worthy of a great writer. Amateur gardeners, particularly in England, delighted in his Gardener's Year, which soon became a bestseller in that country. Last, but not least, Capek's impressive knowledge and broad outlook contributed to his success. He was, in fact, an eternal student, continual- ly increasing his experience in various fields:

To learn is my great and insatiable passion; I dare say, I write in order to learn. Possibly I might make a good specialist (what a lost opportunity!), if I could limit myself to one field; unfortunately, I am interested in everything that exists; that is why I cannot but be a writer.22

The wide range of Capek's knowledge, which included science, was re- markable, although his science fiction does not offer a full proof of this. Because of his natural curiosity, his meeting with Professor Blackett, the nuclear physicist, in Cambridge in 1924 was a thrilling event for him. It is well known how widely read Capek was. He learnt a good deal from great foreign writers, whose influence can be traced in his work, as Capek himself did not deny:

Influences, influences ... it makes me embarrassed if I am to admit them; it is a matter of embarras de richesse. ... I have no great opinion about originality.23 This statement must, of course, be accepted with reservations, taking Capek's great modesty into consideration. In spite of his debt to such writers as G. K. Chesterton, H. G. Wells, G. B. Shaw and Anatole France, motifs derived from them appeared in his work transformed into entirely original concepts; he never became a mere epigone. Before Capek, foreign characters were not common in Czech literature and Capek's pragmatic philosophy may also be considered a foreign element; if he introduced them, they served to emphasize typically Czech features in his works rather than to blur them. In this connection, the sharp contrast between the idyllic countryside scenes in Krakatit and the dim atmosphere of the strange Balttin come to mind, or the wise peasant- god in the same novel; when visiting and describing foreign countries, his own was always in his mind for comparison. However close Ches- terton's Father Brown may be to Capek's detectives Mejzlik and Janik, 22 Poznamky o tvorbe, p. 78. 13 Ibid., p. 79. Karel Capek's Contribution to Czech Literature 1011 the latter are typical Czechs, just as are Isachar's wife Dinah and other characters from the Apocryphal Stories. A streak of realism, which R. Dyboski considers typically Czech,24 can be traced throughout Capek's work, in spite of the neoromanticism of his science fiction and relativist approach to human values. What- ever the shortcomings of pragmatism, it was the philosophical expression of Capek's common sense, his humanity and attitude to life. His gentle humour and ironic cheerfulness, his faith in man and freedom from all a priori prejudices, together with the high respect he had for his native language, increased the value of his writings. By his use of colloquial speech in literature he introduced an extremely refreshing element from which the following generation of writers greatly bene- fited. If Capek's work was intelligible to and acceptable by other countries, it spoke most clearly to the Czech nation, which was always Capek's first consideration. In times of peace he tried to raise the standard of culture of his people, and in time of anxiety and approaching danger he warned and encouraged. In order to address a wider public, he re- turned to drama after a period of prose-writing, and created The White Disease and The Mother, his most patriotic works. They, too, found their way abroad and increased Capek's popularity. Already in 1924, it was said that "Europe of today is his stage and the world his audience",25 but Capek's attitude to his country, like that of Lot in his Apocryphal Stories, always remained consistent:

But thou art as nothing else: and everything that is, is only in comparison with thee. If I look upon thee, I see only thee, and if I look upon something else, I see it only as compared with thee. ... I see thee even when I close my eyes, for thou art deeper than my sight; thou art in me, even as I have been in thee.26

24 The Slavonic and East European Review, II : 3 (1923-1924), p. 196. 25 Ashley Dukes, The Youngest Drama (London, 1924), p. 116. " K. Capek, Apocryphal Stories (London, 1949), p. 55.