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• 1 media/Missile Lobber v20.jpg media/Missile Lobber v20.jpg 2024-10-13T08:24:57-07:00 General Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski (1881-1942): The Sienkiewiczian Vir Incomparabilis of Interwar Poland 9 image_header 2025-01-14T03:42:33-08:00 Izabella Parowicz
  Europa-Universität Viadrina Frankfurt (Oder)
  
  Abstract
  
  This essay examines the life and legacy of Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski (1881–1942), a multifaceted figure in Polish history, renowned as the “First Lancer of the Second Polish Republic.” By contextualizing his life within the Romantic zeitgeist and the enduring knightly ethos exemplified in Henryk Sienkiewicz’s literary works, the study explores Wieniawa-Długoszowski's embodiment of masculinity as both a soldier and a diplomat. Wieniawa-Długoszowski’s ascent to political prominence is traced through his military service in the Polish Legions, his close relationship with Józef Piłsudski, and his diplomatic roles, which combined chivalric virtues such as integrity, ethics, and flair with a mature and responsible understanding of statecraft. This analysis also delves into enduring Wieniawa-Długoszowski’s cultural resonance, examining how his personal characteristics—cavalier’s flair, wit, and unwavering loyalty—resonated with interwar Polish society and established him as an enduring symbol of the nation’s knightly ideal. The essay highlights his struggle to reconcile his ethos with the political and personal challenges of his era, culminating in his tragic death during World War II. Ultimately, Wieniawa-Długoszowski’s life serves as a lens through which to explore the intersection of masculine virtue, historical circumstance, and the construction of national identity.
  
  Keywords:  Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski / Knightly ethos / Masculinity / Henryk Sienkiewicz / Interwar Poland
  
  If a plebiscite similar to today’s People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” with physical appearance as the sole criterion, had been conducted in interwar Poland, the same man would have been victorious year after year. Conversely, if, aligning with the interwar zeitgeist, the plebiscite aimed to identify the most masculine individual, with looks just as an addition to other features that define a true man, the winner would still have been the same man: the remarkably handsome Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski.¹ He is primarily remembered as the adjutant and confidante of Marshall Józef Piłsudski, the key figure in the restoration of Poland’s independence in 1918, after 123 years of annexation by Russia, Prussia and Austria. Wieniawa-Długoszowski also executed special orders for Piłsudski, carrying out secret and highly sensitive diplomatic missions. A veteran of the First World War and a cavalryman who rose to the rank of general in the Polish army, he later served as the Polish ambassador to Italy. In addition to his military career, he was a medical doctor, writer, and painter. He enjoyed a popularity that surpassed that of many Polish celebrities of the interwar period,² a popularity that had nothing to do with the relatively new phenomenon of film idols, which it predated in Poland. However, his popularity in Polish society was not solely attributable to his physical appeal and diverse roles. Instead, his contemporary embodiment and realization of the knightly ethos, aspired to by Polish men and longed for by Polish women, formed the essence of his legendary status, both during his lifetime and continuing in some quarters today.³
  
  Understanding Wieniawa-Długoszowski's impact requires an exploration of Polish society in the late nineteenth century, still under the shadow of Poland's partitioning, and an assessment of the Romantic zeitgeist he came to embody. Central to this understanding is an introduction to a trilogy of novels by the Polish author Henryk Sienkiewicz, written between 1884 and 1888, which profoundly influenced the mentality, imagination, and behavior of the Polish people on a national scale. It was through the interplay of these external factors, the cultural and historical context of both his own time and the preceding era, and Wieniawa-Długoszowski’s unique position and personal characteristics that he earned an incomparable status and forged a lasting legend.
  
  The Polish value for the knightly ethos, not as antiquated but rather as an enduring ideal, may be singular in national cultures of the first decades of the twentieth century. The vitality of the knightly ethos in the Polish nation was influenced by historical events and the geopolitical situation. From 1795 to 1918, Poland was absent from the map of Europe, having lost its lands, sovereignty, and agency to partitioners who implemented repressive, and at times terrorist, policies against Poles, restricting their rights and often depriving them of basic freedoms. Despite these conditions, as Cywiński notes, Polish society consistently demonstrated distinctiveness and independence, particularly evident among politically conscious elites such as the nobility and the bourgeoisie, who actively engaged in diverse forms of Christian culture (31). Simultaneously, the nineteenth century witnessed significant developments in Polish culture, particularly within Romantic literature. Writers like Adam Mickiewicz and Juliusz Słowacki, fascinated by the Middle Ages, revived a knightly ethos that combined aristocratic values with Christian virtues (Tokarski 32). Furthermore, Romanticism fostered a cult of youth, celebrating audacity, ready courage, and steadfast faith in God, homeland, and victory. The mystical national aura of nineteenth-century literature (as well as, though perhaps to a lesser extent, fine arts and music) bestowed a transcendent quality upon the Polish nation. As noted by Marcin Darmas, the adherence to this ethos led Polish men to resist pragmatism and rational calculation (9) and to become a vital force in the struggle against partitioners (120-1).
  
  Consequently, throughout the nineteenth century, Poles periodically engaged in armed resistance against the partitioners, especially the Russians. Unevenly matched, the Poles faced severe defeats each time and subsequently endured additional brutal repression. This pattern was notable in the two largest national uprisings of the nineteenth century, the November Uprising (1830-1) and the January Uprising (1863-4). After the 1864 defeat, the Polish nation, mindful of a grim history, adopted an attitude that was perhaps not defeatist but rather pessimistic and survivalist, with – as Monika Bartoszewicz says – no goals projected into the future. This impassivity built in the absence of pretexts for further patriotic uprisings and an expressive leader.
  
  Twenty years after the January Uprising, the mood of society began to change. An important factor in this shift was the author Henryk Sienkiewicz, who won a Nobel Prize in 1905. Skillfully navigating the intricacies and prohibitions of Tsarist censorship,⁴ he authored The Trilogy (1884-1888), three historical novels crafted, as the author noted in the epilogue to the third volume, “to strengthen the hearts” (Sienkiewicz 527). Ryszard Koziołek correctly interprets the author’s intention to strengthen or nourish what is sick or weak: body and mind (476). Sienkiewicz set his novels in the 17th century, a time when Poland faced internal conflicts with Ukraine (Ogniem i mieczem/With Fire and Sword, 1884) and external threats from Sweden (Potop/The Deluge, 1886) and Turkey (Pan Wołodyjowski/Pan Michael,⁵ 1888). The strength of the nation allowed Poland to emerge victorious from these deadly difficulties, and Sienkiewicz aimed to replace the historical consciousness of his generation with an alternative vision of history. He intended this alternative vision as a source of spiritual strength and optimism for the future (476). With his pen, Sienkiewicz substituted, in Koziołek’s words, a defeat fulfilled with a defeat overcome (486). The heroes in the novels modeled this resilience (Koziołek 486), and they captured the minds and imagination of Polish readers to an extent unknown before or since (Gliński). Sienkiewicz accurately recognized the need to create crystal characters, flawless but flesh and blood, who were to become models for Polish manhood (Kosman 234).
  
  It is worth introducing some of the most important characters here. Some of them were modelled on historical personages—either from the period depicted in the novels or from among Sienkiewicz’s contemporaries. Jan Skrzetuski, the protagonist of With Fire and Sword, is the lieutenant for the armored troop of Prince Jeremi Wiśniowiecki, and he is portrayed as a knight without blemish—the most loyal and trusted. His dedication to the homeland and God surpasses life itself, as he downplays his personal dramas in the face of the nation’s misfortune. In The Deluge, Andrzej Kmicic, a nobleman from Lithuania holding the esteemed rank of standard-bearer, is depicted as an unruly and at times cruel daredevil. “Brought to error”⁶ by a traitor to the fatherland, Kmicic undertakes a spectacular conversion to rehabilitate his tarnished reputation, and he resolves to change his identity. Through exceptional deeds in the service of Poland and the king, he redeems his past sins and, in the end, reclaims the love of the woman he cherishes. Dragoon Colonel Jerzy Michał Wołodyjowski features prominently throughout The Trilogy, while being the titular hero of its final installment, Pan Michael. Nicknamed “the little knight” due to his small stature, he is typically unlucky in love. However, he is an unbeatable swordsman, commanding great respect from his subordinates and instilling fear in his enemies. Longinus Podbipięta, featured in With Fire and Sword, is a good-natured, deeply religious, immensely strong, wealthy nobleman from Lithuania, who wields a large Teutonic sword with ease and vows chastity until he can sever three heads with a single stroke. Finally, Jan Onufry Zagłoba, considerably older than the others and the most eloquent among them, is a liquor-loving nobleman of uncertain origin. Despite being a cowardly mythomaniac and braggart, he manages to perform heroic deeds, seemingly by chance. Most importantly, he is extremely resourceful and witty, saving his comrades and himself from trouble time after time. His resourcefulness earns him the name of Ulysses and the title of vir incomparabilis (“incomparable man”). In the individual parts of the Trilogy, these characters alternate taking center stage and fading into the background. Through the writer’s skill, they come to life in their heroism and ordinary aspects, evoking admiration for their “fight[ing] the good fight of the faith” (1 Tim. 6:12), as Saint Paul described it. This portrayal leads readers to wish to identify with them and share in their adventures.
  
  Historical events are intricately woven into literary fiction. Sienkiewicz brings to life prominent historical figures, notably the borderland prince Jeremi Wiśniowiecki, portrayed in With Fire and Sword as a formidable avenger of the wrongs suffered by the Republic of Poland. King John IV Casimir Vasa, in reality a rather unsuccessful ruler, appears in The Deluge with some slight embellishment. Pan Michael highlights, the great leader and conqueror of the Turks, Jan Sobieski, later King of Poland, with his qualities emphasized as a means of heartening Polish readers. Contrasted with these figures are traitors to the homeland and collaborators with the enemy, such as the Lithuanian princes Janusz and Bogusław Radziwiłł (The Deluge). Readers are meant to abhor their attitude, taking delight instead in the fidelity and loyalty of the main characters to commanders and rulers dedicated to the good of the homeland.
  
  While Sienkiewicz’s novels feature female characters and attracted a diverse readership, it was the male protagonists who played a central role in inspiring the knightly ethos important for understanding Wieniawa-Długoszowski’s appeal. Sienkiewicz delineated a distinct program of masculinity in his literary works. His knights are characterized by courage, physical fitness, leadership, decisiveness, responsibility, and kindness (Koziołek 530). Paradoxically, these male heroes have maternal traits which, in the Polish worldview steeped in Catholicism, do not conflict with, but rather complement, masculinity: generosity, fidelity, loyalty, mercy, self-sacrifice, humility, and renunciation of egoism (Koziołek 80).  Through its dramatized portrayal of significant and pivotal moments in Polish history, Sienkiewicz's national epic elevated and glorified the attitudes and behaviors of individuals who, often by overcoming personal weakness and self-interest, contributed to victories on a national scale. At the same time, it exposed the national flaws that ultimately led to the downfall of the Polish Republic, presenting them in a way that not only warned against their repetition but also encouraged introspection. Most importantly, it reinforced the virtue of patriotism among its numerous readers.
  
  According to Marceli Kosman, Sienkiewicz intended his historical trilogy to be didactic, adhering to the scholastic principle: nihil appetitum nisi praecognitum (“nothing is desired unless known”) (Bocheński 23), and by all accounts he was wildly successful (Kosman 25). The model of the knight-patriot created by him, serving God and the homeland, particularly affected readers’ imaginations (35). Radiating with a halo of heroism, overcoming their own shortcomings, and, above all, by consistently prioritizing the good of the fatherland over private interests, the characters of The Trilogy inspired all strata of Polish society. This contribution led to the democratization of the knightly ethos and the awakening of a unified feeling in a nation of several million people (Krzyżanowski 161). He achieved something that likely surpassed his literary aspirations: he bestowed upon the Polish nation a shared historical narrative and self-image, providing it with a sense of self and restoring ontological security (Bartoszewicz) after decades of instability and spiritual stagnation. Sienkiewicz’s contemporary, the writer Maria Konopnicka, paid a most beautiful compliment to his work: “The noble community in which Sienkiewicz fell in love, enamored of the beautiful side of its knightly countenance, of the generous shedding of blood for the beloved fatherland, of the heroism, animosity, and unsurpassed chivalry, of that vigor of spirit which flows from physical and moral robustness and is a sign of inner health . . . The depleted, battered soul of the nation vibrated toward these images of former greatness and strength” (Konopnicka).
  
  Through his novels, Sienkiewicz fostered the generation that, in 1918, reclaimed Poland’s independence. The magnitude of his influence is further evidenced by the popularity, twenty years later, of the pseudonyms of the heroes from Sienkiewicz’s Trilogy among soldiers of the Polish underground and partisans during World War II (Koziołek 536).
  
  The masculinity program delineated by Sienkiewicz played a significant and normative role in shaping specific character traits and attitudes within the male segment of Polish society. This influence was particularly noteworthy given Poland’s geopolitical location, exposing its male population to frequent participation in wars, primarily defensive in nature. It profoundly influenced the philosophy of Józef Piłsudski (1867-1935), a distinguished Polish independence activist during the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries, recognized as one of the architects of Polish independence, and later Chief of State and Commander-in-Chief of the Polish forces. Born as a subject of the Tsarist regime, Piłsudski initiated his pro-independence struggle in the 1880s, resulting in a five-year exile to Siberia. Sienkiewicz’s works, alongside other Romantic literature, instilled in Piłsudski the belief that to confront a formidable adversary such as the partitioners necessitated exceptional individuals who could embody and actualize the knightly ethos (Urbankowski 14).
  
  In the Austrian partition, known for its relatively lenient policy towards subordinate nations, Piłsudski formed a covert military organization, the Union of Active Struggle (Związek Walki Czynnej), in 1908. It aimed to prepare men for an armed uprising against the Tsarist regime and to train them as future officers in the Polish Army. Two years later, Piłsudski also spearheaded the establishment of the Riflemen’s Association (Związek Strzelecki), a paramilitary organization with socio-educational objectives that was officially registered by the Austrian authorities. This association attracted Polish youth who, after decades of compelled service in the partitioning armies, eagerly joined the Riflemen’s Association and like clandestine organizations in the Prussian and Russian partitions. Raised with a strong sense of patriotism at home and influenced by Sienkiewicz’s works, young Poles were convinced of their duty to contribute to the defense of their homeland through armed actions (Potkański 82). The Riflemen’s Association and other paramilitary organizations eventually gave rise to the Polish Legions, establishing the group as a distinct unit within the Austro-Hungarian army in August 1914.
  
  Training within the Riflemen’s Association encompassed not only physical and weapons training but also extended to the cultivation of the ethos of chivalry among soldiers. Young riflemen were imbued with the principles of a just war—that is, in Józef Bocheński’s definition, war fought for a just cause, with the right intention, and under the proper authority (40). The necessity of cultivating a soldier’s character was emphasized, based on the skills that constitute the knightly, most respectable, ideal (44-45).
  
  In order to understand how Wieniawa-Długoszowski came to embody this ethos so impeccably—for good and ill—it is important to focus on three aspects of the knightly ethos, integrity, ethics, and flair, as they moved from an ideal into Polish activism. Bocheński offers a complete overview of these characteristics: Integrity goes beyond the commitment to undertake military action and to sacrifice for the country; integrity involves principled action (Bocheński 44-45). Integrity encompasses honor—not only understood as simply keeping one’s word but also as the disposition to be seen as honorable by others. In this sense, the concept of honor almost completely aligns with that of magnanimity (48)—the fitness to perform great deeds in the name of great aims and in the face of great dangers (81). The ethos of the Polish soldier encapsulated magnanimity in a manner identical to that of Aristotle, who believed that a magnanimous man was one who would do many things, even die, for the sake of his friends and homeland. Such a man is ready to renounce both property and honors, and, in general, all the goods for which men strive. He will strive to obtain that which is morally beautiful; for he would prefer a short, intense life to a long, feeble one (1169a). The soldier of honor, reflecting the spirit of Aristotle’s magnanimity, conducts himself consistently in both success and failure. When encountering individuals deemed great, he avoids flattery and boldly expresses his opinions, recognizing his own greatness, yet he remains humble when dealing with those of lesser stature. Unconcerned with positions and splendors, he exhibits civic courage by forthrightly conveying his views. Demonstrating resilience, he forgives past wrongs, transcending any evils inflicted upon him. He avoids petty drama and trivial matters, focusing instead on significant issues and embracing substantial risks. Additionally, he chooses to downplay his true capabilities rather than projecting an exaggerated image (Bocheński 82).
  
  Another pillar of the soldierly ethos, according to Bocheński is ethics, the first component of which is heroism. Heroism, in his formulation, is understood not only as the heroism of the deed, requiring self-sacrifice out of love for the fatherland, but also as the heroism of virtue—a permanent disposition allowing the person possessing it to perform deeds more difficult and intense than the good average of highly ethical people (49). Another component of the ethics is valor, a virtue not innate but cultivated through the refinement of reason, will, imagination, and feelings. It encompasses moral steadfastness and patience, especially in adverse conditions, where taking action would be futile (82-84). Also integral to the soldier’s ethics is a sense of comradeship, involving submission to the good of the unit and a greater concern for the whole than for one’s own welfare. Solidarity with comrades-in-arms in good actions was emphasized, while solidarity in evil was considered the most degrading aspect of comradeship (58-59). A crucial element of the formation, influencing the perpetual readiness to fight and the likelihood of victory, was the imperative to maintain physical and gymnastic fitness.
  
  The final, and characteristically Polish, element of soldierly ethos is the cavalier’s flair (Polish: ułańska fantazja). The psychiatrist Eugeniusz Brzezicki coined the term “skirtetype” (from the Classical Greek σκιρτάω, “to jump” and roughly translating as jumpiness) to describe the particularity of Polish flair, which is marked by recklessness, wilfulness, and bravado, as well as a mercurial quality—quick to ignite into action and equally quick to fade (qtd. in Krakowskie Towarzystwo Lekarskie 235). Individuals with this temperament showcase heroic qualities in critical situations, but, despite their many talents, they often become unproductive, volatile, and superficial in everyday life. While individually pleasant, societies characterized by skirtethymic traits frequently lack state-forming qualities due to perpetual internal discord (235)—a feature that has notably characterized Polish society, regardless of the era.
  
  Polish “jumpiness” leads to extraordinary accomplishments on and off the battlefield. The French phrase “Un Polonais passe partout” (“A Pole will pass everywhere”) encapsulates this spirit, as it is attributed to Dezydery Chłapowski, who shouted this phrase while repeatedly jumping a wide ditch that his French colleagues, cavalrymen in Napoleon’s army, failed to cross. Napoleon, influenced by this incident, later sent a squadron of Polish cavalrymen in 1808 to traverse the topographically challenging Spanish gorge of Somosierra, defended by Spaniards and their fortified artillery batteries: The Polish cavalry accomplished this task in a few minutes, decisively contributing to Napoleon’s victory and his conquest of Spain (Łysiak 40). The inherent impulsiveness and emotionality in action, coupled with wit and recklessness, were a source of immense pride for Polish soldiers, particularly cavalrymen, serving as both inspiration and aspiration, and standing as the greatest proof of their masculinity.
  
  The program for soldierly-knightly masculinity, as outlined above, persisted in Poland until 1945, when Stalinists began the persecution of Poles who openly acknowledged their military history, especially those who had fought in Western Europe during World War II. Deemed enemies of Communism, they were tortured, imprisoned, and killed. Only a small number of Polish partisans, known today as “cursed soldiers”⁷ due to the fact that they were not allowed to be remembered under communism, upheld and practiced this soldierly ethos; on the assumption that no one had released them from their honorable duty to defend their homeland, they began to wage a very unequal fight against the Soviet Union and its agents on the territory of post-war Poland. The last partisan was killed by the Communists as late as 1963, eighteen years after the end of the World War. Under the oppressive new regime, nurturing or reviving the chivalric ethos became impractical.
  
  With this context established, it is now time to present, in detail, the figure of Bolesław Ignacy Florentyn Wieniawa-Długoszowski, renowned both in his time and today as the legendary “First Lancer of the Second Polish Republic.” Wieniawa-Długoszowski was born in 1881 into a moderately wealthy, noble family deeply rooted in military traditions, and actively involved in the cause of regaining Poland’s independence. An ancestor was a Napoleonic officer, and both his maternal grandfather and paternal grandfather’s brother were distinguished cavalrymen who demonstrated heroism in the November Rising of 1831. Bolesław’s father fought in the January 1863 Uprising at nineteen, allegedly influenced by his young fiancée’s declaration that she would only marry a man defending the fatherland (Wieniawa-Długoszowski, Wymarsz 22). Tales of familial heroic exploits fueled Bolesław’s imagination. Despite multiple expulsions from secondary school for insubordination, he dedicated his time to sports and reading Sienkiewicz’s Trilogy, later recalling that “a bad mark in the class register, a scolding at home” were the most frequent consequences of this reading (Wieniawa-Długoszowski, “Gen. B. Wieniawa-Długoszowski o Trylogii” 1). After passing his matriculation exams in 1900, he chose to study medicine in Lvov,⁸ where he balanced rigorous academic demands with an exuberant cultural and social life marked by “nocturnal discussions and rambles, lavish carnival games, and countless flirtations” (Wieniawa-Długoszowski, Wymarsz 29-30). During this period, he formed lasting friendships with Polish poets, writers, and artists, exploring his talents as a poet and painter. Długoszowski garnered widespread attention with his handsome appearance and charming demeanor. Already popular with women, he dissolved his engagement when he encountered Stefania Calvas, a young soprano, in the social and artistic circles he frequented. Długoszowski graduated with honors from medical school and married Calvas in 1906, but he abandoned medicine for Berlin, and then Paris, where the couple both devoted themselves to further artistic studies and frequented art cafés and salons. It was there that Długoszowski, who, in his own words, was engaged in “everything and nothing: exploring life, savoring the charm of this city […] working at the Academies, riding the omnibus, spending time with artists and musicians, including Pablo Picasso, Maurice Ravel . . . reading and translating poets, e.g., Charles Baudelaire,” developed his artistic and literary taste (1932). Xawery Glinka, a friend from that period, recalled: “Bolesław was a breath of fresh air in company, carrying himself with an artistic flair […] With a nose that would have made Cyrano de Bergerac proud and a thick mane of hair on his head, he was cheerful, witty, always smiling, a good-natured scrapper, and a great companion—a joker like no other” (12).
  
  A descendant of a family with a rich tradition of knighthood and soldiering, Długoszowski initially had no inclination towards a military career. Serving in the partitioning army, specifically the Austro-Hungarian Army, or participating in armed uprisings for Poland’s independence, did not appeal. His emigration to Paris became possible because he skillfully avoided mandatory service in the Habsburg monarchy’s army, claiming total unfitness for military duty. However, the formation of the Paris section of the Riflemen’s Association in 1912-13 ignited a newfound enthusiasm in Długoszowski. Alongside his artist friends, he actively participated in the Association’s activities, which included drill and shooting exercises. In February 1914, he and his comrades met the founder of the Association, Józef Piłsudski. Piłsudski’s charismatic speech, rich in references to military history and emphasizing the importance of knowledge of strategy and tactics, deeply affected Długoszowski. “A spoiled brat since childhood, a bold and wayward boy, a scrapper and dogma-less dilettante,” he recalled, “ for the first time in my life, I finally understood the significance of military discipline” (Wieniawa-Długoszowski, “Pierwsze spotkanie” 2).
  
  On that day, Sienkiewicz’s Trilogy began to unfold not only in Długoszowski’s imagination but also in his life. In the figure of Józef Piłsudski, one might say he found the alter ego of Duke Jeremi Wiśniowiecki, a man who offered hope for Poland’s independence. Długoszowski returned to Poland just as the World War I broke out and enlisted, first, in a rifle company, and quickly transferred to the initial cavalry squadron of the Polish Legions, which functioned as a sort of foreign unit within the Austro-Hungarian Army. The light cavalry formation, the chevau-légers, embodying the chivalrous traditions of his ancestors, became a lifelong commitment. Legionnaires adopted martial nicknames, and Długoszowski would henceforth be called simply Wieniawa, a name taken from the family coat of arms. This choice was fitting, as the coat of arms commemorates the legendary medieval knight Wieniawa, who, by chopping off the head of an aurochs, saved the first pair of Polish Christian rulers from inevitable death.
  
  At the outbreak of World War I, Wieniawa-Długoszowski was 33 years old, and he rose quickly through the ranks due to his bravery and charisma. He used his artistic talents to build martial spirit: soon all Polish soldiers would march into battle to the tunes of songs for which he penned the lyrics. In his own words: “I started composing verses that, beneath the lively melodies, resonated in harmony with the songs our proud and resolute brigade—our youthful brigade—always sang during marches, on bivouacs, and in our quarters, in winter and summer, amidst victories and retreats [. . .] These songs dutifully fulfilled their war role by bolstering the morale of our comrades in the face of various, often very challenging wartime circumstances” (qtd. in Grabska and Pytasz 17).
  
  
  As Zakrzewski (56) emphasizes, a soldier truly shines when entrusted with a task that gives purpose and meaning to their existence. As a soldier, Wieniawa lived at a perpetual gallop—a pace he maintained for most of his life. His irrepressible energy, cordial comradeship, bravery, leadership qualities, and sharp intellect swiftly propeled him through the ranks, gaining him the confidence of his superiors and the admiration of his subordinates (Wołos 219). His heroism on the battlefield earned him the highest Polish military decoration, the Virtuti Militari. He repeatedly demonstrated acts of daring courage, embodying Sienkiewicz’s Andrzej Kmicic. Like Kmicic, he exuded a fantastical cavalier’s flair, endearing him to colleagues with admiration and affection. Drawing closer to Commander Józef Piłsudski, Wieniawa became not only “the most cheerful officer of his brigade” (Grabska and Pytasz 17) but also someone Piłsudski could trust with the most complicated missions, relying on him in the direst situations. In 1915, Piłsudski appointed Wieniawa as his adjutant and never regretted his decision:

  He worked tirelessly both within the army under my command and externally, consistently setting aside his personal interests and ambitions. He dedicated himself to serving his superior and following orders, never allowing his personal influence to take precedence—an uncommon trait among adjutant officers. He utilized all his outstanding social qualities and abilities to navigate the complexities of his duties. Notably, he excelled in maintaining official secrecy, ensuring that conversations he conducted or attended did not leak, even when dealing with personal acquaintances. (qtd. in Grabska and Pytasz 108).

  
  By Piłsudski’s side, Wieniawa consistently transformed from the roguish Andrzej Kmicic into another Sienkiewiczian hero, the loyal and trusted Jan Skrzetuski. His attitude toward the Commandant resembled that of “a German Shepherd who goes around his master, asking with faithful eyes for an order” (Wołos 48). Wieniawa’s transformation from a carefree spirit to a disciplined soldier astonished his mother, who said to Piłsudski: “I don’t know anything about politics, war, the army, or what you do, but you must be a wizard because you taught my Bolesław to obey” (qtd. in Grochowalski 135).
  
  On the missions entrusted to him by Piłsudski, Wieniawa’s innate brilliance allowed him to metamorphose into yet another Sienkiewiczian hero, Jan Onufry Zagłoba, who outsmarted his adversaries. For instance, when Piłsudski tasked him with rejecting the German Iron Cross from Kaiser Wilhelm II on his behalf, Wieniawa showcased his diplomatic skills. He claimed that the Commandant was pleasantly surprised by such an honorable decoration but could not accept it until he could reciprocate with an equally worthy Polish one (Majchrowski 152). He skillfully avoided getting shot during a secret mission in Moscow by masquerading as a French citizen: He began to roar like a bull in perfect French at the Bolshevik soldiers aiming their rifles at him, effectively intimidating them with the threat of consequences for killing a French citizen. Wieniawa turned long-neglected qualifications in medical sciences to deception, guiding Polish soldiers to simulate ailments and feign limps, facilitating their stay in the hospital and avoiding further service to the Austrian army (Wieniawa-Długoszowski, Wymarsz 228-9).
  
  After Poland regained independence, Wieniawa continued his work as Piłsudski’s statesman. This highly intelligent, handsome polyglot with diplomatic skills remained Piłsudski’s most trusted emissary, adept at carrying out challenging state tasks. Internationally and domestically, he functioned as Piłsudski’s representative, gauging public sentiment and reassuring both Polish society and foreign leaders regarding Piłsudski’s policies. Wieniawa balanced his sense of soldierly duty with a penchant for revelry. He quickly became an interwar Polish celebrity, leading the charge at lavish parties and receptions. Known for his capacity to handle large quantities of alcohol, he frequented art cafés, cultivating friendships with leading Polish poets and engaging in collaborative satirical work. With a keen sense of humor and a healthy sense of self-deprecation, Wieniawa enjoyed retelling and embellishing the legends surrounding him. One of the most famous (albeit untrue) stories is that he rode a horse up the steps of the famous Adria café in Warsaw (Jellenta 9). Fellow artists immortalized him in their poems, songs, and paintings.⁹ His popularity soared to the extent that caricatures featuring Wieniawa alongside Piłsudski humorously questioned, “Who is that old military man walking with Wieniawa?”
  
  With all his flair, flamboyant personality, and bubbly nature, Wieniawa never lost the other most important qualities of the chivalric ethos as conceptualized by Bocheński: integrity and ethics. Piłsudski, confident that Wieniawa would never compromise his moral standing in foreign salons (Beck), sought to leverage his exceptional abilities in diplomacy: “Listen, Wieniawa, you have a face that’s hardly seen in the army. With a face like that, you could have been a cardinal, a film actor, or a diplomat.” Długoszowski sensed the danger and replied without hesitation, “Commandant, I am not at all suited to be a diplomat. In the cavalry, you can sometimes do foolish things, but never dirty things. In diplomacy, on the other hand, sometimes dirty things, but never foolish things. I prefer to stay in the cavalry” (Rostworowski 4). In 1926, Piłsudski entrusted him with the command of the First Light Cavalry Regiment, which bore his name.

  “Listen, Wieniawa,” said the Commandant, “you must keep an eye on my cavalrymen so they don’t drink!” “Aye aye, my Commandant! I promise obediently that they won’t drink more than me!” replied Wieniawa. “That doesn’t comfort me at all,” responded Piłsudski (Paczkowski 3). 

  
  Długoszowski proved to be an excellent commander, helpful and collegial while advocating for rank-and-file soldiers. He defended other cavalrymen when their behavior violated peacetime norms: “If an officer, particularly a cavalry officer, undergoes years of training in recklessness, inexorability, and the prescribed unruliness and risk-taking dictated by cavalry field service regulations during times of war, it is unfair to condemn such an individual when, with the advent of peace, the virtues instilled in him are labelled as vices” (Beck).
  
  Wieniawa was promoted to Brigadier General in 1932 and commanded the Warsaw Garrison. At Piłsudski’s behest, Polish military men were to appear in public spaces in uniform to build a positive image of the Polish army in society. Wieniawa promoted the romance of this image by adhering to codes of behavior, like duelling, illegal in the modern nation, against men who offended his own or Poland’s honor. His drunken antics often exceeded the bounds of decency. On one occasion, when he was summoned for disciplinary action before Piłsudski, he appeared not in uniform but in a tailcoat, declaring, “Commandant, I obediently report that I have been at fault and should be punched in the mouth! But you can’t disgrace the uniform of a Polish soldier, officer, or general by getting a punch in it! Therefore, I am in civilian clothes!” Piłsudski’s anger dissipated (Grochowalski 135).
  
  Wieniawa’s physical features—his masculine beauty, stature, and Roman profile—also played a role, winning him many female admirers. After parting on friendly terms with his first wife, he married for the second time to Bronisława Berenson née Klaczkin, with whom he had his only child, Zuzanna. However, the happiness of this marriage was often compromised by Długoszowski’s flirtations and dalliances, earning him the apt description from the Polish poet and friend, Antoni Słonimski, as Caesar’s favorite and the idol of Polish women (Słonimski 27).
  
  Wieniawa promoted the Polish variant of the knightly ethos, full of cavalier’s flair, not only with his attitude but also with his words and pen. Besides numerous talks and lectures in which he promoted cavalry as the most perfect of military formations to an enchanted public, he edited a volume on the history of Polish cavalry (1938) and translated into Polish the biography of Napoleon’s General Charles Lasalle (1931), his alter ego, as picturesque, heroic, honorable, and prone to mischief as himself. In the preface to his translation of General Lasalle’s biography, Wieniawa explained his perspective on masculinity:

  Reader! If you align with my belief that only two professions are suitable for a liberated and independent man—namely, the profession of the poet and that of the cavalryman (and worse for you if you dissent, as it indicates that you are neither; instead, even if you’re only in your twenties, you’re an old and bald curmudgeon with aspirations to become a senior tax advisor, or even a bank collector, or—worse yet—a so-called matron who, in defense of some stripling, safeguards her daughters’ virtue from the lyrical charms of a lancer or the insatiable conquest of a poet, fortunately usually in vain)—well, if you concur with this perspective, then you must acknowledge that the spirit of Romanticism, before gathering the winged phalanx of early 19th-century poets, discovered among the ranks of the cavalry its initial adherents and apostles, driven by an unrestrained impulse, a penchant for world-building, and a love for extraordinary, fantastical deeds that surpassed the imagination of ordinary people, indeed, almost defying the laws of nature. (1931, V-VI).

  
  Wieniawa contrasts “the spirit of Romanticism” with the dubious virtues of a “senior tax advisor,” evoking an aristocratic code that disdains middle-class bureaucracy and bourgeois morality.  G.K. Chesterton, who met Wieniawa during his visit to Poland in 1927, detected an element of theatricality to the image, noting that “in a more playful and conversational moment” Wieniawa had remarked “After all, there are only two trades for a man: a poet and a soldier of cavalry.’ . . .  ‘You are a poet and I am a soldier of cavalry. So, there we are!’. I said that, allowing for the difficulty of anybody having anything to eat, if this were literally true, I entirely accepted the sentiment and heartily agreed with it” (113-4).
  
  Wieniawa-Długoszowski, that vir incomparabilis of interwar Poland, was characterized as follows by Romeyko: “Who exactly was this elderly ‘youngster,’ well into his fifties, knowing neither sleep nor rest, always looking fresh, always smiling, always with a joke, a good word, with inexhaustible energy and incredible ingenuity, spending 24 hours a day on serious work, less serious play, sport, dancing, a glass, and assisting charming ladies? Was he a supreme commander, a poet, a Sienkiewiczian character, a modern Lasalle, or an ancient Casanova? He was everything at the same time” (37). Hemar echoed his sentiments:

  Gifted with beauty, bravery, robust health, excessive vitality, imagination, and temperament, the flame of an insatiable desire for everything burned within Wieniawa. I observed him on numerous occasions, at all times of the day and night, in various societies, places, and situations—yet I never witnessed him fatigued. He was ablaze with a thirst for life, an unrelenting craving—for a horse, for a woman, for skiing, for winning people, for tackling obstacles, for romantic virtues, for mischievous sins, for the most and least trivial amusements—all to find an outlet for his surplus energy, to discharge himself from the force that rejuvenated within him faster than he expended it, pulsating like the lash of a boiling spring. Wieniawa possessed intelligence, capability, and beauty to an extraordinary degree. He embodied the freedom and lightness of wit characteristic of truly witty individuals. Regardless of the profession he chose, he would have remained the same: a Renaissance dilettante enamored with life in all its forms and charms. His goal was never the tragedy of uncovering the truth, but rather the comedy of overcoming obstacles (8-9).

  
  In fact, none of his comrades from the Polish Legions, despite being “commanding and courageous like the warlords of old, the subjects of songs murmured by waves and verses composed by poets, individuals who executed daring feats” achieved the iconic status of Wieniawa, who, in contrast, emerged as the enduring symbol of the Polish cavalryman (Lechoń 4).
  
  Wieniawa’s carefree revelry came to an end with the death of Józef Piłsudski in May 1935. Although he continued to serve Poland, his cavalier’s flair was no longer such an asset in statecraft. In 1938, he bid farewell to the army for an appointment as the ambassador to Italy. While preserving the most beautiful aspects of the knight’s ethos, he transformed himself from a soldier into a gentleman (Ossowska 115) whose appellation is never to be affixed to a man’s circumstances but to his behavior in them (Steele 80). In his new role, he demonstrated none of the skirtethymic tendencies described by Brzezicki (235), instead showcasing productivity, stability, and depth in his work as Poland's ambassador. True to Piłsudski's prediction, he combined his charm and wit with exceptional diplomatic skill. To represent Poland with dignity, he abandoned a boozy lifestyle, minimizing his alcohol consumption. Winning the hearts of Italians, he secured the country’s friendship for Poland, which proved invaluable in 1939 when Germany invaded Poland. Thanks to this friendship, Długoszowski, who saw his beloved cavalry was powerless against tanks and other German military technology, not only assisted numerous individual refugees from Poland but also undertook a remarkable deed worthy of Sienkiewicz’s Zagłoba. He negotiated with the Italians for tens of thousands of Polish soldiers interned in Romania and Hungary to discreetly traverse their territory, with the Italians even covering the expenses for the journey. This agreement allowed Polish soldiers to reach France where they reconstituted the Polish army and fought against Germany—an ally of Italy. Setting aside all differences dividing Poles from various factions, Wieniawa tirelessly worked for the benefit of all compatriots he could assist. Notably, he managed to bring the wife of General Władysław Sikorski—then both the Prime Minister of the Republic of Poland and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces—from occupied Poland to Italy, despite Sikorski’s personal hostility toward him (Majchrowski 242-43).
  
  With the outbreak of war, the President of Poland, Ignacy Mościcki, could no longer retain his office and appointed Wieniawa as his successor, recognizing his potential and the dependability of his instincts and reflexes concerning personal honor, as well as his commitment as a citizen of the Republic of Poland (Beck). Despite a lifelong aversion to politics and his rejection of its dubious laws and principles (Majchrowski 151), Wieniawa accepted the position out of a sense of duty. However, he became ensnared in the internal conflicts perpetually plaguing Poland, even amidst the tragedy of war. Prime Minister Władysław Sikorski, who had clashed with the Piłsudski faction and personally resented Wieniawa-Długoszowski for satirizing him in a poem during the First World War, actively undermined him by portraying him as a pro-Italian drunkard unfit for such a crucial role—this despite the significant personal favor he had done for Sikorski by facilitating the latter’s wife’s escape from occupied Poland. Sikorski did not stop at mere accusations; he also engaged in behind-the-scenes efforts that successfully swayed the governments of France and Britain to oppose Wieniawa’s nomination. These covert actions ensured that Wieniawa, despite being lawfully appointed as a successor by the previous president, was effectively barred from assuming the presidency. In the face of this adversity, Wieniawa demonstrated moral heroism. He endured the humiliation, resigned from the office of President and continued to serve Poland as ambassador with unwavering loyalty to the Prime Minister who held an openly hostile, unjust view of him.
  
  In 1940, when the Polish embassy in Rome was closed, Wieniawa demonstrated a sincere desire to continue serving Poland against the odds of war and political isolation within the Sikorski government. He desired to join the Polish government-in-exile, either to fight or to advise. However, Sikorski refused to permit him to come to London and Wieniawa’s only option was to emigrate with his family to the United States. Even there, he proposed leveraging his popularity to unite the divided Polish American community and encourage the enlistment of young Poles. Sikorski rejected or ignored these proposals. He went so far as to accuse and even insult Wieniawa, alleging that he was “flirting with the Germans”—something he never did—while also offering him an “unfortunately lower commanding position in the Polish army in Great Britain,” a promise that was never fulfilled (AAN). Enforced idleness, the profound pain Wieniawa felt for the fate of occupied Poland, and the responsibility to provide for his family collectively undermined the indomitable spirit of this noble man, sabotaging his ability to pursue gainful employment and pushing him to the brink of depression and despair. After two years of deceit and unkept promises, Sikorski finally appointed him as the Ambassador to Cuba, seemingly as an insult (Królikowski 5), since this exotic post on a Caribbean island held no significant importance to Poland’s situation during the war, while Wieniawa’s foremost desire was to serve his country effectively. Nevertheless, Wieniawa accepted the position with an unwavering spirit of loyalty and service. He was, however, denied the chance to regain his mental health and former vigor on the sunny island. His old friends judged him through the prism of politics, a realm he had consistently shunned throughout his life. They accused him of aligning with the enemy and betraying Piłsudski’s ideals—charges that the ailing Wieniawa, just a few years earlier the embodiment of the cavalry catechism, encouraging men to look boldly and jovially into an adversary’s eyes and respond to every accusation with an immediate, crushing retort (Wieniawa-Długoszowski, Kmita), was unable to defend himself against.
  
  Wieniawa-Długoszowski maintained his commitment to the knightly ethos to the last. Faced with such absurd accusations and adhering to the dictates of his chivalrous honor, he chose the only remaining path—a tragic suicide leap from the third floor of his New York apartment.¹⁰ This final step in his life, which took place on July 1, 1942, was also a deed befitting a Sienkiewiczian hero. In the concluding acts of the Trilogy, Colonel Jerzy Michał Wołodyjowski meets an honorable end through suicide. Faced with the impossibility of retaining the fortress at Kamieniec Podolski for Poland, not due to his own inadequacy in defending it but rather as a consequence of the decisions made by Polish politicians, and unwilling to surrender it to the Turks, he resolves to detonate the fortress, sacrificing himself in the process.
  
  Wieniawa’s close collaborator at the Polish embassy in Rome, Aleksander Zawisza, penned an elegy for the first lancer and the last knight of the Second Republic of Poland, emphasizing his qualities as a soldier of honor according to Bocheński's concept: magnanimity, self-forgetfulness, and the readiness to transcend any wrongs inflicted upon him, as long as it was necessary for the benefit of his homeland:

  In those challenging times, he harbored no ambitions other than to serve Poland. He would have accepted positions at both the highest and lowest levels with equal detachment, driven solely by a sense of the weight of responsibility and a willingness to provide sacrificial service. Amid the new conditions, he never faltered, not even for a moment, in discerning where his duty lay. There was never a point when he found himself at odds with his conscience [. . .] Yet, perhaps more than others, he had cause for despair. (4)

  
  When Wieniawa arrived at the embassy in Rome in 1938, this is how he addressed his staff: “My lords, people are respected for their qualities and virtues, and liked only for their faults. I am said to have been liked in Warsaw. I fear, however, that you will respect me here” (qtd. in Majchrowski 205). Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski still enjoys an exceptional level of popularity in Poland compared to other figures from the interwar period. Contemporary society and successive generations continue to embrace and perpetuate his legend. It is worth questioning the source of this fascination with his persona among contemporary Poles. Undoubtedly, most are captivated by what Wieniawa himself referred to as “faults”—his memorable cavalier’s mischief and flamboyant anecdotes associated with him, which still impress some and aggravate others. However, few take the effort to look beyond this superficiality, a trap into which many of his contemporaries also fell—to focus on his qualities and virtues. By doing so, they would discover an “all-intelligent, all-educated man with versatile interests. A noble and chivalrous man, nurtured from childhood on the age-old traditions of a Polish noble family. A man who encompassed all the qualities of a soldier—tough in the manner of a soldier and understanding in the manner of a soldier. A man who, despite superficial judgments, was a deep believer, a Christian. A magnanimous man, a good man in the full sense of the word” (Mańkowski 12). Perhaps the key to a proper assessment of Wieniawa’s character lies in the disposition of the soul of a given contemporary man. Conversely, the contemporary perception of Wieniawa, characterized by his instinctive grasp of human values and innate wariness of opportunists (Majchrowski 134), can be a litmus test for a man’s alignment with chivalrous, virile values deemed outdated. These include a sense of duty, honor, and prioritizing love for the fatherland over personal life and ambitions. His life serves as a mirror, compelling individuals to confront which of these ideals they embrace, aspire to, or perhaps quietly admire, even if these values no longer dominate the ethos of our time.
   

   

  Notes

  1. The approximate English pronunciation is: “Boh-LES-wahv Vyen-YAH-vah Dwoo-goh-SHOF-skee” (/boˈleswav vʲeˈɲava dwuɡoˈʂofskʲi/). All translations are my own unless otherwise indicated in the text.

  
  2. Among the most popular Polish actors of the interwar period, and those considered the most handsome, were Eugeniusz Bodo (1899-1943), Aleksander Żabczyński (1900-1958), Franciszek Brodniewicz (1892-1944), and Zbigniew Rakowiecki (1913-1944). All of them were considerably younger than Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski and, unlike him, enjoyed their interwar popularity primarily thanks to their film careers. It was their fates during the Second World War that shed additional light on their respective lives and led to their posthumous reinterpretation. Bodo perished in a Soviet gulag, Żabczyński served as an officer in the Polish army in exile, Brodniewicz died of a heart attack during the Warsaw Uprising, and Rakowiecki, a soldier in the same uprising, was executed by Soviet soldiers.

  
  3. Apart from the streets dedicated to General Wieniawa-Długoszowski in Warsaw, Cracow, and Nowy Sącz, as well as the typically military forms of commemoration (e.g., the acceptance of his patronage by the Security Regiment stationed in the Warsaw Garrison in 1997), numerous busts and monuments honoring him can be found in public spaces. For instance, these include installations in front of his family manor in Bobowa, in the Royal Łazienki Gardens in Warsaw, and at the Rakowicki Cemetary in Cracow opposite his grave. Additionally, a monument in Grudziądz depicting a lancer with a girl bears a quotation from a song composed by Wieniawa: “For in the heart of a lancer, when you lay it out on the palm of your hand, the maiden comes first, before the maiden only the horse.” Various commemorative events and exhibitions have been dedicated to him, organized by institutions such as the Royal Łazienki and the Institute of National Remembrance. In 2016, the General Bolesław Wieniawa-Długoszowski Award was established, recognizing individuals, institutions, and communities whose work and creativity promote the history of the Polish cavalry and the ideals that guided the pre-war cavalry. Apart from strictly academic publications, articles devoted to him regularly appear in popular and popular-scientific media, ensuring his continued recognition and appreciation by successive generations.

  
  4.The list of subjects banned by tsarist censorship, aimed at manipulating the reception of texts, particularly among the mass readership, included Polish history, religion, customs, freedom of speech, and ethnic relations (Kościewicz). Piotr Szreter suggests that in the case of the Trilogy, which was not subjected to strict tsarist censorship, surprise may have played an important role; the novels were published in episodes in the Warsaw weekly Słowa [Words], and in this fragmentary form they were presented to the censors, whose attention was thus dulled (266). Moreover, Sienkiewicz himself skillfully navigated censorship bans, for example, by making the heroes of his books fight against the Septentrions and Hyperboreans, non-existent peoples whose names—respectively, “living under seven stars”, i.e., under the constellation of the Great Bear, and “living over the far north”—covertly referred to Russia, which had also invaded Poland in the 17th century.

  
  5. The literal translation of the title is “Sir Wołodyjowski”. The English versions of this book were entitled Pan Michael (translated by Jeremiah Curtin, 1893) and Fire in the Steppe (translated by Wiesław S. Kuniczak, 1992).

  
  6. From an excerpt from a letter by the Polish King Jan Kazimierz, rehabilitating the character of Andrzej Kmicic against those who remembered and held him in contempt for his past misdeeds: “though in the beginning of this unfortunate Swedish invasion he declared himself on the side of the prince voevoda, did it not from any selfishness, but from the purest good-will to the country, brought to this error by Prince Yanush Radzivill, who persuaded him that no road of safety remained to the Commonwealth save that which the prince himself took” (Sienkiewicz, Deluge 667). The Swede-friendly Prince Radziwiłł had previously tricked Andrzej Kmicic into swearing an oath on the crucifix that he would not abandon the prince in any situation.

  
  7. Today, these “cursed soldiers,” i.e., the soldiers of the post-war Polish underground for independence and anti-communism, are generally perceived as unsung heroes and Polish patriots. However, some, such as Romuald Rajs (also known as “Bury,” 1913-1949), remain controversial figures due to the actions they carried out against the civilian population as part of their partisan activities. “Bury” committed a series of crimes targeting the civilian population of Belarusian nationality and Orthodox beliefs, based on the stereotype that all such persons were communists and therefore hostile to the Polish independence underground. (“Informacja”).  

  
  8. The usual name now in English is “Lviv”, which romanizes the Ukrainian name rather than “Lvov”, which romanizes the Russian . However, “Lvov” was the usual English-language name at the time, and has been used here per the author’s preference. The Polish name, Lwów, has remained unchanged throughout. (Editor’s note).
  
  9. He was a regular character in satirical sketches staged in Warsaw cabarets and published in the popular interwar press. He was immortalized, while still alive, in poetry by, among others, Julian Tuwim, and in caricature by Jerzy Zaruba, Zdzisław Czermański, Edward Ałaszewski, and Tadeusz Kleczyński. His portraits were painted by, among others, Józef Sebald, Kajetan Stefanowicz, Leopold Gottlieb, Stefan Norblin, and Wojciech Jastrzębowski. He was immortalized in a bust by Stanisław Ostrowski. In honor of Wieniawa- Długoszowski, musical pieces were composed by, among others, Jerzy Boczkowski (with words by Julian Tuwim) and Tadeusz Müller (with words by Wacław Gebethner).
  
  10. There has been much speculation surrounding Wieniawa’s death. Professional and amateur historians alike have wondered for years whether he actually took his own life or died at the hands of a third party (see, for example, Baliszewski). Meanwhile, Wieniawa's wife and daughter never doubted that he had committed suicide (see Vernon 77).
  
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