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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10546 ***
+
+SO RUNS THE WORLD
+
+BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
+
+AUTHOR OF "QUO VADIS," ETC.
+
+Translated by S.C. de SOISSONS
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
+
+ZOLA
+
+WHOSE FAULT?
+
+THE VERDICT
+
+WIN OR LOSE
+
+
+
+
+PART FIRST
+
+
+HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ.
+
+
+I once read a short story, in which a Slav author had all the lilies
+and bells in a forest bending toward each other, whispering and
+resounding softly the words: "Glory! Glory! Glory!" until the whole
+forest and then the whole world repeated the song of flowers.
+
+Such is to-day the fate of the author of the powerful historical
+trilogy: "With Fire and Sword," "The Deluge" and "Pan Michael,"
+preceded by short stories, "Lillian Morris," "Yanko the Musician,"
+"After Bread," "Hania," "Let Us Follow Him," followed by two problem
+novels, "Without Dogma," and "Children of the Soil," and crowned by a
+masterpiece of an incomparable artistic beauty, "Quo Vadis." Eleven
+good books adopted from the Polish language and set into circulation
+are of great importance for the English-reading people--just now I am
+emphasizing only this--because these books are written in the most
+beautiful language ever written by any Polish author! Eleven books of
+masterly, personal, and simple prose! Eleven good books given to
+the circulation and received not only with admiration but with
+gratitude--books where there are more or less good or sincere pages,
+but where there is not one on which original humor, nobleness, charm,
+some comforting thoughts, some elevated sentiments do not shine. Some
+other author would perhaps have stopped after producing "Quo Vadis,"
+without any doubt the best of Sienkiewicz's books. But Sienkiewicz
+looks into the future and cares more about works which he is going to
+write, than about those which we have already in our libraries, and he
+renews his talents, searching, perhaps unknowingly, for new themes and
+tendencies.
+
+When one knows how to read a book, then from its pages the author's
+face looks out on him, a face not material, but just the same full of
+life. Sienkiewicz's face, looking on us from his books, is not always
+the same; it changes, and in his last book ("Quo Vadis") it is quite
+different, almost new.
+
+There are some people who throw down a book after having read it, as
+one leaves a bottle after having drank the wine from it. There are
+others who read books with a pencil in their hands, and they mark
+the most striking passages. Afterward, in the hours of rest, in the
+moments when one needs a stimulant from within and one searches for
+harmony, sympathy of a thing apparently so dead and strange as a book
+is, they come back to the marked passages, to their own thoughts,
+more comprehensible since an author expressed them; to their own
+sentiments, stronger and more natural since they found them in
+somebody else's words. Because ofttimes it seems to us--the common
+readers--that there is no difference between our interior world and
+the horizon of great authors, and we flatter ourselves by believing
+that we are 'only less daring, less brave than are thinkers and poets,
+that some interior lack of courage stopped us from having formulated
+our impressions. And in this sentiment there is a great deal of truth.
+But while this expression of our thoughts seems to us to be a daring,
+to the others it is a need; they even do not suspect how much they are
+daring and new. They must, according to the words of a poet, "Spin
+out the love, as the silkworm spins its web." That is their capital
+distinction from common mortals; we recognize them by it at once; and
+that is the reason we put them above the common level. On the pages
+of their books we find not the traces of the accidental, deeper
+penetrating into the life or more refined feelings, but the whole
+harvest of thoughts, impressions, dispositions, written skilfully,
+because studied deeply. We also leave something on these pages. Some
+people dry flowers on them, the others preserve reminiscences. In
+every one of Sienkiewicz's volumes people will deposit a great many
+personal impressions, part of their souls; in every one they will find
+them again after many years.
+
+There are three periods in Sienkiewicz's literary life. In the
+first he wrote short stories, which are masterpieces of grace and
+ingenuity--at least some of them. In those stories the reader will
+meet frequent thoughts about general problems, deep observations of
+life--and notwithstanding his idealism, very truthful about spiritual
+moods, expressed with an easy and sincere hand. Speaking about
+Sienkiewicz's works, no matter how small it may be, one has always the
+feeling that one speaks about a known, living in general memory work.
+Almost every one of his stories is like a stone thrown in the midst
+of a flock of sparrows gathering in the winter time around barns: one
+throw arouses at once a flock of winged reminiscences.
+
+The other characteristics of his stories are uncommonness of his
+conceptions, masterly compositions, ofttimes artificial. It happens
+also that a story has no plot ("From the Diary of a Tutor in Pozman,"
+"Bartek the Victor"), no action, almost no matter ("Yamyol"), but the
+reader is rewarded by simplicity, rural theme, humoristic pictures
+("Comedy of Errors: A Sketch of American Life"), pity for the little
+and poor ("Yanko the Musician"), and those qualities make the reader
+remember his stories well. It is almost impossible to forget--under
+the general impressions--about his striking and standing-out figures
+("The Lighthouse Keeper of Aspinwall"), about the individual
+impression they leave on our minds. Apparently they are commonplace,
+every-day people, but the author's talent puts on them an original
+individuality, a particular stamp, which makes one remember them
+forever and afterward apply them to the individuals which one meets
+in life. No matter how insignificant socially is the figure chosen by
+Sienkiewicz for his story, the great talent of the author magnifies
+its striking features, not seen by common people, and makes of it a
+masterpiece of literary art.
+
+Although we have a popular saying: _Comparaison n'est pas raison_,
+one cannot refrain from stating here that this love for the poor, the
+little, and the oppressed, brought out so powerfully in Sienkiewicz's
+short stories, constitutes a link between him and François Coppée, who
+is so great a friend of the friendless and the oppressed, those who,
+without noise, bear the heaviest chains, the pariahs of our happy and
+smiling society. The only difference between the short stories of
+these two writers is this, that notwithstanding all the mastercraft of
+Coppée's work, one forgets the impressions produced by the reading
+of his work--while it is almost impossible to forget "The Lighthouse
+Keeper" looking on any lighthouse, or "Yanko the Musician" listening
+to a poor wandering boy playing on the street, or "Bartek the Victor"
+seeing soldiers of which military discipline have made machines rather
+than thinking beings, or "The Diary of a Tutor" contemplating the pale
+face of children overloaded with studies. Another difference between
+those two writers--the comparison is always between their short
+stories--is this, that while Sienkiewicz's figures and characters are
+universal, international--if one can use this adjective here--and can
+be applied to the students of any country, to the soldiers of any
+nation, to any wandering musician and to the light-keeper on any sea,
+the figures of François Coppée are mostly Parisian and could be hardly
+displaced from their Parisian surroundings and conditions.
+
+Sometimes the whole short story is written for the sake of that which
+the French call _pointe_. When one has finished the reading of "Zeus's
+Sentence," for a moment the charming description of the evening and
+Athenian night is lost. And what a beautiful description it is! If
+the art of reading were cultivated in America as it is in France
+and Germany, I would not be surprised if some American Legouvé or
+Strakosch were to add to his répertoire such productions of prose as
+this humorously poetic "Zeus's Sentence," or that mystic madrigal, "Be
+Blessed."
+
+"But the dusk did not last long," writes Sienkiewicz. "Soon from the
+Archipelago appeared the pale Selene and began to sail like a silvery
+boat in the heavenly space. And the walls of the Acropolis lighted
+again, but they beamed now with a pale green light, and looked more
+than ever like the vision of a dream."
+
+But all these, and other equally charming pictures, disappear for a
+moment from the memory of the reader. There remains only the final
+joke--only Zeus's sentence. "A virtuous woman--especially when she
+loves another man--can resist Apollo. But surely and always a stupid
+woman will resist him."
+
+Only when one thinks of the story does one see that the ending--that
+"immoral conclusion" I should say if I were not able to understand the
+joke--does not constitute the essence of the story. Only then we find
+a delight in the description of the city for which the wagons cater
+the divine barley, and the water is carried by the girls, "with
+amphorae poised on their shoulders and lifted hands, going home, light
+and graceful, like immortal nymphs."
+
+And then follow such paragraphs as the following, which determine the
+real value of the work:
+
+"The voice of the God of Poetry sounded so beautiful that it performed
+a miracle. Behold! In the Ambrosian night the gold spear standing on
+the Acropolis of Athens trembled, and the marble head of the gigantic
+statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear better.... Heaven
+and earth listened to it; the sea stopped roaring and lay peacefully
+near the shores; even pale Selene stopped her night wandering in the
+sky and stood motionless over Athens."
+
+"And when Apollo had finished, a light wind arose and carried the song
+through the whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the cradle heard
+only a tone of it, that child grew into a poet."
+
+What poet? Famed by what song? Will he not perhaps be a lyric poet?
+
+The same happens with "Lux in Tenebris." One reads again and again
+the description of the fall of the mist and the splashing of the rain
+dropping in the gutter, "the cawing of the crows, migrating to the
+city for their winter quarters, and, with flapping of wings, roosting
+in the trees." One feels that the whole misery of the first ten pages
+was necessary in order to form a background for the two pages of
+heavenly light, to bring out the brightness of that light. "Those who
+have lost their best beloved," writes Sienkiewicz, "must hang
+their lives on something; otherwise they could not exist." In such
+sentences--and it is not the prettiest, but the shortest that I have
+quoted--resounds, however, the quieting wisdom, the noble love of
+that art which poor Kamionka "respected deeply and was always sincere
+toward." During the long years of his profession he never cheated nor
+wronged it, neither for the sake of fame nor money, nor for praise nor
+for criticism. He always wrote as he felt. Were I not like Ruth of
+the Bible, doomed to pick the ears of corn instead of being myself a
+sower--if God had not made me critic and worshipper but artist and
+creator--I could not wish for another necrology than those words of
+Sienkiewicz regarding the statuary Kamionka.
+
+Quite another thing is the story "At the Source." None of the stories
+except "Let Us Follow Him" possess for me so many transcendent
+beauties, although we are right to be angry with the author for having
+wished, during the reading of several pages, to make us believe an
+impossible thing--that he was deceiving us. It is true that he has
+done it in a masterly manner--it is true that he could not have done
+otherwise, but at the same time there is a fault in the conception,
+and although Sienkiewicz has covered the precipice with flowers,
+nevertheless the precipice exists.
+
+On the other hand, it is true that one reading the novel will forget
+the trick of the author and will see in it only the picture of an
+immense happiness and a hymn in the worship of love. Perhaps the poor
+student is right when he says: "Among all the sources of happiness,
+that from which I drank during the fever is the clearest and best." "A
+life which love has not visited, even in a dream, is still worse."
+
+Love and faith in woman and art are two constantly recurring themes
+in "Lux in Tenebris," "At the Source," "Be Blessed," and "Organist of
+Ponikila."
+
+When Sienkiewicz wrote "Let Us Follow Him," some critics cried angrily
+that he lessens his talent and moral worth of the literature; they
+regretted that he turned people into the false road of mysticism, long
+since left. Having found Christ on his pages, the least religious
+people have recollected how gigantic he is in the writings of Heine,
+walking over land and sea, carrying a red, burning sun instead of a
+heart. They all understood that to introduce Christ not only worthily
+or beautifully, but simply and in such a manner that we would not be
+obliged to turn away from the picture, would be a great art--almost a
+triumph.
+
+In later times we have made many such attempts. "The Mysticism" became
+to-day an article of commerce. The religious tenderness and simplicity
+was spread among Parisian newspaper men, playwrights and novelists.
+Such as Armand Sylvèstre, such as Theodore de Wyzewa, are playing at
+writing up Christian dogmas and legends. And a strange thing! While
+the painters try to bring the Christ nearer to the crowd, while
+Fritz von Uhde or Lhermitte put the Christ in a country school, in a
+workingman's house, the weakling writers, imitating poets, dress Him
+in old, faded, traditional clothes and surround Him with a theatrical
+light which they dare to call "mysticism." They are crowding the
+porticos of the temple, but they are merely merchants. Anatole France
+alone cannot be placed in the same crowd.
+
+In "Let Us Follow Him" the situation and characters are known, and
+are already to be found in literature. But never were they painted so
+simply, so modestly, without romantic complaints and exclamations. In
+the first chapters of that story there appears an epic writer with
+whom we have for a long time been familiar. We are accustomed to
+that uncommon simplicity. But in order to appreciate the narrative
+regarding Antea, one must listen attentively to this slow prose and
+then one will notice the rhythmic sentences following one after the
+other. Then one feels that the author is building a great foundation
+for the action. Sometimes there occurs a brief, sharp sentence ending
+in a strong, short word, and the result is that Sienkiewicz has given
+us a masterpiece which justifies the enthusiasm of a critic, who
+called him a Prince of Polish Prose.
+
+In the second period of his literary activity, Sienkiewicz has
+produced his remarkable historical trilogy, "The Deluge," "With Fire
+and Sword," and "Pan Michael," in which his talent shines forth
+powerfully, and which possess absolutely distinctive characters from
+his short stories. The admirers of romanticism cannot find any better
+books in historical fiction. Some critic has said righteously about
+Sienkiewicz, speaking of his "Deluge," that he is "the first of Polish
+novelists, past or present, and second to none now living in England,
+France, or Germany."
+
+Sienkiewicz being himself a nobleman, therefore naturally in his
+historical novels he describes the glorious deeds of the Polish
+nobility, who, being located on the frontier of such barbarous nations
+as Turks, Kozaks, Tartars, and Wolochs (to-day Roumania), had defended
+Europe for centuries from the invasions of barbarism and gave the time
+to Germany, France, and England to outstrip Poland in the development
+of material welfare and general civilization among the masses--the
+nobility being always very refined--though in the fifteenth century
+the literature of Poland and her sister Bohemia (Chechy) was richer
+than any other European country, except Italy. One should at least
+always remember that Nicolaus Kopernicus (Kopernik) was a Pole and
+John Huss was a Chech.
+
+Historical novels began in England, or rather in Scotland, by the
+genius of Walter Scott, followed in France by Alexandre Dumas _père_.
+These two great writers had numerous followers and imitators in all
+countries, and every nation can point out some more or less successful
+writer in that field, but who never attained the great success of
+Sienkiewicz, whose works are translated into many languages, even
+into Russian, where the antipathy for the Polish superior degree of
+civilization is still very eager.
+
+The superiority of Sienkiewicz's talent is then affirmed by this fact
+of translation, and I would dare say that he is superior to the father
+of this kind of novels, on account of his historical coloring, so much
+emphasized in Walter Scott. This important quality in the historical
+novel is truer and more lively in the Polish writer, and then he
+possesses that psychological depth about which Walter Scott never
+dreamed. Walter Scott never has created such an original and typical
+figure as Zagloba is, who is a worthy rival to Shakespeare's Falstaff.
+As for the description of duelings, fights, battles, Sienkiewicz's
+fantastically heroic pen is without rival.
+
+Alexandre Dumas, notwithstanding the biting criticism of Brunetière,
+will always remain a great favorite with the reading masses, who are
+searching in his books for pleasure, amusement, and distraction.
+Sienkiewicz's historical novels possess all the interesting qualities
+of Dumas, and besides that they are full of wholesome food for
+thinking minds. His colors are more shining, his brush is broader,
+his composition more artful, chiselled, finished, better built, and
+executed with more vigor. While Dumas amuses, pleases, distracts,
+Sienkiewicz astonishes, surprises, bewitches. All uneasy
+preoccupations, the dolorous echoes of eternal problems, which
+philosophical doubt imposes with the everlasting anguish of the
+human mind, the mystery of the origin, the enigma of destiny, the
+inexplicable necessity of suffering, the short, tragical, and sublime
+vision of the future of the soul, and the future not less difficult to
+be guessed of by the human race in this material world, the torments
+of human conscience and responsibility for the deeds, is said by
+Sienkiewicz without any pedanticism, without any dryness.
+
+If we say that the great Hungarian author Maurice Jokay, who also
+writes historical novels, pales when compared with that fascinating
+Pole who leaves far behind him the late lions in the field of
+romanticism, Stanley J. Weyman and Anthony Hope, we are through with
+that part of Sienkiewicz's literary achievements.
+
+In the third period Sienkiewicz is represented by two problem novels,
+"Without Dogma" and "Children of the Soil."
+
+The charm of Sienkiewicz's psychological novels is the synthesis so
+seldom realized and as I have already said, the plastic beauty and
+abstract thoughts. He possesses also an admirable assurance of
+psychological analysis, a mastery in the painting of customs and
+characters, and the rarest and most precious faculty of animating
+his heroes with intense, personal life, which, though it is only an
+illusionary life, appears less deceitful than the real life.
+
+In that field of novels Sienkiewicz differs greatly from Balzac, for
+instance, who forced himself to paint the man in his perversity or in
+his stupidity. According to his views life is the racing after riches.
+The whole of Balzac's philosophy can be resumed in the deification of
+the force. All his heroes are "strong men" who disdain humanity and
+take advantage of it. Sienkiewicz's psychological novels are not
+lacking in the ideal in his conception of life; they are active
+powers, forming human souls. The reader finds there, in a
+well-balanced proportion, good and bad ideas of life, and he
+represents this life as a good thing, worthy of living.
+
+He differs also from Paul Bourget, who as a German savant counts how
+many microbes are in a drop of spoiled blood, who is pleased with any
+ferment, who does not care for healthy souls, as a doctor does not
+care for healthy people--and who is fond of corruption. Sienkiewicz's
+analysis of life is not exclusively pathological, and we find in his
+novels healthy as well as sick people as in the real life. He takes
+colors from twilight and aurora to paint with, and by doing so he
+strengthens our energy, he stimulates our ability for thinking about
+those eternal problems, difficult to be decided, but which existed and
+will exist as long as humanity will exist.
+
+He prefers green fields, the perfume of flowers, health, virtue, to
+Zola's liking for crime, sickness, cadaverous putridness, and manure.
+He prefers _l'âme humaine_ to _la bête humaine_.
+
+He is never vulgar even when his heroes do not wear any gloves, and he
+has these common points with Shakespeare and Molière, that he does not
+paint only certain types of humanity, taken from one certain part of
+the country, as it is with the majority of French writers who do not
+go out of their dear Paris; in Sienkiewicz's novels one can find every
+kind of people, beginning with humble peasants and modest noblemen
+created by God, and ending with proud lords made by the kings.
+
+In the novel "Without Dogma," there are many keen and sharp
+observations, said masterly and briefly; there are many states of the
+soul, if not always very deep, at least written with art. And his
+merit in that respect is greater than of any other writers, if we
+take in consideration that in Poland heroic lyricism and poetical
+picturesqueness prevail in the literature.
+
+The one who wishes to find in the modern literature some aphorism
+to classify the characteristics of the people, in order to be able
+afterward to apply them to their fellow-men, must read "Children of
+the Soil."
+
+But the one who is less selfish and wicked, and wishes to collect for
+his own use such a library as to be able at any moment to take a book
+from a shelf and find in it something which would make him thoughtful
+or would make him forget the ordinary life,--he must get "Quo Vadis,"
+because there he will find pages which will recomfort him by their
+beauty and dignity; it will enable him to go out from his surroundings
+and enter into himself, _i.e_., in that better man whom we sometimes
+feel in our interior. And while reading this book he ought to leave
+on its pages the traces of his readings, some marks made with a lead
+pencil or with his whole memory.
+
+It seems that in that book a new man was aroused in Sienkiewicz, and
+any praise said about this unrivaled masterpiece will be as pale as
+any powerful lamp is pale comparatively with the glory of the sun.
+For instance, if I say that Sienkiewicz has made a thorough study of
+Nero's epoch, and that his great talent and his plastic imagination
+created the most powerful pictures in the historical background, will
+it not be a very tame praise, compared with his book--which, while
+reading it, one shivers and the blood freezes in one's veins?
+
+In "Quo Vadis" the whole _alta Roma_, beginning with slaves carrying
+mosaics for their refined masters, and ending with patricians, who
+were so fond of beautiful things that one of them for instance used to
+kiss at every moment a superb vase, stands before our eyes as if it
+was reconstructed by a magical power from ruins and death.
+
+There is no better description of the burning of Rome in any
+literature. While reading it everything turns red in one's eyes, and
+immense noises fill one's ears. And the moment when Christ appears
+on the hill to the frightened Peter, who is going to leave Rome, not
+feeling strong enough to fight with mighty Caesar, will remain one of
+the strongest passages of the literature of the whole world.
+
+After having read again and again this great--shall I say the greatest
+historical novel?--and having wondered at its deep conception,
+masterly execution, beautiful language, powerful painting of the
+epoch, plastic description of customs and habits, enthusiasm of
+the first followers of Christ, refinement of Roman civilization,
+corruption of the old world, the question rises: What is the
+dominating idea of the author, spread out all over the whole book? It
+is the cry of Christians murdered in circuses: _Pro Christo_!
+
+Sienkiewicz searching always and continually for a tranquil harbor
+from the storms of conscience and investigation of the tormented mind,
+finds such a harbor in the religious sentiments, in lively Christian
+faith. This idea is woven as golden thread in a silk brocade, not only
+in "Quo Vadis," but also in all his novels. In "Fire and Sword" his
+principal hero is an outlaw; but all his crimes, not only against
+society, but also against nature, are redeemed by faith, and as a
+consequence of it afterward by good deeds. In the "Children of the
+Soul," he takes one of his principal characters upon one of seven
+Roman hills, and having displayed before him in the most eloquent way
+the might of the old Rome, the might as it never existed before and
+perhaps never will exist again, he says: "And from all that nothing
+is left only crosses! crosses! crosses!" It seems to us that in "Quo
+Vadis" Sienkiewicz strained all his forces to reproduce from one side
+all the power, all riches, all refinement, all corruption of the
+Roman civilization in order to get a better contrast with the great
+advantages of the cry of the living faith: _Pro Christo!_ In that
+cry the asphyxiated not only in old times but in our days also find
+refreshment; the tormented by doubt, peace. From that cry flows hope,
+and naturally people prefer those from whom the blessing comes to
+those who curse and doom them.
+
+Sienkiewicz considers the Christian faith as the principal and even
+the only help which humanity needs to bear cheerfully the burden and
+struggle of every-day life. Equally his personal experience as well as
+his studies made him worship Christ. He is not one of those who say
+that religion is good for the people at large. He does not admit such
+a shade of contempt in a question touching so near the human heart.
+He knows that every one is a man in the presence of sorrow and the
+conundrum of fate, contradiction of justice, tearing of death, and
+uneasiness of hope. He believes that the only way to cross the
+precipice is the flight with the wings of faith, the precipice made
+between the submission to general and absolute laws and the confidence
+in the infinite goodness of the Father.
+
+The time passes and carries with it people and doctrines and systems.
+Many authors left as the heritage to civilization rows of books, and
+in those books scepticism, indifference, doubt, lack of precision and
+decision.
+
+But the last symptoms in the literature show us that the Stoicism
+is not sufficient for our generation, not satisfied with Marcus
+Aurelius's gospel, which was not sufficient even to that brilliant
+Sienkiewicz's Roman _arbiter elegantiarum_, the over-refined patrician
+Petronius. A nation which desired to live, and does not wish either to
+perish in the desert or be drowned in the mud, needs such a great help
+which only religion gives. The history is not only _magister vitae_,
+but also it is the master of conscience.
+
+Literature has in Sienkiewicz a great poet--epical as well as lyrical.
+
+I shall not mourn, although I appreciate the justified complaint about
+objectivity in _belles lettres._ But now there is no question what
+poetry will be; there is the question whether it will be, and I
+believe that society, being tired with Zola's realism and its
+caricature, not with the picturesqueness of Loti, but with catalogues
+of painter's colors; not with the depth of Ibsen, but the oddness of
+his imitators--it seems to me that society will hate the poetry which
+discusses and philosophizes, wishes to paint but does not feel, makes
+archeology but does not give impressions, and that people will turn to
+the poetry as it was in the beginning, what is in its deepest essence,
+to the flight of single words, to the interior melody, to the
+song--the art of sounds being the greatest art. I believe that if in
+the future the poetry will find listeners, they will repeat to the
+poets the words of Paul Verlaine, whom by too summary judgment they
+count among incomprehensible originals:
+
+  "_De la musique encore et toujours_."
+
+And nobody need be afraid, from a social point of view, for
+Sienkiewicz's objectivity. It is a manly lyricism as well as epic,
+made deep by the knowledge of the life, sustained by thinking, until
+now perhaps unconscious of itself, the poetry of a writer who walked
+many roads, studied many things, knew much bitterness, ridiculed many
+triflings, and then he perceived that a man like himself has only one
+aim: above human affairs "to spin the love, as the silkworm spins its
+web."
+
+S.C. DE SOISSONS.
+
+"THE UNIVERSITY," CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
+
+
+
+
+PART SECOND
+
+
+SO RUNS THE WORLD
+
+
+ZOLA.
+
+
+I have a great respect for every accomplished work. Every time I put
+on the end of any of my works _finis_, I feel satisfied; not because
+the work is done, not on account of future success, but on account of
+an accomplished deed.
+
+Every book is a deed--bad or good, but at any rate accomplished--and a
+series of them, written with a special aim, is an accomplished purpose
+of life; it is a feast during which the workers have the right to
+receive a wreath, and to sing: "We bring the crop, the crop!"
+
+Evidently the merit depends on the result of the work. The profession
+of the writer has its thorns about which the reader does not dream. A
+farmer, bringing the crop to his barn, has this absolute surety, that
+he brings wheat, rye, barley, or oats which will be useful to the
+people. An author, writing even with the best of faith, may have
+moments of doubt, whether instead of bread he did not give poison,
+whether his work is not a great mistake or a great misdeed, whether it
+has brought profit to humanity, or whether, were it not better for the
+people and himself, had he not written anything, nothing accomplished.
+
+Such doubts are foes to human peace, but at the same time they are a
+filter, which does not pass any dirt. It is bad when there are too
+many of them, it is bad when too few; in the first case the ability
+for deeds disappears, in the second, the conscience. Hence the
+eternal, as humanity, need of exterior regulator.
+
+But the French writers always had more originality and independence
+than others, and that regulator, which elsewhere was religion, long
+since ceased to exist for them. There were some exceptions, however.
+Balzac used to affirm that his aim was to serve religion and monarchy.
+But even the works of those who confessed such principles were not in
+harmony with themselves. One can say that it pleased the authors to
+understand their activity in that way, but the reading masses could
+understand it and often understood it as a negation of religious and
+ethical principles.
+
+In the last epoch, however, such misunderstanding became impossible,
+because the authors began to write, either in the name of their
+personal convictions, directly opposite to social principles and ties,
+or with objective analysis, which, in its action of life, marks the
+good and the evil as manifestations equally necessary and equally
+justified. France--and through France the rest of Europe--was
+overflowed with a deluge of books, written with such lightheartedness,
+so absolute and with such daring, not counting on any responsibility
+toward people, that even those who received them without any scruples
+began to be overcome with astonishment. It seemed that every author
+forced himself to go further than they expected him to. In that way
+they succeeded in being called daring thinkers and original artists.
+The boldness in touching certain subjects, and the way of interpreting
+them, seemed to be the best quality of the writer. To that was joined
+bad faith, or unconscious deceiving of himself and others. Analysis!
+They analyzed in the name of truth, which apparently must and has the
+right to be said, everything, but especially the evil, dirt, human
+corruption. They did not notice that this pseudo-analysis ceases to be
+an objective analysis, and becomes a sickish liking for rotten things
+coming from two causes: in the first place from the corruption of the
+taste, then from greater facility of producing striking effects.
+
+They utilized the philological faculty of the senses, on the strength
+of which repulsive impressions appear to us stronger and more real
+than agreeable, and they abused that property beyond measure.
+
+There was created a certain kind of travelling in putridness, because
+the subjects being exhausted very quickly, there was a necessity to
+find something new which could attract. The truth itself, in the name
+of which it was done, was put in a corner in the presence of such
+exigencies. Are you familiar with Zola's "La Terre"? This novel is to
+represent a picture of a French village. Try and think of a French
+village, or of any other village. How does it look altogether? It is
+a gathering of houses, trees, fields, pastures, wild flowers, people,
+herds, light, sky, singing, small country business, and work. In all
+that, without any doubt, the manure plays an important part, but there
+is something more behind it and besides it. But Zola's village looks
+as if it was composed exclusively of manure and crime. Therefore
+the picture is false, the truth twisted, because in nature the true
+relation of things is different. If any one would like to take the
+trouble of making a list of the women represented in French novels,
+he would persuade himself that at least ninety-five per cent. of
+them were fallen women. But in society it is not, and cannot be, so.
+Probably even in the countries where they worshipped Astarte, there
+were less bad women. Notwithstanding this, the authors try to persuade
+us that they are giving a true picture of society, and that their
+analysis of customs is an objective one. The lie, exaggeration, liking
+for rotten things--such is the exact picture in contemporary novels.
+I do not know what profit there is in literature like that, but I
+do know that the devil has not lost anything, because through this
+channel flows a river of mud and poison, and the moral sense became so
+dulled that finally they tolerated such books which a few decades
+ago would have brought the author to court. To-day we do not wish to
+believe that the author of "Madame Bovary" had two criminal suits. Had
+this book been written twenty years later, they would have found it
+too modest.
+
+But the human spirit, which does not slumber, and the organism that
+wishes to live, does not suffer excess of poison. Finally there came a
+moment for hiccoughs of disgust. Some voices began to rise asking for
+other spiritual bread; an instinctive sentiment awakes and cries that
+it cannot continue any longer in this way, that one must arise, shake
+off the mud, clean, change! The people ask for a fresh breeze. The
+masses cannot say what they want, but they know what they do not want;
+they know they are breathing bad air, and that they are suffocating.
+An uneasiness takes hold of their minds. Even in France they are
+seeking and crying for something different; they began to protest
+against the actual state of affairs. Many writers felt that
+uneasiness. They had some moments of doubt, about which I have spoken
+already, and those doubts were stronger on account of the uncertainty
+of the new roads. Look at the last books of Bourget, Rod, Barrès,
+Desjardin, the poetry of Rimbaud, Verlaine, Heredia, Mallarmé, and
+even Maeterlinck and his school. What do you find there? The searching
+for new essence and new form, feverish seeking for some issue,
+uncertainty where to go and where to look for help--in religion or
+mysticism, in duty outside of faith, or in patriotism or in humanity?
+Above all, however, one sees in them an immense uneasiness. They do
+not find any issue, because for it one needs two things: a great idea
+and a great talent, and they did not have either of them. Hence the
+uneasiness increases, and the same authors who arouse against rough
+pessimism of naturalistic direction fell into pessimism themselves,
+and by this the principal importance and aim of a reform became
+weaker. What remains then? The bizarre form. And in this bizarre form,
+whether it is called symbolism or impressionism, they go in deeper and
+become more entangled, losing artistic equilibrium, common sense, and
+serenity of the soul. Often they fall into the former corruption as
+far as the essence is concerned, and almost always into dissonance
+with one's self, because they have an honest sentiment that they must
+give to the world something new, and they know not what.
+
+Such are the present times! Among those searching in darkness,
+wandering and weary ones, one remained quiet, sure of himself and his
+doctrine, immovable and almost serious in his pessimism. It was Emile
+Zola. A great talent, slow but powerful and a potent force, surprising
+objectivism if the question is about a sentiment, because it is equal
+to almost complete indifference, such an exceptional gift of seeing
+the entire soul of humanity and things that it approaches this
+naturalistic writer to mystics--all that gives him a very great and
+unusual originality.
+
+The physical figure does not always reproduce the spiritual
+individuality. In Zola, this relation comes out very strikingly. A
+square face, low forehead covered with wrinkles, rough features, high
+shoulders and short neck, give to his person a rough appearance.
+Looking at his face and those wrinkles around the eyes, you can guess
+that he is a man who can stand much, that he is persevering and
+stubborn, not only in his projects but in the realization of them; but
+what is mere important, he is so in his thinking also. There is no
+keenness in him. At the first glance of the eye one can see that he
+is a doctrinarian shut up in himself, who does not embrace large
+horizons--sees everything at a certain angle, narrow-mindedly yet
+seeing distinctly.
+
+His mind, like a dark lantern, throws a narrow light in only one
+direction, and he goes in that direction with immovable surety.
+In that way the history of a series of his books called "Les
+Rougon-Macquart" becomes clear.
+
+Zola was determined to write the history of a certain family at the
+time of the Empire, on the ground of conditions produced by it, in
+consideration of the law of heredity.
+
+There was a question even about something more than this
+consideration, because this heredity had to become the physiological
+foundation of the work. There is a certain contradiction in the
+premises. Speaking historically Rougon-Macquart had to be a picture
+of French society during its last times. According to their moral
+manifestations of life, therefore, they ought to be of themselves more
+or less a normal family. But in such a case what shall one do with
+heredity? To be sure, moral families are such on the strength of
+the law of heredity--but it is impossible to show it in such
+conditions--one can do it only in exceptional cases of the normal
+type. Therefore the Rougon are in fact a sick family. They are
+children of nervousness. It was contracted by the first mother of the
+family, and since that time the coming generations, one after another,
+followed with the same stigma on their foreheads. This is the way the
+author wishes to have it, and one must agree with him. In what way,
+however, can a history of one family exceptionally attainted with a
+mental disorder be at the same time a picture of French society, the
+author does not explain to us. Had he said that during the Empire
+all society was sick, it would be a trick. A society can walk in the
+perilous road of politics or customs and be sick as a community, and
+at the same time have healthy individuals and families. These are two
+different things. Therefore one of the two: either the Rougon are
+sick, and in that case the cycle of novels about them is not a picture
+of French society during the Empire--it is only a psychological
+study--or the whole physiological foundations, all this heredity
+on which the cycle is based, in a word Zola's whole doctrine, is
+nonsense.
+
+I do not know whether any one has paid attention to Zola at this _aut
+aut_! It is sure that he never thought of it himself. Probably it
+would not have had any influence, as the criticisms had no influence
+on his theory of heredity. Critics and physiologists attacked him
+ofttimes with an arsenal of irrefutable arguments. It did not do any
+good. They affirmed in vain that the theory of heredity is not proved
+by any science, and above all it is difficult to grasp it and show it
+by facts; they pointed in vain that physiology cannot be fantastical
+and its laws cannot depend on the free conception of an author.
+Zola listened, continued to write, and in the last volume he gave
+a genealogical tree of the family of Rougon-Macquart, with such a
+serenity as if no one ever doubted his theory.
+
+At any rate, this tree has one advantage. It is so pretentious, so
+ridiculous that it takes away from the theory the seriousness which it
+would have given to less individual minds. We learn from it that from
+a nervously sick great-grandmother grows a sick family. But the one
+who would think that her nervousness is seen in descendants as it is
+in the physical field, in a certain similar way, in some inclination
+or passion for something, will be greatly mistaken. On the contrary,
+the marvellous tree produces different kinds of fruit. You can find
+on it red apples, pears, plums, cherries, and everything you might
+desire. And all that on account of great-grandmother's nervousness. Is
+it the same way in nature? We do not know. Zola himself does not have
+any other proofs than clippings from newspapers, describing different
+crimes; he preserved these clippings carefully as "human documents,"
+and which he uses according to his fancy.
+
+It can be granted to him, but he must not sell us such fancy for
+the eternal and immutable laws of nature. Grandmother did have
+nervousness, her nearest friends were in the habit of searching for
+remedies against ills not in a drug-store, therefore her male and
+female descendants are such as they must be--namely, criminals,
+thieves, fast women, honest people, saints, politicians, good mothers,
+bankers, farmers, murderers, priests, soldiers, ministers--in a word,
+everything which in the sphere of the mind, in the sphere of health,
+in the sphere of wealth and position, in the sphere of profession, can
+be and are men as well as women in the whole world. One is stupefied
+voluntarily. What then? And all that on account of grandmother's
+nervousness? "Yes!" answers the author. But if Adelaïde Fouqué had not
+had it, her descendants would be good or bad just the same and have
+the same occupations men and women usually have in this world.
+"Certainly!" Zola answers; "but Adelaïde Fouqué had nervousness." And
+further discussion is impossible, because one has to do with a man who
+his own voluntary fancy takes for a law of nature and his brain cannot
+be opened with a key furnished by logic. He built a genealogical tree;
+this tree could have been different--but if it was different, he would
+sustain that it can be only such as it is--and he would prefer to be
+killed rather than be convinced that his theory was worthless.
+
+At any rate, it is such a theory that it is not worth while to
+quarrel about it. A long time ago it was said that Zola had one good
+thing--his talent; and one bad--his doctrine. If as a consequence of
+an inherited nervousness one can become a rascal as well as a good
+man, a Sister of Charity as well as Nana, a farmer boy as well as
+Achilles--in that case there is an heredity which does not exist. A
+man can be that which he wishes to be. The field for good will and
+responsibility is open, and all those moral foundations on which human
+life is based come out of the fire safely. We could say to the author
+that there is too much ado about nothing, and finish with him as one
+finishes with a doctrinarian and count only his talent. But he cares
+for something else. No matter if his doctrine is empty, he makes from
+it other deductions. The entire cycle of his books speaks precisely.
+"No matter what you are, saint or criminal, you are such on the
+strength of the law of heredity, you are such as you must be, and in
+that case you have neither merit nor are you guilty." Here is the
+question of responsibility! But we are not going to discuss it. The
+philosophy has not yet found the proof of the existence of man, and
+when _cogito ergo sum_ of Cartesius was not sufficient for it, the
+question is still open. Even if all centuries of philosophy affirm it
+or not, the man is intrinsically persuaded that he exists, and no less
+persuaded that he is responsible for his whole life, which, without
+any regard to his theories, is based on such persuasion. And then even
+the science did not decide the question of the whole responsibility.
+Against authorities one can quote other authorities, against opinions
+one can bring other opinions, against deductions other deductions.
+But for Zola such opinion is decided. There is only one grandmother
+Adelaïde, or grandfather Jacques, on whom everything depends. From
+that point begins, according to my opinion, the bad influence of the
+writer, because he not only decides difficult questions to be decided
+once and forever, but he popularizes them and facilitates the
+corruption of society. No matter if every thief or every murderer can
+appeal to a grandmother with nervousness. Courts, notwithstanding the
+cycle of Rougon-Macquart, will place them behind bars. The evil is not
+in single cases, but in this, that into the human soul a bad pessimism
+and depression flows, that the charm of life is destroyed, the hope,
+the energy, the liking for life, and therefore all effort in the
+direction of good is shattered.
+
+_A quoi bon?_ Such is the question coming by itself. A book is also an
+activity, forming human souls. If at least the reader would find
+in Zola's book the bad and good side of human life in an equal
+proportion, or at least in such as one can find it in reality! Vain
+hope! One must climb high in order to get colors from a rainbow or
+sunset--but everybody has saliva in his mouth and it is easy to paint
+with it. This naturalist prefers cheap effects more than others do; he
+prefers mildew to perfumes, _la bête humaine_ to _l'âme humaine!_
+
+If we could bring an inhabitant of Venus or Mars to the earth and ask
+him to judge of life on the earth from Zola's novels, he would say
+most assuredly: "This life is sometimes quite pure, like 'Le Rève,'
+but in general it is a thing which smells bad, is slippery, moist,
+dreadful." And even if the theories on which Zola has based his works
+were, as they are not, acknowledged truths, what a lack of pity to
+represent life in such a way to the people, who must live just the
+same! Does he do it in order to ruin, to disgust, to poison every
+action, to paralyze every energy, to discourage all thinking? In the
+presence of that, we are even sorry that he has a talent. It would
+have been better for him, for France, that he had not had it. And one
+wonders that he is not frightened, that when a fear seizes even those
+who did not lead to corruption, he alone with such a tranquillity
+finishes his Rougon-Macquart as if he had strengthened the capacity
+for life of the French people instead of having destroyed it. How is
+it possible that he cannot understand that people brought up on such
+corrupted bread and drinking, such bad water, not only will be unable
+to resist the storm, but even they will not have an inclination to do
+so! Musset has written in his time this famous verse: "We had already
+your German Rhine." Zola brings up his society in such a way that, if
+everything that he planted would take root, the second of Musset's
+verses would be: "But to-day we will give you even the Seine." But
+it is not as bad as that. "La Débâcle" is a remarkable book,
+notwithstanding all its faults, but the soldiers, who will read it,
+will be defeated by those who in the night sing: "Glory, Glory,
+Halleluia!"
+
+I consider Zola's talent as a national misfortune, and I am glad that
+his times are passing away, that even the most zealous pupils abandon
+the master who stands alone more and more.
+
+Will humanity remember him in literature? Will his fame pass? We
+cannot affirm, but we can doubt! In the cycle of Rougon-Macquart there
+are powerful volumes, as "Germinal" or "La Débâcle." But in general,
+that which Zola's natural talent made for his immortality was spoiled
+by a liking for dirty realism and his filthy language. Literature
+cannot use such expressions of which even peasants are ashamed. The
+real truth, if the question is about vicious people, can be attained
+by other means, by probable reproduction of the state of their souls,
+thoughts, deeds, finally by the run of their conversation, but not by
+verbal quotation of their swearings and most horrid words. As in the
+choice of pictures, so in the choice of expression, exist certain
+measures, pointed at by reason and good taste. Zola overstepped it
+to such a degree ("La Terre") to which nobody yet dared to approach.
+Monsters are killed because they are monsters. A book which is the
+cause of disgust must be abandoned. It is the natural order of
+things. From old production as of universal literature survive the
+forgetfulness of the rough productions, destined to excite laughter
+(Aristophanes, Rabelais, etc.), or lascivious things, but written
+with an elegance (Boccaccio). Not one book written in order to excite
+nausea outlived. Zola, for the sake of the renown caused by his works,
+for the sake of the scandal produced by every one of his volumes,
+killed his future. On account of that happened a strange thing: it
+happened that he, a man writing according to a conceived plan, writing
+with deliberation, cold and possessing his subjects as very few
+writers are, created good things only when he had the least
+opportunity to realize his plans, doctrines, means,--in a word, when
+he dominated the subject the least and was dominated by the subject
+most.
+
+Such was the case in "Germinal" and "La Débâcle." The immensity of
+socialism and the immensity of the war simply crushed Zola with all
+his mental apparatus. His doctrines became very small in the presence
+of such dimensions, and hardly any one hears of them in the noise of
+the deluge, overflowing the mine and in the thundering of Prussian
+cannons; only talent remained. Therefore in both those books there are
+pages worthy of Dante. Quite a different thing happened with "Docteur
+Pascal." Being the last volume of the cycle, it was bound to be the
+last deduction, from the whole work the synthesis of the doctrine, the
+belfry of the whole building. Consequently in this volume Zola speaks
+more about doctrine than in any other previous volume; as the doctrine
+is bad, wicked, and false, therefore "Docteur Pascal" is the worst and
+most tedious book of all the cycle of Rougon-Macquart. It is a series
+of empty leaves on which tediousness is hand in hand with lack of
+moral sense, it is a pale picture full of falsehood--such is "Le
+Docteur Pascal." Zola wishes to have him an honest man. He is the
+outcast of the family Rougon-Macquart. In heredity there happens such
+lucky degenerations; the doctor knows about it, he considers himself
+as a happy exception, and it is for him a source of continuous inward
+pleasure. In the mean while, he loves people, serves them and sells
+them his medicine, which cures all possible disease. He is a sweet
+sage, who studies life, therefore he gathers "human documents," builds
+laboriously the genealogical tree of the family of Rougon-Macquart,
+whose descendant he is himself, and on the strength of his
+observations he comes to the same conclusion as Zola. To which? It is
+difficult to answer the question; but here it is more or less: if any
+one is not well, usually he is sick and that heredity exists, but
+mothers and fathers who come from other families can bring into the
+blood of children new elements; in that way heredity can be modified
+to such a degree that strictly speaking it does not exist.
+
+To all that Doctor Pascal is a positivist. He does not wish to affirm
+anything, but he does affirm that actual state of science does not
+permit of any further deductions than those which on the strength of
+the observation of known facts can be deducted, therefore one must
+hold them, and neglect the others. In that respect his prejudices do
+not tell us anything more than newspaper articles, written by young
+positivists. For the people, who are rushing forward, for those
+spiritual needs, as strong as thirst and hunger, by which the man felt
+such ideas as God, faith, immortality, the doctor has only a smile of
+commiseration. And one might wonder at him a little bit. One could
+understand him better if he did not acknowledge the possibility of the
+disentangling of different abstract questions, but he affirms that the
+necessity does not exist--by which he sins against evidence, because
+such a necessity exists, not further than under his own roof, in the
+person of his niece. This young person, brought up in his principles,
+at once loses the ground under her feet. In her soul arose more
+questions than the doctor was able to answer. And from this moment
+began a drama for both of them.
+
+"I cannot be satisfied with that," cries the niece, "I am choking; I
+must know something, and if your science cannot satisfy my necessity,
+I am going there where they will not only tranquillize me, not only
+explain everything to me, but also will make me happy--I am going to
+church."
+
+And she went. The roads of master and pupil diverge more and more.
+The pupil comes to the conclusion that the science which is only a
+slipknot on the human neck is positively bad and that it would be a
+great merit before God to burn those old papers in which the doctor
+writes his observations. And the drama becomes stronger, because
+notwithstanding the doctor being sixty years old, and Clotilde is only
+twenty years old, these two people are in love, not only as relations
+are in love, but as a man and woman love each other. This love adds
+more bitterness to the fight and prompts the catastrophe.
+
+On a certain night the doctor detected the niece in a criminal deed.
+She opened his desk, took out his papers, and she was ready to
+burn them up! They began to fight! Beautiful picture! Both are in
+nightgowns--they pull each other's hair, they scratch each other. He
+is stronger than she; although he has bitten her, she feels a certain
+pleasure in that experiment on her maiden skin of the strength of a
+man. In that is the whole of Zola. But let us listen, because the
+decisive moment approaches. The doctor himself, after having rested a
+while, announces it solemnly. The reader shivers. Will the doctor by
+the strength of his genius tear the sky and show to her emptiness
+beyond the stars? Or will he by the strength of his eloquence ruin her
+church, her creed, her ecstasies, her hopes?
+
+In the quietness the doctor's low voice is heard:
+
+"I did not wish to show you that, but it cannot last any longer--the
+time has come. Give me the genealogical tree of Rougon-Macquart."
+
+Yes! The genealogical tree of Rougon-Macquart! The reading of it
+begins: There was one Adelaïde Fouqué, who married Rougon-Macquart's
+friend. Rougon had Eugene Rougon, also Pascal Rougon, also Aristides,
+also Sidonie, also Martha. Aristides had Maxyme, Clotilde, Victor, and
+Maxyme had Charles, and so on to the end; but Sidonie had a daughter
+Angelle, and Martha, who married Mouret, who was from Macquart's
+family, had three children, etc.
+
+The night passes, pales, but the reading continues. After Rougons come
+Macquarts, then the generations of both families. One name follows
+another. They appear bad, good, indifferent, all classes, from
+ministers, bankers, great merchants, to simple soldiers or rascals
+without any professions--finally the doctor stops reading--and looking
+with his eyes of savant at his niece, asks: "Well, what now?"
+
+And beautiful Clotilde throws herself into his arms, crying:
+"_Vicisti! Vicisti!_"
+
+And her God, her church, her flight toward ideals, her spiritual needs
+disappeared, turned into ashes.
+
+Why? On the ground of what final conclusion? For what good reason?
+What could there be in the tree that convinced her? How could it
+produce any other impression than that of tediousness? Why did she
+not ask the question, which surely must have come to the lips of the
+reader: "And what then?"--it is unknown! I never noticed that any
+other author could deduct from such a trifling and insignificant
+cause such great and immediate consequences. It is as much of an
+astonishment as if Zola should order Clotilde's faith and principles
+to be turned into ashes after the doctor has read to her an almanac,
+time-table, bill of fare, or catalogue of some museum. The
+freedom surpasses here all possible limits and becomes absolutely
+incomprehensible. The reader asks whether the author deceives himself
+or if he wishes to throw some dust into the eyes of the public? And
+this climax of the novel is at the same time the downfall of all
+doctrine. Clotilde ought to have answered as follows:
+
+"Your theory has no connection with my faith in God and the Church.
+Your heredity is so _loose_ and on the strength of it one can be
+so much, _everything_, that it becomes _nothing_--therefore the
+consequences which you deduct from it also are based upon nothing.
+Nana, according to you, is a street-walker, and Angelle is a saint;
+the priest Mouret is an ascetic, Jacques Lantier a murderer, and all
+that on account of great-grandmother Adelaïde! But I tell you with
+more real probability, that the good are good because they have my
+faith, because they believe in responsibility and immortality of the
+soul, and the bad are bad because they do not believe in anything. How
+can you prove that the cause of good and bad is in great-grandmother
+Adelaïde Fouqué? Perhaps you will tell me that it is so because it
+is so; but I can tell you that the faith and responsibility were for
+centuries a stopper for evil, and you cannot deny it, if you wish to
+be a positivist, because those are material facts. In a word, I have
+objective proofs where you have your personal views, and if it is so,
+then leave my faith and throw your fancy into the fire."
+
+But Clotilde does not answer anything like this. On the contrary, she
+eats at once the apple from this tree--passes soul and body into the
+doctor's camp, and she does it because Zola wishes to have it that
+way. There is no other reason for it and cannot be.
+
+Had she done that on account of love for the doctor, had this reason,
+which in a woman can play such an important part, acted on her,
+everything would be easy to understand. But there is no such thing!
+In that case what would become of all of Zola's doctrine? It acts
+exclusively upon Clotilde, the author wishes to have only such a
+reason. And it happens as he wishes, but at the cost of logic and
+common sense. Since that time everything would be permitted: one will
+be allowed to persuade the reader that the man who is not loved makes
+a woman fall in love with him by means of showing her a price list
+of butter or candies. To such results a great and true talent is
+conducted by a doctrine.
+
+This doctrine conducts also to perfect atrophy of moral sense. This
+heredity is a wall in which one can make as many windows as one
+pleases. The doctor is such a window. He considers himself as being
+degenerated from the nervousness of the family; it means that he is
+a normal man, and as such he would transmit his health to his
+descendants. Clotilde thinks also that it would be quite a good idea,
+and as they are in love, consequently they take possession of each
+other, and they do it as did people in the epoch of caverns. Zola
+considered it a perfectly natural thing, Doctor Pascal thinks the
+same, and as Clotilde passed into his camp, she did not make any
+opposition. This appears a little strange. Clotilde was religious only
+a little while ago! Her youth and lack of experience do not justify
+her either. Even at eight years, girls have some sentiment of modesty.
+At twenty years a young girl always knows what she is doing, and she
+cannot be called a sacrifice, and if she departs from the sentiment of
+modesty she does it either by love, which makes noble the raptures,
+or because she does it by the act of duty, but at the same time
+she wishes to be herself a legitimated duty. Even if a woman is an
+irreligious being and she refuses to be blessed by religion, she can
+desire that her sentiment were legitimated. The priest or _monsieur le
+maire_? Clotilde, who loves Doctor Pascal, does not ask for anything.
+Marriage, accomplished by a _maire_, seems to her to be a secondary
+thing. Here also one cannot understand her, because a true love would
+wish to make the knot lasting. That which really happens is quite
+different, in the novel, that first separation is the end of the
+relation between them. Were they married at least by a _maire_, they
+would have remained even in the separation husband and wife, they
+would not cease to belong to each other; but as they were not married,
+therefore at the moment of her departure he became unmarried, as
+formerly, Doctor Pascal, she--seduced Clotilde. Even during their life
+in common there happened a thousand disagreeable incidents for both of
+them. One time, for instance, Clotilde rushes crying and red, and when
+the frightened doctor asks her what is the matter, she answers:
+
+"Ah, those women! Walking in the shade, I closed my parasol and I hurt
+a child. In that moment all of the women fell on me and began to shout
+such things! Ah, it was so dreadful! that I shall never have any
+children, that such things are not for such a dishcloth as I! and many
+other things which I cannot repeat; I do not wish to repeat them; I do
+not even understand them."
+
+Her breast was moved by sobbings; he became pale, and seizing her by
+the shoulders, commenced to cover her face with kisses, saying:
+
+"It's my fault, you suffer through me! Listen, we will go very far
+from here, where no one knows us, where everybody will greet you and
+you shall be happy."
+
+Only one thing does not come to their minds: to be married. When
+Pascal's mother speaks to him about it, they do not listen to it. It
+is not dictated to her by woman's modesty, to him by the care for her
+and the desire to shelter her from insults. Why? Because Zola likes it
+that way.
+
+But perhaps he cares to show what tragical results are produced
+by illegitimate marriages? Not at all. He shares the doctor's and
+Clotilde's opinion. Were they married, there would be no drama, and
+the author wishes to have it. That is the reason.
+
+Then comes the doctor's insolvency. One must separate. This separation
+becomes the misfortune of their lives: the doctor will die of it. Both
+feel that it will not be the end, they do not wish it--and they do not
+think of any means which would forever affirm their mutual dependence
+and change the departure for only a momentary separation, but not for
+eternal farewells: and they do not marry.
+
+They did not have any religion, therefore they did not wish for any
+priest; it is logical, but why did they not wish for a _maire_? The
+question remains without an answer.
+
+Here, besides lack of moral sense, there is something more, the lack
+of common sense. The novel is not only immoral, but at the same time
+it is a bad shanty, built of rotten pieces of wood, not holding
+together, unable to suffer any contact with logic and common sense. In
+such mud of nonsense even the talent was drowned.
+
+One thing remains: the poison flows as usual in the soul of the
+reader, the mind became familiar with the evil and ceased to despise
+it. The poison licks, spoils the simplicity of the soul, moral
+impressions and that sense of conscience which distinguishes the bad
+from the good.
+
+The doctor dies from languishing after Clotilde. She comes back under
+the old roof and takes care of the child. Nothing of that which the
+doctor sowed in her soul had perished. On the contrary, everything
+grows very well. She loved the life, she also loves it now, she is
+resigned to it entirely; not through resignation but because she
+acknowledges it--and the more she thinks of it, rocking in her lap
+the child without a name, she acknowledges more. Such is the end of
+Rougon-Macquarts.
+
+But such an end is a new surprise. Here we have before us nineteen
+volumes, and in those volumes, as Zola himself says, _tant de boue,
+tant de larmes. C'était à se demander si d'un coup de foudre, il
+n'aurait pas mieux valu balayer cette fourmilière gatée et miserable_.
+And it is true! Any one who will read those volumes comes to the
+conclusion that life is a blindly mechanical and exasperating process,
+in which one must take part because one cannot avoid it. There is more
+mud in it than green grass, more corruption than wholesomeness, more
+odor of corpses than perfume of flowers, more illness, more madness,
+and more crime than health and virtue. It is a Gehenna not only
+dreadful but also abominable. The hair rises on the head, and in the
+mean while the mouth is wet and the question comes, will it not be
+better that a thunderbolt destroyed _cette fourmilière gatée et
+miserable_?
+
+There cannot be any other conclusion, because any other would be a
+madman's mental aberration, the breaking of the rules of sense and
+logic. And now do you know how the cycle of these novels really ended?
+By a hymn in the worship of life.
+
+Here one's hands drop! It will be useless work to show again that the
+author comes to a conclusion which is illogical with his whole work.
+God bless him! But he must not be astonished if he is abandoned by his
+pupils. The people must think according to rules of logic. And as in
+the mean while they must live, consequently they wish to get some
+consolation in this life. Masters of Zola's kind gave them only
+corruption, chaos, disgust for life, and despair. Their rationalism
+cannot prove anything else, and if it did, it would be with too much
+zeal, it would overstep the limits. To-day the suffocated need some
+pure air, the doubting ones some hope, tormented by uneasiness, some
+quietude, therefore they are doing well when they turn therefrom where
+the hope and peace flow, there where they bless them and where they
+say to them as to Lazarus: _Tolle grabatum tuum et ambula_.
+
+By this one can explain to-day's evolutions, whose waves flow to all
+parts of the world.
+
+According to my opinion, poetry as well as novels must pass through
+it--even more: they must quicken it and make it more powerful. One
+cannot continue any longer that way! On an exhausted field, only
+weeds grow. The novel must strengthen the life, not shake it; make
+it nobler, not soil it; carry good "news," and not bad. It does not
+matter whether this which I say here please any one or not, because I
+believe that I feel the great and urgent need of the human soul, which
+cries for a change.
+
+
+
+
+PART THIRD
+
+
+WHOSE FAULT?
+
+
+_A Dramatic Picture in One Act_.
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  Jadwiga Karlowiecka.
+  Leon--A Painter.
+  A Servant.
+
+In the House of Jadwiga Karlowiecka.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+
+Servant.--The lady will be here in a minute.
+
+Leon (alone).--I cannot overcome my emotion nor can I tranquillize the
+throbbing of my heart. Three times have I touched the bell and three
+times have I wished to retreat. I am troubled. Why does she wish to
+see me! (Takes out a letter). "Be so kind as to come to see me on a
+very important matter. In spite of all that has happened I hope
+you will not refuse to grant the request of--a woman. Jadwiga
+Karlowiecka." Perhaps it would have been better and more honest to
+have left this letter without an answer. But I see that I have cheated
+myself in thinking that nothing will happen, and that it would be
+brutal of me not to come. The soul--poor moth--flies toward the light
+which may burn, but can neither warm nor light it. What has attracted
+me here? Is it love? Can I answer the question as to whether I still
+love this woman--so unlike my pure sweetheart of former years--this
+half lioness, whose reputation has been torn to shreds by human
+tongues? No! It is rather some painful curiosity which has attracted
+me here. It is the unmeasurable grief which in two years I have been
+unable to appease, that desire for a full explanation: "Why?" has been
+repeated over and over during my sleepless nights. And then let her
+see this emaciated face--let her look from nearby on that broken life.
+I could not resist. Such vengeance is my right. I shall be proud
+enough to set my teeth to stifle all groans. What is done cannot be
+undone, and I swear to myself that it shall never be done again.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+
+Jadwiga (entering).--You must excuse me for keeping you waiting.
+
+Leon.--It is my fault. I came too early, although I tried to be exact.
+
+Jadwiga.--No, I must be frank and tell you how it happened. In former
+times we were such dear friends, and then we have not seen each other
+for two years. I asked you to come, but I was not sure that you
+would grant my request, therefore--when the bell rang--after two
+years--(smiling) I needed a few moments to overcome the emotion. I
+thought it was necessary for both of us.
+
+Leon.--I am calm, madam, and I listen to you.
+
+Jadwiga.--I wished also that we should greet each other like people
+who have forgotten about the past, who know that it will not return,
+and to be at once on the footing of good friends; I do not dare say
+like brother and sisters. Therefore, Sir, here is my hand, and now be
+seated and tell me if you accept my proposition.
+
+Leon.--I leave that to you.
+
+Jadwiga.--If that is so, then I must tell you that such an agreement,
+based on mutual well-wishing, excludes excessive solemnity. We must be
+natural, sincere, and frank.
+
+Leon.--Frankly speaking, it will be a little difficult, still.
+
+Jadwiga.--It would be difficult if there were no condition: "Not a
+word about the past!" If we both keep to this, a good understanding
+will return of itself and in time we may become good friends. What
+have you been doing during the past two years?
+
+Leon.--I have been pushing the wheelbarrow of life, as all mortals
+do. Every Monday I have thought that in a week there would be another
+Monday. I assure you that there is some distraction in seeing the
+days spin out like a thread from a ball, and how everything that has
+happened goes away and gradually disappears, like a migratory bird.
+
+Jadwiga.--Such distraction is good for those to whom another bird
+comes with a song of the future. But otherwise--
+
+Leon.--Otherwise it is perhaps better to think that when all threads
+will be spun out from the ball, there will remain nothing. Sometimes
+the reminiscences are very painful. Happily time dulls their edge, or
+they would prick like thorns.
+
+Jadwiga.--Or would burn like fire.
+
+Leon.--All-wise Nature gives us some remedy for it. A fire which is
+not replenished must die, and the ashes do not burn.
+
+Jadwiga.--We are unwillingly chasing a bird which has flown away.
+Enough of it! Have you painted much lately?
+
+Leon.--I do nothing else. I think and I paint. It is true that until
+now my thoughts have produced nothing, and I have painted a very
+little. But it was not my fault. Better be good enough to tell me what
+has caused you to call me here.
+
+Jadwiga.--It will come by itself. In the first place, I should be
+justified in so doing by a desire to see a great man. You are now an
+artist whose fame is world-wide.
+
+Leon--I would appear to be guilty of conceit, but I honestly think
+that I was not the last pawn on the chessboard in the drawing-room,
+and that is perhaps the reason why I have been thinking during the
+past two years and could not understand why I was thrown aside like a
+common pawn.
+
+Jadwiga.--And where is our agreement?
+
+Leon.--It is a story told in a subjective way by a third person.
+According to the second clause in our agreement--"sincerity"--I must
+add that I am already accustomed to my wheelbarrow.
+
+Jadwiga.--We must not speak about it.
+
+Leon.--I warn you--it will be difficult.
+
+Jadwiga.--It should be more easy for you. You, the elect of art and
+the pride of the whole nation, and in the mean while its spoiled
+child--you can live with your whole soul in the present and in the
+future. From the flowers strewn under one's feet, one can always chose
+the most beautiful, or not choose at all, but always tread upon them.
+
+Leon.--If one does not stumble.
+
+Jadwiga.--No! To advance toward immortality.
+
+Leon.--Longing for death while on the road.
+
+Jadwiga.--It is an excess of pessimism for a man who says that he is
+accustomed to his wheelbarrow.
+
+Leon.--I wish only to show the other side of the medal. And then you
+must remember, madam, that to-day pessimism is the mode. You must not
+take my words too seriously. In a drawing-room one strings the words
+of a conversation like beads on a thread--it is only play.
+
+Jadwiga.--Let us play then (after a while). Ah! How many changes! I
+cannot comprehend. If two years ago some one had told me that to-day
+we would sit far apart from each other, and chat as we do, and look at
+each other with watchful curiosity, like two people perfectly strange
+to each other, I could not have believed. Truly, it is utterly
+amusing!
+
+Leon.--It would not be proper for me to remind you of our agreement.
+
+Jadwiga.--But nevertheless you do remind me. Thank you. My nerves are
+guilty for this melancholy turn of the conversation. But I feel it is
+not becoming to me. But pray be assured that I shall not again enter
+that thorny path, if for no other reason than that of self-love. I,
+too, amuse myself as best I can, and I return to my reminiscences only
+when wearied. For several days I have been greatly wearied.
+
+Leon.--Is that the reason why you asked me to come here? I am afraid
+that I will not be an abundant source of distraction. My disposition
+is not very gay, and I am too proud, too honest, and--too costly to
+become a plaything. Permit me to leave you.
+
+Jadwiga.--You must forgive me. I did not mean to offend you. Without
+going back to the past, I can tell you that pride is your greatest
+fault, and if it were not for that pride, many sad things would not
+have happened.
+
+Leon.--Without going back to the past, I must answer you that it is
+the only sail which remained on my boat. The others are torn by the
+wind of life. If it were not for this last sail, I should have sunk
+long ago.
+
+Jadwiga.--And I think that it was a rock on which has been wrecked
+not only your boat--but no matter! So much the worse for those who
+believed in fair weather and a smooth sea. We must at least prevent
+ourselves from now being carried where we do not wish to sail.
+
+Leon.--And where the sandy banks are sure--
+
+Jadwiga.--What strange conversation! It seems to me that it is a net,
+in which the truth lies at the bottom, struggling in vain to break the
+meshes. But perhaps it is better so.
+
+Leon.--Much better. Madam, you have written me that you wished to see
+me on an important matter. I am listening.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes (smiling). It is permitted a society woman to have her
+fancies and desires--sometimes inexplicable fancies, and it is not
+permitted a gentleman to refuse them. Well, then, I wished to see my
+portrait, painted by the great painter Leon. Would you be willing to
+paint it?
+
+Leon.--Madam--
+
+Jadwiga.--Ah! the lion's forehead frowns, as if my wish were an
+insult.
+
+Leon.--I think that the fancies of a society woman are indeed
+inexplicable, and do not look like jokes at all.
+
+Jadwiga.--This question has two sides! The first is the formal side
+and it shows itself thus: Mme. Jadwiga Karlowiecka most earnestly asks
+the great painter Leon to make her portrait. That is all! The painter
+Leon, who, it is known, paints lots of portraits, has no good reason
+for refusing. The painter cannot refuse to make a portrait any more
+than a physician can refuse his assistance. There remains the other
+side--the past. But we agreed that it is a forbidden subject.
+
+Leon.--Permit me, madam--
+
+Jadwiga (interrupting).--Pray, not a word about the past. (She
+laughs.) Ah, my woman's diplomacy knows how to tie a knot and draw
+tight the ends of it. How your embarrassment pleases me. But there is
+something quite different. Let us suppose that I am a vain person,
+full of womanly self-love; full of petty jealousy and envy. Well, you
+have painted the portrait of Mme. Zofia and of Helena. I wish to have
+mine also. One does not refuse the women such things. Reports of your
+fame come to me from all sides. I hear all around me the words: "Our
+great painter--our master!" Society lionizes you. God knows how many
+breasts sigh for you. Every one can have your works, every one can
+approach you, see you, be proud of you. I alone, your playmate, your
+old friend, I alone am as though excommunicated.
+
+Leon.--But Mme. Jadwiga--
+
+Jadwiga.--Ah, you have called me by my name. I thank you and beg your
+pardon. It is the self-love of a woman, nothing more. It is my nerves.
+Do not be frightened. You see how dangerous it is to irritate me.
+After one of my moods I am unbearable. I will give you three days to
+think the matter over. If you do not wish to come, write me then (she
+laughs sadly). Only I warn you, that if you will neither come nor
+write me, I will tell every one that you are afraid of me, and so
+I will satisfy my self-love. In the mean time, for the sake of my
+nerves, you must not tell, me that you refuse my request. I am a
+little bit ill--consequently capricious.
+
+Leon.--In three days you shall have my answer (rising), and now I will
+say good-bye.
+
+Jadwiga.--Wait a moment. This is not so easy as you think. Truly, I
+would think you are afraid of me. It is true that they say I am a
+coquette, a flirt. I know they talk very badly about me. Besides we
+are good acquaintances, who have not seen each other for two years.
+Let us then talk a little. Let me take your hat. Yes, that is it!
+Now let us talk. I am sure we may become friends again. As for me at
+least--what do you intend to do in the future besides painting my
+portrait?
+
+Leon.--The conversation about me would not last long. Let us
+take another more interesting subject. You had better talk about
+yourself--about your life, your family.
+
+Jadwiga.--As for my husband, he is, as usual, in Chantilly. My mother
+is dead! Poor mama! She was so fond of you--she loved you very much
+(after a pause). In fact, as you see, I have grown old and changed
+greatly.
+
+Leon.--At your age the words "I have grown old" are only a daring
+challenge thrown by a woman who is not afraid that she would be
+believed.
+
+Jadwiga.--I am twenty-three years old, so I am not talking about age
+in years, but age in morals. I feel that to-day I am not like that
+Jadwiga of Kalinowice whom you used to know so well. Good gracious!
+when I think to-day of that confidence and faith in life--those
+girlish illusions--the illusions of a young person who wished to be
+happy and make others happy, that enthusiasm for everything good and
+noble! where has all that gone--where has it disappeared? And to think
+that I was--well, an honest wild-flower--and to-day--
+
+Leon.--And to-day a society woman.
+
+Jadwiga.--To-day, when I see such a sceptical smile as I saw a few
+moments ago on your lips, it seems to me that I am ridiculous--very
+often so--even always when I sit at some ideal embroidery and when
+I begin to work at some withered flowers on the forgotten, despised
+canvas of the past. It is a curious and old fashion from times when
+faithfulness was not looked seriously on, and people sang of Filon.
+
+Leon.--At that moment you were speaking according to the latest mode.
+
+Jadwiga.--Shall I weep, or try to tie the broken thread? Well, the
+times change. I can assure you that I have some better moments, during
+which I laugh heartily at everything (handing him a cigarette). Do you
+smoke?
+
+Leon.--No, madam.
+
+Jadwiga.--I do. It is also a distraction. Sometimes I hunt _par force_
+with my husband, I read Zola's novels, I make calls and receive
+visits, and every morning I ponder as to the best way to kill time.
+Sometimes I succeed--sometimes not. Apropos, you know my husband, do
+you not?
+
+Leon.--I used to know him.
+
+Jadwiga.--He is very fond of hunting, but only _par force_. We never
+hunt otherwise.
+
+Leon.--Let us be frank. You had better drop that false tone.
+
+Jadwiga.--On the contrary. In our days we need impressions which
+stir our nerves. The latest music, like life itself, is full of
+dissonances. I do not wish to say that I am unhappy with my husband.
+It is true that he is always in Chantilly, and I see him only once in
+three months, but it proves, on the other hand, that he has confidence
+in me. Is it not true?
+
+Leon.--I do not know, and I do not wish to decide about it. But before
+all, I should not know anything about it.
+
+Jadwiga.--It seemed to me that you ought to know. Pray believe that I
+would not be as frank with any one else as I am with you. And then, I
+do not complain. I try to surround myself with youths who pretend they
+are in love with me. There is not a penny-worth of truth in all of
+it--they all lie, but the form of the lie is beautiful because they
+are all well-bred people. The Count Skorzewski visits me also--you
+must have heard of him, I am sure. I recommend him to you as a
+model for Adonis. Ha! ha! You do not recognize the wild-flower of
+Kalinowice?
+
+Leon.--No, I do not recognize it.
+
+Jadwiga.--No! But the life flower.
+
+Leon.--As a joke--
+
+Jadwiga.--At which one cannot laugh always. If our century was not
+sceptical I should think myself wild, romantic, trying to drown
+despair. But the romantic times have passed away, therefore, frankly
+speaking, I only try to fill up a great nothing. I also spin out my
+ball, although not always with pleasure. Sometimes I seem to myself so
+miserable and my life so empty that I rush to my prayer-desk, left by
+my mother. I weep, I pray--and then I laugh again at my prayers and
+tears. And so it goes on--round and round. Do you know that they
+gossip about me?
+
+Leon.--I do not listen to the gossip.
+
+Jadwiga.--How good you are! I will tell you then why they gossip. A
+missionary asked a negro what, according to his ideas, constituted
+evil? The negro thought a while, and then said: "Evil is if some one
+were to steal my wife." "And what is good?" asked the missionary.
+"Good is when I steal from some one else." My husband's friends are of
+the negro's opinion. Every one of them would like to do a good deed
+and steal some one's wife.
+
+Leon.--It depends on the wife.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes, but every word and every look is a bait. If the fish
+passes the bait, the fisherman's self-love is wounded. That is why
+they slander me (after a while). You great people--you are filled with
+simplicity. Then you think it depends on the wife?
+
+Leon.--Yes, it does.
+
+Jadwiga.--_Morbleu!_ as my husband says, and if the wife is weary?
+
+Leon.--I bid you good-bye.
+
+Jadwiga.--Why? Does what I say offend you?
+
+Leon.--It does more than offend me. It hurts me. Maybe it will
+seem strange to you, but here in my breast I am carrying some
+flowers--although they are withered--dead for a long time. But they
+are dear to me and just now you are trampling on them.
+
+Jadwiga (with an outburst).--Oh, if those flowers had not died!
+
+Leon.--They are in my heart--and there is a tomb. Let us leave the
+past alone.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes, you are right. Leave it alone. What is dead cannot
+be resuscitated. I wish to speak calmly. Look at my situation. What
+defends me--what helps me--what protects me? I am a young woman, and
+it seems not ugly, and therefore no one approaches me with an honest,
+simple heart, but with a trap in eyes and mouth. What opposition have
+I to make? Weariness? Grief? Emptiness? In life even a man must lean
+on something, and I, a feeble woman, I am like a boat without a helm,
+without oar and without light toward which to sail. And the heart
+longs for happiness. You must understand that a woman must be loved
+and must love some one in the world, and if she lacks true love she
+seizes the first pretext of it--the first shadow.
+
+Leon (with animation).--Poor thing.
+
+Jadwiga.--Do not smile in that ironical way. Be better, be less severe
+with me. I do not even have any one to complain, and that is why I do
+not drive away Count Skorzewski. I detest his beauty, I despise his
+perverse mind, but I do not drive him away because he is a skilful
+actor, and because when I see his acting it awakens in me the echo of
+former days. (After a while.) How shall I fill my life? Study? Art?
+Even if I loved them, they would not love me for they are not
+living things. No, truly now! They showed me no duties, no aims, no
+foundations. Everything on which other women live--everything which
+constitutes their happiness, sincere sorrow, strength, tears, and
+smiles, is barred from me. Morally I have nothing to live on--like a
+beggar. I have no one to live for--like an orphan. I am not permitted
+to yearn for a noble and quiet life; I may only nurture myself with
+grief and defend myself with faded, dead flowers, and remembrances
+of former pure, honest, and loving Jadwinia. Ah! again I break my
+promise, our agreement. I must beg your pardon.
+
+Leon.--Mme. Jadwiga, both our lives are tangled. When I was most
+unhappy, when everything abandoned me, there remained with me the love
+of an idea--love of the country.
+
+Jadwiga (thoughtfully).--The love of an idea--country. There is
+something great in that. You, by each of your pictures, increase the
+glory of the country and make famous its name, but I--what can I do?
+
+Leon.--The one who lives simply, suffers and quietly fulfils his
+duties--he also serves his country.
+
+Jadwiga.--What duties? Give them to me. For every-day life one great,
+ideal love is not enough for me. I am a woman! I must cling to
+something--twine about something like the ivy--otherwise truly, sir, I
+should fall to the ground and be trampled upon (with an outburst). If
+I could only respect him!
+
+Leon.--But, madam, you should remember to whom you are speaking of
+such matters. I have no right to know of your family affairs.
+
+Jadwiga.--No. You have not the right, nor are you obliged nor willing.
+Only friendly hearts know affliction--only those who suffer can
+sympathize. You--looking into the stars--you pass human misery and do
+not turn your head even when that misery shouts to you. It is your
+fault.
+
+Leon.--My fault!
+
+Jadwiga.--Do not frown, and do not close your mouth (beseechingly). I
+do not reproach you for anything. I have forgiven you long ago,
+and now I, the giddy woman whom the world always sees merry and
+laughing--I am really so miserable that I have even no strength left
+for hatred.
+
+Leon.--Madam! Enough! I have listened to your story--do not make me
+tell you mine. If you should hear it a still heavier burden would fall
+on your shoulders.
+
+Jadwiga.--No, no. We could be happy and we are not. It is the fault
+of both. How dreadful to think that we separated on account of almost
+nothing--on account of one thoughtless word--and we separated forever
+(she covers her face with her hands), without hope.
+
+Leon.--That word was nothing for you, but I remember it still with
+brain and heart. I was not then what I am to-day. I was poor, unknown,
+and you were my whole future, my aim, my riches.
+
+Jadwiga.--Oh, Mr. Leon, Mr. Leon, what a golden dream it was!
+
+Leon.--But I was proud because I knew that there was in me the divine
+spark. I loved you dearly, I trusted you--and nothing disturbed the
+security around me. Suddenly one evening Mr. Karlowiecki appeared, and
+already the second evening you told me that you gave more than you
+received.
+
+Jadwiga.--Mr. Leon!
+
+Leon.--What was your reason for giving that wound to my proud misery?
+You could not already have loved that man, but as soon as he appeared
+you humiliated me. There are wrongs which a man cannot bear with
+dignity--so those words were the last I heard from you.
+
+Jadwiga.--Truly. When I listen to you I must keep a strong hand on
+my senses. As soon as the other appeared you gave vent to a jealous
+outburst. I said that I gave more than I took, and you thought I spoke
+of money and not sentiment? Then you could suspect that I was capable
+of throwing my riches in your face--you thought I was capable of that?
+That is why he could not forgive! That is why he went away! That is
+why he has made his life and mine miserable!
+
+Leon.--It is too late to talk about that. Too late! You knew then
+and you know to-day that I could not have understood your words
+differently. The other man was of your own world--the world of which
+you were so fond that sometimes it seemed to me that you cherished it
+more than our love. At times when I so doubted you did not calm me.
+You were amused by the thought that you were stretching out to me a
+hand of courtly condescension, and I, in an excess of humiliation, I
+cast aside that hand. You knew it then, and you know it to-day!
+
+Jadwiga.--I know it to-day, but I did not know then. I swear it by my
+mother's memory. But suppose it was even as you say. Why could you not
+forgive me? Oh God! truly one might go mad. And there was neither time
+nor opportunity to explain. He went away and never returned. What
+could I do? When you became angry, when you shut yourself up within
+yourself, grief pressed my heart. I am ashamed even to-day to say
+this. I looked into your eyes like a dog which wishes to disarm the
+anger of his master by humility. In vain! Then I thought, when taking
+leave, I will shake hands with him so honestly and cordially that he
+will finally understand and will forgive me. While parting my hand
+dropped, for you only saluted me from afar. I swallowed my tears and
+humiliation. I thought still he will return to-morrow. A day passed,
+two days, a week, a month.
+
+Leon.--Then you married.
+
+Jadwiga (passionately).--Yes. Useless tears and time made me think it
+was forever--therefore anger grew in my heart--anger and a desire
+for vengeance on you and myself. I wished to be lost, for I said to
+myself, "That man does not love me, has never loved me." I married
+in the same spirit that I should have thrown myself through a
+window--from despair--because, as I still believe, you never loved me.
+
+Leon.--Madam, do not blaspheme. Do not provoke me. I never loved you!
+Look at the precipice which you have opened before me--count the
+sleepless nights during which I tore my breast with grief--count the
+days on which I called to you as from a cross--look at this thin face,
+at these trembling hands, and repeat once more that I never loved you!
+What has become of me? What is life for me without you? To-day my
+head is crowned with laurels and here in my breast is emptiness
+and exhaustless sorrow, and tears not wept--and in my eyes eternal
+darkness. Oh, by the living God, I loved you with every drop of my
+blood, with my every thought--and I was not able to love differently.
+Having lost you, I lost everything--my star, my strength, faith,
+hope, desire for life, and not only happiness, but the capacity for
+happiness. Woman, do you understand the dreadful meaning of those
+words? I have lost the capacity for happiness. I have not loved you!
+Oh, despair! God alone knows for how many nights I have cried to Him:
+"Lord, take my talent, take my fame, take my life, but return to me
+for only one moment my Jadwiga as she was of old!"
+
+Jadwiga.--Enough! Lord, what is the matter with me? Leon, I love you!
+
+Leon.--Oh, my dearest! (He presses her to his breast. A moment of
+silence.)
+
+Jadwiga.--I have found you. I loved you always. Ah! how miserable
+I was without you! With love for you I defended myself from all
+temptations. You do not know it, but I used to see you. It caused me
+grief and joy. I could not live any longer without you, and I asked
+you to come--I did it purposely. If you had not come, something
+dreadful would have happened. Now we shall never separate. We shall
+never be angry--is it not so? (A moment of silence.)
+
+Leon (as though awakening from slumber).--Madam, you must pardon me--I
+mistook the present for the past, and permitted myself to be carried
+away by an illusion. Pardon me!
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon, what do you mean?
+
+Leon (earnestly).--I forgot for a moment that you are the wife of
+another.
+
+Jadwiga.--Oh, you are always honest and loyal. No, there shall be no
+guilty love between us. I know you, my great, my noble Leon. The hand
+which I stretch out to you is pure--I swear it to you. You must also
+forgive me a moment of forgetfulness. Here I stand before you, and
+say to you: I will not be yours until I am free. But I know that my
+husband will consent to a divorce. I will leave him all my fortune,
+and because I formerly offended your pride--it was my fault--yes, my
+own fault--you shall take me poor, in this dress only--will it suit
+you? Then I will become your lawful wife. Oh, my God! and I shall be
+honest, loving, and loved. I have longed for it with my whole soul.
+I cannot think of our future without tears. God is so good! When you
+return from your studio at night, you will come neither to an empty
+room nor to grief. I will share your every joy, your every sorrow--I
+will divide with you the last piece of bread. Truly, I cannot speak
+for tears. Look, I am not so bad, but I have been so miserable. I
+loved you always. Ah, you bad boy, if it were not for your pride we
+should have been happy long ago. Tell me once more that you love
+me--that you consent to take me when I shall be free--is it not so,
+Leon?
+
+Leon.--No, madam!
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon, my dearest, wait! Perhaps I have not heard well. For I
+cannot comprehend that when I am hanging over a precipice of despair,
+when I seize the edge with my hands, you, instead of helping me--you
+place your feet on my fingers! No! it is impossible. You are too good
+for that! Do not thrust me away. My life now would be still worse. I
+have nothing in the world but you, and with you I lost happiness--not
+alone happiness but everything in me which is good--which cries for a
+quiet and saintly life. For now it would be forever. But you do not
+know how happy you yourself will be when you will have forgiven me
+and rescued me. You have loved me, have you not? You have said it
+yourself. I have heard it. Now I stretch out my hands to you like a
+drowning person--rescue me!
+
+Leon.--We must finish this mutual torture. Madam, I am a weak man. I
+would give way if--but I wish to spare you--if not for the fact that
+my sore and dead heart cannot give you anything but tears and pity.
+
+Jadwiga.--You do not love me!
+
+Leon.--I have no strength for happiness. I did love you. My heart
+throbbed for a moment with a recollection as of a dead person. But the
+other one is dead. I tell you this, madam, in tears and torture. I do
+not love you.
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon!
+
+Leon.--Have pity on me and forgive me.
+
+Jadwiga.--You do not love me!
+
+Leon.--What is dead cannot be resuscitated. Farewell.
+
+Jadwiga (after a while).--Very well. If you think you have humiliated
+me enough, trampled on me, and are sufficiently avenged, leave me then
+(to Leon, who wishes to withdraw). No! no! Remain. Have pity on me.
+
+Leon.--May God have pity on us both. (He goes away.)
+
+Jadwiga.--It is done!
+
+A Servant (entering).--Count Skorzewski!
+
+Jadwiga.--Ha! Show him in! Show him in! Ha! ha! ha!
+
+
+
+
+PART FOURTH
+
+
+THE VERDICT
+
+
+Apollo and Hermes once met toward evening on the rocks of Pnyx and
+were looking on Athens.
+
+The evening was charming; the sun was already rolled from the
+Archipelago toward the Ionian Sea and had begun to slowly sink its
+radiant head in the water which shone turquoise-like. But the summits
+of Hymettus and Pentelicus were yet beaming as if melted gold had been
+poured over them, and the evening twilight was in the sky. In its
+light the whole Acropolis was drowned. The white walls of Propyleos,
+Parthenon, and Erechtheum seemed pink and as light as though the
+marble had lost all its weight, or as if they were apparitions of a
+dream. The point of the spear of the gigantic Athena Promathos shone
+in the twilight like a lighted torch over Attica.
+
+In the space hawks were flying toward their nests in the rocks, to
+pass the night.
+
+The people returned in crowds from work in the fields. On the road
+to Piraeus, mules and donkeys carried baskets full of olives and
+wine-grapes; behind them, in the red cloud of dust, marched herds of
+nannygoats, before each herd there was a white-bearded buck; on the
+sides, watchdogs; in the rear, shepherds, playing flutes of thin
+oat-stems.
+
+Among the herds chariots slowly passed, carrying holly barlet, pulled
+by slow, heavy oxen; here and there passed a detachment of Hoplites or
+heavy armed troops, corseleted in copper, going to guard Piraeus and
+Athens during the night.
+
+Beneath, the city was full of animation. Around the big fountain at
+Poikile, young girls in white dresses drew water, singing, laughing,
+or defending themselves from the boys, who threw over them fetters
+made of ivy and wild vine. The others, having already drawn the water,
+with the amphorae poised on their shoulders, were turned homeward,
+light and graceful as immortal nymphs.
+
+A light breeze blowing from the Attic valley carried to the ears of
+the two gods the sounds of laughter, singing, kissing. Apollo, in
+whose eyes nothing under the sun was fairer than a woman, turned to
+Hermes and said:
+
+"O Maya's son, how beautiful are the Athenian women!"
+
+"And virtuous too, my Radiant," answered Hermes; "they are under
+Pallas' tutelage."
+
+The Silver-arrowed god became silent, and listening looked into space.
+In the mean while the twilight was slowly quenched, movement gradually
+stopped. Scythian slaves shut the gates, and finally all became quiet.
+The Ambrosian night threw on the Acropolis, city, and environs, a dark
+veil embroidered with stars.
+
+But the dusk did not last long. Soon from the Archipelago appeared the
+pale Selene, and began to sail like a silvery boat in the heavenly
+space. And then the walls of the Acropolis lighted again, only they
+beamed now with a pale-green light, and looked even more like a vision
+in a dream.
+
+"One must agree," said Apollo, "that Athena has chosen for herself a
+charming home."
+
+"Oh, she is very clever! Who could choose better?" answered Hermes.
+"Then Zeus has a fancy for her. If she wishes for anything she has
+only to caress his beard and immediately he calls her Tritogenia, dear
+daughter; he promises her everything and permits everything."
+
+"Tritogenia bores me sometimes," grumbled Latona's son.
+
+"Yes, I have noticed that she becomes very tedious," answered Hermes.
+
+"Like an old peripatetic; and then she is virtuous to the ridiculous,
+like my sister Artemis."
+
+"Or as her servants, the Athenian women."
+
+The Radiant turned to the Argo-robber Mercury: "It is the second time
+you mention, as though purposely, the virtue of the Athenian women.
+Are they really so virtuous?"
+
+"Fabulously so, O son of Latona!"
+
+"Is it possible!" said Apollo. "Do you think that there is in town one
+woman who could resist me?"
+
+"I do think so."
+
+"Me, Apollo?"
+
+"You, my Radiant."
+
+"I, who should bewitch her with poetry and charm her with song and
+music!"
+
+"You, my Radiant."
+
+"If you were an honest god I would be willing to make a wager with
+you. But you, Argo-robber, if you should lose, you would disappear
+immediately with your sandals and caduceus."
+
+"No, I will put one hand on the earth and another on the sea and swear
+by Hades. Such an oath is kept not only by me, but even by the members
+of the City Council in Athens."
+
+"Oh, you exaggerate a little. Very well then! If you lose you must
+supply me in Trinachija with a herd of long-horned oxen, which you may
+steal where you please, as you did when you were only a boy, stealing
+my herds in Perea."
+
+"Understood! And what shall I get if I win?"
+
+"You may choose what you please."
+
+"Listen, my Far-aiming archer," said Hermes. "I will be frank with
+you, which occurs with me very seldom. Once, being sent on an errand
+by Zeus--I don't remember what errand--I was playing just over your
+Trinachija, and I perceived Lampecja, who, together with Featusa,
+watches your herds there. Since that time I have no peace. The thought
+about her is never absent from my mind. I love her and I sigh for her
+day and night. If I win, if in Athens there can be found a virtuous
+woman, strong enough to resist you, you shall give me Lampecja--I wish
+for nothing more."
+
+The Silver-arrowed god began to shake his head.
+
+"It's astonishing that love can nestle in the heart of a
+merchants-patron. I am willing to give you Lampecja--the more
+so because she is now quarrelling with Featusa. Speaking _intra
+parentheses_, both are in love with me--that is why they are
+quarrelling."
+
+Great joy lighted up the Argo-robber's eyes.
+
+"Then we lay the bet," said he. "One thing more, I shall choose the
+woman for you on whom you are to try your godly strength."
+
+"Provided she is beautiful."
+
+"She will be worthy of you."
+
+"I am sure you know some one already."
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"A young girl, married, widow, or divorced?"
+
+"Married, of course. Girl, widow, or divorcée, you could capture by
+promise of marriage."
+
+"What is her name?"
+
+"Eryfile. She is a baker's wife."
+
+"A baker's wife!" answered the Radiant, making a grimace, "I don't
+like that."
+
+"I can't help it. It's the kind of people I know best. Eryfile's
+husband is not at home at present; he went to Megara. His wife is the
+prettiest woman who ever walked on Mother-Earth."
+
+"I am very anxious to see her."
+
+"One condition more, my Silver-arrowed, you must promise that you will
+use only means worthy of you, and that you will not act as would
+act such a ruffian as Ares, for instance, or even, speaking between
+ourselves, as acts our common father, the Cloud-gathering Zeus."
+
+"For whom do you take me?" asked Apollo.
+
+"Then all conditions are understood, and I can show you Eryfile."
+
+Both gods were immediately carried through the air from Pnyx, and in
+a few moments they were over a house situated not far from Stoa. The
+Argo-robber raised the whole roof with his powerful hand as easily as
+a woman cooking a dinner raises a cover from a saucepan, and pointing
+to a woman sitting in a store, closed from the street by a copper
+gate, said:
+
+"Look!"
+
+Apollo looked and was astonished.
+
+Never Attica--never the whole of Greece, produced a lovelier flower
+than was this woman. She sat by a table on which was a lighted
+lamp, and was writing something on marble tables. Her long drooping
+eyelashes threw a shadow on her cheeks, but from time to time she
+raised her head and her eyes, as though she were trying to remember
+what she had to write, and then one could see her beautiful eyes, so
+blue that compared with them the turquoise depths of the Archipelago
+would look pale and faded. Her face was white as the sea-foam, pink as
+the dawn, with purplish Syrian lips and waves of golden hair. She was
+beautiful, the most beautiful being on earth--beautiful as the dawn,
+as a flower, as light, as song! This was Eryfile.
+
+When she dropped her eyes she appeared quiet and sweet; when she
+lifted them, inspired. The Radiant's divine knees began to tremble;
+suddenly he leaned his head on Hermes' shoulder, and whispered:
+
+"Hermes, I love her! This one or none!"
+
+Hermes smiled ironically, and would have rubbed his hands for joy
+under cover of his robe if he had not held in his right hand the
+caduceus.
+
+In the mean while the golden-haired woman took a new tablet and
+began to write on it. Her divine lips were disclosed and her voice
+whispered; it was like the sound of Apollo's lyre.
+
+"The member of the Areopagus Melanocles for the bread for two months,
+forty drachmas and four obols; let us write in round numbers forty-six
+drachmas. By Athena! let us write fifty; my husband will be satisfied!
+Ah, that Melanocles! If you were not in a position to bother us about
+false weight, I never would give you credit. But we must keep peace
+with that locust."
+
+Apollo did not listen to the words. He was intoxicated with the
+woman's voice, the charm of her figure, and whispered:
+
+"This one or none!"
+
+The golden-haired woman spoke again, writing further:
+
+"Alcibiades, for cakes on honey from Hymettus for Hetera Chrysalis,
+three minae. He never verifies bills, and then he once gave me in Stoa
+a slap on the shoulder--we will write four minae. He is stupid; let
+him pay for it. And then that Chrysalis! She must feed with cakes her
+carp in the pond, or perhaps Alcibiades makes her fat purposely, in
+order to sell her afterwards to a Phoenician merchant for an ivory
+ring for his harness."
+
+Again Apollo paid no attention to the words--he was enchanted with the
+voice alone and whispered to Hermes:
+
+"This one or none!"
+
+But Maya's son suddenly covered the house, the apparition disappeared,
+and it seemed to the Radiant Apollo that with it disappeared the
+stars, that the moon became black, and the whole world was covered
+with the darkness of Chimera.
+
+"When shall we decide the wager?" asked Hermes.
+
+"Immediately. To-day!"
+
+"During her husband's absence she sleeps in the store. You can stand
+in the street before the door. If she raises the curtain and opens the
+gate, I have lost my wager."
+
+"You have lost it already!" exclaimed the Far-darting Apollo.
+
+The summer lightning does not pass from the East to the West as
+quickly as he rushed over the salt waves of the Archipelago. There he
+asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, put around it the rays of
+the sun, and returned to Athens with a ready formiga.
+
+In the city everything was already quiet. The lights were out, and
+only the houses and temples shone white in the light of the moon,
+which had risen high in the sky.
+
+The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate and a curtain, the
+beautiful Eryfile was asleep. Apollo the Radiant began to touch the
+strings of his lyre. Wishing to awake softly his beloved, he played at
+first as gently as swarms of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening
+on Illis. But the song became gradually stronger like a brook in the
+mountain after a rain; then more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating,
+and it filled the air voluptuously.
+
+The secret Athena's bird flew softly from the Acropolis and sat
+motionless on the nearest column.
+
+Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or Praxiteles, whiter than
+Pantelican marble, drew aside the curtain. The Radiant's heart stopped
+beating with emotion. And then Eryfile's voice resounded:
+
+"Ha! You booby, why do you wander about and make a noise during the
+night? I have been working all day, and now they won't let me sleep!"
+
+"Eryfile! Eryfile!" exclaimed Silver-arrowed. And he began to sing:
+
+  "From lofty peaks of Parnas--where there ring
+    In all the glory of light's brilliant rays
+  The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing
+    To me, by turns, in rapture and praise--
+  I, worshiped god--I fly, fly to thee,
+    Eryfile! And on thy bosom white
+  I shall rest, and the Eternity will be
+    A moment to me--the God of Light!"
+
+"By the holy flour for sacrifices," exclaimed the baker's wife,
+"that street boy sings and makes love to me. Will you go home, you
+impudent!"
+
+The Radiant, wishing to pursuade her that he was not a common mortal,
+threw so much light from his person, that all the earth was lighted.
+But Eryfile, seeing this, exclaimed:
+
+"That scurrilous fellow has hidden a lantern under his robe, and he
+tries to make me believe that he is a god. O daughter of mighty Dios!
+they press us with taxes, but there is no Scythian guard to protect us
+from such stupid fellows!"
+
+Apollo, who did not wish yet to acknowledge defeat, sang further:
+
+  "Ah, open thine arms--rounded, gleaming, white--
+    To thee eternal glory I will give.
+  Over goddess of earth, fair and bright,
+    Thy name above immortal shall live.
+  I kiss the dainty bloom of thy cheek,
+    To thy lustrous eyes the love-light I bring,
+  From the masses of thy silken hair I speak,
+    To thy beauty, peerless one, I sing.
+  White pearls are thy ruby lips between--
+    With might of godly words I thee endow;
+  An eloquence for which a Grecian queen
+    Would gladly give the crown from her brow.
+            Ah! Open, open thine arms!
+
+  "The azure from the sea I will take,
+    Twilight its wealth of purple shall give too;
+  Twinkling stars shall add the sparks which they make,
+   And flowers shall yield their perfume and dew.
+  By fairy touch, light as a caress,
+    Made from all this material so bright,
+  My beloved rainbow, in Chipryd's rich dress
+    Thou shalt be clothed by the God of Light."
+
+And the voice of the God of Light was so beautiful that it performed a
+miracle, for, behold! in the ambrosian night the gold spear standing
+on the Acropolis of Athens trembled, and the marble head of the
+gigantic statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear better.
+Heaven and Earth listened to it; the sea stopped roaring and lay
+peacefully near the shore; even the pale Selene stopped her night
+wandering in the sky and stood motionless over Athens.
+
+And when Apollo had finished, a light wind arose and carried the song
+throughout the whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the cradle
+heard only a tone of it, that child became a poet.
+
+But before Latona's son had finished his divine singing, the angry
+Eryfile began to scream:
+
+"What an ass! He tries to bribe me with flowers and dew; do you think
+that you are privileged because my husband is not at home? What a pity
+that our servants are not at hand; I would give you a good lesson! But
+wait; I will teach you to wander during the night with songs!"
+
+So saying she seized a pot of dough, and, throwing it through the
+gate, splashed it over the face, neck, robe, and lyre of the Radiant.
+Apollo groaned, and, covering his inspired head with a corner of his
+wet robe, he departed in shame and wrath.
+
+Hermes, waiting for him, laughed, turned somersaults, and twirled his
+caduceus. But when the sorrowful son of Latona approached him, the
+foxy patron of merchants simulated compassion and said:
+
+"I am sorry you have lost, O puissant archer!"
+
+"Go away, you rascal!" answered the angry Apollo.
+
+"I shall go when you give me Lampecja."
+
+"May Cerberus bite your calves. I shall not give you Lampecja, and I
+tell you to go away, or I will twist your neck."
+
+The Argo-robber knew that he must not joke when Apollo was angry, so
+he stood aside cautiously and said:
+
+"If you wish to cheat me, then in the future be Hermes and I will be
+Apollo. I know that you are above me in power, and that you can harm
+me, but happily there is some one who is stronger than you and he will
+judge us. Radiant, I call you to the judgment of Chronid! Come with
+me."
+
+Apollo feared the name of Chronid. He did not care to refuse, and they
+departed.
+
+In the mean time day began to break. The Attic came out from
+the shadows. Pink-fingered dawn had arisen in the sky from the
+Archipelago. Zeus passed the night on the summit of Ida, whether
+he slept or not, and what he did there no one knew, because,
+Fog-carrying, he wrapped himself in such a thick cloud that even Hera
+could not see through it. Hermes trembled a little on approaching the
+god of gods and of people.
+
+"I am right," he was thinking, "but if Zeus is aroused in a bad humor,
+and if, before hearing us, he should take us each by a leg and throw
+us some three hundred Athenian stadia, it would be very bad. He has
+some consideration for Apollo, but he would treat me without ceremony,
+although I am his son too."
+
+But Maya's son feared in vain. Chronid waited joyfully on the earth,
+for he had passed a pleasant night, and was gladsomely gazing on the
+earthly circle. The Earth, happy beneath the weight of the gods' and
+people's father, put forth beneath his feet green grass and young
+hyacinths, and he, leaning on it, caressed the curling flowers with
+his hand, and was happy in his proud heart.
+
+Seeing this, Maya's son grew quiet, and having saluted the generator,
+boldly accused the Radiant.
+
+When he had finished, Zeus was silent a while, and then said:
+
+"Radiant, is it true?"
+
+"It is true, father Chronid," answered Apollo, "but if after the shame
+you will order me to pay the bet, I shall descend to Hades and light
+the shades."
+
+Zeus became silent and thoughtful.
+
+"Then this woman," said he finally, "remained deaf to your music, to
+your songs, and she repudiated you with disdain?"
+
+"She poured on my head a pot of dough, O Thunderer!"
+
+Zeus frowned, and at his frown Ida trembled, pieces of rock began to
+roll with a great noise toward the sea, and the trees bent like ears
+of wheat.
+
+Both gods awaited with beating hearts his decision.
+
+"Hermes," said Zeus, "you may cheat the people as much as you
+like--the people like to be cheated. But leave the gods alone, for if
+I become angry I will throw you into the ether, then you will sink so
+deep into the depths of the ocean that even my brother Poseidon will
+not be able to dig you out with his trident."
+
+Divine fear seized Hermes by his smooth knees; Zeus spoke further,
+with stronger voice:
+
+"A virtuous woman, especially if she loves another man, can resist
+Apollo. But surely and always a stupid woman will resist him.
+
+"Eryfile is stupid, not virtuous; that's the reason she resisted.
+Therefore you cheated the Radiant, and you shall not have Lampecja.
+Now go in peace."
+
+The gods departed.
+
+Zeus remained in his joyful glory. For a while he looked after Apollo,
+muttering:
+
+"Oh, yes! A stupid woman is able to resist him."
+
+After that, as he had not slept well the previous night, he called
+Sleep, who, sitting on a tree in the form of a hawk, was awaiting the
+orders of the Father of gods and people.
+
+
+
+
+PART FIFTH
+
+
+WIN OR LOSE.
+
+_A Drama in Five Acts_.
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  Prince Starogrodzki.
+  Stella, his daughter.
+  George Pretwic, Stella's fiancé.
+  Karol Count Drahomir, Pretwic's friend.
+  Countess Miliszewska.
+  Jan Count Miliszewski.
+  Anton Zuk, secretary of the county.
+  Dr. Jozwowicz.
+  Mrs. Czeska.
+  Mr. Podczaski.
+  Servants.
+
+
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+The stage represents a drawing-room with the principal door leading to
+the garden. There are also side doors to the other rooms.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Princess Stella. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska.--Why do you tell me this only now? Really, my dear Stella, I
+should be angry with you. I live only a mile from here; I was your
+teacher before you were put into the hands of English and French
+governesses. I see you almost every day. I love my darling with all my
+soul, and still you did not tell me that for several weeks you have
+been engaged. At least do not torture me any longer, but tell me, who
+is he?
+
+Stella.--You must guess, my dear mother.
+
+Czeska.--As long as you call me mother, you must not make me wait.
+
+Stella.--But I wish you to guess and tell me. Naturally it is he and
+not another. Believe me, it will flatter and please me.
+
+Czeska.--Count Drahomir, then.
+
+Stella.--Ah!
+
+Czeska.--You are blushing. It is true. He has not been here for a long
+time, but how sympathetic, how gay he is. Well, my old eyes would be
+gladdened by seeing you both together. I should at once think what a
+splendid couple. Perhaps there will be something in it.
+
+Stella.--There will be nothing in it, because Count Drahomir, although
+very sympathetic, is not my fiancé. I am betrothed to Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Czeska.--Mr. George Pretwic?
+
+Stella.--Yes. Are you surprised?
+
+Czeska.--No, my dear child. May God bless you. Why should I be
+surprised? But I am so fond of Count Drahomir, so I thought it was he.
+Mr. George Pretwic!--Oh, I am not surprised at all that he should
+love you. But it came a little too soon. How long have you known each
+other? Living at my Berwinek I do not know anything that goes on in
+the neighborhood.
+
+Stella.--Since three months. My fiancé has inherited an estate in this
+neighborhood from the Jazlowieckis, and came, as you know, from far
+off. He was a near relation of the Jazlowieckis, and he himself comes
+of a very good family. Dear madam, have you not heard of the Pretwics?
+
+Czeska.--Nothing at all, my dear Stella. What do I care for heraldry!
+
+Stella.--In former times, centuries ago, the Pretwics were related to
+our family. It is a very good family. Otherwise papa would not have
+consented. Well then, Mr. Pretwic came here, took possession of the
+Jazlowieckis estate, became acquainted with us, and--
+
+Czeska.--And fell in love with you. I should have done the same if I
+were in his place. It gives him more value in my eyes.
+
+Stella.--Has he needed it?
+
+Czeska.--No, my little kitten--rest easy. You know I am laughed at for
+seeing everything in a rosy hue. He belongs to a good family, he is
+young, rich, good-looking, well-bred, but--
+
+Stella.--But what?
+
+Czeska.--A bird must have sung it, because I cannot remember who told
+me that he is a little bit like a storm.
+
+Stella.--Yes, his life has been stormy, but he was not broken by it.
+
+Czeska.--So much the better. Listen! Such people are the best--they
+are true men. The more I think of it, the more sincerely I
+congratulate you.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. I am glad I spoke to you frankly. The fact is that
+I am very lonesome here: papa is always ailing and our doctor has been
+away for three months.
+
+Czeska.--Let that doctor of yours alone.
+
+Stella.--You never liked him.
+
+Czeska.--You know that I am not easily prejudiced against any one, but
+I do not like him.
+
+Stella.--And do you know that he has been offered a professorship
+at the university, and that he is anxious to be elected a member of
+parliament? Mother, you are really unjust. You know that he sacrificed
+himself for us.
+
+He is famous, rich, and a great student, but notwithstanding all that
+he remains with us when the whole world is open to him. I would surely
+have asked his advice.
+
+Czeska.--Love is not an illness--but no matter about him. May God help
+him! You had better tell me, dear kitten--are you very much in love?
+
+Stella.--Do you not see how quickly everything has been done? It is
+true that Countess Miliszewska came here with her son. I know it was
+a question about me, and I feared, although in vain, that papa might
+have the same idea.
+
+Czeska.--You have not answered my question.
+
+Stella.--Because it is a hard matter to speak about. Mother, Mr.
+Pretwic's life is full of heroic deeds, sacrifices, and dangers. Once
+he was in great peril, and he owes his life to Count Drahomir. But how
+dearly he loves him for it. Well, my fiancé bears the marks of distant
+deserts, long solitudes, and deep sufferings. But when he begins to
+tell me of his life, it seems that I truly love that stalwart man. If
+you only knew how timidly, and at the same time how earnestly he told
+me of his love, and then he added that he knows his hands are too
+rough--
+
+Czeska.--Not too rough--for they are honest. After what you have told
+me, I am in his favor with all my soul.
+
+Stella.--But in spite of all that, sometimes I feel very unhappy.
+
+Czeska.--What is the matter? Why?
+
+Stella.--Because sometimes we cannot understand each other. There are
+two kinds of love--one is strong as the rocks, and the other is like a
+brook in which one can see one's self. When I look at George's love,
+I see its might, but my soul is not reflected in it like a face in a
+limpid brook. I love him, it is true, but sometimes it seems to me
+that I could love still more--that all my heart is not in that love,
+and then I am unhappy.
+
+Czeska.--But I cannot understand that. I take life simply. I love, or
+I do not love. Well Stella, the world is so cleverly constructed, and
+God is so good that there is nothing more easy than to be happy. But
+one must not make a tangle of God's affairs. Be calm. You are very
+much in love indeed. No matter!
+
+Stella.--That confidence in the future is exactly what I need--some of
+your optimism. I knew that you would frown and say: No matter! I am
+now more happy. Only I am afraid of our doctor. Well (looking through
+the window), our gentlemen are coming. Mr. Pretwic and Count Drahomir.
+
+Czeska (looking through the window.)--Your future husband is looking
+very well, but so is Count Drahomir. Since when is he with Mr.
+Pretwic?
+
+Stella (looking through the window).--For the past two weeks. Mr.
+Pretwic has invited him. They are coming.
+
+Czeska.--And your little heart is throbbing--
+
+Stella.--Do not tease me again.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Mrs. Czeska. Stella. George Pretwic. Count Drahomir.--The count has
+his left arm in a sling.--A servant.
+
+
+Servant (opening the door).--The princess is in the drawing-room.
+
+Stella.--How late you are to-day!
+
+George.--It is true. The sun is already setting. But we could not come
+earlier. Do you not know that there has been a fire in the neighboring
+village? We went there.
+
+Czeska.--We have heard of it. It seems that several houses were
+burned.
+
+George.--The fire began in the morning, and it was extinguished only
+now. Some twenty families are without a roof and bread. We are also
+late because Karol had an accident.
+
+Stella (with animation).--It is true. Your arm is in a sling!
+
+Drahomir.--Oh, it is a mere trifle. If there were no more serious
+wounds in the world, courage would be sold in all the markets. Only a
+slight scratch--
+
+Stella.--Mr. Pretwic, how did it happen?
+
+George.--When it happened I was at the other end of the village, and I
+could not see anything on account of the smoke. I was only told that
+Karol had jumped into a burning house.
+
+Stella.--Oh, Lord!
+
+Drahomir (laughing).--I see that my deed gains with distance.
+
+Czeska.--You must tell us about it yourself.
+
+Drahomir.--They told me that there was a woman in a house of which
+the roof had begun to burn. Thinking that this salamander who was not
+afraid of fire was some enchanted beauty, I entered the house out of
+pure curiosity. It was quite dark owing to the smoke. I looked and
+saw that I had no luck, because the salamander was only an old Jewish
+woman packing some feathers in a bag. Amidst the cloud of down she
+looked like anything you please but an enchantress. I shouted that
+there was a fire, and she shouted too, evidently taking me for a
+thief--so we both screamed. Finally I seized hold of my salamander,
+fainting with fear, and carried her out, not even through a window,
+but through the door.
+
+George.--But you omitted to say that the roof fell in and that a spar
+struck your hand.
+
+Drahomir.--True--and I destroyed the dam of my modesty, and will add
+that one of the selectmen of the village made a speech in my honor. It
+seems to me that he made some mention of a monument which they would
+erect for me. But pray believe that the fire was quenched by George
+and his people. I think they ought to erect two monuments.
+
+Czeska.--I know that you are worthy of each other.
+
+Stella.--Thank God that you have not met with some more serious
+accident.
+
+Drahomir.--I have met with something very pleasant--your sympathy.
+
+Czeska--You have mine also--as for Mr. Pretwic, I have a bone to pick
+with him.
+
+George--Why, dear madam?
+
+Czeska.--Because you are a bad boy. (To Stella and Drahomir.) You had
+better go to the Prince, and let us talk for a while.
+
+Stella.--Mother, I see you wish to flirt with Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Czeska.--Be quiet, you giddy thing. May I not compete with you? But
+you must remember, you Mayflower, that before every autumn there is a
+spring. Well, be off!
+
+Stella (to Drahomir).--Let us go; Papa is in the garden and I am
+afraid that he is feeling worse. What a pity it is that the doctor is
+not here.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+Mrs. Czeska, George, then Stella.
+
+
+Czeska.--I should scold you, as I have my dear girl, for keeping the
+secret. But she has already told me everything, so I only say, may God
+bless you both.
+
+George (kissing her hand).--Thank you, madam.
+
+Czeska.--I have reared that child. I was ten years with her, so I know
+what a treasure you take, sir. You have said that your hands are too
+rough. I have answered her--not too rough, for they are honest. But
+Stella is a very delicate flower. She must be loved much, and have
+good care taken of her. But you will be able to do it--will you not?
+
+George.--What can I tell you? As far as it is in human power to make
+happy that dearest to me girl, so far I wish to assure her happiness
+with me.
+
+Czeska.--With all my soul, I say: God bless you!
+
+George.--The Princess Stella loves you like her own mother, so I will
+be as frank with you as with a mother. My life has been a very
+hard one. There was a moment when my life was suspended by one
+thread--Karol rescued me then, and for that I love him as a brother;
+and then--
+
+Czeska.--Stella told me. You lived far from here?
+
+George.--I was in the empty steppe, half wild myself, among strangers,
+therefore very sad and longing for the country. Sometimes there was
+not a living soul around me.
+
+Czeska.--God was over the stars.
+
+George.--That is quite different. But a heart thrown on earth must
+love some one. Therefore, with all this capacity for love, I prayed to
+God that he permit me to love some one. He has granted my prayer, and
+has given her to me. Do you understand me now?
+
+Czeska.--Yes, I do understand you!
+
+George.--How quickly everything has changed. I inherited here an
+estate and am able to settle--then I met the princess, and now I love
+her--she is everything in this world to me.
+
+Czeska.--My dear Mr. Pretwic, you are worthy of Stella and she will be
+happy with you. My dear Stelunia--
+
+Stella (appearing in the doorway leading to the garden. She claps her
+hands).--What good news! The doctor is coming. He is already in the
+village. Papa will at once be more quiet and is in better humor.
+
+Czeska.--You must not rush. She is already tired. Where is the prince?
+
+Stella.--In the garden. He wishes you to come here.
+
+George.--We will go.
+
+Stella (steps forward--then stops).--But you must not tell the doctor
+anything of our affair. I wish to tell him first. I have asked papa
+also to keep the secret. (They go out.)
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+
+Jozwowicz (enters through the principal door).--Jan, carry my trunk
+up-stairs and have the package I left in the antechamber sent at once
+to Mr. Anton Zuk, the secretary of the county.
+
+Servant (bows).--Very well, doctor.
+
+Jozwowicz (advances).--At last (servant goes out). After three months
+of absence, how quiet this house is always! In a moment I will greet
+them as a future member of the parliament. I have thrown six years of
+hard work, sleepless nights, fame, and learning into the chasm which
+separates us--and now we shall see! (He goes toward the door leading
+to the garden.) They are coming--she has not changed at all.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+(Through the door enter Stella, Mrs. Czeska, George, followed by
+Drahomir, arm and arm with the Prince Starogrodzki.)
+
+
+Stella.--Here is our doctor! Our dear doctor! How do you do? We were
+looking for you!
+
+Czeska (bows ceremoniously).--Especially the prince.
+
+Jozwowicz (kissing Stella's hand).--Good evening, princess. I have
+also been anxious to return. I have come to stay for a longer time--to
+rest. Ah, the prince! How is Your Highness's health?
+
+Prince (shaking hands).--Dear boy. I am not well. You did well to
+come. You must see at once what is the matter with me.
+
+Jozwowicz.--But now Your Highness will introduce me to these
+gentlemen.
+
+Prince.--It is true. Doctor Jozwowicz, the minister of my interior
+affairs--I said it well, did I not? For you do look after my health.
+Count Karol Drahomir.
+
+Drahomir.--Your name is familiar to me, therefore, strictly speaking,
+I alone ought to introduce myself.
+
+Doctor.--Sir.
+
+Prince (introducing).--Mr. George Pretwic, our neighbor, and--(Stella
+makes a sign) and--I wish to say--
+
+George.--If I am not mistaken, your schoolmate.
+
+Doctor.--I did not wish to be the first to recollect.
+
+George.--I am glad to see you. It is quite a long time since then, but
+we were good comrades. Truly, I am very glad, especially after what I
+have heard here about you.
+
+Drahomir.--You are the good spirit of this house.
+
+Stella.--Oh, yes!
+
+Prince.--Let me tell you my opinion of him.
+
+George.--How often the best student, Jozwowicz, helped Pretwic with
+his exercises.
+
+Doctor.--You have a good memory, sir.
+
+George.--Very good, indeed, for then we did not call each other "sir."
+Once more, Stanislaw, I welcome you.
+
+Doctor.--And I return the welcome.
+
+George--But do I not remember that after you went through college you
+studied law?
+
+Doctor.--And afterward I became a doctor of medicine.
+
+Prince.--Be seated. Jan, bring the lights.
+
+Stella.--How charming that you are acquainted!
+
+Doctor.--The school-bench, like misery, unites people. But then,
+social standing separates them. George's future was assured. I was
+obliged to search for mine.
+
+Prince.--He has searched also, and found adventures.
+
+Drahomir.--In two parts of the world.
+
+Czeska.--That is splendid.
+
+Doctor.--Well, he followed his instinct. Even in school he broke the
+horses, went shooting and fenced.
+
+George.--Better than I studied.
+
+Doctor (laughing).--Yes--we used to call him the general, because he
+commanded us in our student fights.
+
+Drahomir.--George, I recognized you there.
+
+Czeska.--But now, I think, he will stop fighting.
+
+Stella.--Who knows?
+
+George.--I am sure of it.
+
+Doctor.--As for me, I was his worst soldier. I never was fond of
+playing that way.
+
+Prince.--Because those are the distractions of the nobility and not of
+a doctor.
+
+Doctor.--We begin to quarrel already. You are all proud of the fact
+that your ancestors, the knights, killed so many people. But if the
+prince knew how many people I have killed with my prescriptions! I can
+guarantee you that none of Your Highness's ancestors can be proud of
+such great number.
+
+Drahomir.--Bravo. Very good!
+
+Prince.--And he is my doctor!
+
+Stella.--Papa! The doctor is joking.
+
+Prince.--Thanks for such jokes. But it is sure that the world is now
+upside-down.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, we will live a hundred years more. (To
+George.) Come, tell me, what became of you? (They go out.)
+
+Prince.--You would not believe how unhappy I am because I cannot get
+along with that man. He is the son of a blacksmith from Stanislawow.
+I sent him to school because I wished to make an overseer of him. But
+afterwards he went to study at the University.
+
+Drahomir.--He is twice a doctor--he is an intelligent man. One can see
+that by merely looking at him.
+
+Stella.--Very much so.
+
+Czeska.--So intelligent that I am afraid of him.
+
+Drahomir.--But the prince must be satisfied.
+
+Prince.--Satisfied, satisfied! He has lost his common sense. He became
+a democrat--a _sans culotte_. But he is a good doctor, and I am sick.
+I have some stomach trouble. (To Drahomir.) Have you heard of it?
+
+Drahomir.--The prince complained already some time ago.
+
+Czeska.--For twenty years.
+
+Prince.--Sorrow and public service have ruined my health.
+
+Czeska.--But Your Highness is healthy.
+
+Prince (angrily).--I tell you that I am sick. Stella, I am sick--am I
+not?
+
+Stella.--But now you will feel better.
+
+Prince.--Because he alone keeps me alive. Stella would have died also
+with heart trouble if it had not been for him.
+
+Drahomir.--If that is so, he is a very precious man.
+
+Stella.--We owe him eternal gratitude.
+
+Prince (looking at George).--He will also be necessary to Pretwic.
+What, Stella, will he not?
+
+Stella (laughing).--Papa, how can I know that?
+
+Drahomir.--Truly, I sometimes envy those stalwart men. During the
+battle they strengthen in themselves the force which lessens and
+disappears in us, because nothing nourishes it. Perhaps we are also
+made of noble metal, but we are eaten up with rust while they are
+hardened in the battle of life. It is a sad necessity.
+
+Czeska.--How about Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--George endured much, it is true, and one feels this
+although it is difficult to describe it. Look at those two men. When
+the wind blows George resists like a century-old tree, and men like
+the doctor subdue it and order it to propel his boat. There is in that
+some greater capacity for life, therefore the result is more easy to
+be foreseen. The tree is older, and although still strong, the more it
+is bitten by the storms, the sooner it will die.
+
+Prince.--I have said many times that we die like old trees. Some other
+thicket grows, but it is composed only of bushes.
+
+Stella.--The one who is good has the right to live--we must not doubt
+about ourselves.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not doubt, even for the reason that the poet says:
+"Saintly is the one who knows how to be a friend" (bows to Stella)
+"with saints."
+
+Stella.--If he has not secured their friendship by flattery.
+
+Drahomir.--But I must be permitted not to envy the doctor anything.
+
+Stella.--The friendship is not exclusive, although I look upon the
+doctor as a brother.
+
+Prince.--Stella, what are you talking about? He is your brother as I
+am a republican. I cannot suffer him, but I cannot get along without
+him.
+
+Czeska.--Prince, you are joking--
+
+Drahomir (smiling).--Why should you hate him?
+
+Prince.--Why? Have I not told you? He does with us what he pleases. He
+does as he likes in the house, he does not believe anything, and he is
+ambitious as the deuce. He is already a professor in the University,
+and now he wishes to be a member of parliament. Do you hear?--he will
+be a member of parliament! But I would not be a Starogrodzki if I had
+permitted it. (Aloud.) Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor (he is near a window).--Your Highness, what do you order?
+
+Prince.--Is it true that you are trying to become a member of
+parliament.
+
+Doctor.--At your service, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--Mrs. Czeska. Have you heard--the world is upside down,
+Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor.--What is it, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--And perhaps you will also become a minister.
+
+Doctor.--It may be.
+
+Prince.--Did you hear? And do you think that I will call you "Your
+Excellency"?
+
+Doctor.--It would be proper.
+
+Prince.--Jozwowicz, do you wish to give me a stroke of apoplexy?
+
+Doctor.--Be calm, Your Highness. My Excellency will always take care
+of your Grace's bile.
+
+Prince.--It is true. The irritation hurts me. What, Jozwowicz--does it
+hurt me?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it excites the bile, but it gives you an appetite. (He
+approaches with George.)
+
+Stella.--What were you talking about?
+
+Doctor.--I have been listening to George. Horrible! Dreadful! George
+made a mistake by coming into the world two hundred years too late.
+Bayards are not appreciated nowadays.
+
+Czeska.--Providence is above all.
+
+Drahomir.--I believe it also.
+
+Doctor.--Were I a mathematician, without contradicting you I would say
+that, as in many cases we do not know what X equals, we must take care
+of ourselves.
+
+Prince.--What are you saying?
+
+Stella.--Doctor, pray do not talk so sceptically, or there will be a
+war--not with papa, but with me.
+
+Doctor.--My scepticism is ended where your words begin, therefore I
+surrender.
+
+Stella.--How gallant--the member of parliament.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+The same Servant.
+
+
+Servant.--Tea is served.
+
+George.--I must bid you good-bye.
+
+Stella.--Why, why are you going so early to-night?
+
+Doctor (aside).--My old schoolmate is at home here.
+
+George.--You must excuse me. I am very happy with you, but to-night I
+must be going home. I will leave Drahomir--he will replace me.
+
+Stella.--To be angry with you would be to make you conceited. But you
+must tell me why you are going.
+
+George.--The people who have lost their homes by fire are in my house.
+I must give some orders and provide for their necessities.
+
+Czeska (aside).--He is sacrificing pleasure to duty. (Aloud.) Stella!
+
+Stella.--What is it?
+
+Czeska.--To-morrow we must make some collections for them, and provide
+them with clothing.
+
+Doctor.--I will go with you, ladies. It will be the first case in
+which misery did not search for the doctor, but the doctor searched
+for misery.
+
+Czeska.--Very clever.
+
+Prince (rapping with the stick).--Pretwic!
+
+George.--Your Highness, what do you order?
+
+Prince.--You say that this rabble is very poor?
+
+George.--Very poor, indeed.
+
+Prince.--You say that they have nothing to eat?
+
+George.--Almost nothing, my prince.
+
+Prince.--God punishes them for voting for such a man (he points to
+Jozwowicz) as that one.
+
+Doctor (bows).--They have not elected me yet.
+
+Stella.--Papa.
+
+Prince.--What did I want to say? Aha! Pretwic!
+
+George.--I listen to you, my prince.
+
+Prince.--You said that they were starving?
+
+George.--I said--almost.
+
+Prince.--Very well, then. Go to my cashier, Horkiewicz, and tell him
+to give that rabble a thousand florins. (He raps with the stick.) They
+must know that I will not permit any one to be hungry.
+
+Stella--Dear father!
+
+Drahomir.--I knew it would end that way.
+
+Prince.--Yes, Mr. Jozwowicz! _Noblesse oblige!_ Do you understand,
+your Excellency, Mr. Jozwowicz?
+
+Doctor.--I understand, Your Highness.
+
+Prince (giving his arm to Mrs. Czeska).--And now let us take some tea.
+(George takes leave and goes out.)
+
+Doctor.--I must also be going. I am tired and I have some letters to
+write.
+
+Prince.--Upon my honor, one might think that he was already a
+minister. But come to see us--I cannot sleep without you.
+
+Doctor.--I will be at the service of Your Highness.
+
+Prince (muttering).--As soon as this Robespièrre arrived, I
+immediately felt better.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, wait a moment. I do not take any tea. I will only put
+papa in his place, and then I will be back immediately. I must have a
+talk with you.
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Jozwowicz alone--then Stella.
+
+
+Doctor.--What are these people doing here, and what does she wish to
+tell me? Is it possible--But no, it is impossible. I am uneasy, but in
+a moment everything will be cleared up. What an ass I am! She simply
+wishes to talk to me about the prince's health. It is this moonlight
+that makes me so dreamy--I ought to have a guitar.
+
+Stella (entering).--Mr. Jozwowicz?
+
+Doctor.--I am here, princess.
+
+Stella.--I did my best not to make you wait too long. Let us be seated
+and have a talk, as formerly, when I was small and not well and you
+took care of my health. I remember sometimes I used to fall asleep,
+and you carried me in your arms to my room.
+
+Doctor.--The darling of every one in the house was very weak then.
+
+Stella.--And to-day, if she is well, it is thanks to you. If she has
+any knowledge, it is also thanks to you. I am a plant of which you
+have taken good care.
+
+Doctor.--And my greatest pride. There were few calm, genial moments in
+my life--and peace I found only in that house.
+
+Stella.--You were always good, and for that reason I look upon you as
+an older brother.
+
+Doctor.--Your words form the only smile in my life. I not only respect
+you, but I also love you dearly--like a sister, like my own child.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. I have not the same confidence in any one else's
+judgment and honesty as I have in yours, so I wished to speak to you
+about an important matter. I hope even that what I am going to tell
+you will please you as much as it pleases me. Is it true that you are
+going to become a member of parliament?
+
+Doctor (with uneasiness).--No, it is only probable. But speak of what
+concerns you.
+
+Stella.--Well, then--ah, Lord! But you will not leave papa, will you?
+
+Doctor (breathing heavily).--Oh, you wish to speak of the prince's
+health?
+
+Stella.--No, I know that papa is getting better. I did not expect that
+it would be difficult--I am afraid of the severe opinion that you have
+of people.
+
+Doctor (with simulated ease).--Pray, do not torture my curiosity.
+
+Stella.--Then I will close my eyes and tell you, although it is not
+easy for any young girl. You know Mr. George Pretwic well, do you not?
+
+Doctor (uneasily).--I know him.
+
+Stella.--How do you like him? He is my fiancé.
+
+Doctor (rising).--Your fiancé?
+
+Stella.--Good gracious!--then you do not approve of my choice? (A
+moment of silence.)
+
+Doctor.--Only one moment. Your choice, princess, if it is of your
+heart and will, must be good--only--it was unexpected news to me;
+therefore, perhaps, I received it a little too seriously. But I could
+not hear it with indifference owing to the affection I have for--your
+family. And then, my opinion does not amount to anything in such a
+matter. Princess, I congratulate you and wish you all happiness.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. Now I shall be more easy.
+
+Doctor.--You must return to your father. Your news has been so sudden
+that it has shocked me a little. I must collect my wits--I must
+familiarize myself with the thought. But in any event, I congratulate
+you.
+
+Stella.--Good night. (She stops in the door, looks at the Doctor and
+goes in.)
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+
+Jozwowicz (alone).--Too late!
+
+
+END OF ACT I.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+The stage represents the same drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Doctor.--Anton, come here. We can talk quietly, for they are preparing
+my room. What news from the city?
+
+Anton.--Good news. In an hour or so a delegation of the voters will be
+here. You must say something to them--you understand? Something about
+education--public roads, heavy taxes. You know what to say better than
+I do.
+
+Doctor.--I know, I know; and how do they like my platform?
+
+Anton.--You have made a great hit. I congratulate you. It is written
+with scientific accuracy. The papers of the Conservative party have
+gone mad with wrath.
+
+Doctor.--Very good. What more?
+
+Anton.--Three days ago your election was doubtful in the suburbs. I
+learned about it, however--gathered the electors and made a speech.
+"Citizens," I said, in the end, "I know only one remedy for all your
+misery--it is called Jozwowicz. Long live Progress!" I also attacked
+the Conservative party.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, you are a great boy. Then there is a hope of victory?
+
+Anton.--Almost a surety. And then, even if we do not win now, the
+future is open to us. And do you know why? Because--leaving out the
+details of the election, you and I, while talking of our business
+affairs, need not laugh at each other, like Roman augurs. Progress and
+truth are on our side, and every day makes a new breach in the old
+wall. We are only aiding the centuries and we must conquer. I am
+talking calmly: Our people, our electors are merely sheep, but we wish
+to make men of them, and therein lies our strength. As for me, if I
+were not persuaded that in my principles lie truth and progress, I
+would spit on everything and become a monk.
+
+Doctor.--But it would be a dreadful thing if we do not win this time.
+
+Anton.--I am sure we will win. You are a fearful candidate for
+our adversaries. You have only one antagonist who is at all
+dangerous--Husarski, a rich and popular nobleman.
+
+Doctor.--Once I am in parliament, I will try to accomplish something.
+
+Anton.--I believe in you, and for that reason I am working for you.
+Ha! ha! "They have already taken from us everything," said Count
+Hornicki at the club yesterday, "importance, money--even good
+manners." Well, at least I have not taken their good manners from
+them. To the devil with them!
+
+Doctor.--No, you have truly not taken their good manners from them.
+
+Anton.--But it is said in the city that your prince has given a
+thousand florins to those whose houses were burned. This may be bad
+for us. You must do something also.
+
+Doctor.--I did what I could.
+
+Anton.--I must also tell you that yesterday--What is the matter with
+you? I am talking to you and you are thinking about something else.
+
+Doctor.--Excuse me. I am in great trouble. I cannot think as calmly as
+usual.
+
+Anton.--The idea!
+
+Doctor.--You could not understand it.
+
+Anton.--I am the coachman of the carriage in which you are riding--I
+must know everything.
+
+Doctor.--No. It does not concern you.
+
+Anton.--It does concern me, because you are losing your energy. We
+have no need of any Hamlets.
+
+Doctor (gloomily).--You are mistaken. I have not given up.
+
+Anton.--I see. You close your mouth on this subject. It is not in your
+character to give up.
+
+Doctor.--No. You must work to have me elected. I would lose doubly if
+we were bitten.
+
+Anton.--They must have burned you like the deuce, for you hiss
+dreadfully.
+
+Doctor.--An old story. A peasant did not sleep for six years, did not
+eat, bent his neck, wounded his hands, and carried logs for a hut.
+After six years a lord came along, kicked the hut and said: "My castle
+shall stand here." We are sceptical enough to laugh at such things.
+
+Anton.--He was a real lord!
+
+Doctor.--A lord for generations. He carried his head so high that he
+did not notice what cracked beneath his feet.
+
+Anton.--I like the story. And what about the peasant?
+
+Doctor.--According to the peasant tradition, he is thinking of a flint
+and tinder.
+
+Anton.--Glorious idea! Truly we despise tradition too much. There are
+good things in it.
+
+Doctor.--Enough. Let us talk of something else.
+
+Anton (looking around).--An old and rich house. It would make a
+splendid cabin.
+
+Doctor.--What do you say?
+
+Anton.--Nothing. Has the old prince a daughter?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. Why?
+
+Anton (laughing).--Ha, ha! Your trouble has the scent of a perfume
+used by a lady. I smell here the petticoat of the princess. Behind the
+member of parliament is Jozwowicz, just as behind the evening dress
+there is the morning gown. What a strong perfume!
+
+Doctor.--You may sell your perspicacity at another market. It is my
+personal affair.
+
+Anton.--Not at all, for it means that you put only half your soul into
+public affairs. To the deuce with such business! Look at me. They howl
+at me in the newspapers, they laugh at me--but I do not care. I will
+tell you more! I feel that I shall never rise, although I am not
+lacking in strength nor intelligence. I could try to get the first
+place in camp to command, but I do not do it. Why? Because I know
+myself very well. Because I know that I am lacking in order,
+authority, tact. I have been and I am a tool, used by such as you, and
+which to-morrow may be kicked aside when it is no more needed. But
+my self-love does not blind me. I do not care most for myself--I am
+working for my convictions--that is all. Any day I may be ousted from
+my position. There is often misery in my house, and although I love my
+wife and children--no matter. When it is a question of my convictions,
+I will work, act, agitate. I put my whole soul in it. And for you, the
+petticoat of a princess bars your way. I did not expect this from you.
+Tfu! spit on everything and come with us.
+
+Doctor.--You are mistaken. I have no desire for martyrdom, but for
+victory. And the more personal ties there are between me and public
+affairs, the more I will serve them with my mind, heart, and
+deeds--with all that constitutes a man. Do you understand?
+
+Anton.--Amen. His eyes shine like the eyes of a wolf--now I recognize
+you.
+
+Doctor.--What more do you wish?
+
+Anton.--Nothing more. I will only tell you that our motto should be:
+Attack the principles, and not the people.
+
+Doctor.--Your virginal virtue may rest assured. I shall not poison any
+one.
+
+Anton.--I believe you, but I must tell you that I know you well. I
+appreciate your energy, your learning, your common sense, but I should
+not like to cross you in anything.
+
+Doctor.--So much the better for me.
+
+Anton.--But if it is a question of the nobility, notwithstanding our
+programme I make you a present of them. You shall not cut their heads
+off.
+
+Doctor.--To be sure. And now go and get to work for me--or rather, for
+us.
+
+Anton.--For us, Jozwowicz. Do not forget that.
+
+Doctor.--I will not swear it to you, but I promise you that I will not
+forget.
+
+Anton.--But how will you manage that nobleman?
+
+Doctor.--Do you require that I make you my confidant?
+
+Anton.--In the first place, I do not need your confidence, because in
+our camp we have sufficient perspicacity. There is the matter of the
+prince's daughter--that is all. But I am always afraid that for her
+sake you will abandon public affairs. As I am working for you, I am
+responsible for you, therefore we must be frank.
+
+Doctor.--Let us be frank.
+
+Anton.--Therefore you have said to yourself: I shall get rid of that
+nobleman. Do it then. It is your business--but I ask you once more: Do
+you wish to become a member of parliament for us, or for the princess?
+That is my business.
+
+Doctor.--I throw my cards on the table. I, you, we are all new people,
+and all of us have this quality--we are not dolls, painted with the
+same color. There is room in us for convictions, love, hatred--in a
+word, as I told you, for everything of which a man of complex nature
+is composed. Nature has given me a heart and the right to live,
+therefore I desire for happiness; it gave me a mind, therefore I serve
+my chosen idea. One does not exclude the other. Why should you mix the
+princess with our public affairs--you, an intelligent man? Why do you
+wish to replace life by a phrase? I have the right to be happy, and I
+shall achieve it. And I shall know how to harmonize the idea with the
+life, like a sail with a boat. I shall sail more surely then. You must
+understand me; in that is our strength--that we know how to harmonize.
+In that lies our superiority over others, for they do not know how to
+live. What I will amount to with that woman, I do not know. You call
+me a Hamlet--perhaps I may become a Hamlet, but you have no need of
+it.
+
+Anton.--It seems to me that you are again right. But thus you will
+fight two battles, and your forces will have to be divided.
+
+Doctor.--No! I am strong enough.
+
+Anton.--Say frankly--she is betrothed.
+
+Doctor.--Yes.
+
+Anton.--And she loves her fiancé.
+
+Doctor.--Or she deceives herself.
+
+Anton.--At any rate, she does not love you.
+
+Doctor.--In the first place, I must get rid of him. In the mean while,
+go and work.
+
+Anton (consulting watch).--In a few moments the committee will be here
+to see you.
+
+Doctor.--Very well. The prince is coming with the Countess Miliszewska
+and her son, my opponent. Let us be going.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Prince, Stella, Mrs. Czeska, Countess Miliszewska, Jan Miliszewski,
+Podczaski.
+
+
+Countess.--It is impossible to understand. The world grows wild
+nowadays.
+
+Prince.--I say the same. Stella, do I not say so?
+
+Stella.--Very often.
+
+Countess (low to her son).--Sit near the princess and entertain her.
+Go ahead!
+
+Jan.--I am going, mamma.
+
+Countess.--There is too much of that audacity. I have sent
+Mr. Podczaski to the electors, and they say: "We do not need
+representatives without heads." I am only surprised that the prince is
+not more indignant. I rush here and there, I pray and work, and they
+dare to oppose to my son Mr. Jozwowicz.
+
+Prince.--But madam, what can I do?
+
+Countess.--And who is Mr. Jozwowicz--a physician? What does a
+doctor amount to? Jan has influence, importance, social position,
+relatives--and what has the doctor? From whence did he come here? Who
+ever heard of him? Really, I cannot speak calmly, and I think it must
+be the end of the world. Is it not, Mr. Podczaski?
+
+Podczaski (saluting).--Yes, countess, God's wrath. There were never
+such loud thunders.
+
+Prince.--Thunders? Mrs. Czeska, what? Have your heard thunder?
+
+Czeska.--It is a very usual thing at the end of spring. Do not mind
+it.
+
+Countess (in a low voice).--Jan, go ahead.
+
+Jan.--Yes, mamma, I am going.
+
+Countess.--Prince, you will see that Jan will not be elected purely on
+account of the hatred against us. They say that he does not know the
+country, and does not understand its needs. But before all we must not
+allow such people as Jozwowicz to become important in the country.
+Prince, is it not so?
+
+Prince.--He will not ask your permission.
+
+Countess.--That is exactly why the world must be coming to an
+end--that such people can do as they please! They dare to say that Jan
+will not be able to make a good representative, and that Mr. Jozwowicz
+will. Jan was always an excellent student in Metz. Jan, were you not a
+good student?
+
+Jan.--Yes, mamma.
+
+Podczaski.--Countess, you are perfectly right. It is the end of the
+world.
+
+Stella.--What did you study especially?
+
+Jan.--I, madam? I studied the history of heresy.
+
+Princess.--Mrs. Czeska--what? Have studied what?
+
+Countess.--They reproach us with not having talent, but for diplomacy
+one must have talent.
+
+Podczaski.--The count does even look like a diplomat.
+
+Prince (aside).--Well, not very much.
+
+Czeska.--The count does not have much to say.
+
+Jan.--No, madam, but sometimes I speak quite enough.
+
+Countess.--For my part, I declare that if Jan is not elected, we will
+leave the country.
+
+Podczaski.--They will be guilty of it.
+
+Countess.--It will be the fault of the prince.
+
+Prince.--Mine?
+
+Countess.--How can you permit such as Jozwowicz to compete with
+society people? Why do you retain him?
+
+Prince.--Frankly speaking, it is not I who keep him--it is he who
+keeps me. If it were not for him, I should long since be (he makes a
+gesture).
+
+Countess (angrily).--By keeping him, you serve the democracy.
+
+Prince.--I--I serve the democracy? Stella, do you hear? (He raps with
+his stick.)
+
+Countess.--Every one will say so. Mr. Jozwowicz is the democratic
+candidate.
+
+Prince.--But I am not, and if it is so I will not allow him to be. I
+have enough of Mr. Jozwowicz's democracy. They shall not say that I am
+the tool of democracy. (He rings the bell. A servant enters.) Ask the
+doctor to come here.
+
+Countess.--Now the prince is a true prince.
+
+Prince.--I serve democracy, indeed!
+
+Stella.--Papa, dear.
+
+Countess.--We must bid the prince good-bye. Jan, get ready. Good-bye,
+dear Stella. Good-bye, my child. (To her son.) Kiss the princess's
+hand.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same.
+
+
+Jozwowicz.--Your Highness must excuse me if I am too late, but I was
+obliged to receive the delegates.
+
+Countess.--What delegates are here? Jan, go ahead.
+
+Doctor (saluting).--Count, you must hasten, they are leaving.
+
+Podczaski.--I am Your Highness's servant. (Countess, Jan, Podczaski go
+out. Stella and Mrs. Czeska follow them.)
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Prince. (A moment of silence.)
+
+
+Prince (rapping with his stick).--I forbid you to become a member of
+parliament.
+
+Doctor.--I shall not obey.
+
+Prince.--You make me angry.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness closes to me the future.
+
+Prince (angrily).--I have brought you up.
+
+Doctor.--I preserve Your Highness's life.
+
+Prince.--I have been a second father to you.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, let us speak calmly. If you have been to me a
+father, I have until now been to you a son. But the father must not
+bar to his son the road to distinction.
+
+Prince.--Public distinction is not for such people as you, sir.
+
+Doctor (laughing).--A moment ago Your Highness called me a son.
+
+Prince.--What son?
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, were I your son I would be rich and have a
+title--in a word everything Your Highness possesses. But being a poor
+man, I must make my way, and no one has the right to bar it to me,
+especially if my road is straight and honest. (Laughing.) Unless Your
+Highness would like to adopt me in order to preserve the family.
+
+Prince.--What nonsense you are talking.
+
+Doctor.--I am only joking. Well, Your Highness, let us cease this
+irritation.
+
+Prince.--It is true, it hurts me. Why will you not give up the idea of
+becoming a member of parliament?
+
+Doctor.--It is my future.
+
+Prince.--And in the mean time I am vexed by every one on that account.
+When I was young I was in many battles and I did not fear. I can show
+my decorations. I was not afraid of death on the battlefield, but
+those Latin illnesses of yours--Why do you look at me in that way?
+
+Doctor.--I am looking as usual. As for your illness, I will say that
+it is more the imagination of Your Highness than anything else. The
+constitution is strong, and with my assistance Your Highness will live
+to the age of Methusaleh.
+
+Prince.--Are you sure of it?
+
+Doctor.--Positive.
+
+Prince.--Good boy! And you will not leave me?
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness may be assured of that.
+
+Prince.--Then you may become a member of parliament or whatever you
+please. Stella! Oh, she is not here! Upon my honor, that Miliszewski
+is an ass. Don't you think so?
+
+Doctor.--I cannot contradict Your Highness.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+The same. Stella and Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Stella.--I came because I was afraid you would quarrel. Well, what is
+the end of the discussion?
+
+Prince.--Well, that good-for-nothing man will do what he pleases.
+
+Doctor.--The fact is that the prince has approved of my plans and has
+granted me permission to try my luck at the election.
+
+Mrs. Czeska.--We had better all go to the garden. Mr. Pretwic and
+Count Drahomir are waiting--we are going for a sail on the lake.
+
+Prince.--Then let us be going (they go out). You see, madam, that
+Miliszewska!
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz, Stella. Then Drahomir.
+
+
+Stella.--How is my father's health?
+
+Doctor.--All that can be expected. But you are pale, princess.
+
+Stella.--Oh, I am well.
+
+Doctor.--It is the consequence of the betrothal.
+
+Stella.--It must be.
+
+Doctor.--But health requires one to be merry--to enjoy life.
+
+Stella.--I do not wish for any other distraction.
+
+Doctor.--If not distraction, at least enjoyment. We here are too grave
+for you. Perhaps we cannot understand you.
+
+Stella.--You are all too good.
+
+Doctor.--At least solicitous. If you have a moment to spare let us be
+seated and have a talk. My solicitude must explain my boldness. With
+the dignity of a fiancé, serenity and happiness generally go hand in
+hand. When the heart is given willingly, all longing ceases and the
+future is viewed with serenity.
+
+Stella.--My future contains something which might cause even the most
+valiant to fear.
+
+Doctor.--Of what are you talking? You have called me a sceptic, but it
+is I who says: who loves, believes.
+
+Stella.--What then?
+
+Doctor.--Who doubts?
+
+Stella.--Doctor.
+
+Doctor.--Princess, I do not inquire. There are moments when the
+serenity visibly departs from your face, therefore I question you,
+which is my duty as a physician and a friend. Be calm. Pray, remember
+that this is asked by a man whom a while ago you called "brother," and
+who knows how dear to him is the happiness of such a sister! I have no
+one in this world--all my love of family is centred in your house. My
+heart has also its sorrows. Pray, quiet my apprehensions--that is all
+I ask you.
+
+Stella.--What apprehensions?
+
+Doctor.--Apprehensions of which I dare not speak. Since my return I
+have watched you constantly, and the more I watch you the more do I
+fear. You fear the future--you do not look into it with confidence and
+hope.
+
+Stella.--Permit me to go.
+
+Doctor.--No, madam. I have the right to ask, and if you fear to look
+into the bottom of your heart, then I have the right to say that you
+lack courage, and for such sinful weakness one pays later with his own
+happiness and the happiness of others. I suffer also--but I must--I
+must. Madam, listen to me. If in your heart there is even the shadow
+of a doubt, you have mistaken your sentiments.
+
+Stella.--Is it possible to make such a mistake?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. Sometimes--often one mistakes sympathy, pity,
+commiseration for love.
+
+Stella.--What a dreadful mistake!
+
+Doctor.--Which one recognizes as soon as the heart flies in another
+direction. The dignity of a fiancé is a hidden pain. If I am mistaken,
+pray forgive me.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, I do not wish to think of such things.
+
+Doctor.--Then I am not mistaken. Do not look on me with fear. I wish
+to save you, my dear child. Where is your heart? The moment that you
+recognize you do not love Mr. Pretwic, that moment will tell you whom
+you do love. No, I shall not withdraw my question. Where is your
+heart? By God, if he is not equal to you, he shall rise to your
+height! But no, I have become a madman.
+
+Stella.--I must be going.
+
+Doctor (barring the way).--No, you shall not go until you have given
+me an answer. Whom do you love?
+
+Stella.--Doctor, spare me--otherwise I shall doubt everything. Have
+pity on me.
+
+Doctor (brutally)--Whom do you love?
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+The same. Drahomir
+
+
+Drahomir.--Princess.
+
+Stella.--Ah!
+
+Drahomir.--What! Have I frightened you? I came to tell you that the
+boats are waiting. What is the matter with you?
+
+Stella.--Nothing. Let us be going.
+
+(Drahomir offers his arm--they go out.)
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+
+Doctor (alone--looking after them).--Oh! I--under--stand!
+
+
+END OF ACT II.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+The same Drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+(Mr. Podczaski enters, followed by a servant.)
+
+
+Podczaski.--Tell the Doctor that Mr. Podczaski wishes to see him on an
+important matter.
+
+Servant.--The Doctor is very busy. The princess is ill. But I will
+tell him (goes out).
+
+Podczaski (alone).--I have enough of this work for nothing. The
+countess sends me about to agitate for her, but when I ask her for
+some money, she answers: We shall see about it after the election. She
+is an aristocrat and she refuses a hundred florins to a nobleman. To
+the deuce with such business. I had better try elsewhere, to serve the
+Doctor. He pays because he has common sense. And as he will bite them,
+then I will rise in consideration.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Podczaski. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Podczaski.--Your servant, sir.
+
+Doctor.--What can I do for you?
+
+Podczaski.--Well, sir, I am going to come right to the point. You know
+what services I have rendered the Countess Miliszewski?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, you have been agitating against me in favor of Count
+Miliszewski. Podczaski.--No, not at all, sir. Well, sir, it was so,
+but I am going to change that, and you may be certain--
+
+Doctor.--In a word, what do you wish, sir?
+
+Podczaski.--God sees, sir, that I served the countess faithfully, and
+it cost me quite a little, but on consulting my conscience I have
+concluded not to act any more against such a man as you, sir, for the
+sake of the country.
+
+Doctor.--I appreciate your sentiments, which are those of a good
+citizen. You do not wish to act against me any longer?
+
+Podczaski.--No, sir!
+
+Doctor.--You are right. Then you are with me?
+
+Podczaski.--If I may offer my services--
+
+Doctor.--I accept.
+
+Podczaski (aside).--He is a man--I have a hundred florins in my pocket
+already. (Aloud) My gratitude--
+
+Doctor.--Mine will be shown after the election.
+
+Podczaski.--Oh!
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same. Jan Miliszewski--then Anton.
+
+
+Jan.--Good-morning, doctor. Is my mother here?
+
+Doctor.--The countess is not here.
+
+Jan.--We came together, but mamma went directly to the prince's
+apartment. I remained alone and I cannot find my way to the prince's
+apartment. (Seeing Podczaski, who bows to him) Ah! Mr. Podczaski, what
+are you doing here?
+
+Podczaski.--Your servant, sir. Well, I came to consult the doctor--I
+have rheumatism in my feet.
+
+Jan.--Doctor, will you be kind enough to show me to the Prince's
+apartment?
+
+Doctor.--They are in the left wing of the château.
+
+Jan.--Thank you. But later I would like to have a talk with you.
+
+Doctor.--I will be at your service, sir.
+
+(Jan goes toward the door. He knocks against Anton.)
+
+Anton.--I beg your pardon, sir.
+
+Jan.--Pardon (he adjusts his monocle and looks at Anton--then goes
+out).
+
+Anton (to Doctor).--I was told you were here and I rushed. Listen, a
+matter of great importance. (Seeing Podczaski) What! You are here? Our
+adversary here?
+
+Podczaski (speaking in Anton's ear).--I am no longer your adversary.
+
+Anton (looking at him).--So much the better then--but leave us alone
+just the same.
+
+Podczaski (aside).--Bad. (Aloud) Gentleman, do not forget me. (Aside)
+The devil has taken my hundred florins. (He goes out.)
+
+Anton.--What did he wish?
+
+Doctor.--Money.
+
+Anton.--Did you give it to him?
+
+Doctor.--No.
+
+Anton.--You did well. We do not bribe. But no matter about that. What
+good luck that they put up Miliszewski for a candidate. Otherwise you
+would be lost because Husarski would have had the majority.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, I am sure that we will be defeated.
+
+Anton.--No! What am I for? Uf! How tired I am. Let me rest for five
+minutes (he sits down). Good gracious! how soft the furniture is here.
+We must donate some money for some public purpose. Have you any money?
+
+Doctor.--I have some.
+
+Anton.--We are going to give that money to build a school.
+
+Doctor.--Here is the key of my desk--you will find some ready money
+there, and some checks.
+
+Anton.--Very well, but I must rest a moment. In the mean while what is
+the news here? You are not looking well. Your eyes have sunken. Upon
+my word, I was not so much in love with my wife. Speak--I will rest in
+the mean while--but speak frankly.
+
+Doctor.--I will be frank with you.
+
+Anton.--What more?
+
+Doctor.--That marriage will be broken off.
+
+Anton.--Why.
+
+Doctor.--Because there are times when these people do not succeed in
+anything.
+
+Anton.--To the garret with those peacocks. And what about that
+cannibal Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--A long story. The princess has mistaken the sympathy which
+she feels for him for something more serious. To-day she knows that
+she does not love him.
+
+Anton.--That is good. Truly, it looks as though they were pursued by
+fate. It is the lot of races that have lived too long.
+
+Doctor.--Implacable logic of things.
+
+Anton.--Then she is not going to marry him. I pity them, but to the
+deuce with sentimentality!
+
+Doctor.--She would marry him if it killed her to keep her word. But
+there is a third person entangled in the matter--Count Drahomir.
+
+Anton.--At every step one meets a count! He betrays Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--What a blockhead you are.
+
+Anton.--Well, frankly speaking, I do not care one whit for your
+drawing-room affairs.
+
+Doctor.--Drahomir and she do not know that they love each other. But
+something attracts them to each other. What is that force? They do not
+ask. They are like children.
+
+Anton.--And how will you profit from all this?
+
+Doctor.--Listen, you democrat. When two knights are in love with one
+noble damsel, that love usually ends dramatically--and the third party
+usually gets the noble damsel.
+
+Anton.--And the knights?
+
+Doctor.--Let them perish.
+
+Anton.--What then do you suppose will happen?
+
+Doctor.--I do not know. Pretwic is a passionate man. He does not
+foresee anything--I see only the logic of things which is favorable
+to me, and I shall not be stupid enough to place any obstacles to my
+happiness.
+
+Anton.--I am sure you will help it along in case of need.
+
+Doctor.--Well, I am a physician. It is my duty to assist nature.
+
+Anton.--The programme is ready. I know you. I only wish to ask you how
+you know what you say is so. Maybe it is only a story.
+
+Doctor.--I can have verification of it through the princess's
+ex-governess.
+
+Anton.--You must know as soon as possible.
+
+Doctor.--Mrs. Czeska will be here in a moment. I asked her to come
+here.
+
+Anton.--Then I am going. Do you know what? Do not help nature too
+much, because it would be--
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+The same. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska (entering).--You wished to speak to me?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, madam.
+
+Anton (bows to Mrs. Czeska, then speaks to Jozwowicz).--I am going to
+get the money and I will be back in a moment.
+
+Doctor.--Very well. (Anton goes out.)
+
+Czeska.--Who is that gentleman?
+
+Doctor.--A pilot.
+
+Czeska.--What do you mean?
+
+Doctor.--He guides the boat in which I am sailing. As for the rest, he
+is a horribly honest man.
+
+Czeska.--I do not understand very well. What did you wish to speak to
+me about?
+
+Doctor.--About the princess. You are both like mother and daughter,
+and you should have her entire confidence. What is the matter with
+her? She conceals something--some sorrow. As a doctor I must know
+everything, because in order to cure physical disease one must know
+the moral cause. (Aside) The spirit of Aesculapius forgive me this
+phrase.
+
+Czeska.--My good sir, what are you asking about?
+
+Doctor.--I have told you that the princess conceals some sorrow.
+
+Czeska.--I do not know.
+
+Doctor.--We both love her; let us then speak frankly.
+
+Czeska.--I am willing.
+
+Doctor.--Then, does she love her fiancé?
+
+Czeska.--How can you ask me such a question? If she did not, she would
+not be betrothed to him. It is such a simple thing that even I do not
+talk to her about it any more.
+
+Doctor.--You say: "I do not talk about it any more"; so you have
+already talked about it.
+
+Czeska.--Yes. She told me that she was afraid she did not love him
+enough. But every pure soul fears that it does not fulfil its duty.
+Why did you ask me that?
+
+Doctor (saluting her).--I have my reasons. I wished to know. (Aside) I
+am wasting my time with her.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+The same. Jan Miliszewski.
+
+
+Jan.--I could not find mamma. Good-morning, madam. Do I intrude?
+
+Czeska.--Not at all, sir. (To Jozwowicz) She will do her duty; rest
+assured of that.
+
+Doctor.--Thank you. (Czeska goes out.)
+
+Jan.--Doctor.
+
+Doctor.--I am listening to you, sir.
+
+Jan.--Let us speak frankly. Mamma wishes me to become a member of
+parliament, but I do not care for it.
+
+Doctor.--You are too modest, sir.
+
+Jan.--You are sneering, and I do not know how to defend myself. But
+I am frank with you--I would not care a bit about being elected
+to parliament if it were not for my mamma. When mamma wishes for
+something it must be accomplished. All women of the family of
+Srokoszynski are that way, and mamma is of that family.
+
+Doctor.--But, count, you have a will of your own.
+
+Jan.--That is the trouble--the Miliszewskis are all ruled by the
+women. It is our family characteristic, sir.
+
+Doctor.--A knightly characteristic indeed! But what can I do for you?
+
+Jan.--I am not going to oppose you.
+
+Doctor.--I must be as frank with you as you are with me. Until now you
+have helped me.
+
+Jan.--I don't know how, but if it is so, then you must help me in your
+turn.
+
+Doctor.--In what?
+
+Jan.--It is a very delicate question. But you must not tell mamma
+anything about it.
+
+Doctor.--Certainly not.
+
+Jan.--Mamma wishes me to marry the princess, but I, sir, I do not
+want--
+
+Doctor.--You do not want?
+
+Jan.--It astonishes you?
+
+Doctor.--I must be frank--
+
+Jan.--I do not wish to because I do not wish to. When a man does not
+feel like marrying, then he does not feel like it. You will suppose
+that I am in love with some one else? It may be. But it is not with
+the princess. Naturally, when mamma says: "Jan, go ahead," I go ahead,
+because I cannot help it. The Miliszewskis knew how to manage the men,
+but not the women.
+
+Doctor.--I do not understand--how can I be useful to you?
+
+Jan.--You can do anything in this house, so you must help me secretly,
+to be refused.
+
+Doctor.--Count, you may rely on me in that matter.
+
+Jan.--Thank you.
+
+Doctor.--And it will be so much the easier done because the princess
+is betrothed.
+
+Jan.--I did not know that any one dared to compete with me.
+
+Doctor (aside).--What an idea! (Aloud) It is Mr. George Pretwic.
+
+Jan.--Then they wished to make sport of me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Pretwic is an audacious man. You were perfectly right
+when you said the question was a delicate one. The people are afraid
+of Mr. Pretwic; if you were to give up, people would say that--
+
+Jan.--That I am also afraid? Then I will not give up. My dear sir, I
+see you do not know the Miliszewskis. We do not know how to handle the
+women, but there is not a coward in our family. I know that people
+laugh at me, but the one who would dare to call me a coward would not
+laugh. I will show them at once that I am not a coward. Where is Mr.
+Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--He is in the garden (pointing through the window). Do you see
+him there, near the lake?
+
+Jan.--Good-bye.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz alone--then Anton.
+
+
+Doctor.--The men who have not such sons are great! Ha! ha! ha!
+
+Anton (rushing in).--You are here? Here are your receipts for the
+money. Why are you laughing?
+
+Doctor.--Miliszewski has gone to challenge Pretwic.
+
+Anton.--Are they crazy?
+
+Doctor.--What an opinion she would have of Pretwic if he were to
+quarrel with such an idiot!
+
+Anton.--You have done it.
+
+Doctor.--I told you that I shall assist nature.
+
+Anton.--Do as you please; I withdraw.
+
+Doctor.--Good-bye. Or no, I am going also. I must prevent the
+adventure from going too far.
+
+Anton.--I wanted to tell you that I must buy some food for my
+children. I will return the money--later on. Is it all right?
+
+Doctor.--How can you ask? (Goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Stella and Drahomir. (They enter from the garden.)
+
+
+Stella.--That walk tired me. See how weak I am (sits down). Where is
+Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--Young Miliszewski asked to speak to him a moment. The
+countess is speaking to the prince. It seems that their conversation
+is very animated because the countess did not know that you were
+betrothed, and she had some designs on you. But pray excuse me; I
+laugh and you suffer by it.
+
+Stella.--I would laugh too if I did not know how much it troubles my
+father. And then, I pity Count Miliszewski.
+
+Drahomir.--I understand how a similar situation would be painful to a
+man who was in love, but such is not the case with the count. He will
+console himself if his mother orders it.
+
+Stella.--Sometimes one may be mistaken about people.
+
+Drahomir.--Do you speak about me or Miliszewski?
+
+Stella.--Let us say it is about you. They told me that you were a
+mirror of all perfections.
+
+Drahomir.--And have you discovered that I am the personification of
+all faults?
+
+Stella.--I did not say so.
+
+Drahomir.--But you think so. But I am not deceived. Your portrait
+drawn by Mr. Pretwic and the Doctor is exactly like you.
+
+Stella.--How was the portrait?
+
+Drahomir.--With wings at the shoulders.
+
+Stella.--That means that I have as much dignity as a butterfly.
+
+Drahomir.--Angels' wings are in harmony with their dignity.
+
+Stella.--True friendship should speak the truth. Tell me some bitter
+one.
+
+Drahomir.--Very bitter?
+
+Stella.--As wormwood--or as is sometimes the case--with life.
+
+Drahomir.--Then you are kind to me.
+
+Stella.--For what sin shall I begin penitence?
+
+Drahomir.--For lack of friendship for me.
+
+Stella.--I was the first to appeal for friendship--in what respect am
+I untrue to it?
+
+Drahomir.--Because you share with me your joys, sports, laughter, but
+when a moment of sorrow comes, you keep those thorns for yourself.
+Pray share with me your troubles also.
+
+Stella.--It is not egotism on my part. I do not wish to disturb your
+serenity.
+
+Drahomir.--The source of my serenity does not lie in egotism either.
+George told me of you when I came here: "I know only how to look at
+her and how to pray to her; you are younger and more mirthful, try to
+amuse her." Therefore I brought all my good spirits and laid them at
+your feet. But I notice that I have bored you. I see a cloud on your
+face--I suspect some hidden sorrow, and being your best friend, I am
+ready to give my life to dispel that cloud.
+
+Stella (softly).--You must not talk that way.
+
+Drahomir (clasping his hands).--Let me talk. I was a giddy boy, but I
+always followed my heart, and my heart guessed your sorrow. Since that
+moment a shadow fell across my joy, but I overcame it. One cannot
+recall a tear which has rolled down the cheek, but a friendly hand can
+dry it. Therefore I overcame that cloud in order that the tears should
+not come to your eyes. If I have been mistaken, if I have chosen the
+wrong path, pray forgive me. Your life will be as beautiful as a
+bouquet of flowers, therefore be mirthful--be mirthful.
+
+Stella (with emotion, giving him her hand).--I shall be; being near
+you, I am capricious, spoiled, and a little bit ill. Sometimes I do
+not know myself what is the matter with me, and what I wish. I am
+happy; truly I am happy.
+
+Drahomir.--Then, no matter, as Mrs. Czeska says. Let us be merry,
+laugh, and run in the garden and play pranks with the countess and her
+son.
+
+Stella.--I have discovered the source of your mirth; it is a good
+heart.
+
+Drahomir.--No, madam. I am a great good-for-nothing. But the source of
+true happiness is not in this.
+
+Stella.--Sometimes I think that there is none in this world.
+
+Drahomir.--We cannot grasp it with our common sense, and will not fly
+after that winged vision. Sometimes perhaps it flies near us, but
+before we discover it, before we stretch out our hands, it is too
+late!
+
+Stella.--What sad words--too late!
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+The same. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Doctor (entering, laughs).--Ha! ha! Do you know what has happened?
+
+Stella.--Is it something amusing?
+
+Doctor.--A dreadful, tragic, but before a ridiculous thing.
+Miliszewski wished to challenge Pretwic.
+
+Stella.--For Heaven's sake!
+
+Doctor.--You must laugh with me. If there were anything dreadful I
+would not frighten you, princess.
+
+Drahomir.--And what has been the end of it?
+
+Doctor.--I was angry with Mr. Pretwic for taking the matter so
+seriously.
+
+Drahomir.--How could he help it?
+
+Doctor.--But it would be shameful for a man like Mr. Pretwic to fight
+with such a poor thing.
+
+Stella.--The doctor is right. I do not understand Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Doctor.--Our princess must not be irritated. I have made peace between
+them. Mr. Pretwic did not grasp the real situation and his naturally
+sanguine disposition carried him away. But now that I have explained
+to him, he agrees that it would be too utterly ridiculous.
+
+Drahomir.--And what about Miliszewski?
+
+Doctor.--I have sent him to his mamma. He is a good boy.
+
+Stella.--I shall scold Mr. Pretwic, nevertheless.
+
+Drahomir.--But you must not be too severe.
+
+Stella.--You are laughing, gentlemen. I am sorry that it was necessary
+to explain the matter to Mr. Pretwic. I must scold him immediately
+(she goes out).
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Drahomir. Doctor.
+
+
+Drahomir.--The princess is a true angel.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, there is not a spot in the crystalline purity of her
+nature.
+
+Drahomir.--It must be true when even you, a sceptic, speak of her with
+such enthusiasm.
+
+Doctor.--I have been here six years. When I came she wore short
+dresses. She grew by my side. Six years have their strength--it was
+impossible not to become attached to her.
+
+Drahomir.--I believe you. (After a while of silence) Strange, however,
+that you self-made people have no hearts.
+
+Doctor.--Why?
+
+Drahomir.--Because--I know what you would say about her social
+position, but hearts are equal, so it does not matter. Then how did it
+happen that you, being so near the princess, did not--
+
+Doctor (interrupting).--What?
+
+Drahomir.--I cannot find an expression.
+
+Doctor.--But I have found it. You are asking me why I did not fall in
+love with her?
+
+Drahomir.--I hesitated to pronounce the too bold word.
+
+Doctor.--Truly, if you, count, are lacking in boldness, I am going to
+help you out, and I ask you: And you, sir?
+
+Drahomir.--Doctor, be careful.
+
+Doctor.--I hear some lyrical tone.
+
+Drahomir.--Let us finish this conversation.
+
+Doctor.--As you say, although I can speak quietly, and in order to
+change the conversation, I prefer to ask you: Do you think she will be
+happy with Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--What a question! George loves her dearly.
+
+Doctor.--I do not doubt it, but their natures are so different. Her
+thoughts and sentiments are as delicate as cobweb--and George? Have
+you noticed how hurt she was that he accepted the challenge?
+
+Drahomir.--Why did you tell her about it?
+
+Doctor.--I was wrong. Therefore George--
+
+Drahomir.--Will be happy with her.
+
+Doctor.--Any one would be happy with her, and to every one one might
+give the advice to search for some one like her. Yes, count, search
+for some one like her (he goes out).
+
+Drahomir (alone).--Search for some one like her--and if there is some
+one like, her--too late (he sits down and covers his face with his
+hand).
+
+
+SCENE X.
+
+Stella. Drahomir.
+
+
+Stella (seeing Drahomir, looks at him for a while).--What is the
+matter with you?
+
+Drahomir.--You here? (A moment of silence.)
+
+Stella (confused).--I am searching for papa. Excuse me, sir, I must
+go.
+
+Drahomir (softly)--Go, madam. (She goes out. At the door she stops,
+hesitates for a while and then disappears.) I must get away from here
+as soon as possible.
+
+
+SCENE XI.
+
+Drahomir. Prince. Finally Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Prince (rushing in).--She has tormented me until now. Good gracious!
+Ah, it is you, Drahomir.
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, prince. Who tormented you?
+
+Prince.--The Countess Miliszewski. My dear boy, how can he be a member
+of parliament when he is so densely stupid!
+
+Drahomir.--It is true.
+
+Prince.--Don't you see! And then she proposed to marry him to Stella.
+The idea! She is already betrothed. But of course they did not know.
+
+Drahomir.--How did you get rid of her?
+
+Prince.--The doctor helped me out. Jozwowicz is a smart man--he has
+more intelligence than all of us together.
+
+Drahomir.--It is true.
+
+Prince.--But you, Drahomir, you are smart also, are you not?
+
+Drahomir.--How can I either affirm or deny? But Jozwowicz is very
+intelligent, that much is certain.
+
+Prince.--Yes. I do not like him, and I am afraid of him and I am fond
+of him, but I tell you I could not live without him.
+
+Drahomir.--He is an honest man, too.
+
+Prince.--Honest? Very well, then, but you are better because you are
+not a democrat. Drahomir, I love you. Stella, I love him--Ah! She is
+not here.
+
+Drahomir.--Thank you, prince.
+
+Prince.--If I had another daughter, I would--well--
+
+Drahomir.--Prince, pray do not speak that way. (Aside) I must run
+away.
+
+Prince.--Come, have a cigar with me. We will call the others and have
+a talk. Jozwowicz! Pretwic!
+
+Doctor (entering).--What are your orders, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--You, Robespièrre, come and have a cigar. Thank you, my boy.
+You have rid me of the countess.
+
+Doctor.--I will send for Pretwic, and we will join you. (He rings the
+bell. A servant comes in--the prince and Drahomir go out.) Ask Mr.
+Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--Anton was right. I am helping along the logic. But
+I do not like the sap--because I am accustomed to break. (Pretwic
+enters.)
+
+
+SCENE XII.
+
+Pretwic. Jozwowicz.
+
+George.--I was looking for you.
+
+
+Doctor.--The prince has invited us to smoke a cigar with him.
+
+George.--Wait a moment. For God's sake tell me what it means. Stella
+changes while looking at her--there is something heavy in the air.
+What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--That melancholy is the mode now.
+
+George.--You are joking with me.
+
+Doctor.--I know nothing.
+
+George.--Excuse me. The blood rushes to my head. I see some
+catastrophe hanging over me. I thought you would say something to
+pacify me. I thought you were my friend.
+
+Doctor.--Do you doubt it?
+
+George.--Shake hands first. Then give me some advice.
+
+Doctor.--Advice? Are you ill?
+
+George (with an effort).--Truly, you play with me as a cat with a
+mouse.
+
+Doctor.--Because I know nothing of presentiments.
+
+George.--Did you not tell me that she is not ill?
+
+Doctor.--No, she is wearied.
+
+George.--You speak about it in a strange way and you have no
+conception of the pain that your words cause me.
+
+Doctor.--Then try to distract her.
+
+George.--What? Who?
+
+Doctor.--Who? Count Drahomir, for instance.
+
+George.--Is she fond of him?
+
+Doctor.--And he of her also. Such poetical souls are always fond of
+each other.
+
+George.--What do you mean by that?
+
+Doctor (sharply).--And you--how do you take my words?
+
+George (rises.)--Not another word. You understand me, and you must
+know that I do not always forgive.
+
+Doctor (rises also, approaches George and looks into his eyes).--I
+believe you wish to frighten me. Besides this, what more do you wish?
+
+George (after a moment of struggle with himself).--You must ask me
+what I did wish, because I do not now wish for anything. You have
+known her longer than I have, therefore I came to you as her friend
+and mine, and for answer you banter with me. In your eyes there shone
+hatred for me, although I have never wronged, you. Be the judge
+yourself! I would be more than right in asking you: What do you
+wish of me, if it were not for the reason (with pride) that it is
+immaterial to me. (He goes out.)
+
+Doctor.--We shall see.
+
+
+SCENE XIII.
+
+Jozwowicz. Servant.
+
+
+Servant.--A messenger brought this letter from Mr. Anton Zuk.
+
+Doctor.--Give it to me. (The servant goes out. Doctor looks at the
+door through which George went out.) Oh, I can no longer control my
+hatred. I will crush you into dust; and now I shall not hesitate any
+longer. (Opens letter feverishly) Damnation, I must be going there at
+once.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE XIV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska (enters swiftly).--Doctor, I am looking for you.
+
+Doctor.--What has happened?
+
+Czeska.--Stella is ill. I found her weeping.
+
+Doctor (aside.)--Poor child! (Aloud) I will go to see her at once.
+(They go out.)
+
+
+END OF ACT III.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV.
+
+The same Drawing Room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz. Drahomir.
+
+
+(Jozwowicz sits at table writing in notebook. Drahomir enters.)
+
+Drahomir.--Doctor, I came to bid you farewell.
+
+Doctor (rising suddenly).--Ah, you are going away?
+
+Drahomir.--Yes.
+
+Doctor.--So suddenly? For long?
+
+Drahomir.--I am returning to-day to Swietlenice, to George; to-morrow
+I leave for Paris.
+
+Doctor.--One word--have you said anything to any one of your plans?
+
+Drahomir.--Not yet. I only made up my mind an hour ago.
+
+Doctor.--Then Mr. Pretwic knows nothing about it as yet?
+
+Drahomir.--No; but why do you ask?
+
+Doctor (aside).--I must act now--otherwise everything is lost. (Aloud)
+Count, I have not much time to speak to you now, because in a moment I
+expect Anton in regard to a matter on which my whole future depends.
+Listen to me. I beseech you, for the sake of the peace and health
+of the princess, not to mention to any one that you are going away.
+Neither to the Prince nor to Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not understand you.
+
+Doctor.--You will understand me. Now I cannot tell you anything more.
+In a half hour pray grant me a moment of conversation. Then you will
+understand me--that I guarantee you. Here is Anton. You see I cannot
+explain now.
+
+Drahomir.--I will see you again. (He goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Anton. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Anton.--The fight is very hot. Have you the address?
+
+Doctor.--Here it is. How goes it?
+
+Anton.--Up to now everything is well, but I repeat--the fight is
+very hot. If you had not come the last time, you would have lost the
+battle, because Miliszewski has withdrawn and his partisans vote for
+Husarski. Podczaski is good for nothing. Your speech in the city hall
+was splendid. May thunder strike you! Your address was admired even by
+your enemies. Oh, we will at last be able to do something. For three
+days I have not slept--I have not eaten--I work and I have plenty of
+time, because I have lost my position.
+
+Doctor.--You have lost your position?
+
+Anton.--On account of the agitation against Husarski.
+
+Doctor.--Have you found any means against him?
+
+Anton.--I have-written an article. I have brought it to you. Read it.
+He sues me--he will beat me. They will put me in prison, but it will
+be only after the election, and my article wronged him very much.
+
+Doctor.--Very well.
+
+Anton.--But when I am in prison you must take care of my wife and
+children. I love them dearly. I have three of them. It is too
+much--but _natura lex dura_.
+
+Doctor.--Be assured.
+
+Anton.--You would not believe me if I were to tell you that I am
+almost happy. Sometimes it seems to me that our country is a moldy
+room and that I open the window and let in the fresh air. We will work
+very hard. I believe in you, because you are an iron man.
+
+Doctor.--I shall either perish or gain two victories.
+
+Anton.--Two?
+
+Doctor.--Yes; the other one even to-day, here. The events have
+surprised me in some way. The facts turned against me, and I was
+obliged to build my plans of action only a short while ago.
+
+Anton.--Eh! If we win only there. Do you know what--I would prefer
+that you abandon the idea of the other victory.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, you are mistaken.
+
+Anton.--Because you worry a great deal. You have grown awfully thin.
+Look in the mirror.
+
+Doctor.--No matter; after I have sprung the mine I shall be calmer and
+the mine is ready.
+
+Anton.--But it will cost you too much.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, but I shall not retract.
+
+Anton.--At least be careful and do not smear your hands with the
+powder.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same. Stella.
+
+
+Stella (entering, notices Anton).--Ah, excuse me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Anton Zuk, a friend of mine. (Anton bows.) What is your
+wish, princess?
+
+Stella.--You told me to stay in bed and it is so hard to lie down.
+Mrs. Czeska went to the chapel and I escaped. Do you approve?
+
+Doctor.--I cannot help it, princess, although I would like to scold
+you like a disobedient child. A few moments ago some one else begged
+for you also.
+
+Stella.--Who was it?
+
+Doctor.--Count Drahomir. And he begged so earnestly that I promised
+him that I would allow you to leave the bed. He wishes to have a talk
+with you to-day, because he will not be able to see you again.
+
+Stella (aside).--What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--He will be here at five o'clock.
+
+Stella.--Very well.
+
+Doctor.--And now, pray, return to your room. Your dress is too thin
+and you might catch cold.
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Anton.--Ah, that is the princess.
+
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it is she.
+
+Anton.--Very pretty, but looks as though she was made of mist. As for
+me, I prefer women like my wife. From such as your princess you cannot
+expect sturdy democrats.
+
+Doctor.--Enough of that.
+
+Anton.--Then I will weigh anchor and sail. I will distribute the
+pamphlet with your address, and then I will write another article
+against Husarski. If they put me in prison they shall at least have a
+reason for it. Good-bye.
+
+Doctor.--If you meet a servant, tell him that I am waiting for Count
+Drahomir.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+Jozwowicz--then Drahomir.
+
+
+Doctor (alone).--Let that golden-haired page go, but he must see her
+before he goes. This leave-taking shall be the red flag for the bull.
+(Drahomir enters.) I am waiting for you, sir. Is Mr. Pretwic in the
+château?
+
+Drahomir.--He is with the prince.
+
+Doctor.--Count, be seated, and let us talk.
+
+Drahomir (uneasily).--I am listening, sir.
+
+Doctor.--You are in love with the princess.
+
+Drahomir.--Mr. Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor.--On your honor--yes or no?
+
+Drahomir.--Only God has the right to ask me such a question. I do not
+dare to ask myself.
+
+Doctor.--And your conscience?
+
+Drahomir.--And no one else.
+
+Doctor.--Then let us turn the question. She loves you.
+
+Drahomir.--Be silent, sir. Oh, God!
+
+Doctor.--Your pride is broken. You knew of it?
+
+Drahomir.--I did not wish to know it.
+
+Doctor.--But now you are aware of it.
+
+Drahomir.--That is the reason why I am going away from here forever.
+
+Doctor.--It is too late, sir. You have tangled her life and now you
+leave her.
+
+Drahomir.--For God's sake, what shall I do, then?
+
+Doctor.--Go away, but not forever, and not without telling her
+good-bye.
+
+Drahomir.--Why should I add the last drop to an already overflowing
+cup?
+
+Doctor.--A beautiful phrase. Can you not understand that it will hurt
+her good name if you should go away suddenly without taking leave
+of her? And she--she is ill and she may not be able to bear your
+departure.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not see any remedy--
+
+Doctor.--There is only one. Find some pretext, bid her good-bye
+quietly, and tell her that you will be back. Otherwise it will be a
+heavy blow for her strength. You must leave her hope. She must not
+suspect anything. Perhaps later she will become accustomed to your
+absence--perhaps she will forget--
+
+Drahomir.--It will be better for her to forget.
+
+Doctor.--I will do my best, but I shall first throw a handful of earth
+on your memory.
+
+Drahomir.--What shall I do, then?
+
+Doctor.--To find a pretext to bid her good-bye, tell every one that
+you are going. Then come back--and go away. Mr. Pretwic also must not
+know anything.
+
+Drahomir.--When shall I bid her good-bye?
+
+Doctor.--In a moment. I told her. I will manage to be with Pretwic
+during that time. She will be here presently.
+
+Drahomir.--I would prefer to die.
+
+Doctor.--No one is certain of to-morrow. Be off now. (Drahomir goes
+out.)
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz. Then a servant.
+
+
+Doctor.--How warm it is here! My head is splitting. (He rings--a
+servant enters.) Ask Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
+My head is bursting--but then I will have a long peace.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Jozwowicz. George Pretwic.
+
+
+George (entering).--What do you wish with me?
+
+Doctor.--I wish to give you good advice about the princess's health.
+
+George.--How is she?
+
+Doctor.--Better. I allowed her to leave bed because she and Drahomir
+asked me to.
+
+George.--Drahomir?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. He wishes to talk with her. They will be here in a
+quarter of an hour.
+
+George.--Jozwowicz, I am choking with wrath and pain. Drahomir avoids
+me.
+
+Doctor.--But you do not suspect him.
+
+George.--I swear to you that I have defended myself from suspicions as
+a man dying on the steppe defends himself from the crows--that I have
+bitten my hands with pain and despair--that I still defend myself.
+But I cannot any more. I cannot. The evidence pounds on my brain. He
+avoids me. He tells me that I have become an idiot--that I have become
+a madman, because--
+
+Doctor.--Keep your temper. Even if he were in love with the princess,
+nobody rules his own heart.
+
+George.--Enough! You were right when you coupled his name with hers.
+At that moment I repulsed the thought, but it was there just the same
+(he strikes his breast). The fruit is ripened. Oh, what a ridiculous
+and dreadful part I am playing here--
+
+Doctor.--But he saved your life.
+
+George.--In order to take it when it began to have a certain value.
+His service is paid with torture, with a slain happiness, with a
+broken hope, with destroyed faith in myself, in him and in her.
+
+Doctor.--Be easy.
+
+George.--I loved that man. Tell me that I am a madman and I shall be
+calmed. How dreadful to think that it is he! Forgive me everything I
+said to you before and help me. Evil thoughts are rushing through my
+head.
+
+Doctor.--Be calm--you are mistaken.
+
+George.--Prove to me that I am mistaken and I will kneel before you.
+
+Doctor.--You are mistaken, because Drahomir is going away.
+
+George.--He is going away. (A moment of silence.) Oh, Lord! Then I can
+live without such tortures, I may hope!
+
+Doctor (coolly and slowly).--But he is not going away forever. He said
+he would return.
+
+George.--You put me on the cross again.
+
+Doctor.--Come to your senses and do not let yourself be carried away
+by madness. At any rate you gain time. You can win her heart back
+again.
+
+George.--No--it is done. I am sinking into a precipice.
+
+Doctor.--Everything will be straightened out by his absence.
+
+George (with an outburst).--But did you not tell me that he will
+return?
+
+Doctor.--Listen: I agree with you that you have repaid Drahomir for
+the services of saving your life with your tortures. Drahomir has
+betrayed you and has broken the friendship between you by winning her
+heart. But I do not think that he is going away in order to avoid your
+vengeance.
+
+George.--And to give her time to break her engagement! Yes, yes! I am
+cursed. I suspect him now of everything. He avoids me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Pretwic.
+
+George.--Enough. I am going to ask him when he will be back. He has
+saved my life once, and slain me ten times. (He tries to leave.)
+
+Doctor.--Where are you going?
+
+George.--To ask him how long he is going away.
+
+Doctor.--Wait a moment. How could you ask him such a question? Perhaps
+he is innocent, but pride will shut his mouth and everything will be
+lost. Stay here--you can leave only over my corpse. I am not afraid of
+you!--do you understand? In a moment they will be here. You wish for
+proofs--you shall have them. From the piazza you cannot hear them, but
+you can see them. You shall be persuaded with your own eyes--perhaps
+you will regret your impetuosity.
+
+George (after a while).--Very well, then. May God grant that I was
+mistaken! Thank you--but you must not leave me now.
+
+Doctor.--One word more. No matter what happens I shall consider you a
+villain if you place her life in peril by any outburst.
+
+George.--Granted. Where shall we go?
+
+Doctor.--On the piazza. But you have fever--you are already shaking.
+
+George.--I am out of breath. Some one is coming. Let us be going.
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+Drahomir. Then Stella.
+
+
+Drahomir.--The last evening and the last time. (After a while.) O
+Lord, thy will be done!
+
+Stella (enters).--The Doctor told me that you wished to see me.
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, madam. Pray forgive my boldness. A very important
+affair calls me home. I come to bid you good-bye.
+
+Stella.--You are going away?
+
+Drahomir.--To day I am going to Swietlenice, to-morrow still further.
+(A moment of silence.)
+
+Stella.--Yes, it is necessary.
+
+Drahomir.--Life has flown like a dream--it is time to wake up.
+
+Stella.--Shall we see each other again?
+
+Drahomir.--If God permits it.
+
+Stella.--Then let us shake hands in farewell. I can assure you that
+you have a friend in me. Friendship is like an immortal--it is a pale
+flower, but does not wither. May God guide you and protect you. The
+heart--of a sister--will follow you everywhere. Remember--
+
+Drahomir.--Farewell.
+
+Stella.--Farewell. (She goes toward the door. Then suddenly turns.
+With a sob in her voice.) Why do you deceive me? You are going
+forever.
+
+Drahomir.--Have mercy on me.
+
+Stella.--Are you going away forever?
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, then.
+
+Stella.--I guessed it. But perhaps it is better--for both of us.
+
+Drahomir.--Oh, yes. There are things which cannot be expressed,
+although the heart is bursting. A while ago you told me that you will
+remember--it will be better for you to forget.
+
+Stella.--I cannot. (She weeps.)
+
+Drahomir (passionately).--Then I love you, my dearest, and that is the
+reason why I escape. (He presses her to his breast.)
+
+Stella (awakening).--Oh, God! (She rushes, out.)
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Drahomir. Jozwowicz. George.
+
+(George stops with Jozwowicz near the door.)
+
+
+Drahomir.--Ah, it is you, George.
+
+George.--Do not approach me. I have seen all. You are a villain and a
+coward.
+
+Drahomir--George!
+
+George.--In order not to soil my hand, I throw in your face our broken
+friendship, my trampled happiness, lost faith in God and man, endless
+contempt for you and myself.
+
+Drahomir.--Enough.
+
+George.--Do not approach me, because I will lose my self-command
+and will sprinkle these walls with your brains. No, I shall not do
+that--because I have promised. But I slap your face, you villain. Do
+you hear me?
+
+Drahomir (after struggling with himself for a moment).--Such an insult
+I swear before God and man I will wash out with blood.
+
+George.--Yes, with blood (pointing to the doctor). Here is the witness
+of these words.
+
+Doctor.--At your service, gentlemen.
+
+
+END OF ACT IV.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT V.
+
+The same drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz enters reading a dispatch.
+
+
+The result of the ballotting until now: Jozwowicz, 613; Husarski,
+604. At ten o'clock: Jozwowicz, 700; Husarski, 700. At 11 o'clock:
+Jozwowicz, 814; Husarski, 750. The fight is hot. The final results
+will be known at three o'clock. (He consults his watch.)
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Jozwowicz. George.
+
+
+Doctor.--You are here?
+
+George.--You are as afraid of me as of a ghost.
+
+Doctor.--I thought you were elsewhere.
+
+George.--I am going directly from here to fight. I have still an hour.
+The duel will take place at Dombrowa, on the Miliszewski's estate--not
+far from here.
+
+Doctor.--Too near from here.
+
+George.--Miliszewski insisted. And then you will be here to prevent
+the news from being known until as late as possible.
+
+Doctor.--Doctor Krzycki will be with you?
+
+George.--Yes.
+
+Doctor.--Ask him to send me the news at once. I would go with you, but
+I must be here.
+
+George.--You are right. If I am killed?
+
+Doctor.--You must not think of that.
+
+George.--There are some people who are cursed from the moment they
+are born, and for whom death is the only redemption. I belong to that
+class. I have thought everything over quietly. God knows that I am
+more afraid of life than of death. There is no issue for me. Suppose I
+am not killed--tell me what will become of me, if I kill the man whom
+she loves? Tell me! I will live without her, cursed by her. Do you
+know that when I think of my situation, and what has happened, I think
+some bad spirit has mixed with us and entangled everything so that
+only death can disentangle it.
+
+Doctor.--A duel is very often ended by a mere wound.
+
+George.--I insulted Drahomir gravely, and such an insult cannot be
+wiped out by a wound. Believe me, one of us must die. But I came to
+talk with you about something else.
+
+Doctor.--I am listening to you.
+
+George.--Frankly speaking, as I do not know what will become of me,
+and whether in an hour I shall be alive or not, I came to have one
+more look at her. Because I love her dearly. Perhaps I was too rough
+for her--too stupid--but I loved her. May God punish me if I have not
+desired her happiness. As you see me here it is true that at this
+moment I pity her the most and feel miserable about her future.
+Listen: whether I am killed or not, she cannot be mine. Drahomir
+cannot marry her, because he could not marry the woman whose fiancé he
+has killed. Of the three of us you alone will remain near her. Take
+care of her--guard her. Into your hands I give her, the only treasure
+I ever possessed.
+
+Doctor (quietly).--I shall carry out your wishes.
+
+George.--And now--I may be killed. I wish to die like a Christian. If
+ever I have offended you, forgive me. (They shake hands. George goes
+out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--Yes, of the three of us I alone shall remain near
+her.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Anton (rushing in).--Man, have you become an idiot? When every moment
+is valuable, you remain here. The results are uncertain. They have put
+up big posters--Husarski's partisans are catching the votes in the
+streets. For God's sake come with me. A carriage is waiting for us.
+
+Doctor.--I must remain here. I cannot go under any consideration in
+the world. Let be what may.
+
+Anton.--I did not expect such conduct from you. Come and show
+yourself, if only for a moment, and the victory is ours. I cannot
+speak any more. I am dead tired. Have you become a madman? There--we
+have worked for him, and he clings to a petticoat and stays here.
+
+Doctor.--Anton! Even if I should lose there I would not stir one step
+from here. I cannot and I will not go.
+
+Anton.--So?
+
+Doctor.--Yes.
+
+Anton.--Do what you please, then. Very well. My congratulations. (He
+walks up and down the room; then he puts his hands in his pockets and
+stands before Jozwowicz.) What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--It means that I must remain here. At this moment Drahomir
+stands opposite Pretwic with a pistol. If the news of the fight should
+come to the princess, she would pay for it with her life.
+
+Anton.--They are fighting!
+
+Doctor.--For life or death. In a moment the news will come who is
+killed. (A moment of silence.)
+
+Anton.--Jozwowicz, you have done all this.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it is I, I crushed those who were in my way, and I shall
+act the same always. You have me such as I am.
+
+Anton.--If so, I am no longer in a hurry. Do you know what I am going
+to tell you?
+
+Doctor.--You must go for a while. The princess is coming. (He opens
+the door of a side room.) Go in there for a moment.
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz and Stella.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, what is the matter in this house?
+
+Doctor.--What do you mean, princess?
+
+Stella.--Mr. Pretwic came to tell me good-bye. He was very much
+changed and asked me to forgive him if he ever offended me.
+
+Doctor (aside).--A sentimental ass.
+
+Stella.--He said that he might be obliged to go away in a few days. I
+have a presentiment that you are hiding something from me. What does
+it mean? Do not torture me any longer. I am so miserable that you
+should have pity on me.
+
+Doctor.--Do not let anything worry you. What can there be the matter?
+An idle fancy, that is all! The care of loving hearts surrounds you.
+Why should you have such a wild imagination? You had better return to
+your apartment and do not receive any one. I will come to see you in a
+moment.
+
+Stella.--Then truly there is nothing bad?
+
+Doctor.--What an idea! Pray believe me, I should be able to remove
+anything which would threaten your happiness.
+
+Stella (stretching out her hand to him).--Oh, Mr. Jozwowicz, happiness
+is a very difficult thing to take hold of. May only the peace not
+leave us. (She goes to enter the room in which Anton is.)
+
+Doctor.--This way, princess. Some one is waiting for me in that room.
+In a moment I will come to see you. Pray do not receive any one.
+Anton! (The princess goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+Anton, Jozwowicz, then a Servant.
+
+
+Anton.--Here I am. Poor child!
+
+Doctor.--I cannot go for her sake. I must be here and not let the bad
+news reach her, for it would kill her.
+
+Anton.--What! and you, knowing this, you still expose her, and
+sacrifice her for yourself?
+
+Doctor (passionately).--I love her and I must have her, even if the
+walls of this house should crumble around our heads.
+
+Anton.--Man, you are talking nonsense.
+
+Doctor.--Man, you are talking like a nincompoop, and not like a man.
+You have plenty of words in your mouth, but you lack strength--you
+cannot face facts. Who would dare say: You have no right to defend
+yourself?
+
+Anton (after a while).--Good-bye.
+
+Doctor.--Where are you going?
+
+Anton.--I return to the city.
+
+Doctor.--Are you with me or against me?
+
+Anton.--I am an honest man.
+
+A servant (enters).--A messenger brought this letter from Miliszewski.
+
+Doctor.--Give it to me. Go (tears the envelop and reads) "Pretwic is
+dead." (After a while) Ah--
+
+Anton.--Before I go I must answer your question as to why I am going.
+I have served you faithfully. I served you like a dog because I
+believed in you. You knew how to use me, or perhaps to use me up. I
+knew that I was a tool, but I did not care for that, because--But
+now--
+
+Doctor.--You give up the public affair?
+
+Anton.--You do not know me. What would I do if I were to give up my
+ideas? And then, do you think that you personify public affairs? I
+will not give up because I have been deceived by you. But I care about
+something else. I was stupid to have cared for you, and I regret now
+that I must tell you that you have heaped up the measure and used
+badly the strength which is in you. Oh, I know that perhaps it would
+be better for me not to tell you this, perhaps to hold with you would
+mean a bright future for such a man as I, who have hardly the money to
+buy food for my wife and children. But I cannot. Before God, I cannot!
+I am a poor man and I shall remain poor, but I must at least have a
+clear conscience. Well, I loved you almost as much as I loved my wife
+and children, but from to-day you are only a political number--for
+friendship you must look to some one else. You know I have no
+scruples; a man rubs among the people and he rubs off many things; but
+you have heaped up the measure. May I be hanged if I do not prefer to
+love the people than pound them! They say that honesty and politics
+are two different things. Elsewhere it may be so, but in our country
+we must harmonize them. Why should they not go together? I do not give
+up our ideas, but I do not care for our friendship because the man who
+says he loves humanity, and then pounds the people threateningly on
+their heads--that man is a liar; do you understand me?
+
+Doctor.--I shall not insist upon your giving me back your friendship,
+but you must listen to me for the last time. If there shall begin for
+me an epoch of calamity, it will begin at the moment when such people
+as you begin to desert me. The man who was killed was in my way to
+happiness--he took everything from me. He came armed with wealth, good
+name, social position, and all the invincible arms which birth and
+fortune give. With what arms could I fight him? What could I oppose
+to such might? Nothing except the arms of a new man--that bit of
+intelligence acquired by hard work and effort. He declared a mute war
+on me. I have defended myself. With what? With the arms which nature
+has given me. When you step on a worm you must not take it amiss if
+the worm bites you; he cannot defend himself otherwise. It is the law
+of nature. I placed everything on one card, and I won--or rather it
+is not I, but intelligence which has conquered. This force--the new
+times--have conquered the old centuries. And you take that amiss? What
+do you want? I am faithful, to the principle. You are retreating. I am
+not! That woman is necessary for my happiness because I love her. I
+need her wealth and her social position for my aims. Give me such
+weapons and I will accomplish anything. Do you know what an enormous
+work and what important aims I have before me? You wish me to tear
+down the wall of darkness, prejudice, laziness, you wish me to breathe
+new life into that which is dead. I cry: "Give me the means." You do
+not have the means, therefore I wish to get them, or I shall perish.
+But what now? Across the road to my plans, to my future--not only mine
+but everybody's--there stands a lord, a wandering knight, whose whole
+merit lies in the fact that he was born with a coat of arms. And have
+I not the right to crush him? And you wish me to fall down on my knees
+before him? Before his lordship--to give up everything for his sake?
+No! You do not know me. Enough of sentiment. A certain force is
+necessary and I have it, and I shall make a road for myself and for
+all of you even if I should be obliged to trample over a hundred such
+as Pretwic.
+
+Anton.--No, Jozwowicz, you have always done as you wanted with me, but
+now you cannot do it. As long as there was a question of convictions I
+was with you, but you have attacked some principles which are bigger
+than either you or I, more stable and immutable. You cannot explain
+this to me, and you yourself must be careful. At the slightest
+opportunity you will fall down with all your energy as a man. The
+force you are attacking is more powerful than you are. Be careful,
+because you will lose. One cannot change a principle: straight honesty
+is the same always. Do what you please, but be careful. Do you know
+that human blood must always be avenged? It is only a law of nature.
+You ask me whether I am going to leave you? Perhaps you would like to
+be given the right to fire on the people from behind a fence when it
+will suit you. No, sir. From to-day there must be kept between us a
+strict account. You will be a member of parliament, but if you think
+we are going to serve you, and not you us, you are greatly mistaken.
+You thought that the steps of the ladder on which you will ascend are
+composed of rascals? Hold on! We, who have elected you--we, in whose
+probity you do not believe--we will watch you and judge you. If you
+are guilty we will crush you. We have elected you; now you must serve.
+
+Doctor (passionately).--Anton!
+
+Anton.--Quiet. In the evening you must appear before the electors.
+Good-bye, Mr. Jozwowicz. (He goes out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--He is the first.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz. Jan Miliszewski.
+
+
+Jan (appears in the half-open door).--Pst!
+
+Doctor.--Who is there?
+
+Jan.--It is I, Miliszewski. Are you alone?
+
+Doctor.--You may enter. What then?
+
+Jan.--Everything is over. He did not live five minutes. I have ordered
+them to carry the body to Miliszewo.
+
+Doctor.--Your mother is not here?
+
+Jan.--I sent her to the city. To-day is election day and mamma does
+not know that I have withdrawn, therefore she will wait for the
+evening papers in the hope that she will find my name among those
+elected.
+
+Doctor.--Did no one see?
+
+Jan.--I am afraid they will see the blood. He bled dreadfully.
+
+Doctor.--A strange thing. He was such a good marksman.
+
+Jan.--He permitted himself to be killed. I saw that very plainly. He
+did not fire at Drahomir at all. He did not wish to kill Drahomir. Six
+steps--it was too near. It was dreadful to look at his death. Truly,
+I would have preferred to be killed myself. They had to fire on
+command--one! two! three! We heard the shot, but only one. We
+rushed--Pretwic advanced two steps, knelt and tried to speak. The
+blood flowed from his mouth. Then he took up the pistol and fired to
+one side. We were around him and he said to Drahomir: "You have done
+me a favor and I thank you. This life belonged to you, because you
+saved it. Forgive me," he said, "brother!" Then he said: "Give me
+your hand" and expired. (He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.)
+Drahomir threw himself on his breast--it was dreadful. Poor Princess
+Stella. What will become of her now?
+
+Doctor.--For God's sake, not a word in her presence. She is ill.
+
+Jan.--I will be silent.
+
+Doctor.--You must control your emotion.
+
+Jan.--I cannot. My knees are trembling.
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+The same. The prince leaning on Stella's shoulder, and Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Prince.--I thought Pretwic was with you. Jozwowicz, where is Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--I do not know.
+
+Stella.--Did he tell you where he was going?
+
+Doctor.--I know nothing about it.
+
+Czeska (to Jan).--Count, what is the matter with you? You are so pale.
+
+Jan.--Nothing. It is on account of the heat.
+
+Prince.--Jozwowicz, Pretwic told me--
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+(The door opens suddenly. Countess Miliszewska rushes in).
+
+
+Countess.--Jan, where is my Jan? O God, what is the matter? How
+dreadful!
+
+Doctor (rushing toward her).--Be silent, madam.
+
+Stella.--What has happened?
+
+Countess.--Then you have not killed Pretwic? You have not fought?
+
+Doctor.--Madam, be silent.
+
+Stella.--Who is killed?
+
+Countess.--Stella, my dearest, Drahomir has killed Pretwic.
+
+Stella.--Killed! O God!
+
+Doctor.--Princess, it is not true.
+
+Stella.--Killed! (She staggers and falls.)
+
+Doctor.--She has fainted. Let us carry her to her chamber.
+
+Prince.--My child!
+
+Czeska.--Stelunia! (The prince and Jozwowicz carry Stella. The
+countess and Czeska follow them.)
+
+Jan (alone).--It is dreadful. Who could have expected that mamma
+would return! (The countess appears in the door.) Mamma, how is the
+princess?
+
+Countess.--The doctor is trying to bring her to her senses. Until now
+he has not succeeded. Jan, let us be going.
+
+Jan (in despair).--I shall not go. Why did you return from the city?
+
+Countess.--For you. To-day is election day--have you forgotten it?
+
+Jan.--I do not wish to be a member of parliament. Why did you tell her
+that Pretwic was killed?
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+The same. Jozwowicz.
+
+Countess and Jan together.--What news?
+
+
+Doctor.--Everything is over. (The bell is heard tolling in the chapel
+of the château.)
+
+Jan (frightened).--What, the bell of the chapel? Then she is dead!
+(Jozwowicz comes to the front of the stage and sits down.)
+
+
+SCENE X.
+
+The same. Podczaski.
+
+
+Podczaski (rushing in suddenly).--Victory! Victory! The deputation is
+here. (Voices behind the stage) Hurrah! Hurrah! for victory!
+
+Jozwowicz.--I have lost!
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's So Runs the World, by Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10546 ***
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #10546 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10546)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of So Runs the World, by Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: So Runs the World
+
+Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
+Release Date: December 30, 2003 [EBook #10546]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SO RUNS THE WORLD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock,Josephine Paolucci and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+SO RUNS THE WORLD
+
+BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
+
+AUTHOR OF "QUO VADIS," ETC.
+
+Translated by S.C. de SOISSONS
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
+
+ZOLA
+
+WHOSE FAULT?
+
+THE VERDICT
+
+WIN OR LOSE
+
+
+
+
+PART FIRST
+
+
+HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ.
+
+
+I once read a short story, in which a Slav author had all the lilies
+and bells in a forest bending toward each other, whispering and
+resounding softly the words: "Glory! Glory! Glory!" until the whole
+forest and then the whole world repeated the song of flowers.
+
+Such is to-day the fate of the author of the powerful historical
+trilogy: "With Fire and Sword," "The Deluge" and "Pan Michael,"
+preceded by short stories, "Lillian Morris," "Yanko the Musician,"
+"After Bread," "Hania," "Let Us Follow Him," followed by two problem
+novels, "Without Dogma," and "Children of the Soil," and crowned by a
+masterpiece of an incomparable artistic beauty, "Quo Vadis." Eleven
+good books adopted from the Polish language and set into circulation
+are of great importance for the English-reading people--just now I am
+emphasizing only this--because these books are written in the most
+beautiful language ever written by any Polish author! Eleven books of
+masterly, personal, and simple prose! Eleven good books given to
+the circulation and received not only with admiration but with
+gratitude--books where there are more or less good or sincere pages,
+but where there is not one on which original humor, nobleness, charm,
+some comforting thoughts, some elevated sentiments do not shine. Some
+other author would perhaps have stopped after producing "Quo Vadis,"
+without any doubt the best of Sienkiewicz's books. But Sienkiewicz
+looks into the future and cares more about works which he is going to
+write, than about those which we have already in our libraries, and he
+renews his talents, searching, perhaps unknowingly, for new themes and
+tendencies.
+
+When one knows how to read a book, then from its pages the author's
+face looks out on him, a face not material, but just the same full of
+life. Sienkiewicz's face, looking on us from his books, is not always
+the same; it changes, and in his last book ("Quo Vadis") it is quite
+different, almost new.
+
+There are some people who throw down a book after having read it, as
+one leaves a bottle after having drank the wine from it. There are
+others who read books with a pencil in their hands, and they mark
+the most striking passages. Afterward, in the hours of rest, in the
+moments when one needs a stimulant from within and one searches for
+harmony, sympathy of a thing apparently so dead and strange as a book
+is, they come back to the marked passages, to their own thoughts,
+more comprehensible since an author expressed them; to their own
+sentiments, stronger and more natural since they found them in
+somebody else's words. Because ofttimes it seems to us--the common
+readers--that there is no difference between our interior world and
+the horizon of great authors, and we flatter ourselves by believing
+that we are 'only less daring, less brave than are thinkers and poets,
+that some interior lack of courage stopped us from having formulated
+our impressions. And in this sentiment there is a great deal of truth.
+But while this expression of our thoughts seems to us to be a daring,
+to the others it is a need; they even do not suspect how much they are
+daring and new. They must, according to the words of a poet, "Spin
+out the love, as the silkworm spins its web." That is their capital
+distinction from common mortals; we recognize them by it at once; and
+that is the reason we put them above the common level. On the pages
+of their books we find not the traces of the accidental, deeper
+penetrating into the life or more refined feelings, but the whole
+harvest of thoughts, impressions, dispositions, written skilfully,
+because studied deeply. We also leave something on these pages. Some
+people dry flowers on them, the others preserve reminiscences. In
+every one of Sienkiewicz's volumes people will deposit a great many
+personal impressions, part of their souls; in every one they will find
+them again after many years.
+
+There are three periods in Sienkiewicz's literary life. In the
+first he wrote short stories, which are masterpieces of grace and
+ingenuity--at least some of them. In those stories the reader will
+meet frequent thoughts about general problems, deep observations of
+life--and notwithstanding his idealism, very truthful about spiritual
+moods, expressed with an easy and sincere hand. Speaking about
+Sienkiewicz's works, no matter how small it may be, one has always the
+feeling that one speaks about a known, living in general memory work.
+Almost every one of his stories is like a stone thrown in the midst
+of a flock of sparrows gathering in the winter time around barns: one
+throw arouses at once a flock of winged reminiscences.
+
+The other characteristics of his stories are uncommonness of his
+conceptions, masterly compositions, ofttimes artificial. It happens
+also that a story has no plot ("From the Diary of a Tutor in Pozman,"
+"Bartek the Victor"), no action, almost no matter ("Yamyol"), but the
+reader is rewarded by simplicity, rural theme, humoristic pictures
+("Comedy of Errors: A Sketch of American Life"), pity for the little
+and poor ("Yanko the Musician"), and those qualities make the reader
+remember his stories well. It is almost impossible to forget--under
+the general impressions--about his striking and standing-out figures
+("The Lighthouse Keeper of Aspinwall"), about the individual
+impression they leave on our minds. Apparently they are commonplace,
+every-day people, but the author's talent puts on them an original
+individuality, a particular stamp, which makes one remember them
+forever and afterward apply them to the individuals which one meets
+in life. No matter how insignificant socially is the figure chosen by
+Sienkiewicz for his story, the great talent of the author magnifies
+its striking features, not seen by common people, and makes of it a
+masterpiece of literary art.
+
+Although we have a popular saying: _Comparaison n'est pas raison_,
+one cannot refrain from stating here that this love for the poor, the
+little, and the oppressed, brought out so powerfully in Sienkiewicz's
+short stories, constitutes a link between him and François Coppée, who
+is so great a friend of the friendless and the oppressed, those who,
+without noise, bear the heaviest chains, the pariahs of our happy and
+smiling society. The only difference between the short stories of
+these two writers is this, that notwithstanding all the mastercraft of
+Coppée's work, one forgets the impressions produced by the reading
+of his work--while it is almost impossible to forget "The Lighthouse
+Keeper" looking on any lighthouse, or "Yanko the Musician" listening
+to a poor wandering boy playing on the street, or "Bartek the Victor"
+seeing soldiers of which military discipline have made machines rather
+than thinking beings, or "The Diary of a Tutor" contemplating the pale
+face of children overloaded with studies. Another difference between
+those two writers--the comparison is always between their short
+stories--is this, that while Sienkiewicz's figures and characters are
+universal, international--if one can use this adjective here--and can
+be applied to the students of any country, to the soldiers of any
+nation, to any wandering musician and to the light-keeper on any sea,
+the figures of François Coppée are mostly Parisian and could be hardly
+displaced from their Parisian surroundings and conditions.
+
+Sometimes the whole short story is written for the sake of that which
+the French call _pointe_. When one has finished the reading of "Zeus's
+Sentence," for a moment the charming description of the evening and
+Athenian night is lost. And what a beautiful description it is! If
+the art of reading were cultivated in America as it is in France
+and Germany, I would not be surprised if some American Legouvé or
+Strakosch were to add to his répertoire such productions of prose as
+this humorously poetic "Zeus's Sentence," or that mystic madrigal, "Be
+Blessed."
+
+"But the dusk did not last long," writes Sienkiewicz. "Soon from the
+Archipelago appeared the pale Selene and began to sail like a silvery
+boat in the heavenly space. And the walls of the Acropolis lighted
+again, but they beamed now with a pale green light, and looked more
+than ever like the vision of a dream."
+
+But all these, and other equally charming pictures, disappear for a
+moment from the memory of the reader. There remains only the final
+joke--only Zeus's sentence. "A virtuous woman--especially when she
+loves another man--can resist Apollo. But surely and always a stupid
+woman will resist him."
+
+Only when one thinks of the story does one see that the ending--that
+"immoral conclusion" I should say if I were not able to understand the
+joke--does not constitute the essence of the story. Only then we find
+a delight in the description of the city for which the wagons cater
+the divine barley, and the water is carried by the girls, "with
+amphorae poised on their shoulders and lifted hands, going home, light
+and graceful, like immortal nymphs."
+
+And then follow such paragraphs as the following, which determine the
+real value of the work:
+
+"The voice of the God of Poetry sounded so beautiful that it performed
+a miracle. Behold! In the Ambrosian night the gold spear standing on
+the Acropolis of Athens trembled, and the marble head of the gigantic
+statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear better.... Heaven
+and earth listened to it; the sea stopped roaring and lay peacefully
+near the shores; even pale Selene stopped her night wandering in the
+sky and stood motionless over Athens."
+
+"And when Apollo had finished, a light wind arose and carried the song
+through the whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the cradle heard
+only a tone of it, that child grew into a poet."
+
+What poet? Famed by what song? Will he not perhaps be a lyric poet?
+
+The same happens with "Lux in Tenebris." One reads again and again
+the description of the fall of the mist and the splashing of the rain
+dropping in the gutter, "the cawing of the crows, migrating to the
+city for their winter quarters, and, with flapping of wings, roosting
+in the trees." One feels that the whole misery of the first ten pages
+was necessary in order to form a background for the two pages of
+heavenly light, to bring out the brightness of that light. "Those who
+have lost their best beloved," writes Sienkiewicz, "must hang
+their lives on something; otherwise they could not exist." In such
+sentences--and it is not the prettiest, but the shortest that I have
+quoted--resounds, however, the quieting wisdom, the noble love of
+that art which poor Kamionka "respected deeply and was always sincere
+toward." During the long years of his profession he never cheated nor
+wronged it, neither for the sake of fame nor money, nor for praise nor
+for criticism. He always wrote as he felt. Were I not like Ruth of
+the Bible, doomed to pick the ears of corn instead of being myself a
+sower--if God had not made me critic and worshipper but artist and
+creator--I could not wish for another necrology than those words of
+Sienkiewicz regarding the statuary Kamionka.
+
+Quite another thing is the story "At the Source." None of the stories
+except "Let Us Follow Him" possess for me so many transcendent
+beauties, although we are right to be angry with the author for having
+wished, during the reading of several pages, to make us believe an
+impossible thing--that he was deceiving us. It is true that he has
+done it in a masterly manner--it is true that he could not have done
+otherwise, but at the same time there is a fault in the conception,
+and although Sienkiewicz has covered the precipice with flowers,
+nevertheless the precipice exists.
+
+On the other hand, it is true that one reading the novel will forget
+the trick of the author and will see in it only the picture of an
+immense happiness and a hymn in the worship of love. Perhaps the poor
+student is right when he says: "Among all the sources of happiness,
+that from which I drank during the fever is the clearest and best." "A
+life which love has not visited, even in a dream, is still worse."
+
+Love and faith in woman and art are two constantly recurring themes
+in "Lux in Tenebris," "At the Source," "Be Blessed," and "Organist of
+Ponikila."
+
+When Sienkiewicz wrote "Let Us Follow Him," some critics cried angrily
+that he lessens his talent and moral worth of the literature; they
+regretted that he turned people into the false road of mysticism, long
+since left. Having found Christ on his pages, the least religious
+people have recollected how gigantic he is in the writings of Heine,
+walking over land and sea, carrying a red, burning sun instead of a
+heart. They all understood that to introduce Christ not only worthily
+or beautifully, but simply and in such a manner that we would not be
+obliged to turn away from the picture, would be a great art--almost a
+triumph.
+
+In later times we have made many such attempts. "The Mysticism" became
+to-day an article of commerce. The religious tenderness and simplicity
+was spread among Parisian newspaper men, playwrights and novelists.
+Such as Armand Sylvèstre, such as Theodore de Wyzewa, are playing at
+writing up Christian dogmas and legends. And a strange thing! While
+the painters try to bring the Christ nearer to the crowd, while
+Fritz von Uhde or Lhermitte put the Christ in a country school, in a
+workingman's house, the weakling writers, imitating poets, dress Him
+in old, faded, traditional clothes and surround Him with a theatrical
+light which they dare to call "mysticism." They are crowding the
+porticos of the temple, but they are merely merchants. Anatole France
+alone cannot be placed in the same crowd.
+
+In "Let Us Follow Him" the situation and characters are known, and
+are already to be found in literature. But never were they painted so
+simply, so modestly, without romantic complaints and exclamations. In
+the first chapters of that story there appears an epic writer with
+whom we have for a long time been familiar. We are accustomed to
+that uncommon simplicity. But in order to appreciate the narrative
+regarding Antea, one must listen attentively to this slow prose and
+then one will notice the rhythmic sentences following one after the
+other. Then one feels that the author is building a great foundation
+for the action. Sometimes there occurs a brief, sharp sentence ending
+in a strong, short word, and the result is that Sienkiewicz has given
+us a masterpiece which justifies the enthusiasm of a critic, who
+called him a Prince of Polish Prose.
+
+In the second period of his literary activity, Sienkiewicz has
+produced his remarkable historical trilogy, "The Deluge," "With Fire
+and Sword," and "Pan Michael," in which his talent shines forth
+powerfully, and which possess absolutely distinctive characters from
+his short stories. The admirers of romanticism cannot find any better
+books in historical fiction. Some critic has said righteously about
+Sienkiewicz, speaking of his "Deluge," that he is "the first of Polish
+novelists, past or present, and second to none now living in England,
+France, or Germany."
+
+Sienkiewicz being himself a nobleman, therefore naturally in his
+historical novels he describes the glorious deeds of the Polish
+nobility, who, being located on the frontier of such barbarous nations
+as Turks, Kozaks, Tartars, and Wolochs (to-day Roumania), had defended
+Europe for centuries from the invasions of barbarism and gave the time
+to Germany, France, and England to outstrip Poland in the development
+of material welfare and general civilization among the masses--the
+nobility being always very refined--though in the fifteenth century
+the literature of Poland and her sister Bohemia (Chechy) was richer
+than any other European country, except Italy. One should at least
+always remember that Nicolaus Kopernicus (Kopernik) was a Pole and
+John Huss was a Chech.
+
+Historical novels began in England, or rather in Scotland, by the
+genius of Walter Scott, followed in France by Alexandre Dumas _père_.
+These two great writers had numerous followers and imitators in all
+countries, and every nation can point out some more or less successful
+writer in that field, but who never attained the great success of
+Sienkiewicz, whose works are translated into many languages, even
+into Russian, where the antipathy for the Polish superior degree of
+civilization is still very eager.
+
+The superiority of Sienkiewicz's talent is then affirmed by this fact
+of translation, and I would dare say that he is superior to the father
+of this kind of novels, on account of his historical coloring, so much
+emphasized in Walter Scott. This important quality in the historical
+novel is truer and more lively in the Polish writer, and then he
+possesses that psychological depth about which Walter Scott never
+dreamed. Walter Scott never has created such an original and typical
+figure as Zagloba is, who is a worthy rival to Shakespeare's Falstaff.
+As for the description of duelings, fights, battles, Sienkiewicz's
+fantastically heroic pen is without rival.
+
+Alexandre Dumas, notwithstanding the biting criticism of Brunetière,
+will always remain a great favorite with the reading masses, who are
+searching in his books for pleasure, amusement, and distraction.
+Sienkiewicz's historical novels possess all the interesting qualities
+of Dumas, and besides that they are full of wholesome food for
+thinking minds. His colors are more shining, his brush is broader,
+his composition more artful, chiselled, finished, better built, and
+executed with more vigor. While Dumas amuses, pleases, distracts,
+Sienkiewicz astonishes, surprises, bewitches. All uneasy
+preoccupations, the dolorous echoes of eternal problems, which
+philosophical doubt imposes with the everlasting anguish of the
+human mind, the mystery of the origin, the enigma of destiny, the
+inexplicable necessity of suffering, the short, tragical, and sublime
+vision of the future of the soul, and the future not less difficult to
+be guessed of by the human race in this material world, the torments
+of human conscience and responsibility for the deeds, is said by
+Sienkiewicz without any pedanticism, without any dryness.
+
+If we say that the great Hungarian author Maurice Jokay, who also
+writes historical novels, pales when compared with that fascinating
+Pole who leaves far behind him the late lions in the field of
+romanticism, Stanley J. Weyman and Anthony Hope, we are through with
+that part of Sienkiewicz's literary achievements.
+
+In the third period Sienkiewicz is represented by two problem novels,
+"Without Dogma" and "Children of the Soil."
+
+The charm of Sienkiewicz's psychological novels is the synthesis so
+seldom realized and as I have already said, the plastic beauty and
+abstract thoughts. He possesses also an admirable assurance of
+psychological analysis, a mastery in the painting of customs and
+characters, and the rarest and most precious faculty of animating
+his heroes with intense, personal life, which, though it is only an
+illusionary life, appears less deceitful than the real life.
+
+In that field of novels Sienkiewicz differs greatly from Balzac, for
+instance, who forced himself to paint the man in his perversity or in
+his stupidity. According to his views life is the racing after riches.
+The whole of Balzac's philosophy can be resumed in the deification of
+the force. All his heroes are "strong men" who disdain humanity and
+take advantage of it. Sienkiewicz's psychological novels are not
+lacking in the ideal in his conception of life; they are active
+powers, forming human souls. The reader finds there, in a
+well-balanced proportion, good and bad ideas of life, and he
+represents this life as a good thing, worthy of living.
+
+He differs also from Paul Bourget, who as a German savant counts how
+many microbes are in a drop of spoiled blood, who is pleased with any
+ferment, who does not care for healthy souls, as a doctor does not
+care for healthy people--and who is fond of corruption. Sienkiewicz's
+analysis of life is not exclusively pathological, and we find in his
+novels healthy as well as sick people as in the real life. He takes
+colors from twilight and aurora to paint with, and by doing so he
+strengthens our energy, he stimulates our ability for thinking about
+those eternal problems, difficult to be decided, but which existed and
+will exist as long as humanity will exist.
+
+He prefers green fields, the perfume of flowers, health, virtue, to
+Zola's liking for crime, sickness, cadaverous putridness, and manure.
+He prefers _l'âme humaine_ to _la bête humaine_.
+
+He is never vulgar even when his heroes do not wear any gloves, and he
+has these common points with Shakespeare and Molière, that he does not
+paint only certain types of humanity, taken from one certain part of
+the country, as it is with the majority of French writers who do not
+go out of their dear Paris; in Sienkiewicz's novels one can find every
+kind of people, beginning with humble peasants and modest noblemen
+created by God, and ending with proud lords made by the kings.
+
+In the novel "Without Dogma," there are many keen and sharp
+observations, said masterly and briefly; there are many states of the
+soul, if not always very deep, at least written with art. And his
+merit in that respect is greater than of any other writers, if we
+take in consideration that in Poland heroic lyricism and poetical
+picturesqueness prevail in the literature.
+
+The one who wishes to find in the modern literature some aphorism
+to classify the characteristics of the people, in order to be able
+afterward to apply them to their fellow-men, must read "Children of
+the Soil."
+
+But the one who is less selfish and wicked, and wishes to collect for
+his own use such a library as to be able at any moment to take a book
+from a shelf and find in it something which would make him thoughtful
+or would make him forget the ordinary life,--he must get "Quo Vadis,"
+because there he will find pages which will recomfort him by their
+beauty and dignity; it will enable him to go out from his surroundings
+and enter into himself, _i.e_., in that better man whom we sometimes
+feel in our interior. And while reading this book he ought to leave
+on its pages the traces of his readings, some marks made with a lead
+pencil or with his whole memory.
+
+It seems that in that book a new man was aroused in Sienkiewicz, and
+any praise said about this unrivaled masterpiece will be as pale as
+any powerful lamp is pale comparatively with the glory of the sun.
+For instance, if I say that Sienkiewicz has made a thorough study of
+Nero's epoch, and that his great talent and his plastic imagination
+created the most powerful pictures in the historical background, will
+it not be a very tame praise, compared with his book--which, while
+reading it, one shivers and the blood freezes in one's veins?
+
+In "Quo Vadis" the whole _alta Roma_, beginning with slaves carrying
+mosaics for their refined masters, and ending with patricians, who
+were so fond of beautiful things that one of them for instance used to
+kiss at every moment a superb vase, stands before our eyes as if it
+was reconstructed by a magical power from ruins and death.
+
+There is no better description of the burning of Rome in any
+literature. While reading it everything turns red in one's eyes, and
+immense noises fill one's ears. And the moment when Christ appears
+on the hill to the frightened Peter, who is going to leave Rome, not
+feeling strong enough to fight with mighty Caesar, will remain one of
+the strongest passages of the literature of the whole world.
+
+After having read again and again this great--shall I say the greatest
+historical novel?--and having wondered at its deep conception,
+masterly execution, beautiful language, powerful painting of the
+epoch, plastic description of customs and habits, enthusiasm of
+the first followers of Christ, refinement of Roman civilization,
+corruption of the old world, the question rises: What is the
+dominating idea of the author, spread out all over the whole book? It
+is the cry of Christians murdered in circuses: _Pro Christo_!
+
+Sienkiewicz searching always and continually for a tranquil harbor
+from the storms of conscience and investigation of the tormented mind,
+finds such a harbor in the religious sentiments, in lively Christian
+faith. This idea is woven as golden thread in a silk brocade, not only
+in "Quo Vadis," but also in all his novels. In "Fire and Sword" his
+principal hero is an outlaw; but all his crimes, not only against
+society, but also against nature, are redeemed by faith, and as a
+consequence of it afterward by good deeds. In the "Children of the
+Soul," he takes one of his principal characters upon one of seven
+Roman hills, and having displayed before him in the most eloquent way
+the might of the old Rome, the might as it never existed before and
+perhaps never will exist again, he says: "And from all that nothing
+is left only crosses! crosses! crosses!" It seems to us that in "Quo
+Vadis" Sienkiewicz strained all his forces to reproduce from one side
+all the power, all riches, all refinement, all corruption of the
+Roman civilization in order to get a better contrast with the great
+advantages of the cry of the living faith: _Pro Christo!_ In that
+cry the asphyxiated not only in old times but in our days also find
+refreshment; the tormented by doubt, peace. From that cry flows hope,
+and naturally people prefer those from whom the blessing comes to
+those who curse and doom them.
+
+Sienkiewicz considers the Christian faith as the principal and even
+the only help which humanity needs to bear cheerfully the burden and
+struggle of every-day life. Equally his personal experience as well as
+his studies made him worship Christ. He is not one of those who say
+that religion is good for the people at large. He does not admit such
+a shade of contempt in a question touching so near the human heart.
+He knows that every one is a man in the presence of sorrow and the
+conundrum of fate, contradiction of justice, tearing of death, and
+uneasiness of hope. He believes that the only way to cross the
+precipice is the flight with the wings of faith, the precipice made
+between the submission to general and absolute laws and the confidence
+in the infinite goodness of the Father.
+
+The time passes and carries with it people and doctrines and systems.
+Many authors left as the heritage to civilization rows of books, and
+in those books scepticism, indifference, doubt, lack of precision and
+decision.
+
+But the last symptoms in the literature show us that the Stoicism
+is not sufficient for our generation, not satisfied with Marcus
+Aurelius's gospel, which was not sufficient even to that brilliant
+Sienkiewicz's Roman _arbiter elegantiarum_, the over-refined patrician
+Petronius. A nation which desired to live, and does not wish either to
+perish in the desert or be drowned in the mud, needs such a great help
+which only religion gives. The history is not only _magister vitae_,
+but also it is the master of conscience.
+
+Literature has in Sienkiewicz a great poet--epical as well as lyrical.
+
+I shall not mourn, although I appreciate the justified complaint about
+objectivity in _belles lettres._ But now there is no question what
+poetry will be; there is the question whether it will be, and I
+believe that society, being tired with Zola's realism and its
+caricature, not with the picturesqueness of Loti, but with catalogues
+of painter's colors; not with the depth of Ibsen, but the oddness of
+his imitators--it seems to me that society will hate the poetry which
+discusses and philosophizes, wishes to paint but does not feel, makes
+archeology but does not give impressions, and that people will turn to
+the poetry as it was in the beginning, what is in its deepest essence,
+to the flight of single words, to the interior melody, to the
+song--the art of sounds being the greatest art. I believe that if in
+the future the poetry will find listeners, they will repeat to the
+poets the words of Paul Verlaine, whom by too summary judgment they
+count among incomprehensible originals:
+
+  "_De la musique encore et toujours_."
+
+And nobody need be afraid, from a social point of view, for
+Sienkiewicz's objectivity. It is a manly lyricism as well as epic,
+made deep by the knowledge of the life, sustained by thinking, until
+now perhaps unconscious of itself, the poetry of a writer who walked
+many roads, studied many things, knew much bitterness, ridiculed many
+triflings, and then he perceived that a man like himself has only one
+aim: above human affairs "to spin the love, as the silkworm spins its
+web."
+
+S.C. DE SOISSONS.
+
+"THE UNIVERSITY," CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
+
+
+
+
+PART SECOND
+
+
+SO RUNS THE WORLD
+
+
+ZOLA.
+
+
+I have a great respect for every accomplished work. Every time I put
+on the end of any of my works _finis_, I feel satisfied; not because
+the work is done, not on account of future success, but on account of
+an accomplished deed.
+
+Every book is a deed--bad or good, but at any rate accomplished--and a
+series of them, written with a special aim, is an accomplished purpose
+of life; it is a feast during which the workers have the right to
+receive a wreath, and to sing: "We bring the crop, the crop!"
+
+Evidently the merit depends on the result of the work. The profession
+of the writer has its thorns about which the reader does not dream. A
+farmer, bringing the crop to his barn, has this absolute surety, that
+he brings wheat, rye, barley, or oats which will be useful to the
+people. An author, writing even with the best of faith, may have
+moments of doubt, whether instead of bread he did not give poison,
+whether his work is not a great mistake or a great misdeed, whether it
+has brought profit to humanity, or whether, were it not better for the
+people and himself, had he not written anything, nothing accomplished.
+
+Such doubts are foes to human peace, but at the same time they are a
+filter, which does not pass any dirt. It is bad when there are too
+many of them, it is bad when too few; in the first case the ability
+for deeds disappears, in the second, the conscience. Hence the
+eternal, as humanity, need of exterior regulator.
+
+But the French writers always had more originality and independence
+than others, and that regulator, which elsewhere was religion, long
+since ceased to exist for them. There were some exceptions, however.
+Balzac used to affirm that his aim was to serve religion and monarchy.
+But even the works of those who confessed such principles were not in
+harmony with themselves. One can say that it pleased the authors to
+understand their activity in that way, but the reading masses could
+understand it and often understood it as a negation of religious and
+ethical principles.
+
+In the last epoch, however, such misunderstanding became impossible,
+because the authors began to write, either in the name of their
+personal convictions, directly opposite to social principles and ties,
+or with objective analysis, which, in its action of life, marks the
+good and the evil as manifestations equally necessary and equally
+justified. France--and through France the rest of Europe--was
+overflowed with a deluge of books, written with such lightheartedness,
+so absolute and with such daring, not counting on any responsibility
+toward people, that even those who received them without any scruples
+began to be overcome with astonishment. It seemed that every author
+forced himself to go further than they expected him to. In that way
+they succeeded in being called daring thinkers and original artists.
+The boldness in touching certain subjects, and the way of interpreting
+them, seemed to be the best quality of the writer. To that was joined
+bad faith, or unconscious deceiving of himself and others. Analysis!
+They analyzed in the name of truth, which apparently must and has the
+right to be said, everything, but especially the evil, dirt, human
+corruption. They did not notice that this pseudo-analysis ceases to be
+an objective analysis, and becomes a sickish liking for rotten things
+coming from two causes: in the first place from the corruption of the
+taste, then from greater facility of producing striking effects.
+
+They utilized the philological faculty of the senses, on the strength
+of which repulsive impressions appear to us stronger and more real
+than agreeable, and they abused that property beyond measure.
+
+There was created a certain kind of travelling in putridness, because
+the subjects being exhausted very quickly, there was a necessity to
+find something new which could attract. The truth itself, in the name
+of which it was done, was put in a corner in the presence of such
+exigencies. Are you familiar with Zola's "La Terre"? This novel is to
+represent a picture of a French village. Try and think of a French
+village, or of any other village. How does it look altogether? It is
+a gathering of houses, trees, fields, pastures, wild flowers, people,
+herds, light, sky, singing, small country business, and work. In all
+that, without any doubt, the manure plays an important part, but there
+is something more behind it and besides it. But Zola's village looks
+as if it was composed exclusively of manure and crime. Therefore
+the picture is false, the truth twisted, because in nature the true
+relation of things is different. If any one would like to take the
+trouble of making a list of the women represented in French novels,
+he would persuade himself that at least ninety-five per cent. of
+them were fallen women. But in society it is not, and cannot be, so.
+Probably even in the countries where they worshipped Astarte, there
+were less bad women. Notwithstanding this, the authors try to persuade
+us that they are giving a true picture of society, and that their
+analysis of customs is an objective one. The lie, exaggeration, liking
+for rotten things--such is the exact picture in contemporary novels.
+I do not know what profit there is in literature like that, but I
+do know that the devil has not lost anything, because through this
+channel flows a river of mud and poison, and the moral sense became so
+dulled that finally they tolerated such books which a few decades
+ago would have brought the author to court. To-day we do not wish to
+believe that the author of "Madame Bovary" had two criminal suits. Had
+this book been written twenty years later, they would have found it
+too modest.
+
+But the human spirit, which does not slumber, and the organism that
+wishes to live, does not suffer excess of poison. Finally there came a
+moment for hiccoughs of disgust. Some voices began to rise asking for
+other spiritual bread; an instinctive sentiment awakes and cries that
+it cannot continue any longer in this way, that one must arise, shake
+off the mud, clean, change! The people ask for a fresh breeze. The
+masses cannot say what they want, but they know what they do not want;
+they know they are breathing bad air, and that they are suffocating.
+An uneasiness takes hold of their minds. Even in France they are
+seeking and crying for something different; they began to protest
+against the actual state of affairs. Many writers felt that
+uneasiness. They had some moments of doubt, about which I have spoken
+already, and those doubts were stronger on account of the uncertainty
+of the new roads. Look at the last books of Bourget, Rod, Barrès,
+Desjardin, the poetry of Rimbaud, Verlaine, Heredia, Mallarmé, and
+even Maeterlinck and his school. What do you find there? The searching
+for new essence and new form, feverish seeking for some issue,
+uncertainty where to go and where to look for help--in religion or
+mysticism, in duty outside of faith, or in patriotism or in humanity?
+Above all, however, one sees in them an immense uneasiness. They do
+not find any issue, because for it one needs two things: a great idea
+and a great talent, and they did not have either of them. Hence the
+uneasiness increases, and the same authors who arouse against rough
+pessimism of naturalistic direction fell into pessimism themselves,
+and by this the principal importance and aim of a reform became
+weaker. What remains then? The bizarre form. And in this bizarre form,
+whether it is called symbolism or impressionism, they go in deeper and
+become more entangled, losing artistic equilibrium, common sense, and
+serenity of the soul. Often they fall into the former corruption as
+far as the essence is concerned, and almost always into dissonance
+with one's self, because they have an honest sentiment that they must
+give to the world something new, and they know not what.
+
+Such are the present times! Among those searching in darkness,
+wandering and weary ones, one remained quiet, sure of himself and his
+doctrine, immovable and almost serious in his pessimism. It was Emile
+Zola. A great talent, slow but powerful and a potent force, surprising
+objectivism if the question is about a sentiment, because it is equal
+to almost complete indifference, such an exceptional gift of seeing
+the entire soul of humanity and things that it approaches this
+naturalistic writer to mystics--all that gives him a very great and
+unusual originality.
+
+The physical figure does not always reproduce the spiritual
+individuality. In Zola, this relation comes out very strikingly. A
+square face, low forehead covered with wrinkles, rough features, high
+shoulders and short neck, give to his person a rough appearance.
+Looking at his face and those wrinkles around the eyes, you can guess
+that he is a man who can stand much, that he is persevering and
+stubborn, not only in his projects but in the realization of them; but
+what is mere important, he is so in his thinking also. There is no
+keenness in him. At the first glance of the eye one can see that he
+is a doctrinarian shut up in himself, who does not embrace large
+horizons--sees everything at a certain angle, narrow-mindedly yet
+seeing distinctly.
+
+His mind, like a dark lantern, throws a narrow light in only one
+direction, and he goes in that direction with immovable surety.
+In that way the history of a series of his books called "Les
+Rougon-Macquart" becomes clear.
+
+Zola was determined to write the history of a certain family at the
+time of the Empire, on the ground of conditions produced by it, in
+consideration of the law of heredity.
+
+There was a question even about something more than this
+consideration, because this heredity had to become the physiological
+foundation of the work. There is a certain contradiction in the
+premises. Speaking historically Rougon-Macquart had to be a picture
+of French society during its last times. According to their moral
+manifestations of life, therefore, they ought to be of themselves more
+or less a normal family. But in such a case what shall one do with
+heredity? To be sure, moral families are such on the strength of
+the law of heredity--but it is impossible to show it in such
+conditions--one can do it only in exceptional cases of the normal
+type. Therefore the Rougon are in fact a sick family. They are
+children of nervousness. It was contracted by the first mother of the
+family, and since that time the coming generations, one after another,
+followed with the same stigma on their foreheads. This is the way the
+author wishes to have it, and one must agree with him. In what way,
+however, can a history of one family exceptionally attainted with a
+mental disorder be at the same time a picture of French society, the
+author does not explain to us. Had he said that during the Empire
+all society was sick, it would be a trick. A society can walk in the
+perilous road of politics or customs and be sick as a community, and
+at the same time have healthy individuals and families. These are two
+different things. Therefore one of the two: either the Rougon are
+sick, and in that case the cycle of novels about them is not a picture
+of French society during the Empire--it is only a psychological
+study--or the whole physiological foundations, all this heredity
+on which the cycle is based, in a word Zola's whole doctrine, is
+nonsense.
+
+I do not know whether any one has paid attention to Zola at this _aut
+aut_! It is sure that he never thought of it himself. Probably it
+would not have had any influence, as the criticisms had no influence
+on his theory of heredity. Critics and physiologists attacked him
+ofttimes with an arsenal of irrefutable arguments. It did not do any
+good. They affirmed in vain that the theory of heredity is not proved
+by any science, and above all it is difficult to grasp it and show it
+by facts; they pointed in vain that physiology cannot be fantastical
+and its laws cannot depend on the free conception of an author.
+Zola listened, continued to write, and in the last volume he gave
+a genealogical tree of the family of Rougon-Macquart, with such a
+serenity as if no one ever doubted his theory.
+
+At any rate, this tree has one advantage. It is so pretentious, so
+ridiculous that it takes away from the theory the seriousness which it
+would have given to less individual minds. We learn from it that from
+a nervously sick great-grandmother grows a sick family. But the one
+who would think that her nervousness is seen in descendants as it is
+in the physical field, in a certain similar way, in some inclination
+or passion for something, will be greatly mistaken. On the contrary,
+the marvellous tree produces different kinds of fruit. You can find
+on it red apples, pears, plums, cherries, and everything you might
+desire. And all that on account of great-grandmother's nervousness. Is
+it the same way in nature? We do not know. Zola himself does not have
+any other proofs than clippings from newspapers, describing different
+crimes; he preserved these clippings carefully as "human documents,"
+and which he uses according to his fancy.
+
+It can be granted to him, but he must not sell us such fancy for
+the eternal and immutable laws of nature. Grandmother did have
+nervousness, her nearest friends were in the habit of searching for
+remedies against ills not in a drug-store, therefore her male and
+female descendants are such as they must be--namely, criminals,
+thieves, fast women, honest people, saints, politicians, good mothers,
+bankers, farmers, murderers, priests, soldiers, ministers--in a word,
+everything which in the sphere of the mind, in the sphere of health,
+in the sphere of wealth and position, in the sphere of profession, can
+be and are men as well as women in the whole world. One is stupefied
+voluntarily. What then? And all that on account of grandmother's
+nervousness? "Yes!" answers the author. But if Adelaïde Fouqué had not
+had it, her descendants would be good or bad just the same and have
+the same occupations men and women usually have in this world.
+"Certainly!" Zola answers; "but Adelaïde Fouqué had nervousness." And
+further discussion is impossible, because one has to do with a man who
+his own voluntary fancy takes for a law of nature and his brain cannot
+be opened with a key furnished by logic. He built a genealogical tree;
+this tree could have been different--but if it was different, he would
+sustain that it can be only such as it is--and he would prefer to be
+killed rather than be convinced that his theory was worthless.
+
+At any rate, it is such a theory that it is not worth while to
+quarrel about it. A long time ago it was said that Zola had one good
+thing--his talent; and one bad--his doctrine. If as a consequence of
+an inherited nervousness one can become a rascal as well as a good
+man, a Sister of Charity as well as Nana, a farmer boy as well as
+Achilles--in that case there is an heredity which does not exist. A
+man can be that which he wishes to be. The field for good will and
+responsibility is open, and all those moral foundations on which human
+life is based come out of the fire safely. We could say to the author
+that there is too much ado about nothing, and finish with him as one
+finishes with a doctrinarian and count only his talent. But he cares
+for something else. No matter if his doctrine is empty, he makes from
+it other deductions. The entire cycle of his books speaks precisely.
+"No matter what you are, saint or criminal, you are such on the
+strength of the law of heredity, you are such as you must be, and in
+that case you have neither merit nor are you guilty." Here is the
+question of responsibility! But we are not going to discuss it. The
+philosophy has not yet found the proof of the existence of man, and
+when _cogito ergo sum_ of Cartesius was not sufficient for it, the
+question is still open. Even if all centuries of philosophy affirm it
+or not, the man is intrinsically persuaded that he exists, and no less
+persuaded that he is responsible for his whole life, which, without
+any regard to his theories, is based on such persuasion. And then even
+the science did not decide the question of the whole responsibility.
+Against authorities one can quote other authorities, against opinions
+one can bring other opinions, against deductions other deductions.
+But for Zola such opinion is decided. There is only one grandmother
+Adelaïde, or grandfather Jacques, on whom everything depends. From
+that point begins, according to my opinion, the bad influence of the
+writer, because he not only decides difficult questions to be decided
+once and forever, but he popularizes them and facilitates the
+corruption of society. No matter if every thief or every murderer can
+appeal to a grandmother with nervousness. Courts, notwithstanding the
+cycle of Rougon-Macquart, will place them behind bars. The evil is not
+in single cases, but in this, that into the human soul a bad pessimism
+and depression flows, that the charm of life is destroyed, the hope,
+the energy, the liking for life, and therefore all effort in the
+direction of good is shattered.
+
+_A quoi bon?_ Such is the question coming by itself. A book is also an
+activity, forming human souls. If at least the reader would find
+in Zola's book the bad and good side of human life in an equal
+proportion, or at least in such as one can find it in reality! Vain
+hope! One must climb high in order to get colors from a rainbow or
+sunset--but everybody has saliva in his mouth and it is easy to paint
+with it. This naturalist prefers cheap effects more than others do; he
+prefers mildew to perfumes, _la bête humaine_ to _l'âme humaine!_
+
+If we could bring an inhabitant of Venus or Mars to the earth and ask
+him to judge of life on the earth from Zola's novels, he would say
+most assuredly: "This life is sometimes quite pure, like 'Le Rève,'
+but in general it is a thing which smells bad, is slippery, moist,
+dreadful." And even if the theories on which Zola has based his works
+were, as they are not, acknowledged truths, what a lack of pity to
+represent life in such a way to the people, who must live just the
+same! Does he do it in order to ruin, to disgust, to poison every
+action, to paralyze every energy, to discourage all thinking? In the
+presence of that, we are even sorry that he has a talent. It would
+have been better for him, for France, that he had not had it. And one
+wonders that he is not frightened, that when a fear seizes even those
+who did not lead to corruption, he alone with such a tranquillity
+finishes his Rougon-Macquart as if he had strengthened the capacity
+for life of the French people instead of having destroyed it. How is
+it possible that he cannot understand that people brought up on such
+corrupted bread and drinking, such bad water, not only will be unable
+to resist the storm, but even they will not have an inclination to do
+so! Musset has written in his time this famous verse: "We had already
+your German Rhine." Zola brings up his society in such a way that, if
+everything that he planted would take root, the second of Musset's
+verses would be: "But to-day we will give you even the Seine." But
+it is not as bad as that. "La Débâcle" is a remarkable book,
+notwithstanding all its faults, but the soldiers, who will read it,
+will be defeated by those who in the night sing: "Glory, Glory,
+Halleluia!"
+
+I consider Zola's talent as a national misfortune, and I am glad that
+his times are passing away, that even the most zealous pupils abandon
+the master who stands alone more and more.
+
+Will humanity remember him in literature? Will his fame pass? We
+cannot affirm, but we can doubt! In the cycle of Rougon-Macquart there
+are powerful volumes, as "Germinal" or "La Débâcle." But in general,
+that which Zola's natural talent made for his immortality was spoiled
+by a liking for dirty realism and his filthy language. Literature
+cannot use such expressions of which even peasants are ashamed. The
+real truth, if the question is about vicious people, can be attained
+by other means, by probable reproduction of the state of their souls,
+thoughts, deeds, finally by the run of their conversation, but not by
+verbal quotation of their swearings and most horrid words. As in the
+choice of pictures, so in the choice of expression, exist certain
+measures, pointed at by reason and good taste. Zola overstepped it
+to such a degree ("La Terre") to which nobody yet dared to approach.
+Monsters are killed because they are monsters. A book which is the
+cause of disgust must be abandoned. It is the natural order of
+things. From old production as of universal literature survive the
+forgetfulness of the rough productions, destined to excite laughter
+(Aristophanes, Rabelais, etc.), or lascivious things, but written
+with an elegance (Boccaccio). Not one book written in order to excite
+nausea outlived. Zola, for the sake of the renown caused by his works,
+for the sake of the scandal produced by every one of his volumes,
+killed his future. On account of that happened a strange thing: it
+happened that he, a man writing according to a conceived plan, writing
+with deliberation, cold and possessing his subjects as very few
+writers are, created good things only when he had the least
+opportunity to realize his plans, doctrines, means,--in a word, when
+he dominated the subject the least and was dominated by the subject
+most.
+
+Such was the case in "Germinal" and "La Débâcle." The immensity of
+socialism and the immensity of the war simply crushed Zola with all
+his mental apparatus. His doctrines became very small in the presence
+of such dimensions, and hardly any one hears of them in the noise of
+the deluge, overflowing the mine and in the thundering of Prussian
+cannons; only talent remained. Therefore in both those books there are
+pages worthy of Dante. Quite a different thing happened with "Docteur
+Pascal." Being the last volume of the cycle, it was bound to be the
+last deduction, from the whole work the synthesis of the doctrine, the
+belfry of the whole building. Consequently in this volume Zola speaks
+more about doctrine than in any other previous volume; as the doctrine
+is bad, wicked, and false, therefore "Docteur Pascal" is the worst and
+most tedious book of all the cycle of Rougon-Macquart. It is a series
+of empty leaves on which tediousness is hand in hand with lack of
+moral sense, it is a pale picture full of falsehood--such is "Le
+Docteur Pascal." Zola wishes to have him an honest man. He is the
+outcast of the family Rougon-Macquart. In heredity there happens such
+lucky degenerations; the doctor knows about it, he considers himself
+as a happy exception, and it is for him a source of continuous inward
+pleasure. In the mean while, he loves people, serves them and sells
+them his medicine, which cures all possible disease. He is a sweet
+sage, who studies life, therefore he gathers "human documents," builds
+laboriously the genealogical tree of the family of Rougon-Macquart,
+whose descendant he is himself, and on the strength of his
+observations he comes to the same conclusion as Zola. To which? It is
+difficult to answer the question; but here it is more or less: if any
+one is not well, usually he is sick and that heredity exists, but
+mothers and fathers who come from other families can bring into the
+blood of children new elements; in that way heredity can be modified
+to such a degree that strictly speaking it does not exist.
+
+To all that Doctor Pascal is a positivist. He does not wish to affirm
+anything, but he does affirm that actual state of science does not
+permit of any further deductions than those which on the strength of
+the observation of known facts can be deducted, therefore one must
+hold them, and neglect the others. In that respect his prejudices do
+not tell us anything more than newspaper articles, written by young
+positivists. For the people, who are rushing forward, for those
+spiritual needs, as strong as thirst and hunger, by which the man felt
+such ideas as God, faith, immortality, the doctor has only a smile of
+commiseration. And one might wonder at him a little bit. One could
+understand him better if he did not acknowledge the possibility of the
+disentangling of different abstract questions, but he affirms that the
+necessity does not exist--by which he sins against evidence, because
+such a necessity exists, not further than under his own roof, in the
+person of his niece. This young person, brought up in his principles,
+at once loses the ground under her feet. In her soul arose more
+questions than the doctor was able to answer. And from this moment
+began a drama for both of them.
+
+"I cannot be satisfied with that," cries the niece, "I am choking; I
+must know something, and if your science cannot satisfy my necessity,
+I am going there where they will not only tranquillize me, not only
+explain everything to me, but also will make me happy--I am going to
+church."
+
+And she went. The roads of master and pupil diverge more and more.
+The pupil comes to the conclusion that the science which is only a
+slipknot on the human neck is positively bad and that it would be a
+great merit before God to burn those old papers in which the doctor
+writes his observations. And the drama becomes stronger, because
+notwithstanding the doctor being sixty years old, and Clotilde is only
+twenty years old, these two people are in love, not only as relations
+are in love, but as a man and woman love each other. This love adds
+more bitterness to the fight and prompts the catastrophe.
+
+On a certain night the doctor detected the niece in a criminal deed.
+She opened his desk, took out his papers, and she was ready to
+burn them up! They began to fight! Beautiful picture! Both are in
+nightgowns--they pull each other's hair, they scratch each other. He
+is stronger than she; although he has bitten her, she feels a certain
+pleasure in that experiment on her maiden skin of the strength of a
+man. In that is the whole of Zola. But let us listen, because the
+decisive moment approaches. The doctor himself, after having rested a
+while, announces it solemnly. The reader shivers. Will the doctor by
+the strength of his genius tear the sky and show to her emptiness
+beyond the stars? Or will he by the strength of his eloquence ruin her
+church, her creed, her ecstasies, her hopes?
+
+In the quietness the doctor's low voice is heard:
+
+"I did not wish to show you that, but it cannot last any longer--the
+time has come. Give me the genealogical tree of Rougon-Macquart."
+
+Yes! The genealogical tree of Rougon-Macquart! The reading of it
+begins: There was one Adelaïde Fouqué, who married Rougon-Macquart's
+friend. Rougon had Eugene Rougon, also Pascal Rougon, also Aristides,
+also Sidonie, also Martha. Aristides had Maxyme, Clotilde, Victor, and
+Maxyme had Charles, and so on to the end; but Sidonie had a daughter
+Angelle, and Martha, who married Mouret, who was from Macquart's
+family, had three children, etc.
+
+The night passes, pales, but the reading continues. After Rougons come
+Macquarts, then the generations of both families. One name follows
+another. They appear bad, good, indifferent, all classes, from
+ministers, bankers, great merchants, to simple soldiers or rascals
+without any professions--finally the doctor stops reading--and looking
+with his eyes of savant at his niece, asks: "Well, what now?"
+
+And beautiful Clotilde throws herself into his arms, crying:
+"_Vicisti! Vicisti!_"
+
+And her God, her church, her flight toward ideals, her spiritual needs
+disappeared, turned into ashes.
+
+Why? On the ground of what final conclusion? For what good reason?
+What could there be in the tree that convinced her? How could it
+produce any other impression than that of tediousness? Why did she
+not ask the question, which surely must have come to the lips of the
+reader: "And what then?"--it is unknown! I never noticed that any
+other author could deduct from such a trifling and insignificant
+cause such great and immediate consequences. It is as much of an
+astonishment as if Zola should order Clotilde's faith and principles
+to be turned into ashes after the doctor has read to her an almanac,
+time-table, bill of fare, or catalogue of some museum. The
+freedom surpasses here all possible limits and becomes absolutely
+incomprehensible. The reader asks whether the author deceives himself
+or if he wishes to throw some dust into the eyes of the public? And
+this climax of the novel is at the same time the downfall of all
+doctrine. Clotilde ought to have answered as follows:
+
+"Your theory has no connection with my faith in God and the Church.
+Your heredity is so _loose_ and on the strength of it one can be
+so much, _everything_, that it becomes _nothing_--therefore the
+consequences which you deduct from it also are based upon nothing.
+Nana, according to you, is a street-walker, and Angelle is a saint;
+the priest Mouret is an ascetic, Jacques Lantier a murderer, and all
+that on account of great-grandmother Adelaïde! But I tell you with
+more real probability, that the good are good because they have my
+faith, because they believe in responsibility and immortality of the
+soul, and the bad are bad because they do not believe in anything. How
+can you prove that the cause of good and bad is in great-grandmother
+Adelaïde Fouqué? Perhaps you will tell me that it is so because it
+is so; but I can tell you that the faith and responsibility were for
+centuries a stopper for evil, and you cannot deny it, if you wish to
+be a positivist, because those are material facts. In a word, I have
+objective proofs where you have your personal views, and if it is so,
+then leave my faith and throw your fancy into the fire."
+
+But Clotilde does not answer anything like this. On the contrary, she
+eats at once the apple from this tree--passes soul and body into the
+doctor's camp, and she does it because Zola wishes to have it that
+way. There is no other reason for it and cannot be.
+
+Had she done that on account of love for the doctor, had this reason,
+which in a woman can play such an important part, acted on her,
+everything would be easy to understand. But there is no such thing!
+In that case what would become of all of Zola's doctrine? It acts
+exclusively upon Clotilde, the author wishes to have only such a
+reason. And it happens as he wishes, but at the cost of logic and
+common sense. Since that time everything would be permitted: one will
+be allowed to persuade the reader that the man who is not loved makes
+a woman fall in love with him by means of showing her a price list
+of butter or candies. To such results a great and true talent is
+conducted by a doctrine.
+
+This doctrine conducts also to perfect atrophy of moral sense. This
+heredity is a wall in which one can make as many windows as one
+pleases. The doctor is such a window. He considers himself as being
+degenerated from the nervousness of the family; it means that he is
+a normal man, and as such he would transmit his health to his
+descendants. Clotilde thinks also that it would be quite a good idea,
+and as they are in love, consequently they take possession of each
+other, and they do it as did people in the epoch of caverns. Zola
+considered it a perfectly natural thing, Doctor Pascal thinks the
+same, and as Clotilde passed into his camp, she did not make any
+opposition. This appears a little strange. Clotilde was religious only
+a little while ago! Her youth and lack of experience do not justify
+her either. Even at eight years, girls have some sentiment of modesty.
+At twenty years a young girl always knows what she is doing, and she
+cannot be called a sacrifice, and if she departs from the sentiment of
+modesty she does it either by love, which makes noble the raptures,
+or because she does it by the act of duty, but at the same time
+she wishes to be herself a legitimated duty. Even if a woman is an
+irreligious being and she refuses to be blessed by religion, she can
+desire that her sentiment were legitimated. The priest or _monsieur le
+maire_? Clotilde, who loves Doctor Pascal, does not ask for anything.
+Marriage, accomplished by a _maire_, seems to her to be a secondary
+thing. Here also one cannot understand her, because a true love would
+wish to make the knot lasting. That which really happens is quite
+different, in the novel, that first separation is the end of the
+relation between them. Were they married at least by a _maire_, they
+would have remained even in the separation husband and wife, they
+would not cease to belong to each other; but as they were not married,
+therefore at the moment of her departure he became unmarried, as
+formerly, Doctor Pascal, she--seduced Clotilde. Even during their life
+in common there happened a thousand disagreeable incidents for both of
+them. One time, for instance, Clotilde rushes crying and red, and when
+the frightened doctor asks her what is the matter, she answers:
+
+"Ah, those women! Walking in the shade, I closed my parasol and I hurt
+a child. In that moment all of the women fell on me and began to shout
+such things! Ah, it was so dreadful! that I shall never have any
+children, that such things are not for such a dishcloth as I! and many
+other things which I cannot repeat; I do not wish to repeat them; I do
+not even understand them."
+
+Her breast was moved by sobbings; he became pale, and seizing her by
+the shoulders, commenced to cover her face with kisses, saying:
+
+"It's my fault, you suffer through me! Listen, we will go very far
+from here, where no one knows us, where everybody will greet you and
+you shall be happy."
+
+Only one thing does not come to their minds: to be married. When
+Pascal's mother speaks to him about it, they do not listen to it. It
+is not dictated to her by woman's modesty, to him by the care for her
+and the desire to shelter her from insults. Why? Because Zola likes it
+that way.
+
+But perhaps he cares to show what tragical results are produced
+by illegitimate marriages? Not at all. He shares the doctor's and
+Clotilde's opinion. Were they married, there would be no drama, and
+the author wishes to have it. That is the reason.
+
+Then comes the doctor's insolvency. One must separate. This separation
+becomes the misfortune of their lives: the doctor will die of it. Both
+feel that it will not be the end, they do not wish it--and they do not
+think of any means which would forever affirm their mutual dependence
+and change the departure for only a momentary separation, but not for
+eternal farewells: and they do not marry.
+
+They did not have any religion, therefore they did not wish for any
+priest; it is logical, but why did they not wish for a _maire_? The
+question remains without an answer.
+
+Here, besides lack of moral sense, there is something more, the lack
+of common sense. The novel is not only immoral, but at the same time
+it is a bad shanty, built of rotten pieces of wood, not holding
+together, unable to suffer any contact with logic and common sense. In
+such mud of nonsense even the talent was drowned.
+
+One thing remains: the poison flows as usual in the soul of the
+reader, the mind became familiar with the evil and ceased to despise
+it. The poison licks, spoils the simplicity of the soul, moral
+impressions and that sense of conscience which distinguishes the bad
+from the good.
+
+The doctor dies from languishing after Clotilde. She comes back under
+the old roof and takes care of the child. Nothing of that which the
+doctor sowed in her soul had perished. On the contrary, everything
+grows very well. She loved the life, she also loves it now, she is
+resigned to it entirely; not through resignation but because she
+acknowledges it--and the more she thinks of it, rocking in her lap
+the child without a name, she acknowledges more. Such is the end of
+Rougon-Macquarts.
+
+But such an end is a new surprise. Here we have before us nineteen
+volumes, and in those volumes, as Zola himself says, _tant de boue,
+tant de larmes. C'était à se demander si d'un coup de foudre, il
+n'aurait pas mieux valu balayer cette fourmilière gatée et miserable_.
+And it is true! Any one who will read those volumes comes to the
+conclusion that life is a blindly mechanical and exasperating process,
+in which one must take part because one cannot avoid it. There is more
+mud in it than green grass, more corruption than wholesomeness, more
+odor of corpses than perfume of flowers, more illness, more madness,
+and more crime than health and virtue. It is a Gehenna not only
+dreadful but also abominable. The hair rises on the head, and in the
+mean while the mouth is wet and the question comes, will it not be
+better that a thunderbolt destroyed _cette fourmilière gatée et
+miserable_?
+
+There cannot be any other conclusion, because any other would be a
+madman's mental aberration, the breaking of the rules of sense and
+logic. And now do you know how the cycle of these novels really ended?
+By a hymn in the worship of life.
+
+Here one's hands drop! It will be useless work to show again that the
+author comes to a conclusion which is illogical with his whole work.
+God bless him! But he must not be astonished if he is abandoned by his
+pupils. The people must think according to rules of logic. And as in
+the mean while they must live, consequently they wish to get some
+consolation in this life. Masters of Zola's kind gave them only
+corruption, chaos, disgust for life, and despair. Their rationalism
+cannot prove anything else, and if it did, it would be with too much
+zeal, it would overstep the limits. To-day the suffocated need some
+pure air, the doubting ones some hope, tormented by uneasiness, some
+quietude, therefore they are doing well when they turn therefrom where
+the hope and peace flow, there where they bless them and where they
+say to them as to Lazarus: _Tolle grabatum tuum et ambula_.
+
+By this one can explain to-day's evolutions, whose waves flow to all
+parts of the world.
+
+According to my opinion, poetry as well as novels must pass through
+it--even more: they must quicken it and make it more powerful. One
+cannot continue any longer that way! On an exhausted field, only
+weeds grow. The novel must strengthen the life, not shake it; make
+it nobler, not soil it; carry good "news," and not bad. It does not
+matter whether this which I say here please any one or not, because I
+believe that I feel the great and urgent need of the human soul, which
+cries for a change.
+
+
+
+
+PART THIRD
+
+
+WHOSE FAULT?
+
+
+_A Dramatic Picture in One Act_.
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  Jadwiga Karlowiecka.
+  Leon--A Painter.
+  A Servant.
+
+In the House of Jadwiga Karlowiecka.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+
+Servant.--The lady will be here in a minute.
+
+Leon (alone).--I cannot overcome my emotion nor can I tranquillize the
+throbbing of my heart. Three times have I touched the bell and three
+times have I wished to retreat. I am troubled. Why does she wish to
+see me! (Takes out a letter). "Be so kind as to come to see me on a
+very important matter. In spite of all that has happened I hope
+you will not refuse to grant the request of--a woman. Jadwiga
+Karlowiecka." Perhaps it would have been better and more honest to
+have left this letter without an answer. But I see that I have cheated
+myself in thinking that nothing will happen, and that it would be
+brutal of me not to come. The soul--poor moth--flies toward the light
+which may burn, but can neither warm nor light it. What has attracted
+me here? Is it love? Can I answer the question as to whether I still
+love this woman--so unlike my pure sweetheart of former years--this
+half lioness, whose reputation has been torn to shreds by human
+tongues? No! It is rather some painful curiosity which has attracted
+me here. It is the unmeasurable grief which in two years I have been
+unable to appease, that desire for a full explanation: "Why?" has been
+repeated over and over during my sleepless nights. And then let her
+see this emaciated face--let her look from nearby on that broken life.
+I could not resist. Such vengeance is my right. I shall be proud
+enough to set my teeth to stifle all groans. What is done cannot be
+undone, and I swear to myself that it shall never be done again.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+
+Jadwiga (entering).--You must excuse me for keeping you waiting.
+
+Leon.--It is my fault. I came too early, although I tried to be exact.
+
+Jadwiga.--No, I must be frank and tell you how it happened. In former
+times we were such dear friends, and then we have not seen each other
+for two years. I asked you to come, but I was not sure that you
+would grant my request, therefore--when the bell rang--after two
+years--(smiling) I needed a few moments to overcome the emotion. I
+thought it was necessary for both of us.
+
+Leon.--I am calm, madam, and I listen to you.
+
+Jadwiga.--I wished also that we should greet each other like people
+who have forgotten about the past, who know that it will not return,
+and to be at once on the footing of good friends; I do not dare say
+like brother and sisters. Therefore, Sir, here is my hand, and now be
+seated and tell me if you accept my proposition.
+
+Leon.--I leave that to you.
+
+Jadwiga.--If that is so, then I must tell you that such an agreement,
+based on mutual well-wishing, excludes excessive solemnity. We must be
+natural, sincere, and frank.
+
+Leon.--Frankly speaking, it will be a little difficult, still.
+
+Jadwiga.--It would be difficult if there were no condition: "Not a
+word about the past!" If we both keep to this, a good understanding
+will return of itself and in time we may become good friends. What
+have you been doing during the past two years?
+
+Leon.--I have been pushing the wheelbarrow of life, as all mortals
+do. Every Monday I have thought that in a week there would be another
+Monday. I assure you that there is some distraction in seeing the
+days spin out like a thread from a ball, and how everything that has
+happened goes away and gradually disappears, like a migratory bird.
+
+Jadwiga.--Such distraction is good for those to whom another bird
+comes with a song of the future. But otherwise--
+
+Leon.--Otherwise it is perhaps better to think that when all threads
+will be spun out from the ball, there will remain nothing. Sometimes
+the reminiscences are very painful. Happily time dulls their edge, or
+they would prick like thorns.
+
+Jadwiga.--Or would burn like fire.
+
+Leon.--All-wise Nature gives us some remedy for it. A fire which is
+not replenished must die, and the ashes do not burn.
+
+Jadwiga.--We are unwillingly chasing a bird which has flown away.
+Enough of it! Have you painted much lately?
+
+Leon.--I do nothing else. I think and I paint. It is true that until
+now my thoughts have produced nothing, and I have painted a very
+little. But it was not my fault. Better be good enough to tell me what
+has caused you to call me here.
+
+Jadwiga.--It will come by itself. In the first place, I should be
+justified in so doing by a desire to see a great man. You are now an
+artist whose fame is world-wide.
+
+Leon--I would appear to be guilty of conceit, but I honestly think
+that I was not the last pawn on the chessboard in the drawing-room,
+and that is perhaps the reason why I have been thinking during the
+past two years and could not understand why I was thrown aside like a
+common pawn.
+
+Jadwiga.--And where is our agreement?
+
+Leon.--It is a story told in a subjective way by a third person.
+According to the second clause in our agreement--"sincerity"--I must
+add that I am already accustomed to my wheelbarrow.
+
+Jadwiga.--We must not speak about it.
+
+Leon.--I warn you--it will be difficult.
+
+Jadwiga.--It should be more easy for you. You, the elect of art and
+the pride of the whole nation, and in the mean while its spoiled
+child--you can live with your whole soul in the present and in the
+future. From the flowers strewn under one's feet, one can always chose
+the most beautiful, or not choose at all, but always tread upon them.
+
+Leon.--If one does not stumble.
+
+Jadwiga.--No! To advance toward immortality.
+
+Leon.--Longing for death while on the road.
+
+Jadwiga.--It is an excess of pessimism for a man who says that he is
+accustomed to his wheelbarrow.
+
+Leon.--I wish only to show the other side of the medal. And then you
+must remember, madam, that to-day pessimism is the mode. You must not
+take my words too seriously. In a drawing-room one strings the words
+of a conversation like beads on a thread--it is only play.
+
+Jadwiga.--Let us play then (after a while). Ah! How many changes! I
+cannot comprehend. If two years ago some one had told me that to-day
+we would sit far apart from each other, and chat as we do, and look at
+each other with watchful curiosity, like two people perfectly strange
+to each other, I could not have believed. Truly, it is utterly
+amusing!
+
+Leon.--It would not be proper for me to remind you of our agreement.
+
+Jadwiga.--But nevertheless you do remind me. Thank you. My nerves are
+guilty for this melancholy turn of the conversation. But I feel it is
+not becoming to me. But pray be assured that I shall not again enter
+that thorny path, if for no other reason than that of self-love. I,
+too, amuse myself as best I can, and I return to my reminiscences only
+when wearied. For several days I have been greatly wearied.
+
+Leon.--Is that the reason why you asked me to come here? I am afraid
+that I will not be an abundant source of distraction. My disposition
+is not very gay, and I am too proud, too honest, and--too costly to
+become a plaything. Permit me to leave you.
+
+Jadwiga.--You must forgive me. I did not mean to offend you. Without
+going back to the past, I can tell you that pride is your greatest
+fault, and if it were not for that pride, many sad things would not
+have happened.
+
+Leon.--Without going back to the past, I must answer you that it is
+the only sail which remained on my boat. The others are torn by the
+wind of life. If it were not for this last sail, I should have sunk
+long ago.
+
+Jadwiga.--And I think that it was a rock on which has been wrecked
+not only your boat--but no matter! So much the worse for those who
+believed in fair weather and a smooth sea. We must at least prevent
+ourselves from now being carried where we do not wish to sail.
+
+Leon.--And where the sandy banks are sure--
+
+Jadwiga.--What strange conversation! It seems to me that it is a net,
+in which the truth lies at the bottom, struggling in vain to break the
+meshes. But perhaps it is better so.
+
+Leon.--Much better. Madam, you have written me that you wished to see
+me on an important matter. I am listening.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes (smiling). It is permitted a society woman to have her
+fancies and desires--sometimes inexplicable fancies, and it is not
+permitted a gentleman to refuse them. Well, then, I wished to see my
+portrait, painted by the great painter Leon. Would you be willing to
+paint it?
+
+Leon.--Madam--
+
+Jadwiga.--Ah! the lion's forehead frowns, as if my wish were an
+insult.
+
+Leon.--I think that the fancies of a society woman are indeed
+inexplicable, and do not look like jokes at all.
+
+Jadwiga.--This question has two sides! The first is the formal side
+and it shows itself thus: Mme. Jadwiga Karlowiecka most earnestly asks
+the great painter Leon to make her portrait. That is all! The painter
+Leon, who, it is known, paints lots of portraits, has no good reason
+for refusing. The painter cannot refuse to make a portrait any more
+than a physician can refuse his assistance. There remains the other
+side--the past. But we agreed that it is a forbidden subject.
+
+Leon.--Permit me, madam--
+
+Jadwiga (interrupting).--Pray, not a word about the past. (She
+laughs.) Ah, my woman's diplomacy knows how to tie a knot and draw
+tight the ends of it. How your embarrassment pleases me. But there is
+something quite different. Let us suppose that I am a vain person,
+full of womanly self-love; full of petty jealousy and envy. Well, you
+have painted the portrait of Mme. Zofia and of Helena. I wish to have
+mine also. One does not refuse the women such things. Reports of your
+fame come to me from all sides. I hear all around me the words: "Our
+great painter--our master!" Society lionizes you. God knows how many
+breasts sigh for you. Every one can have your works, every one can
+approach you, see you, be proud of you. I alone, your playmate, your
+old friend, I alone am as though excommunicated.
+
+Leon.--But Mme. Jadwiga--
+
+Jadwiga.--Ah, you have called me by my name. I thank you and beg your
+pardon. It is the self-love of a woman, nothing more. It is my nerves.
+Do not be frightened. You see how dangerous it is to irritate me.
+After one of my moods I am unbearable. I will give you three days to
+think the matter over. If you do not wish to come, write me then (she
+laughs sadly). Only I warn you, that if you will neither come nor
+write me, I will tell every one that you are afraid of me, and so
+I will satisfy my self-love. In the mean time, for the sake of my
+nerves, you must not tell, me that you refuse my request. I am a
+little bit ill--consequently capricious.
+
+Leon.--In three days you shall have my answer (rising), and now I will
+say good-bye.
+
+Jadwiga.--Wait a moment. This is not so easy as you think. Truly, I
+would think you are afraid of me. It is true that they say I am a
+coquette, a flirt. I know they talk very badly about me. Besides we
+are good acquaintances, who have not seen each other for two years.
+Let us then talk a little. Let me take your hat. Yes, that is it!
+Now let us talk. I am sure we may become friends again. As for me at
+least--what do you intend to do in the future besides painting my
+portrait?
+
+Leon.--The conversation about me would not last long. Let us
+take another more interesting subject. You had better talk about
+yourself--about your life, your family.
+
+Jadwiga.--As for my husband, he is, as usual, in Chantilly. My mother
+is dead! Poor mama! She was so fond of you--she loved you very much
+(after a pause). In fact, as you see, I have grown old and changed
+greatly.
+
+Leon.--At your age the words "I have grown old" are only a daring
+challenge thrown by a woman who is not afraid that she would be
+believed.
+
+Jadwiga.--I am twenty-three years old, so I am not talking about age
+in years, but age in morals. I feel that to-day I am not like that
+Jadwiga of Kalinowice whom you used to know so well. Good gracious!
+when I think to-day of that confidence and faith in life--those
+girlish illusions--the illusions of a young person who wished to be
+happy and make others happy, that enthusiasm for everything good and
+noble! where has all that gone--where has it disappeared? And to think
+that I was--well, an honest wild-flower--and to-day--
+
+Leon.--And to-day a society woman.
+
+Jadwiga.--To-day, when I see such a sceptical smile as I saw a few
+moments ago on your lips, it seems to me that I am ridiculous--very
+often so--even always when I sit at some ideal embroidery and when
+I begin to work at some withered flowers on the forgotten, despised
+canvas of the past. It is a curious and old fashion from times when
+faithfulness was not looked seriously on, and people sang of Filon.
+
+Leon.--At that moment you were speaking according to the latest mode.
+
+Jadwiga.--Shall I weep, or try to tie the broken thread? Well, the
+times change. I can assure you that I have some better moments, during
+which I laugh heartily at everything (handing him a cigarette). Do you
+smoke?
+
+Leon.--No, madam.
+
+Jadwiga.--I do. It is also a distraction. Sometimes I hunt _par force_
+with my husband, I read Zola's novels, I make calls and receive
+visits, and every morning I ponder as to the best way to kill time.
+Sometimes I succeed--sometimes not. Apropos, you know my husband, do
+you not?
+
+Leon.--I used to know him.
+
+Jadwiga.--He is very fond of hunting, but only _par force_. We never
+hunt otherwise.
+
+Leon.--Let us be frank. You had better drop that false tone.
+
+Jadwiga.--On the contrary. In our days we need impressions which
+stir our nerves. The latest music, like life itself, is full of
+dissonances. I do not wish to say that I am unhappy with my husband.
+It is true that he is always in Chantilly, and I see him only once in
+three months, but it proves, on the other hand, that he has confidence
+in me. Is it not true?
+
+Leon.--I do not know, and I do not wish to decide about it. But before
+all, I should not know anything about it.
+
+Jadwiga.--It seemed to me that you ought to know. Pray believe that I
+would not be as frank with any one else as I am with you. And then, I
+do not complain. I try to surround myself with youths who pretend they
+are in love with me. There is not a penny-worth of truth in all of
+it--they all lie, but the form of the lie is beautiful because they
+are all well-bred people. The Count Skorzewski visits me also--you
+must have heard of him, I am sure. I recommend him to you as a
+model for Adonis. Ha! ha! You do not recognize the wild-flower of
+Kalinowice?
+
+Leon.--No, I do not recognize it.
+
+Jadwiga.--No! But the life flower.
+
+Leon.--As a joke--
+
+Jadwiga.--At which one cannot laugh always. If our century was not
+sceptical I should think myself wild, romantic, trying to drown
+despair. But the romantic times have passed away, therefore, frankly
+speaking, I only try to fill up a great nothing. I also spin out my
+ball, although not always with pleasure. Sometimes I seem to myself so
+miserable and my life so empty that I rush to my prayer-desk, left by
+my mother. I weep, I pray--and then I laugh again at my prayers and
+tears. And so it goes on--round and round. Do you know that they
+gossip about me?
+
+Leon.--I do not listen to the gossip.
+
+Jadwiga.--How good you are! I will tell you then why they gossip. A
+missionary asked a negro what, according to his ideas, constituted
+evil? The negro thought a while, and then said: "Evil is if some one
+were to steal my wife." "And what is good?" asked the missionary.
+"Good is when I steal from some one else." My husband's friends are of
+the negro's opinion. Every one of them would like to do a good deed
+and steal some one's wife.
+
+Leon.--It depends on the wife.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes, but every word and every look is a bait. If the fish
+passes the bait, the fisherman's self-love is wounded. That is why
+they slander me (after a while). You great people--you are filled with
+simplicity. Then you think it depends on the wife?
+
+Leon.--Yes, it does.
+
+Jadwiga.--_Morbleu!_ as my husband says, and if the wife is weary?
+
+Leon.--I bid you good-bye.
+
+Jadwiga.--Why? Does what I say offend you?
+
+Leon.--It does more than offend me. It hurts me. Maybe it will
+seem strange to you, but here in my breast I am carrying some
+flowers--although they are withered--dead for a long time. But they
+are dear to me and just now you are trampling on them.
+
+Jadwiga (with an outburst).--Oh, if those flowers had not died!
+
+Leon.--They are in my heart--and there is a tomb. Let us leave the
+past alone.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes, you are right. Leave it alone. What is dead cannot
+be resuscitated. I wish to speak calmly. Look at my situation. What
+defends me--what helps me--what protects me? I am a young woman, and
+it seems not ugly, and therefore no one approaches me with an honest,
+simple heart, but with a trap in eyes and mouth. What opposition have
+I to make? Weariness? Grief? Emptiness? In life even a man must lean
+on something, and I, a feeble woman, I am like a boat without a helm,
+without oar and without light toward which to sail. And the heart
+longs for happiness. You must understand that a woman must be loved
+and must love some one in the world, and if she lacks true love she
+seizes the first pretext of it--the first shadow.
+
+Leon (with animation).--Poor thing.
+
+Jadwiga.--Do not smile in that ironical way. Be better, be less severe
+with me. I do not even have any one to complain, and that is why I do
+not drive away Count Skorzewski. I detest his beauty, I despise his
+perverse mind, but I do not drive him away because he is a skilful
+actor, and because when I see his acting it awakens in me the echo of
+former days. (After a while.) How shall I fill my life? Study? Art?
+Even if I loved them, they would not love me for they are not
+living things. No, truly now! They showed me no duties, no aims, no
+foundations. Everything on which other women live--everything which
+constitutes their happiness, sincere sorrow, strength, tears, and
+smiles, is barred from me. Morally I have nothing to live on--like a
+beggar. I have no one to live for--like an orphan. I am not permitted
+to yearn for a noble and quiet life; I may only nurture myself with
+grief and defend myself with faded, dead flowers, and remembrances
+of former pure, honest, and loving Jadwinia. Ah! again I break my
+promise, our agreement. I must beg your pardon.
+
+Leon.--Mme. Jadwiga, both our lives are tangled. When I was most
+unhappy, when everything abandoned me, there remained with me the love
+of an idea--love of the country.
+
+Jadwiga (thoughtfully).--The love of an idea--country. There is
+something great in that. You, by each of your pictures, increase the
+glory of the country and make famous its name, but I--what can I do?
+
+Leon.--The one who lives simply, suffers and quietly fulfils his
+duties--he also serves his country.
+
+Jadwiga.--What duties? Give them to me. For every-day life one great,
+ideal love is not enough for me. I am a woman! I must cling to
+something--twine about something like the ivy--otherwise truly, sir, I
+should fall to the ground and be trampled upon (with an outburst). If
+I could only respect him!
+
+Leon.--But, madam, you should remember to whom you are speaking of
+such matters. I have no right to know of your family affairs.
+
+Jadwiga.--No. You have not the right, nor are you obliged nor willing.
+Only friendly hearts know affliction--only those who suffer can
+sympathize. You--looking into the stars--you pass human misery and do
+not turn your head even when that misery shouts to you. It is your
+fault.
+
+Leon.--My fault!
+
+Jadwiga.--Do not frown, and do not close your mouth (beseechingly). I
+do not reproach you for anything. I have forgiven you long ago,
+and now I, the giddy woman whom the world always sees merry and
+laughing--I am really so miserable that I have even no strength left
+for hatred.
+
+Leon.--Madam! Enough! I have listened to your story--do not make me
+tell you mine. If you should hear it a still heavier burden would fall
+on your shoulders.
+
+Jadwiga.--No, no. We could be happy and we are not. It is the fault
+of both. How dreadful to think that we separated on account of almost
+nothing--on account of one thoughtless word--and we separated forever
+(she covers her face with her hands), without hope.
+
+Leon.--That word was nothing for you, but I remember it still with
+brain and heart. I was not then what I am to-day. I was poor, unknown,
+and you were my whole future, my aim, my riches.
+
+Jadwiga.--Oh, Mr. Leon, Mr. Leon, what a golden dream it was!
+
+Leon.--But I was proud because I knew that there was in me the divine
+spark. I loved you dearly, I trusted you--and nothing disturbed the
+security around me. Suddenly one evening Mr. Karlowiecki appeared, and
+already the second evening you told me that you gave more than you
+received.
+
+Jadwiga.--Mr. Leon!
+
+Leon.--What was your reason for giving that wound to my proud misery?
+You could not already have loved that man, but as soon as he appeared
+you humiliated me. There are wrongs which a man cannot bear with
+dignity--so those words were the last I heard from you.
+
+Jadwiga.--Truly. When I listen to you I must keep a strong hand on
+my senses. As soon as the other appeared you gave vent to a jealous
+outburst. I said that I gave more than I took, and you thought I spoke
+of money and not sentiment? Then you could suspect that I was capable
+of throwing my riches in your face--you thought I was capable of that?
+That is why he could not forgive! That is why he went away! That is
+why he has made his life and mine miserable!
+
+Leon.--It is too late to talk about that. Too late! You knew then
+and you know to-day that I could not have understood your words
+differently. The other man was of your own world--the world of which
+you were so fond that sometimes it seemed to me that you cherished it
+more than our love. At times when I so doubted you did not calm me.
+You were amused by the thought that you were stretching out to me a
+hand of courtly condescension, and I, in an excess of humiliation, I
+cast aside that hand. You knew it then, and you know it to-day!
+
+Jadwiga.--I know it to-day, but I did not know then. I swear it by my
+mother's memory. But suppose it was even as you say. Why could you not
+forgive me? Oh God! truly one might go mad. And there was neither time
+nor opportunity to explain. He went away and never returned. What
+could I do? When you became angry, when you shut yourself up within
+yourself, grief pressed my heart. I am ashamed even to-day to say
+this. I looked into your eyes like a dog which wishes to disarm the
+anger of his master by humility. In vain! Then I thought, when taking
+leave, I will shake hands with him so honestly and cordially that he
+will finally understand and will forgive me. While parting my hand
+dropped, for you only saluted me from afar. I swallowed my tears and
+humiliation. I thought still he will return to-morrow. A day passed,
+two days, a week, a month.
+
+Leon.--Then you married.
+
+Jadwiga (passionately).--Yes. Useless tears and time made me think it
+was forever--therefore anger grew in my heart--anger and a desire
+for vengeance on you and myself. I wished to be lost, for I said to
+myself, "That man does not love me, has never loved me." I married
+in the same spirit that I should have thrown myself through a
+window--from despair--because, as I still believe, you never loved me.
+
+Leon.--Madam, do not blaspheme. Do not provoke me. I never loved you!
+Look at the precipice which you have opened before me--count the
+sleepless nights during which I tore my breast with grief--count the
+days on which I called to you as from a cross--look at this thin face,
+at these trembling hands, and repeat once more that I never loved you!
+What has become of me? What is life for me without you? To-day my
+head is crowned with laurels and here in my breast is emptiness
+and exhaustless sorrow, and tears not wept--and in my eyes eternal
+darkness. Oh, by the living God, I loved you with every drop of my
+blood, with my every thought--and I was not able to love differently.
+Having lost you, I lost everything--my star, my strength, faith,
+hope, desire for life, and not only happiness, but the capacity for
+happiness. Woman, do you understand the dreadful meaning of those
+words? I have lost the capacity for happiness. I have not loved you!
+Oh, despair! God alone knows for how many nights I have cried to Him:
+"Lord, take my talent, take my fame, take my life, but return to me
+for only one moment my Jadwiga as she was of old!"
+
+Jadwiga.--Enough! Lord, what is the matter with me? Leon, I love you!
+
+Leon.--Oh, my dearest! (He presses her to his breast. A moment of
+silence.)
+
+Jadwiga.--I have found you. I loved you always. Ah! how miserable
+I was without you! With love for you I defended myself from all
+temptations. You do not know it, but I used to see you. It caused me
+grief and joy. I could not live any longer without you, and I asked
+you to come--I did it purposely. If you had not come, something
+dreadful would have happened. Now we shall never separate. We shall
+never be angry--is it not so? (A moment of silence.)
+
+Leon (as though awakening from slumber).--Madam, you must pardon me--I
+mistook the present for the past, and permitted myself to be carried
+away by an illusion. Pardon me!
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon, what do you mean?
+
+Leon (earnestly).--I forgot for a moment that you are the wife of
+another.
+
+Jadwiga.--Oh, you are always honest and loyal. No, there shall be no
+guilty love between us. I know you, my great, my noble Leon. The hand
+which I stretch out to you is pure--I swear it to you. You must also
+forgive me a moment of forgetfulness. Here I stand before you, and
+say to you: I will not be yours until I am free. But I know that my
+husband will consent to a divorce. I will leave him all my fortune,
+and because I formerly offended your pride--it was my fault--yes, my
+own fault--you shall take me poor, in this dress only--will it suit
+you? Then I will become your lawful wife. Oh, my God! and I shall be
+honest, loving, and loved. I have longed for it with my whole soul.
+I cannot think of our future without tears. God is so good! When you
+return from your studio at night, you will come neither to an empty
+room nor to grief. I will share your every joy, your every sorrow--I
+will divide with you the last piece of bread. Truly, I cannot speak
+for tears. Look, I am not so bad, but I have been so miserable. I
+loved you always. Ah, you bad boy, if it were not for your pride we
+should have been happy long ago. Tell me once more that you love
+me--that you consent to take me when I shall be free--is it not so,
+Leon?
+
+Leon.--No, madam!
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon, my dearest, wait! Perhaps I have not heard well. For I
+cannot comprehend that when I am hanging over a precipice of despair,
+when I seize the edge with my hands, you, instead of helping me--you
+place your feet on my fingers! No! it is impossible. You are too good
+for that! Do not thrust me away. My life now would be still worse. I
+have nothing in the world but you, and with you I lost happiness--not
+alone happiness but everything in me which is good--which cries for a
+quiet and saintly life. For now it would be forever. But you do not
+know how happy you yourself will be when you will have forgiven me
+and rescued me. You have loved me, have you not? You have said it
+yourself. I have heard it. Now I stretch out my hands to you like a
+drowning person--rescue me!
+
+Leon.--We must finish this mutual torture. Madam, I am a weak man. I
+would give way if--but I wish to spare you--if not for the fact that
+my sore and dead heart cannot give you anything but tears and pity.
+
+Jadwiga.--You do not love me!
+
+Leon.--I have no strength for happiness. I did love you. My heart
+throbbed for a moment with a recollection as of a dead person. But the
+other one is dead. I tell you this, madam, in tears and torture. I do
+not love you.
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon!
+
+Leon.--Have pity on me and forgive me.
+
+Jadwiga.--You do not love me!
+
+Leon.--What is dead cannot be resuscitated. Farewell.
+
+Jadwiga (after a while).--Very well. If you think you have humiliated
+me enough, trampled on me, and are sufficiently avenged, leave me then
+(to Leon, who wishes to withdraw). No! no! Remain. Have pity on me.
+
+Leon.--May God have pity on us both. (He goes away.)
+
+Jadwiga.--It is done!
+
+A Servant (entering).--Count Skorzewski!
+
+Jadwiga.--Ha! Show him in! Show him in! Ha! ha! ha!
+
+
+
+
+PART FOURTH
+
+
+THE VERDICT
+
+
+Apollo and Hermes once met toward evening on the rocks of Pnyx and
+were looking on Athens.
+
+The evening was charming; the sun was already rolled from the
+Archipelago toward the Ionian Sea and had begun to slowly sink its
+radiant head in the water which shone turquoise-like. But the summits
+of Hymettus and Pentelicus were yet beaming as if melted gold had been
+poured over them, and the evening twilight was in the sky. In its
+light the whole Acropolis was drowned. The white walls of Propyleos,
+Parthenon, and Erechtheum seemed pink and as light as though the
+marble had lost all its weight, or as if they were apparitions of a
+dream. The point of the spear of the gigantic Athena Promathos shone
+in the twilight like a lighted torch over Attica.
+
+In the space hawks were flying toward their nests in the rocks, to
+pass the night.
+
+The people returned in crowds from work in the fields. On the road
+to Piraeus, mules and donkeys carried baskets full of olives and
+wine-grapes; behind them, in the red cloud of dust, marched herds of
+nannygoats, before each herd there was a white-bearded buck; on the
+sides, watchdogs; in the rear, shepherds, playing flutes of thin
+oat-stems.
+
+Among the herds chariots slowly passed, carrying holly barlet, pulled
+by slow, heavy oxen; here and there passed a detachment of Hoplites or
+heavy armed troops, corseleted in copper, going to guard Piraeus and
+Athens during the night.
+
+Beneath, the city was full of animation. Around the big fountain at
+Poikile, young girls in white dresses drew water, singing, laughing,
+or defending themselves from the boys, who threw over them fetters
+made of ivy and wild vine. The others, having already drawn the water,
+with the amphorae poised on their shoulders, were turned homeward,
+light and graceful as immortal nymphs.
+
+A light breeze blowing from the Attic valley carried to the ears of
+the two gods the sounds of laughter, singing, kissing. Apollo, in
+whose eyes nothing under the sun was fairer than a woman, turned to
+Hermes and said:
+
+"O Maya's son, how beautiful are the Athenian women!"
+
+"And virtuous too, my Radiant," answered Hermes; "they are under
+Pallas' tutelage."
+
+The Silver-arrowed god became silent, and listening looked into space.
+In the mean while the twilight was slowly quenched, movement gradually
+stopped. Scythian slaves shut the gates, and finally all became quiet.
+The Ambrosian night threw on the Acropolis, city, and environs, a dark
+veil embroidered with stars.
+
+But the dusk did not last long. Soon from the Archipelago appeared the
+pale Selene, and began to sail like a silvery boat in the heavenly
+space. And then the walls of the Acropolis lighted again, only they
+beamed now with a pale-green light, and looked even more like a vision
+in a dream.
+
+"One must agree," said Apollo, "that Athena has chosen for herself a
+charming home."
+
+"Oh, she is very clever! Who could choose better?" answered Hermes.
+"Then Zeus has a fancy for her. If she wishes for anything she has
+only to caress his beard and immediately he calls her Tritogenia, dear
+daughter; he promises her everything and permits everything."
+
+"Tritogenia bores me sometimes," grumbled Latona's son.
+
+"Yes, I have noticed that she becomes very tedious," answered Hermes.
+
+"Like an old peripatetic; and then she is virtuous to the ridiculous,
+like my sister Artemis."
+
+"Or as her servants, the Athenian women."
+
+The Radiant turned to the Argo-robber Mercury: "It is the second time
+you mention, as though purposely, the virtue of the Athenian women.
+Are they really so virtuous?"
+
+"Fabulously so, O son of Latona!"
+
+"Is it possible!" said Apollo. "Do you think that there is in town one
+woman who could resist me?"
+
+"I do think so."
+
+"Me, Apollo?"
+
+"You, my Radiant."
+
+"I, who should bewitch her with poetry and charm her with song and
+music!"
+
+"You, my Radiant."
+
+"If you were an honest god I would be willing to make a wager with
+you. But you, Argo-robber, if you should lose, you would disappear
+immediately with your sandals and caduceus."
+
+"No, I will put one hand on the earth and another on the sea and swear
+by Hades. Such an oath is kept not only by me, but even by the members
+of the City Council in Athens."
+
+"Oh, you exaggerate a little. Very well then! If you lose you must
+supply me in Trinachija with a herd of long-horned oxen, which you may
+steal where you please, as you did when you were only a boy, stealing
+my herds in Perea."
+
+"Understood! And what shall I get if I win?"
+
+"You may choose what you please."
+
+"Listen, my Far-aiming archer," said Hermes. "I will be frank with
+you, which occurs with me very seldom. Once, being sent on an errand
+by Zeus--I don't remember what errand--I was playing just over your
+Trinachija, and I perceived Lampecja, who, together with Featusa,
+watches your herds there. Since that time I have no peace. The thought
+about her is never absent from my mind. I love her and I sigh for her
+day and night. If I win, if in Athens there can be found a virtuous
+woman, strong enough to resist you, you shall give me Lampecja--I wish
+for nothing more."
+
+The Silver-arrowed god began to shake his head.
+
+"It's astonishing that love can nestle in the heart of a
+merchants-patron. I am willing to give you Lampecja--the more
+so because she is now quarrelling with Featusa. Speaking _intra
+parentheses_, both are in love with me--that is why they are
+quarrelling."
+
+Great joy lighted up the Argo-robber's eyes.
+
+"Then we lay the bet," said he. "One thing more, I shall choose the
+woman for you on whom you are to try your godly strength."
+
+"Provided she is beautiful."
+
+"She will be worthy of you."
+
+"I am sure you know some one already."
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"A young girl, married, widow, or divorced?"
+
+"Married, of course. Girl, widow, or divorcée, you could capture by
+promise of marriage."
+
+"What is her name?"
+
+"Eryfile. She is a baker's wife."
+
+"A baker's wife!" answered the Radiant, making a grimace, "I don't
+like that."
+
+"I can't help it. It's the kind of people I know best. Eryfile's
+husband is not at home at present; he went to Megara. His wife is the
+prettiest woman who ever walked on Mother-Earth."
+
+"I am very anxious to see her."
+
+"One condition more, my Silver-arrowed, you must promise that you will
+use only means worthy of you, and that you will not act as would
+act such a ruffian as Ares, for instance, or even, speaking between
+ourselves, as acts our common father, the Cloud-gathering Zeus."
+
+"For whom do you take me?" asked Apollo.
+
+"Then all conditions are understood, and I can show you Eryfile."
+
+Both gods were immediately carried through the air from Pnyx, and in
+a few moments they were over a house situated not far from Stoa. The
+Argo-robber raised the whole roof with his powerful hand as easily as
+a woman cooking a dinner raises a cover from a saucepan, and pointing
+to a woman sitting in a store, closed from the street by a copper
+gate, said:
+
+"Look!"
+
+Apollo looked and was astonished.
+
+Never Attica--never the whole of Greece, produced a lovelier flower
+than was this woman. She sat by a table on which was a lighted
+lamp, and was writing something on marble tables. Her long drooping
+eyelashes threw a shadow on her cheeks, but from time to time she
+raised her head and her eyes, as though she were trying to remember
+what she had to write, and then one could see her beautiful eyes, so
+blue that compared with them the turquoise depths of the Archipelago
+would look pale and faded. Her face was white as the sea-foam, pink as
+the dawn, with purplish Syrian lips and waves of golden hair. She was
+beautiful, the most beautiful being on earth--beautiful as the dawn,
+as a flower, as light, as song! This was Eryfile.
+
+When she dropped her eyes she appeared quiet and sweet; when she
+lifted them, inspired. The Radiant's divine knees began to tremble;
+suddenly he leaned his head on Hermes' shoulder, and whispered:
+
+"Hermes, I love her! This one or none!"
+
+Hermes smiled ironically, and would have rubbed his hands for joy
+under cover of his robe if he had not held in his right hand the
+caduceus.
+
+In the mean while the golden-haired woman took a new tablet and
+began to write on it. Her divine lips were disclosed and her voice
+whispered; it was like the sound of Apollo's lyre.
+
+"The member of the Areopagus Melanocles for the bread for two months,
+forty drachmas and four obols; let us write in round numbers forty-six
+drachmas. By Athena! let us write fifty; my husband will be satisfied!
+Ah, that Melanocles! If you were not in a position to bother us about
+false weight, I never would give you credit. But we must keep peace
+with that locust."
+
+Apollo did not listen to the words. He was intoxicated with the
+woman's voice, the charm of her figure, and whispered:
+
+"This one or none!"
+
+The golden-haired woman spoke again, writing further:
+
+"Alcibiades, for cakes on honey from Hymettus for Hetera Chrysalis,
+three minae. He never verifies bills, and then he once gave me in Stoa
+a slap on the shoulder--we will write four minae. He is stupid; let
+him pay for it. And then that Chrysalis! She must feed with cakes her
+carp in the pond, or perhaps Alcibiades makes her fat purposely, in
+order to sell her afterwards to a Phoenician merchant for an ivory
+ring for his harness."
+
+Again Apollo paid no attention to the words--he was enchanted with the
+voice alone and whispered to Hermes:
+
+"This one or none!"
+
+But Maya's son suddenly covered the house, the apparition disappeared,
+and it seemed to the Radiant Apollo that with it disappeared the
+stars, that the moon became black, and the whole world was covered
+with the darkness of Chimera.
+
+"When shall we decide the wager?" asked Hermes.
+
+"Immediately. To-day!"
+
+"During her husband's absence she sleeps in the store. You can stand
+in the street before the door. If she raises the curtain and opens the
+gate, I have lost my wager."
+
+"You have lost it already!" exclaimed the Far-darting Apollo.
+
+The summer lightning does not pass from the East to the West as
+quickly as he rushed over the salt waves of the Archipelago. There he
+asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, put around it the rays of
+the sun, and returned to Athens with a ready formiga.
+
+In the city everything was already quiet. The lights were out, and
+only the houses and temples shone white in the light of the moon,
+which had risen high in the sky.
+
+The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate and a curtain, the
+beautiful Eryfile was asleep. Apollo the Radiant began to touch the
+strings of his lyre. Wishing to awake softly his beloved, he played at
+first as gently as swarms of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening
+on Illis. But the song became gradually stronger like a brook in the
+mountain after a rain; then more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating,
+and it filled the air voluptuously.
+
+The secret Athena's bird flew softly from the Acropolis and sat
+motionless on the nearest column.
+
+Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or Praxiteles, whiter than
+Pantelican marble, drew aside the curtain. The Radiant's heart stopped
+beating with emotion. And then Eryfile's voice resounded:
+
+"Ha! You booby, why do you wander about and make a noise during the
+night? I have been working all day, and now they won't let me sleep!"
+
+"Eryfile! Eryfile!" exclaimed Silver-arrowed. And he began to sing:
+
+  "From lofty peaks of Parnas--where there ring
+    In all the glory of light's brilliant rays
+  The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing
+    To me, by turns, in rapture and praise--
+  I, worshiped god--I fly, fly to thee,
+    Eryfile! And on thy bosom white
+  I shall rest, and the Eternity will be
+    A moment to me--the God of Light!"
+
+"By the holy flour for sacrifices," exclaimed the baker's wife,
+"that street boy sings and makes love to me. Will you go home, you
+impudent!"
+
+The Radiant, wishing to pursuade her that he was not a common mortal,
+threw so much light from his person, that all the earth was lighted.
+But Eryfile, seeing this, exclaimed:
+
+"That scurrilous fellow has hidden a lantern under his robe, and he
+tries to make me believe that he is a god. O daughter of mighty Dios!
+they press us with taxes, but there is no Scythian guard to protect us
+from such stupid fellows!"
+
+Apollo, who did not wish yet to acknowledge defeat, sang further:
+
+  "Ah, open thine arms--rounded, gleaming, white--
+    To thee eternal glory I will give.
+  Over goddess of earth, fair and bright,
+    Thy name above immortal shall live.
+  I kiss the dainty bloom of thy cheek,
+    To thy lustrous eyes the love-light I bring,
+  From the masses of thy silken hair I speak,
+    To thy beauty, peerless one, I sing.
+  White pearls are thy ruby lips between--
+    With might of godly words I thee endow;
+  An eloquence for which a Grecian queen
+    Would gladly give the crown from her brow.
+            Ah! Open, open thine arms!
+
+  "The azure from the sea I will take,
+    Twilight its wealth of purple shall give too;
+  Twinkling stars shall add the sparks which they make,
+   And flowers shall yield their perfume and dew.
+  By fairy touch, light as a caress,
+    Made from all this material so bright,
+  My beloved rainbow, in Chipryd's rich dress
+    Thou shalt be clothed by the God of Light."
+
+And the voice of the God of Light was so beautiful that it performed a
+miracle, for, behold! in the ambrosian night the gold spear standing
+on the Acropolis of Athens trembled, and the marble head of the
+gigantic statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear better.
+Heaven and Earth listened to it; the sea stopped roaring and lay
+peacefully near the shore; even the pale Selene stopped her night
+wandering in the sky and stood motionless over Athens.
+
+And when Apollo had finished, a light wind arose and carried the song
+throughout the whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the cradle
+heard only a tone of it, that child became a poet.
+
+But before Latona's son had finished his divine singing, the angry
+Eryfile began to scream:
+
+"What an ass! He tries to bribe me with flowers and dew; do you think
+that you are privileged because my husband is not at home? What a pity
+that our servants are not at hand; I would give you a good lesson! But
+wait; I will teach you to wander during the night with songs!"
+
+So saying she seized a pot of dough, and, throwing it through the
+gate, splashed it over the face, neck, robe, and lyre of the Radiant.
+Apollo groaned, and, covering his inspired head with a corner of his
+wet robe, he departed in shame and wrath.
+
+Hermes, waiting for him, laughed, turned somersaults, and twirled his
+caduceus. But when the sorrowful son of Latona approached him, the
+foxy patron of merchants simulated compassion and said:
+
+"I am sorry you have lost, O puissant archer!"
+
+"Go away, you rascal!" answered the angry Apollo.
+
+"I shall go when you give me Lampecja."
+
+"May Cerberus bite your calves. I shall not give you Lampecja, and I
+tell you to go away, or I will twist your neck."
+
+The Argo-robber knew that he must not joke when Apollo was angry, so
+he stood aside cautiously and said:
+
+"If you wish to cheat me, then in the future be Hermes and I will be
+Apollo. I know that you are above me in power, and that you can harm
+me, but happily there is some one who is stronger than you and he will
+judge us. Radiant, I call you to the judgment of Chronid! Come with
+me."
+
+Apollo feared the name of Chronid. He did not care to refuse, and they
+departed.
+
+In the mean time day began to break. The Attic came out from
+the shadows. Pink-fingered dawn had arisen in the sky from the
+Archipelago. Zeus passed the night on the summit of Ida, whether
+he slept or not, and what he did there no one knew, because,
+Fog-carrying, he wrapped himself in such a thick cloud that even Hera
+could not see through it. Hermes trembled a little on approaching the
+god of gods and of people.
+
+"I am right," he was thinking, "but if Zeus is aroused in a bad humor,
+and if, before hearing us, he should take us each by a leg and throw
+us some three hundred Athenian stadia, it would be very bad. He has
+some consideration for Apollo, but he would treat me without ceremony,
+although I am his son too."
+
+But Maya's son feared in vain. Chronid waited joyfully on the earth,
+for he had passed a pleasant night, and was gladsomely gazing on the
+earthly circle. The Earth, happy beneath the weight of the gods' and
+people's father, put forth beneath his feet green grass and young
+hyacinths, and he, leaning on it, caressed the curling flowers with
+his hand, and was happy in his proud heart.
+
+Seeing this, Maya's son grew quiet, and having saluted the generator,
+boldly accused the Radiant.
+
+When he had finished, Zeus was silent a while, and then said:
+
+"Radiant, is it true?"
+
+"It is true, father Chronid," answered Apollo, "but if after the shame
+you will order me to pay the bet, I shall descend to Hades and light
+the shades."
+
+Zeus became silent and thoughtful.
+
+"Then this woman," said he finally, "remained deaf to your music, to
+your songs, and she repudiated you with disdain?"
+
+"She poured on my head a pot of dough, O Thunderer!"
+
+Zeus frowned, and at his frown Ida trembled, pieces of rock began to
+roll with a great noise toward the sea, and the trees bent like ears
+of wheat.
+
+Both gods awaited with beating hearts his decision.
+
+"Hermes," said Zeus, "you may cheat the people as much as you
+like--the people like to be cheated. But leave the gods alone, for if
+I become angry I will throw you into the ether, then you will sink so
+deep into the depths of the ocean that even my brother Poseidon will
+not be able to dig you out with his trident."
+
+Divine fear seized Hermes by his smooth knees; Zeus spoke further,
+with stronger voice:
+
+"A virtuous woman, especially if she loves another man, can resist
+Apollo. But surely and always a stupid woman will resist him.
+
+"Eryfile is stupid, not virtuous; that's the reason she resisted.
+Therefore you cheated the Radiant, and you shall not have Lampecja.
+Now go in peace."
+
+The gods departed.
+
+Zeus remained in his joyful glory. For a while he looked after Apollo,
+muttering:
+
+"Oh, yes! A stupid woman is able to resist him."
+
+After that, as he had not slept well the previous night, he called
+Sleep, who, sitting on a tree in the form of a hawk, was awaiting the
+orders of the Father of gods and people.
+
+
+
+
+PART FIFTH
+
+
+WIN OR LOSE.
+
+_A Drama in Five Acts_.
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  Prince Starogrodzki.
+  Stella, his daughter.
+  George Pretwic, Stella's fiancé.
+  Karol Count Drahomir, Pretwic's friend.
+  Countess Miliszewska.
+  Jan Count Miliszewski.
+  Anton Zuk, secretary of the county.
+  Dr. Jozwowicz.
+  Mrs. Czeska.
+  Mr. Podczaski.
+  Servants.
+
+
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+The stage represents a drawing-room with the principal door leading to
+the garden. There are also side doors to the other rooms.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Princess Stella. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska.--Why do you tell me this only now? Really, my dear Stella, I
+should be angry with you. I live only a mile from here; I was your
+teacher before you were put into the hands of English and French
+governesses. I see you almost every day. I love my darling with all my
+soul, and still you did not tell me that for several weeks you have
+been engaged. At least do not torture me any longer, but tell me, who
+is he?
+
+Stella.--You must guess, my dear mother.
+
+Czeska.--As long as you call me mother, you must not make me wait.
+
+Stella.--But I wish you to guess and tell me. Naturally it is he and
+not another. Believe me, it will flatter and please me.
+
+Czeska.--Count Drahomir, then.
+
+Stella.--Ah!
+
+Czeska.--You are blushing. It is true. He has not been here for a long
+time, but how sympathetic, how gay he is. Well, my old eyes would be
+gladdened by seeing you both together. I should at once think what a
+splendid couple. Perhaps there will be something in it.
+
+Stella.--There will be nothing in it, because Count Drahomir, although
+very sympathetic, is not my fiancé. I am betrothed to Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Czeska.--Mr. George Pretwic?
+
+Stella.--Yes. Are you surprised?
+
+Czeska.--No, my dear child. May God bless you. Why should I be
+surprised? But I am so fond of Count Drahomir, so I thought it was he.
+Mr. George Pretwic!--Oh, I am not surprised at all that he should
+love you. But it came a little too soon. How long have you known each
+other? Living at my Berwinek I do not know anything that goes on in
+the neighborhood.
+
+Stella.--Since three months. My fiancé has inherited an estate in this
+neighborhood from the Jazlowieckis, and came, as you know, from far
+off. He was a near relation of the Jazlowieckis, and he himself comes
+of a very good family. Dear madam, have you not heard of the Pretwics?
+
+Czeska.--Nothing at all, my dear Stella. What do I care for heraldry!
+
+Stella.--In former times, centuries ago, the Pretwics were related to
+our family. It is a very good family. Otherwise papa would not have
+consented. Well then, Mr. Pretwic came here, took possession of the
+Jazlowieckis estate, became acquainted with us, and--
+
+Czeska.--And fell in love with you. I should have done the same if I
+were in his place. It gives him more value in my eyes.
+
+Stella.--Has he needed it?
+
+Czeska.--No, my little kitten--rest easy. You know I am laughed at for
+seeing everything in a rosy hue. He belongs to a good family, he is
+young, rich, good-looking, well-bred, but--
+
+Stella.--But what?
+
+Czeska.--A bird must have sung it, because I cannot remember who told
+me that he is a little bit like a storm.
+
+Stella.--Yes, his life has been stormy, but he was not broken by it.
+
+Czeska.--So much the better. Listen! Such people are the best--they
+are true men. The more I think of it, the more sincerely I
+congratulate you.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. I am glad I spoke to you frankly. The fact is that
+I am very lonesome here: papa is always ailing and our doctor has been
+away for three months.
+
+Czeska.--Let that doctor of yours alone.
+
+Stella.--You never liked him.
+
+Czeska.--You know that I am not easily prejudiced against any one, but
+I do not like him.
+
+Stella.--And do you know that he has been offered a professorship
+at the university, and that he is anxious to be elected a member of
+parliament? Mother, you are really unjust. You know that he sacrificed
+himself for us.
+
+He is famous, rich, and a great student, but notwithstanding all that
+he remains with us when the whole world is open to him. I would surely
+have asked his advice.
+
+Czeska.--Love is not an illness--but no matter about him. May God help
+him! You had better tell me, dear kitten--are you very much in love?
+
+Stella.--Do you not see how quickly everything has been done? It is
+true that Countess Miliszewska came here with her son. I know it was
+a question about me, and I feared, although in vain, that papa might
+have the same idea.
+
+Czeska.--You have not answered my question.
+
+Stella.--Because it is a hard matter to speak about. Mother, Mr.
+Pretwic's life is full of heroic deeds, sacrifices, and dangers. Once
+he was in great peril, and he owes his life to Count Drahomir. But how
+dearly he loves him for it. Well, my fiancé bears the marks of distant
+deserts, long solitudes, and deep sufferings. But when he begins to
+tell me of his life, it seems that I truly love that stalwart man. If
+you only knew how timidly, and at the same time how earnestly he told
+me of his love, and then he added that he knows his hands are too
+rough--
+
+Czeska.--Not too rough--for they are honest. After what you have told
+me, I am in his favor with all my soul.
+
+Stella.--But in spite of all that, sometimes I feel very unhappy.
+
+Czeska.--What is the matter? Why?
+
+Stella.--Because sometimes we cannot understand each other. There are
+two kinds of love--one is strong as the rocks, and the other is like a
+brook in which one can see one's self. When I look at George's love,
+I see its might, but my soul is not reflected in it like a face in a
+limpid brook. I love him, it is true, but sometimes it seems to me
+that I could love still more--that all my heart is not in that love,
+and then I am unhappy.
+
+Czeska.--But I cannot understand that. I take life simply. I love, or
+I do not love. Well Stella, the world is so cleverly constructed, and
+God is so good that there is nothing more easy than to be happy. But
+one must not make a tangle of God's affairs. Be calm. You are very
+much in love indeed. No matter!
+
+Stella.--That confidence in the future is exactly what I need--some of
+your optimism. I knew that you would frown and say: No matter! I am
+now more happy. Only I am afraid of our doctor. Well (looking through
+the window), our gentlemen are coming. Mr. Pretwic and Count Drahomir.
+
+Czeska (looking through the window.)--Your future husband is looking
+very well, but so is Count Drahomir. Since when is he with Mr.
+Pretwic?
+
+Stella (looking through the window).--For the past two weeks. Mr.
+Pretwic has invited him. They are coming.
+
+Czeska.--And your little heart is throbbing--
+
+Stella.--Do not tease me again.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Mrs. Czeska. Stella. George Pretwic. Count Drahomir.--The count has
+his left arm in a sling.--A servant.
+
+
+Servant (opening the door).--The princess is in the drawing-room.
+
+Stella.--How late you are to-day!
+
+George.--It is true. The sun is already setting. But we could not come
+earlier. Do you not know that there has been a fire in the neighboring
+village? We went there.
+
+Czeska.--We have heard of it. It seems that several houses were
+burned.
+
+George.--The fire began in the morning, and it was extinguished only
+now. Some twenty families are without a roof and bread. We are also
+late because Karol had an accident.
+
+Stella (with animation).--It is true. Your arm is in a sling!
+
+Drahomir.--Oh, it is a mere trifle. If there were no more serious
+wounds in the world, courage would be sold in all the markets. Only a
+slight scratch--
+
+Stella.--Mr. Pretwic, how did it happen?
+
+George.--When it happened I was at the other end of the village, and I
+could not see anything on account of the smoke. I was only told that
+Karol had jumped into a burning house.
+
+Stella.--Oh, Lord!
+
+Drahomir (laughing).--I see that my deed gains with distance.
+
+Czeska.--You must tell us about it yourself.
+
+Drahomir.--They told me that there was a woman in a house of which
+the roof had begun to burn. Thinking that this salamander who was not
+afraid of fire was some enchanted beauty, I entered the house out of
+pure curiosity. It was quite dark owing to the smoke. I looked and
+saw that I had no luck, because the salamander was only an old Jewish
+woman packing some feathers in a bag. Amidst the cloud of down she
+looked like anything you please but an enchantress. I shouted that
+there was a fire, and she shouted too, evidently taking me for a
+thief--so we both screamed. Finally I seized hold of my salamander,
+fainting with fear, and carried her out, not even through a window,
+but through the door.
+
+George.--But you omitted to say that the roof fell in and that a spar
+struck your hand.
+
+Drahomir.--True--and I destroyed the dam of my modesty, and will add
+that one of the selectmen of the village made a speech in my honor. It
+seems to me that he made some mention of a monument which they would
+erect for me. But pray believe that the fire was quenched by George
+and his people. I think they ought to erect two monuments.
+
+Czeska.--I know that you are worthy of each other.
+
+Stella.--Thank God that you have not met with some more serious
+accident.
+
+Drahomir.--I have met with something very pleasant--your sympathy.
+
+Czeska--You have mine also--as for Mr. Pretwic, I have a bone to pick
+with him.
+
+George--Why, dear madam?
+
+Czeska.--Because you are a bad boy. (To Stella and Drahomir.) You had
+better go to the Prince, and let us talk for a while.
+
+Stella.--Mother, I see you wish to flirt with Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Czeska.--Be quiet, you giddy thing. May I not compete with you? But
+you must remember, you Mayflower, that before every autumn there is a
+spring. Well, be off!
+
+Stella (to Drahomir).--Let us go; Papa is in the garden and I am
+afraid that he is feeling worse. What a pity it is that the doctor is
+not here.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+Mrs. Czeska, George, then Stella.
+
+
+Czeska.--I should scold you, as I have my dear girl, for keeping the
+secret. But she has already told me everything, so I only say, may God
+bless you both.
+
+George (kissing her hand).--Thank you, madam.
+
+Czeska.--I have reared that child. I was ten years with her, so I know
+what a treasure you take, sir. You have said that your hands are too
+rough. I have answered her--not too rough, for they are honest. But
+Stella is a very delicate flower. She must be loved much, and have
+good care taken of her. But you will be able to do it--will you not?
+
+George.--What can I tell you? As far as it is in human power to make
+happy that dearest to me girl, so far I wish to assure her happiness
+with me.
+
+Czeska.--With all my soul, I say: God bless you!
+
+George.--The Princess Stella loves you like her own mother, so I will
+be as frank with you as with a mother. My life has been a very
+hard one. There was a moment when my life was suspended by one
+thread--Karol rescued me then, and for that I love him as a brother;
+and then--
+
+Czeska.--Stella told me. You lived far from here?
+
+George.--I was in the empty steppe, half wild myself, among strangers,
+therefore very sad and longing for the country. Sometimes there was
+not a living soul around me.
+
+Czeska.--God was over the stars.
+
+George.--That is quite different. But a heart thrown on earth must
+love some one. Therefore, with all this capacity for love, I prayed to
+God that he permit me to love some one. He has granted my prayer, and
+has given her to me. Do you understand me now?
+
+Czeska.--Yes, I do understand you!
+
+George.--How quickly everything has changed. I inherited here an
+estate and am able to settle--then I met the princess, and now I love
+her--she is everything in this world to me.
+
+Czeska.--My dear Mr. Pretwic, you are worthy of Stella and she will be
+happy with you. My dear Stelunia--
+
+Stella (appearing in the doorway leading to the garden. She claps her
+hands).--What good news! The doctor is coming. He is already in the
+village. Papa will at once be more quiet and is in better humor.
+
+Czeska.--You must not rush. She is already tired. Where is the prince?
+
+Stella.--In the garden. He wishes you to come here.
+
+George.--We will go.
+
+Stella (steps forward--then stops).--But you must not tell the doctor
+anything of our affair. I wish to tell him first. I have asked papa
+also to keep the secret. (They go out.)
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+
+Jozwowicz (enters through the principal door).--Jan, carry my trunk
+up-stairs and have the package I left in the antechamber sent at once
+to Mr. Anton Zuk, the secretary of the county.
+
+Servant (bows).--Very well, doctor.
+
+Jozwowicz (advances).--At last (servant goes out). After three months
+of absence, how quiet this house is always! In a moment I will greet
+them as a future member of the parliament. I have thrown six years of
+hard work, sleepless nights, fame, and learning into the chasm which
+separates us--and now we shall see! (He goes toward the door leading
+to the garden.) They are coming--she has not changed at all.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+(Through the door enter Stella, Mrs. Czeska, George, followed by
+Drahomir, arm and arm with the Prince Starogrodzki.)
+
+
+Stella.--Here is our doctor! Our dear doctor! How do you do? We were
+looking for you!
+
+Czeska (bows ceremoniously).--Especially the prince.
+
+Jozwowicz (kissing Stella's hand).--Good evening, princess. I have
+also been anxious to return. I have come to stay for a longer time--to
+rest. Ah, the prince! How is Your Highness's health?
+
+Prince (shaking hands).--Dear boy. I am not well. You did well to
+come. You must see at once what is the matter with me.
+
+Jozwowicz.--But now Your Highness will introduce me to these
+gentlemen.
+
+Prince.--It is true. Doctor Jozwowicz, the minister of my interior
+affairs--I said it well, did I not? For you do look after my health.
+Count Karol Drahomir.
+
+Drahomir.--Your name is familiar to me, therefore, strictly speaking,
+I alone ought to introduce myself.
+
+Doctor.--Sir.
+
+Prince (introducing).--Mr. George Pretwic, our neighbor, and--(Stella
+makes a sign) and--I wish to say--
+
+George.--If I am not mistaken, your schoolmate.
+
+Doctor.--I did not wish to be the first to recollect.
+
+George.--I am glad to see you. It is quite a long time since then, but
+we were good comrades. Truly, I am very glad, especially after what I
+have heard here about you.
+
+Drahomir.--You are the good spirit of this house.
+
+Stella.--Oh, yes!
+
+Prince.--Let me tell you my opinion of him.
+
+George.--How often the best student, Jozwowicz, helped Pretwic with
+his exercises.
+
+Doctor.--You have a good memory, sir.
+
+George.--Very good, indeed, for then we did not call each other "sir."
+Once more, Stanislaw, I welcome you.
+
+Doctor.--And I return the welcome.
+
+George--But do I not remember that after you went through college you
+studied law?
+
+Doctor.--And afterward I became a doctor of medicine.
+
+Prince.--Be seated. Jan, bring the lights.
+
+Stella.--How charming that you are acquainted!
+
+Doctor.--The school-bench, like misery, unites people. But then,
+social standing separates them. George's future was assured. I was
+obliged to search for mine.
+
+Prince.--He has searched also, and found adventures.
+
+Drahomir.--In two parts of the world.
+
+Czeska.--That is splendid.
+
+Doctor.--Well, he followed his instinct. Even in school he broke the
+horses, went shooting and fenced.
+
+George.--Better than I studied.
+
+Doctor (laughing).--Yes--we used to call him the general, because he
+commanded us in our student fights.
+
+Drahomir.--George, I recognized you there.
+
+Czeska.--But now, I think, he will stop fighting.
+
+Stella.--Who knows?
+
+George.--I am sure of it.
+
+Doctor.--As for me, I was his worst soldier. I never was fond of
+playing that way.
+
+Prince.--Because those are the distractions of the nobility and not of
+a doctor.
+
+Doctor.--We begin to quarrel already. You are all proud of the fact
+that your ancestors, the knights, killed so many people. But if the
+prince knew how many people I have killed with my prescriptions! I can
+guarantee you that none of Your Highness's ancestors can be proud of
+such great number.
+
+Drahomir.--Bravo. Very good!
+
+Prince.--And he is my doctor!
+
+Stella.--Papa! The doctor is joking.
+
+Prince.--Thanks for such jokes. But it is sure that the world is now
+upside-down.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, we will live a hundred years more. (To
+George.) Come, tell me, what became of you? (They go out.)
+
+Prince.--You would not believe how unhappy I am because I cannot get
+along with that man. He is the son of a blacksmith from Stanislawow.
+I sent him to school because I wished to make an overseer of him. But
+afterwards he went to study at the University.
+
+Drahomir.--He is twice a doctor--he is an intelligent man. One can see
+that by merely looking at him.
+
+Stella.--Very much so.
+
+Czeska.--So intelligent that I am afraid of him.
+
+Drahomir.--But the prince must be satisfied.
+
+Prince.--Satisfied, satisfied! He has lost his common sense. He became
+a democrat--a _sans culotte_. But he is a good doctor, and I am sick.
+I have some stomach trouble. (To Drahomir.) Have you heard of it?
+
+Drahomir.--The prince complained already some time ago.
+
+Czeska.--For twenty years.
+
+Prince.--Sorrow and public service have ruined my health.
+
+Czeska.--But Your Highness is healthy.
+
+Prince (angrily).--I tell you that I am sick. Stella, I am sick--am I
+not?
+
+Stella.--But now you will feel better.
+
+Prince.--Because he alone keeps me alive. Stella would have died also
+with heart trouble if it had not been for him.
+
+Drahomir.--If that is so, he is a very precious man.
+
+Stella.--We owe him eternal gratitude.
+
+Prince (looking at George).--He will also be necessary to Pretwic.
+What, Stella, will he not?
+
+Stella (laughing).--Papa, how can I know that?
+
+Drahomir.--Truly, I sometimes envy those stalwart men. During the
+battle they strengthen in themselves the force which lessens and
+disappears in us, because nothing nourishes it. Perhaps we are also
+made of noble metal, but we are eaten up with rust while they are
+hardened in the battle of life. It is a sad necessity.
+
+Czeska.--How about Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--George endured much, it is true, and one feels this
+although it is difficult to describe it. Look at those two men. When
+the wind blows George resists like a century-old tree, and men like
+the doctor subdue it and order it to propel his boat. There is in that
+some greater capacity for life, therefore the result is more easy to
+be foreseen. The tree is older, and although still strong, the more it
+is bitten by the storms, the sooner it will die.
+
+Prince.--I have said many times that we die like old trees. Some other
+thicket grows, but it is composed only of bushes.
+
+Stella.--The one who is good has the right to live--we must not doubt
+about ourselves.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not doubt, even for the reason that the poet says:
+"Saintly is the one who knows how to be a friend" (bows to Stella)
+"with saints."
+
+Stella.--If he has not secured their friendship by flattery.
+
+Drahomir.--But I must be permitted not to envy the doctor anything.
+
+Stella.--The friendship is not exclusive, although I look upon the
+doctor as a brother.
+
+Prince.--Stella, what are you talking about? He is your brother as I
+am a republican. I cannot suffer him, but I cannot get along without
+him.
+
+Czeska.--Prince, you are joking--
+
+Drahomir (smiling).--Why should you hate him?
+
+Prince.--Why? Have I not told you? He does with us what he pleases. He
+does as he likes in the house, he does not believe anything, and he is
+ambitious as the deuce. He is already a professor in the University,
+and now he wishes to be a member of parliament. Do you hear?--he will
+be a member of parliament! But I would not be a Starogrodzki if I had
+permitted it. (Aloud.) Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor (he is near a window).--Your Highness, what do you order?
+
+Prince.--Is it true that you are trying to become a member of
+parliament.
+
+Doctor.--At your service, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--Mrs. Czeska. Have you heard--the world is upside down,
+Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor.--What is it, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--And perhaps you will also become a minister.
+
+Doctor.--It may be.
+
+Prince.--Did you hear? And do you think that I will call you "Your
+Excellency"?
+
+Doctor.--It would be proper.
+
+Prince.--Jozwowicz, do you wish to give me a stroke of apoplexy?
+
+Doctor.--Be calm, Your Highness. My Excellency will always take care
+of your Grace's bile.
+
+Prince.--It is true. The irritation hurts me. What, Jozwowicz--does it
+hurt me?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it excites the bile, but it gives you an appetite. (He
+approaches with George.)
+
+Stella.--What were you talking about?
+
+Doctor.--I have been listening to George. Horrible! Dreadful! George
+made a mistake by coming into the world two hundred years too late.
+Bayards are not appreciated nowadays.
+
+Czeska.--Providence is above all.
+
+Drahomir.--I believe it also.
+
+Doctor.--Were I a mathematician, without contradicting you I would say
+that, as in many cases we do not know what X equals, we must take care
+of ourselves.
+
+Prince.--What are you saying?
+
+Stella.--Doctor, pray do not talk so sceptically, or there will be a
+war--not with papa, but with me.
+
+Doctor.--My scepticism is ended where your words begin, therefore I
+surrender.
+
+Stella.--How gallant--the member of parliament.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+The same Servant.
+
+
+Servant.--Tea is served.
+
+George.--I must bid you good-bye.
+
+Stella.--Why, why are you going so early to-night?
+
+Doctor (aside).--My old schoolmate is at home here.
+
+George.--You must excuse me. I am very happy with you, but to-night I
+must be going home. I will leave Drahomir--he will replace me.
+
+Stella.--To be angry with you would be to make you conceited. But you
+must tell me why you are going.
+
+George.--The people who have lost their homes by fire are in my house.
+I must give some orders and provide for their necessities.
+
+Czeska (aside).--He is sacrificing pleasure to duty. (Aloud.) Stella!
+
+Stella.--What is it?
+
+Czeska.--To-morrow we must make some collections for them, and provide
+them with clothing.
+
+Doctor.--I will go with you, ladies. It will be the first case in
+which misery did not search for the doctor, but the doctor searched
+for misery.
+
+Czeska.--Very clever.
+
+Prince (rapping with the stick).--Pretwic!
+
+George.--Your Highness, what do you order?
+
+Prince.--You say that this rabble is very poor?
+
+George.--Very poor, indeed.
+
+Prince.--You say that they have nothing to eat?
+
+George.--Almost nothing, my prince.
+
+Prince.--God punishes them for voting for such a man (he points to
+Jozwowicz) as that one.
+
+Doctor (bows).--They have not elected me yet.
+
+Stella.--Papa.
+
+Prince.--What did I want to say? Aha! Pretwic!
+
+George.--I listen to you, my prince.
+
+Prince.--You said that they were starving?
+
+George.--I said--almost.
+
+Prince.--Very well, then. Go to my cashier, Horkiewicz, and tell him
+to give that rabble a thousand florins. (He raps with the stick.) They
+must know that I will not permit any one to be hungry.
+
+Stella--Dear father!
+
+Drahomir.--I knew it would end that way.
+
+Prince.--Yes, Mr. Jozwowicz! _Noblesse oblige!_ Do you understand,
+your Excellency, Mr. Jozwowicz?
+
+Doctor.--I understand, Your Highness.
+
+Prince (giving his arm to Mrs. Czeska).--And now let us take some tea.
+(George takes leave and goes out.)
+
+Doctor.--I must also be going. I am tired and I have some letters to
+write.
+
+Prince.--Upon my honor, one might think that he was already a
+minister. But come to see us--I cannot sleep without you.
+
+Doctor.--I will be at the service of Your Highness.
+
+Prince (muttering).--As soon as this Robespièrre arrived, I
+immediately felt better.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, wait a moment. I do not take any tea. I will only put
+papa in his place, and then I will be back immediately. I must have a
+talk with you.
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Jozwowicz alone--then Stella.
+
+
+Doctor.--What are these people doing here, and what does she wish to
+tell me? Is it possible--But no, it is impossible. I am uneasy, but in
+a moment everything will be cleared up. What an ass I am! She simply
+wishes to talk to me about the prince's health. It is this moonlight
+that makes me so dreamy--I ought to have a guitar.
+
+Stella (entering).--Mr. Jozwowicz?
+
+Doctor.--I am here, princess.
+
+Stella.--I did my best not to make you wait too long. Let us be seated
+and have a talk, as formerly, when I was small and not well and you
+took care of my health. I remember sometimes I used to fall asleep,
+and you carried me in your arms to my room.
+
+Doctor.--The darling of every one in the house was very weak then.
+
+Stella.--And to-day, if she is well, it is thanks to you. If she has
+any knowledge, it is also thanks to you. I am a plant of which you
+have taken good care.
+
+Doctor.--And my greatest pride. There were few calm, genial moments in
+my life--and peace I found only in that house.
+
+Stella.--You were always good, and for that reason I look upon you as
+an older brother.
+
+Doctor.--Your words form the only smile in my life. I not only respect
+you, but I also love you dearly--like a sister, like my own child.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. I have not the same confidence in any one else's
+judgment and honesty as I have in yours, so I wished to speak to you
+about an important matter. I hope even that what I am going to tell
+you will please you as much as it pleases me. Is it true that you are
+going to become a member of parliament?
+
+Doctor (with uneasiness).--No, it is only probable. But speak of what
+concerns you.
+
+Stella.--Well, then--ah, Lord! But you will not leave papa, will you?
+
+Doctor (breathing heavily).--Oh, you wish to speak of the prince's
+health?
+
+Stella.--No, I know that papa is getting better. I did not expect that
+it would be difficult--I am afraid of the severe opinion that you have
+of people.
+
+Doctor (with simulated ease).--Pray, do not torture my curiosity.
+
+Stella.--Then I will close my eyes and tell you, although it is not
+easy for any young girl. You know Mr. George Pretwic well, do you not?
+
+Doctor (uneasily).--I know him.
+
+Stella.--How do you like him? He is my fiancé.
+
+Doctor (rising).--Your fiancé?
+
+Stella.--Good gracious!--then you do not approve of my choice? (A
+moment of silence.)
+
+Doctor.--Only one moment. Your choice, princess, if it is of your
+heart and will, must be good--only--it was unexpected news to me;
+therefore, perhaps, I received it a little too seriously. But I could
+not hear it with indifference owing to the affection I have for--your
+family. And then, my opinion does not amount to anything in such a
+matter. Princess, I congratulate you and wish you all happiness.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. Now I shall be more easy.
+
+Doctor.--You must return to your father. Your news has been so sudden
+that it has shocked me a little. I must collect my wits--I must
+familiarize myself with the thought. But in any event, I congratulate
+you.
+
+Stella.--Good night. (She stops in the door, looks at the Doctor and
+goes in.)
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+
+Jozwowicz (alone).--Too late!
+
+
+END OF ACT I.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+The stage represents the same drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Doctor.--Anton, come here. We can talk quietly, for they are preparing
+my room. What news from the city?
+
+Anton.--Good news. In an hour or so a delegation of the voters will be
+here. You must say something to them--you understand? Something about
+education--public roads, heavy taxes. You know what to say better than
+I do.
+
+Doctor.--I know, I know; and how do they like my platform?
+
+Anton.--You have made a great hit. I congratulate you. It is written
+with scientific accuracy. The papers of the Conservative party have
+gone mad with wrath.
+
+Doctor.--Very good. What more?
+
+Anton.--Three days ago your election was doubtful in the suburbs. I
+learned about it, however--gathered the electors and made a speech.
+"Citizens," I said, in the end, "I know only one remedy for all your
+misery--it is called Jozwowicz. Long live Progress!" I also attacked
+the Conservative party.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, you are a great boy. Then there is a hope of victory?
+
+Anton.--Almost a surety. And then, even if we do not win now, the
+future is open to us. And do you know why? Because--leaving out the
+details of the election, you and I, while talking of our business
+affairs, need not laugh at each other, like Roman augurs. Progress and
+truth are on our side, and every day makes a new breach in the old
+wall. We are only aiding the centuries and we must conquer. I am
+talking calmly: Our people, our electors are merely sheep, but we wish
+to make men of them, and therein lies our strength. As for me, if I
+were not persuaded that in my principles lie truth and progress, I
+would spit on everything and become a monk.
+
+Doctor.--But it would be a dreadful thing if we do not win this time.
+
+Anton.--I am sure we will win. You are a fearful candidate for
+our adversaries. You have only one antagonist who is at all
+dangerous--Husarski, a rich and popular nobleman.
+
+Doctor.--Once I am in parliament, I will try to accomplish something.
+
+Anton.--I believe in you, and for that reason I am working for you.
+Ha! ha! "They have already taken from us everything," said Count
+Hornicki at the club yesterday, "importance, money--even good
+manners." Well, at least I have not taken their good manners from
+them. To the devil with them!
+
+Doctor.--No, you have truly not taken their good manners from them.
+
+Anton.--But it is said in the city that your prince has given a
+thousand florins to those whose houses were burned. This may be bad
+for us. You must do something also.
+
+Doctor.--I did what I could.
+
+Anton.--I must also tell you that yesterday--What is the matter with
+you? I am talking to you and you are thinking about something else.
+
+Doctor.--Excuse me. I am in great trouble. I cannot think as calmly as
+usual.
+
+Anton.--The idea!
+
+Doctor.--You could not understand it.
+
+Anton.--I am the coachman of the carriage in which you are riding--I
+must know everything.
+
+Doctor.--No. It does not concern you.
+
+Anton.--It does concern me, because you are losing your energy. We
+have no need of any Hamlets.
+
+Doctor (gloomily).--You are mistaken. I have not given up.
+
+Anton.--I see. You close your mouth on this subject. It is not in your
+character to give up.
+
+Doctor.--No. You must work to have me elected. I would lose doubly if
+we were bitten.
+
+Anton.--They must have burned you like the deuce, for you hiss
+dreadfully.
+
+Doctor.--An old story. A peasant did not sleep for six years, did not
+eat, bent his neck, wounded his hands, and carried logs for a hut.
+After six years a lord came along, kicked the hut and said: "My castle
+shall stand here." We are sceptical enough to laugh at such things.
+
+Anton.--He was a real lord!
+
+Doctor.--A lord for generations. He carried his head so high that he
+did not notice what cracked beneath his feet.
+
+Anton.--I like the story. And what about the peasant?
+
+Doctor.--According to the peasant tradition, he is thinking of a flint
+and tinder.
+
+Anton.--Glorious idea! Truly we despise tradition too much. There are
+good things in it.
+
+Doctor.--Enough. Let us talk of something else.
+
+Anton (looking around).--An old and rich house. It would make a
+splendid cabin.
+
+Doctor.--What do you say?
+
+Anton.--Nothing. Has the old prince a daughter?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. Why?
+
+Anton (laughing).--Ha, ha! Your trouble has the scent of a perfume
+used by a lady. I smell here the petticoat of the princess. Behind the
+member of parliament is Jozwowicz, just as behind the evening dress
+there is the morning gown. What a strong perfume!
+
+Doctor.--You may sell your perspicacity at another market. It is my
+personal affair.
+
+Anton.--Not at all, for it means that you put only half your soul into
+public affairs. To the deuce with such business! Look at me. They howl
+at me in the newspapers, they laugh at me--but I do not care. I will
+tell you more! I feel that I shall never rise, although I am not
+lacking in strength nor intelligence. I could try to get the first
+place in camp to command, but I do not do it. Why? Because I know
+myself very well. Because I know that I am lacking in order,
+authority, tact. I have been and I am a tool, used by such as you, and
+which to-morrow may be kicked aside when it is no more needed. But
+my self-love does not blind me. I do not care most for myself--I am
+working for my convictions--that is all. Any day I may be ousted from
+my position. There is often misery in my house, and although I love my
+wife and children--no matter. When it is a question of my convictions,
+I will work, act, agitate. I put my whole soul in it. And for you, the
+petticoat of a princess bars your way. I did not expect this from you.
+Tfu! spit on everything and come with us.
+
+Doctor.--You are mistaken. I have no desire for martyrdom, but for
+victory. And the more personal ties there are between me and public
+affairs, the more I will serve them with my mind, heart, and
+deeds--with all that constitutes a man. Do you understand?
+
+Anton.--Amen. His eyes shine like the eyes of a wolf--now I recognize
+you.
+
+Doctor.--What more do you wish?
+
+Anton.--Nothing more. I will only tell you that our motto should be:
+Attack the principles, and not the people.
+
+Doctor.--Your virginal virtue may rest assured. I shall not poison any
+one.
+
+Anton.--I believe you, but I must tell you that I know you well. I
+appreciate your energy, your learning, your common sense, but I should
+not like to cross you in anything.
+
+Doctor.--So much the better for me.
+
+Anton.--But if it is a question of the nobility, notwithstanding our
+programme I make you a present of them. You shall not cut their heads
+off.
+
+Doctor.--To be sure. And now go and get to work for me--or rather, for
+us.
+
+Anton.--For us, Jozwowicz. Do not forget that.
+
+Doctor.--I will not swear it to you, but I promise you that I will not
+forget.
+
+Anton.--But how will you manage that nobleman?
+
+Doctor.--Do you require that I make you my confidant?
+
+Anton.--In the first place, I do not need your confidence, because in
+our camp we have sufficient perspicacity. There is the matter of the
+prince's daughter--that is all. But I am always afraid that for her
+sake you will abandon public affairs. As I am working for you, I am
+responsible for you, therefore we must be frank.
+
+Doctor.--Let us be frank.
+
+Anton.--Therefore you have said to yourself: I shall get rid of that
+nobleman. Do it then. It is your business--but I ask you once more: Do
+you wish to become a member of parliament for us, or for the princess?
+That is my business.
+
+Doctor.--I throw my cards on the table. I, you, we are all new people,
+and all of us have this quality--we are not dolls, painted with the
+same color. There is room in us for convictions, love, hatred--in a
+word, as I told you, for everything of which a man of complex nature
+is composed. Nature has given me a heart and the right to live,
+therefore I desire for happiness; it gave me a mind, therefore I serve
+my chosen idea. One does not exclude the other. Why should you mix the
+princess with our public affairs--you, an intelligent man? Why do you
+wish to replace life by a phrase? I have the right to be happy, and I
+shall achieve it. And I shall know how to harmonize the idea with the
+life, like a sail with a boat. I shall sail more surely then. You must
+understand me; in that is our strength--that we know how to harmonize.
+In that lies our superiority over others, for they do not know how to
+live. What I will amount to with that woman, I do not know. You call
+me a Hamlet--perhaps I may become a Hamlet, but you have no need of
+it.
+
+Anton.--It seems to me that you are again right. But thus you will
+fight two battles, and your forces will have to be divided.
+
+Doctor.--No! I am strong enough.
+
+Anton.--Say frankly--she is betrothed.
+
+Doctor.--Yes.
+
+Anton.--And she loves her fiancé.
+
+Doctor.--Or she deceives herself.
+
+Anton.--At any rate, she does not love you.
+
+Doctor.--In the first place, I must get rid of him. In the mean while,
+go and work.
+
+Anton (consulting watch).--In a few moments the committee will be here
+to see you.
+
+Doctor.--Very well. The prince is coming with the Countess Miliszewska
+and her son, my opponent. Let us be going.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Prince, Stella, Mrs. Czeska, Countess Miliszewska, Jan Miliszewski,
+Podczaski.
+
+
+Countess.--It is impossible to understand. The world grows wild
+nowadays.
+
+Prince.--I say the same. Stella, do I not say so?
+
+Stella.--Very often.
+
+Countess (low to her son).--Sit near the princess and entertain her.
+Go ahead!
+
+Jan.--I am going, mamma.
+
+Countess.--There is too much of that audacity. I have sent
+Mr. Podczaski to the electors, and they say: "We do not need
+representatives without heads." I am only surprised that the prince is
+not more indignant. I rush here and there, I pray and work, and they
+dare to oppose to my son Mr. Jozwowicz.
+
+Prince.--But madam, what can I do?
+
+Countess.--And who is Mr. Jozwowicz--a physician? What does a
+doctor amount to? Jan has influence, importance, social position,
+relatives--and what has the doctor? From whence did he come here? Who
+ever heard of him? Really, I cannot speak calmly, and I think it must
+be the end of the world. Is it not, Mr. Podczaski?
+
+Podczaski (saluting).--Yes, countess, God's wrath. There were never
+such loud thunders.
+
+Prince.--Thunders? Mrs. Czeska, what? Have your heard thunder?
+
+Czeska.--It is a very usual thing at the end of spring. Do not mind
+it.
+
+Countess (in a low voice).--Jan, go ahead.
+
+Jan.--Yes, mamma, I am going.
+
+Countess.--Prince, you will see that Jan will not be elected purely on
+account of the hatred against us. They say that he does not know the
+country, and does not understand its needs. But before all we must not
+allow such people as Jozwowicz to become important in the country.
+Prince, is it not so?
+
+Prince.--He will not ask your permission.
+
+Countess.--That is exactly why the world must be coming to an
+end--that such people can do as they please! They dare to say that Jan
+will not be able to make a good representative, and that Mr. Jozwowicz
+will. Jan was always an excellent student in Metz. Jan, were you not a
+good student?
+
+Jan.--Yes, mamma.
+
+Podczaski.--Countess, you are perfectly right. It is the end of the
+world.
+
+Stella.--What did you study especially?
+
+Jan.--I, madam? I studied the history of heresy.
+
+Princess.--Mrs. Czeska--what? Have studied what?
+
+Countess.--They reproach us with not having talent, but for diplomacy
+one must have talent.
+
+Podczaski.--The count does even look like a diplomat.
+
+Prince (aside).--Well, not very much.
+
+Czeska.--The count does not have much to say.
+
+Jan.--No, madam, but sometimes I speak quite enough.
+
+Countess.--For my part, I declare that if Jan is not elected, we will
+leave the country.
+
+Podczaski.--They will be guilty of it.
+
+Countess.--It will be the fault of the prince.
+
+Prince.--Mine?
+
+Countess.--How can you permit such as Jozwowicz to compete with
+society people? Why do you retain him?
+
+Prince.--Frankly speaking, it is not I who keep him--it is he who
+keeps me. If it were not for him, I should long since be (he makes a
+gesture).
+
+Countess (angrily).--By keeping him, you serve the democracy.
+
+Prince.--I--I serve the democracy? Stella, do you hear? (He raps with
+his stick.)
+
+Countess.--Every one will say so. Mr. Jozwowicz is the democratic
+candidate.
+
+Prince.--But I am not, and if it is so I will not allow him to be. I
+have enough of Mr. Jozwowicz's democracy. They shall not say that I am
+the tool of democracy. (He rings the bell. A servant enters.) Ask the
+doctor to come here.
+
+Countess.--Now the prince is a true prince.
+
+Prince.--I serve democracy, indeed!
+
+Stella.--Papa, dear.
+
+Countess.--We must bid the prince good-bye. Jan, get ready. Good-bye,
+dear Stella. Good-bye, my child. (To her son.) Kiss the princess's
+hand.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same.
+
+
+Jozwowicz.--Your Highness must excuse me if I am too late, but I was
+obliged to receive the delegates.
+
+Countess.--What delegates are here? Jan, go ahead.
+
+Doctor (saluting).--Count, you must hasten, they are leaving.
+
+Podczaski.--I am Your Highness's servant. (Countess, Jan, Podczaski go
+out. Stella and Mrs. Czeska follow them.)
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Prince. (A moment of silence.)
+
+
+Prince (rapping with his stick).--I forbid you to become a member of
+parliament.
+
+Doctor.--I shall not obey.
+
+Prince.--You make me angry.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness closes to me the future.
+
+Prince (angrily).--I have brought you up.
+
+Doctor.--I preserve Your Highness's life.
+
+Prince.--I have been a second father to you.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, let us speak calmly. If you have been to me a
+father, I have until now been to you a son. But the father must not
+bar to his son the road to distinction.
+
+Prince.--Public distinction is not for such people as you, sir.
+
+Doctor (laughing).--A moment ago Your Highness called me a son.
+
+Prince.--What son?
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, were I your son I would be rich and have a
+title--in a word everything Your Highness possesses. But being a poor
+man, I must make my way, and no one has the right to bar it to me,
+especially if my road is straight and honest. (Laughing.) Unless Your
+Highness would like to adopt me in order to preserve the family.
+
+Prince.--What nonsense you are talking.
+
+Doctor.--I am only joking. Well, Your Highness, let us cease this
+irritation.
+
+Prince.--It is true, it hurts me. Why will you not give up the idea of
+becoming a member of parliament?
+
+Doctor.--It is my future.
+
+Prince.--And in the mean time I am vexed by every one on that account.
+When I was young I was in many battles and I did not fear. I can show
+my decorations. I was not afraid of death on the battlefield, but
+those Latin illnesses of yours--Why do you look at me in that way?
+
+Doctor.--I am looking as usual. As for your illness, I will say that
+it is more the imagination of Your Highness than anything else. The
+constitution is strong, and with my assistance Your Highness will live
+to the age of Methusaleh.
+
+Prince.--Are you sure of it?
+
+Doctor.--Positive.
+
+Prince.--Good boy! And you will not leave me?
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness may be assured of that.
+
+Prince.--Then you may become a member of parliament or whatever you
+please. Stella! Oh, she is not here! Upon my honor, that Miliszewski
+is an ass. Don't you think so?
+
+Doctor.--I cannot contradict Your Highness.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+The same. Stella and Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Stella.--I came because I was afraid you would quarrel. Well, what is
+the end of the discussion?
+
+Prince.--Well, that good-for-nothing man will do what he pleases.
+
+Doctor.--The fact is that the prince has approved of my plans and has
+granted me permission to try my luck at the election.
+
+Mrs. Czeska.--We had better all go to the garden. Mr. Pretwic and
+Count Drahomir are waiting--we are going for a sail on the lake.
+
+Prince.--Then let us be going (they go out). You see, madam, that
+Miliszewska!
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz, Stella. Then Drahomir.
+
+
+Stella.--How is my father's health?
+
+Doctor.--All that can be expected. But you are pale, princess.
+
+Stella.--Oh, I am well.
+
+Doctor.--It is the consequence of the betrothal.
+
+Stella.--It must be.
+
+Doctor.--But health requires one to be merry--to enjoy life.
+
+Stella.--I do not wish for any other distraction.
+
+Doctor.--If not distraction, at least enjoyment. We here are too grave
+for you. Perhaps we cannot understand you.
+
+Stella.--You are all too good.
+
+Doctor.--At least solicitous. If you have a moment to spare let us be
+seated and have a talk. My solicitude must explain my boldness. With
+the dignity of a fiancé, serenity and happiness generally go hand in
+hand. When the heart is given willingly, all longing ceases and the
+future is viewed with serenity.
+
+Stella.--My future contains something which might cause even the most
+valiant to fear.
+
+Doctor.--Of what are you talking? You have called me a sceptic, but it
+is I who says: who loves, believes.
+
+Stella.--What then?
+
+Doctor.--Who doubts?
+
+Stella.--Doctor.
+
+Doctor.--Princess, I do not inquire. There are moments when the
+serenity visibly departs from your face, therefore I question you,
+which is my duty as a physician and a friend. Be calm. Pray, remember
+that this is asked by a man whom a while ago you called "brother," and
+who knows how dear to him is the happiness of such a sister! I have no
+one in this world--all my love of family is centred in your house. My
+heart has also its sorrows. Pray, quiet my apprehensions--that is all
+I ask you.
+
+Stella.--What apprehensions?
+
+Doctor.--Apprehensions of which I dare not speak. Since my return I
+have watched you constantly, and the more I watch you the more do I
+fear. You fear the future--you do not look into it with confidence and
+hope.
+
+Stella.--Permit me to go.
+
+Doctor.--No, madam. I have the right to ask, and if you fear to look
+into the bottom of your heart, then I have the right to say that you
+lack courage, and for such sinful weakness one pays later with his own
+happiness and the happiness of others. I suffer also--but I must--I
+must. Madam, listen to me. If in your heart there is even the shadow
+of a doubt, you have mistaken your sentiments.
+
+Stella.--Is it possible to make such a mistake?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. Sometimes--often one mistakes sympathy, pity,
+commiseration for love.
+
+Stella.--What a dreadful mistake!
+
+Doctor.--Which one recognizes as soon as the heart flies in another
+direction. The dignity of a fiancé is a hidden pain. If I am mistaken,
+pray forgive me.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, I do not wish to think of such things.
+
+Doctor.--Then I am not mistaken. Do not look on me with fear. I wish
+to save you, my dear child. Where is your heart? The moment that you
+recognize you do not love Mr. Pretwic, that moment will tell you whom
+you do love. No, I shall not withdraw my question. Where is your
+heart? By God, if he is not equal to you, he shall rise to your
+height! But no, I have become a madman.
+
+Stella.--I must be going.
+
+Doctor (barring the way).--No, you shall not go until you have given
+me an answer. Whom do you love?
+
+Stella.--Doctor, spare me--otherwise I shall doubt everything. Have
+pity on me.
+
+Doctor (brutally)--Whom do you love?
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+The same. Drahomir
+
+
+Drahomir.--Princess.
+
+Stella.--Ah!
+
+Drahomir.--What! Have I frightened you? I came to tell you that the
+boats are waiting. What is the matter with you?
+
+Stella.--Nothing. Let us be going.
+
+(Drahomir offers his arm--they go out.)
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+
+Doctor (alone--looking after them).--Oh! I--under--stand!
+
+
+END OF ACT II.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+The same Drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+(Mr. Podczaski enters, followed by a servant.)
+
+
+Podczaski.--Tell the Doctor that Mr. Podczaski wishes to see him on an
+important matter.
+
+Servant.--The Doctor is very busy. The princess is ill. But I will
+tell him (goes out).
+
+Podczaski (alone).--I have enough of this work for nothing. The
+countess sends me about to agitate for her, but when I ask her for
+some money, she answers: We shall see about it after the election. She
+is an aristocrat and she refuses a hundred florins to a nobleman. To
+the deuce with such business. I had better try elsewhere, to serve the
+Doctor. He pays because he has common sense. And as he will bite them,
+then I will rise in consideration.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Podczaski. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Podczaski.--Your servant, sir.
+
+Doctor.--What can I do for you?
+
+Podczaski.--Well, sir, I am going to come right to the point. You know
+what services I have rendered the Countess Miliszewski?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, you have been agitating against me in favor of Count
+Miliszewski. Podczaski.--No, not at all, sir. Well, sir, it was so,
+but I am going to change that, and you may be certain--
+
+Doctor.--In a word, what do you wish, sir?
+
+Podczaski.--God sees, sir, that I served the countess faithfully, and
+it cost me quite a little, but on consulting my conscience I have
+concluded not to act any more against such a man as you, sir, for the
+sake of the country.
+
+Doctor.--I appreciate your sentiments, which are those of a good
+citizen. You do not wish to act against me any longer?
+
+Podczaski.--No, sir!
+
+Doctor.--You are right. Then you are with me?
+
+Podczaski.--If I may offer my services--
+
+Doctor.--I accept.
+
+Podczaski (aside).--He is a man--I have a hundred florins in my pocket
+already. (Aloud) My gratitude--
+
+Doctor.--Mine will be shown after the election.
+
+Podczaski.--Oh!
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same. Jan Miliszewski--then Anton.
+
+
+Jan.--Good-morning, doctor. Is my mother here?
+
+Doctor.--The countess is not here.
+
+Jan.--We came together, but mamma went directly to the prince's
+apartment. I remained alone and I cannot find my way to the prince's
+apartment. (Seeing Podczaski, who bows to him) Ah! Mr. Podczaski, what
+are you doing here?
+
+Podczaski.--Your servant, sir. Well, I came to consult the doctor--I
+have rheumatism in my feet.
+
+Jan.--Doctor, will you be kind enough to show me to the Prince's
+apartment?
+
+Doctor.--They are in the left wing of the château.
+
+Jan.--Thank you. But later I would like to have a talk with you.
+
+Doctor.--I will be at your service, sir.
+
+(Jan goes toward the door. He knocks against Anton.)
+
+Anton.--I beg your pardon, sir.
+
+Jan.--Pardon (he adjusts his monocle and looks at Anton--then goes
+out).
+
+Anton (to Doctor).--I was told you were here and I rushed. Listen, a
+matter of great importance. (Seeing Podczaski) What! You are here? Our
+adversary here?
+
+Podczaski (speaking in Anton's ear).--I am no longer your adversary.
+
+Anton (looking at him).--So much the better then--but leave us alone
+just the same.
+
+Podczaski (aside).--Bad. (Aloud) Gentleman, do not forget me. (Aside)
+The devil has taken my hundred florins. (He goes out.)
+
+Anton.--What did he wish?
+
+Doctor.--Money.
+
+Anton.--Did you give it to him?
+
+Doctor.--No.
+
+Anton.--You did well. We do not bribe. But no matter about that. What
+good luck that they put up Miliszewski for a candidate. Otherwise you
+would be lost because Husarski would have had the majority.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, I am sure that we will be defeated.
+
+Anton.--No! What am I for? Uf! How tired I am. Let me rest for five
+minutes (he sits down). Good gracious! how soft the furniture is here.
+We must donate some money for some public purpose. Have you any money?
+
+Doctor.--I have some.
+
+Anton.--We are going to give that money to build a school.
+
+Doctor.--Here is the key of my desk--you will find some ready money
+there, and some checks.
+
+Anton.--Very well, but I must rest a moment. In the mean while what is
+the news here? You are not looking well. Your eyes have sunken. Upon
+my word, I was not so much in love with my wife. Speak--I will rest in
+the mean while--but speak frankly.
+
+Doctor.--I will be frank with you.
+
+Anton.--What more?
+
+Doctor.--That marriage will be broken off.
+
+Anton.--Why.
+
+Doctor.--Because there are times when these people do not succeed in
+anything.
+
+Anton.--To the garret with those peacocks. And what about that
+cannibal Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--A long story. The princess has mistaken the sympathy which
+she feels for him for something more serious. To-day she knows that
+she does not love him.
+
+Anton.--That is good. Truly, it looks as though they were pursued by
+fate. It is the lot of races that have lived too long.
+
+Doctor.--Implacable logic of things.
+
+Anton.--Then she is not going to marry him. I pity them, but to the
+deuce with sentimentality!
+
+Doctor.--She would marry him if it killed her to keep her word. But
+there is a third person entangled in the matter--Count Drahomir.
+
+Anton.--At every step one meets a count! He betrays Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--What a blockhead you are.
+
+Anton.--Well, frankly speaking, I do not care one whit for your
+drawing-room affairs.
+
+Doctor.--Drahomir and she do not know that they love each other. But
+something attracts them to each other. What is that force? They do not
+ask. They are like children.
+
+Anton.--And how will you profit from all this?
+
+Doctor.--Listen, you democrat. When two knights are in love with one
+noble damsel, that love usually ends dramatically--and the third party
+usually gets the noble damsel.
+
+Anton.--And the knights?
+
+Doctor.--Let them perish.
+
+Anton.--What then do you suppose will happen?
+
+Doctor.--I do not know. Pretwic is a passionate man. He does not
+foresee anything--I see only the logic of things which is favorable
+to me, and I shall not be stupid enough to place any obstacles to my
+happiness.
+
+Anton.--I am sure you will help it along in case of need.
+
+Doctor.--Well, I am a physician. It is my duty to assist nature.
+
+Anton.--The programme is ready. I know you. I only wish to ask you how
+you know what you say is so. Maybe it is only a story.
+
+Doctor.--I can have verification of it through the princess's
+ex-governess.
+
+Anton.--You must know as soon as possible.
+
+Doctor.--Mrs. Czeska will be here in a moment. I asked her to come
+here.
+
+Anton.--Then I am going. Do you know what? Do not help nature too
+much, because it would be--
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+The same. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska (entering).--You wished to speak to me?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, madam.
+
+Anton (bows to Mrs. Czeska, then speaks to Jozwowicz).--I am going to
+get the money and I will be back in a moment.
+
+Doctor.--Very well. (Anton goes out.)
+
+Czeska.--Who is that gentleman?
+
+Doctor.--A pilot.
+
+Czeska.--What do you mean?
+
+Doctor.--He guides the boat in which I am sailing. As for the rest, he
+is a horribly honest man.
+
+Czeska.--I do not understand very well. What did you wish to speak to
+me about?
+
+Doctor.--About the princess. You are both like mother and daughter,
+and you should have her entire confidence. What is the matter with
+her? She conceals something--some sorrow. As a doctor I must know
+everything, because in order to cure physical disease one must know
+the moral cause. (Aside) The spirit of Aesculapius forgive me this
+phrase.
+
+Czeska.--My good sir, what are you asking about?
+
+Doctor.--I have told you that the princess conceals some sorrow.
+
+Czeska.--I do not know.
+
+Doctor.--We both love her; let us then speak frankly.
+
+Czeska.--I am willing.
+
+Doctor.--Then, does she love her fiancé?
+
+Czeska.--How can you ask me such a question? If she did not, she would
+not be betrothed to him. It is such a simple thing that even I do not
+talk to her about it any more.
+
+Doctor.--You say: "I do not talk about it any more"; so you have
+already talked about it.
+
+Czeska.--Yes. She told me that she was afraid she did not love him
+enough. But every pure soul fears that it does not fulfil its duty.
+Why did you ask me that?
+
+Doctor (saluting her).--I have my reasons. I wished to know. (Aside) I
+am wasting my time with her.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+The same. Jan Miliszewski.
+
+
+Jan.--I could not find mamma. Good-morning, madam. Do I intrude?
+
+Czeska.--Not at all, sir. (To Jozwowicz) She will do her duty; rest
+assured of that.
+
+Doctor.--Thank you. (Czeska goes out.)
+
+Jan.--Doctor.
+
+Doctor.--I am listening to you, sir.
+
+Jan.--Let us speak frankly. Mamma wishes me to become a member of
+parliament, but I do not care for it.
+
+Doctor.--You are too modest, sir.
+
+Jan.--You are sneering, and I do not know how to defend myself. But
+I am frank with you--I would not care a bit about being elected
+to parliament if it were not for my mamma. When mamma wishes for
+something it must be accomplished. All women of the family of
+Srokoszynski are that way, and mamma is of that family.
+
+Doctor.--But, count, you have a will of your own.
+
+Jan.--That is the trouble--the Miliszewskis are all ruled by the
+women. It is our family characteristic, sir.
+
+Doctor.--A knightly characteristic indeed! But what can I do for you?
+
+Jan.--I am not going to oppose you.
+
+Doctor.--I must be as frank with you as you are with me. Until now you
+have helped me.
+
+Jan.--I don't know how, but if it is so, then you must help me in your
+turn.
+
+Doctor.--In what?
+
+Jan.--It is a very delicate question. But you must not tell mamma
+anything about it.
+
+Doctor.--Certainly not.
+
+Jan.--Mamma wishes me to marry the princess, but I, sir, I do not
+want--
+
+Doctor.--You do not want?
+
+Jan.--It astonishes you?
+
+Doctor.--I must be frank--
+
+Jan.--I do not wish to because I do not wish to. When a man does not
+feel like marrying, then he does not feel like it. You will suppose
+that I am in love with some one else? It may be. But it is not with
+the princess. Naturally, when mamma says: "Jan, go ahead," I go ahead,
+because I cannot help it. The Miliszewskis knew how to manage the men,
+but not the women.
+
+Doctor.--I do not understand--how can I be useful to you?
+
+Jan.--You can do anything in this house, so you must help me secretly,
+to be refused.
+
+Doctor.--Count, you may rely on me in that matter.
+
+Jan.--Thank you.
+
+Doctor.--And it will be so much the easier done because the princess
+is betrothed.
+
+Jan.--I did not know that any one dared to compete with me.
+
+Doctor (aside).--What an idea! (Aloud) It is Mr. George Pretwic.
+
+Jan.--Then they wished to make sport of me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Pretwic is an audacious man. You were perfectly right
+when you said the question was a delicate one. The people are afraid
+of Mr. Pretwic; if you were to give up, people would say that--
+
+Jan.--That I am also afraid? Then I will not give up. My dear sir, I
+see you do not know the Miliszewskis. We do not know how to handle the
+women, but there is not a coward in our family. I know that people
+laugh at me, but the one who would dare to call me a coward would not
+laugh. I will show them at once that I am not a coward. Where is Mr.
+Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--He is in the garden (pointing through the window). Do you see
+him there, near the lake?
+
+Jan.--Good-bye.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz alone--then Anton.
+
+
+Doctor.--The men who have not such sons are great! Ha! ha! ha!
+
+Anton (rushing in).--You are here? Here are your receipts for the
+money. Why are you laughing?
+
+Doctor.--Miliszewski has gone to challenge Pretwic.
+
+Anton.--Are they crazy?
+
+Doctor.--What an opinion she would have of Pretwic if he were to
+quarrel with such an idiot!
+
+Anton.--You have done it.
+
+Doctor.--I told you that I shall assist nature.
+
+Anton.--Do as you please; I withdraw.
+
+Doctor.--Good-bye. Or no, I am going also. I must prevent the
+adventure from going too far.
+
+Anton.--I wanted to tell you that I must buy some food for my
+children. I will return the money--later on. Is it all right?
+
+Doctor.--How can you ask? (Goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Stella and Drahomir. (They enter from the garden.)
+
+
+Stella.--That walk tired me. See how weak I am (sits down). Where is
+Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--Young Miliszewski asked to speak to him a moment. The
+countess is speaking to the prince. It seems that their conversation
+is very animated because the countess did not know that you were
+betrothed, and she had some designs on you. But pray excuse me; I
+laugh and you suffer by it.
+
+Stella.--I would laugh too if I did not know how much it troubles my
+father. And then, I pity Count Miliszewski.
+
+Drahomir.--I understand how a similar situation would be painful to a
+man who was in love, but such is not the case with the count. He will
+console himself if his mother orders it.
+
+Stella.--Sometimes one may be mistaken about people.
+
+Drahomir.--Do you speak about me or Miliszewski?
+
+Stella.--Let us say it is about you. They told me that you were a
+mirror of all perfections.
+
+Drahomir.--And have you discovered that I am the personification of
+all faults?
+
+Stella.--I did not say so.
+
+Drahomir.--But you think so. But I am not deceived. Your portrait
+drawn by Mr. Pretwic and the Doctor is exactly like you.
+
+Stella.--How was the portrait?
+
+Drahomir.--With wings at the shoulders.
+
+Stella.--That means that I have as much dignity as a butterfly.
+
+Drahomir.--Angels' wings are in harmony with their dignity.
+
+Stella.--True friendship should speak the truth. Tell me some bitter
+one.
+
+Drahomir.--Very bitter?
+
+Stella.--As wormwood--or as is sometimes the case--with life.
+
+Drahomir.--Then you are kind to me.
+
+Stella.--For what sin shall I begin penitence?
+
+Drahomir.--For lack of friendship for me.
+
+Stella.--I was the first to appeal for friendship--in what respect am
+I untrue to it?
+
+Drahomir.--Because you share with me your joys, sports, laughter, but
+when a moment of sorrow comes, you keep those thorns for yourself.
+Pray share with me your troubles also.
+
+Stella.--It is not egotism on my part. I do not wish to disturb your
+serenity.
+
+Drahomir.--The source of my serenity does not lie in egotism either.
+George told me of you when I came here: "I know only how to look at
+her and how to pray to her; you are younger and more mirthful, try to
+amuse her." Therefore I brought all my good spirits and laid them at
+your feet. But I notice that I have bored you. I see a cloud on your
+face--I suspect some hidden sorrow, and being your best friend, I am
+ready to give my life to dispel that cloud.
+
+Stella (softly).--You must not talk that way.
+
+Drahomir (clasping his hands).--Let me talk. I was a giddy boy, but I
+always followed my heart, and my heart guessed your sorrow. Since that
+moment a shadow fell across my joy, but I overcame it. One cannot
+recall a tear which has rolled down the cheek, but a friendly hand can
+dry it. Therefore I overcame that cloud in order that the tears should
+not come to your eyes. If I have been mistaken, if I have chosen the
+wrong path, pray forgive me. Your life will be as beautiful as a
+bouquet of flowers, therefore be mirthful--be mirthful.
+
+Stella (with emotion, giving him her hand).--I shall be; being near
+you, I am capricious, spoiled, and a little bit ill. Sometimes I do
+not know myself what is the matter with me, and what I wish. I am
+happy; truly I am happy.
+
+Drahomir.--Then, no matter, as Mrs. Czeska says. Let us be merry,
+laugh, and run in the garden and play pranks with the countess and her
+son.
+
+Stella.--I have discovered the source of your mirth; it is a good
+heart.
+
+Drahomir.--No, madam. I am a great good-for-nothing. But the source of
+true happiness is not in this.
+
+Stella.--Sometimes I think that there is none in this world.
+
+Drahomir.--We cannot grasp it with our common sense, and will not fly
+after that winged vision. Sometimes perhaps it flies near us, but
+before we discover it, before we stretch out our hands, it is too
+late!
+
+Stella.--What sad words--too late!
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+The same. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Doctor (entering, laughs).--Ha! ha! Do you know what has happened?
+
+Stella.--Is it something amusing?
+
+Doctor.--A dreadful, tragic, but before a ridiculous thing.
+Miliszewski wished to challenge Pretwic.
+
+Stella.--For Heaven's sake!
+
+Doctor.--You must laugh with me. If there were anything dreadful I
+would not frighten you, princess.
+
+Drahomir.--And what has been the end of it?
+
+Doctor.--I was angry with Mr. Pretwic for taking the matter so
+seriously.
+
+Drahomir.--How could he help it?
+
+Doctor.--But it would be shameful for a man like Mr. Pretwic to fight
+with such a poor thing.
+
+Stella.--The doctor is right. I do not understand Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Doctor.--Our princess must not be irritated. I have made peace between
+them. Mr. Pretwic did not grasp the real situation and his naturally
+sanguine disposition carried him away. But now that I have explained
+to him, he agrees that it would be too utterly ridiculous.
+
+Drahomir.--And what about Miliszewski?
+
+Doctor.--I have sent him to his mamma. He is a good boy.
+
+Stella.--I shall scold Mr. Pretwic, nevertheless.
+
+Drahomir.--But you must not be too severe.
+
+Stella.--You are laughing, gentlemen. I am sorry that it was necessary
+to explain the matter to Mr. Pretwic. I must scold him immediately
+(she goes out).
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Drahomir. Doctor.
+
+
+Drahomir.--The princess is a true angel.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, there is not a spot in the crystalline purity of her
+nature.
+
+Drahomir.--It must be true when even you, a sceptic, speak of her with
+such enthusiasm.
+
+Doctor.--I have been here six years. When I came she wore short
+dresses. She grew by my side. Six years have their strength--it was
+impossible not to become attached to her.
+
+Drahomir.--I believe you. (After a while of silence) Strange, however,
+that you self-made people have no hearts.
+
+Doctor.--Why?
+
+Drahomir.--Because--I know what you would say about her social
+position, but hearts are equal, so it does not matter. Then how did it
+happen that you, being so near the princess, did not--
+
+Doctor (interrupting).--What?
+
+Drahomir.--I cannot find an expression.
+
+Doctor.--But I have found it. You are asking me why I did not fall in
+love with her?
+
+Drahomir.--I hesitated to pronounce the too bold word.
+
+Doctor.--Truly, if you, count, are lacking in boldness, I am going to
+help you out, and I ask you: And you, sir?
+
+Drahomir.--Doctor, be careful.
+
+Doctor.--I hear some lyrical tone.
+
+Drahomir.--Let us finish this conversation.
+
+Doctor.--As you say, although I can speak quietly, and in order to
+change the conversation, I prefer to ask you: Do you think she will be
+happy with Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--What a question! George loves her dearly.
+
+Doctor.--I do not doubt it, but their natures are so different. Her
+thoughts and sentiments are as delicate as cobweb--and George? Have
+you noticed how hurt she was that he accepted the challenge?
+
+Drahomir.--Why did you tell her about it?
+
+Doctor.--I was wrong. Therefore George--
+
+Drahomir.--Will be happy with her.
+
+Doctor.--Any one would be happy with her, and to every one one might
+give the advice to search for some one like her. Yes, count, search
+for some one like her (he goes out).
+
+Drahomir (alone).--Search for some one like her--and if there is some
+one like, her--too late (he sits down and covers his face with his
+hand).
+
+
+SCENE X.
+
+Stella. Drahomir.
+
+
+Stella (seeing Drahomir, looks at him for a while).--What is the
+matter with you?
+
+Drahomir.--You here? (A moment of silence.)
+
+Stella (confused).--I am searching for papa. Excuse me, sir, I must
+go.
+
+Drahomir (softly)--Go, madam. (She goes out. At the door she stops,
+hesitates for a while and then disappears.) I must get away from here
+as soon as possible.
+
+
+SCENE XI.
+
+Drahomir. Prince. Finally Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Prince (rushing in).--She has tormented me until now. Good gracious!
+Ah, it is you, Drahomir.
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, prince. Who tormented you?
+
+Prince.--The Countess Miliszewski. My dear boy, how can he be a member
+of parliament when he is so densely stupid!
+
+Drahomir.--It is true.
+
+Prince.--Don't you see! And then she proposed to marry him to Stella.
+The idea! She is already betrothed. But of course they did not know.
+
+Drahomir.--How did you get rid of her?
+
+Prince.--The doctor helped me out. Jozwowicz is a smart man--he has
+more intelligence than all of us together.
+
+Drahomir.--It is true.
+
+Prince.--But you, Drahomir, you are smart also, are you not?
+
+Drahomir.--How can I either affirm or deny? But Jozwowicz is very
+intelligent, that much is certain.
+
+Prince.--Yes. I do not like him, and I am afraid of him and I am fond
+of him, but I tell you I could not live without him.
+
+Drahomir.--He is an honest man, too.
+
+Prince.--Honest? Very well, then, but you are better because you are
+not a democrat. Drahomir, I love you. Stella, I love him--Ah! She is
+not here.
+
+Drahomir.--Thank you, prince.
+
+Prince.--If I had another daughter, I would--well--
+
+Drahomir.--Prince, pray do not speak that way. (Aside) I must run
+away.
+
+Prince.--Come, have a cigar with me. We will call the others and have
+a talk. Jozwowicz! Pretwic!
+
+Doctor (entering).--What are your orders, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--You, Robespièrre, come and have a cigar. Thank you, my boy.
+You have rid me of the countess.
+
+Doctor.--I will send for Pretwic, and we will join you. (He rings the
+bell. A servant comes in--the prince and Drahomir go out.) Ask Mr.
+Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--Anton was right. I am helping along the logic. But
+I do not like the sap--because I am accustomed to break. (Pretwic
+enters.)
+
+
+SCENE XII.
+
+Pretwic. Jozwowicz.
+
+George.--I was looking for you.
+
+
+Doctor.--The prince has invited us to smoke a cigar with him.
+
+George.--Wait a moment. For God's sake tell me what it means. Stella
+changes while looking at her--there is something heavy in the air.
+What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--That melancholy is the mode now.
+
+George.--You are joking with me.
+
+Doctor.--I know nothing.
+
+George.--Excuse me. The blood rushes to my head. I see some
+catastrophe hanging over me. I thought you would say something to
+pacify me. I thought you were my friend.
+
+Doctor.--Do you doubt it?
+
+George.--Shake hands first. Then give me some advice.
+
+Doctor.--Advice? Are you ill?
+
+George (with an effort).--Truly, you play with me as a cat with a
+mouse.
+
+Doctor.--Because I know nothing of presentiments.
+
+George.--Did you not tell me that she is not ill?
+
+Doctor.--No, she is wearied.
+
+George.--You speak about it in a strange way and you have no
+conception of the pain that your words cause me.
+
+Doctor.--Then try to distract her.
+
+George.--What? Who?
+
+Doctor.--Who? Count Drahomir, for instance.
+
+George.--Is she fond of him?
+
+Doctor.--And he of her also. Such poetical souls are always fond of
+each other.
+
+George.--What do you mean by that?
+
+Doctor (sharply).--And you--how do you take my words?
+
+George (rises.)--Not another word. You understand me, and you must
+know that I do not always forgive.
+
+Doctor (rises also, approaches George and looks into his eyes).--I
+believe you wish to frighten me. Besides this, what more do you wish?
+
+George (after a moment of struggle with himself).--You must ask me
+what I did wish, because I do not now wish for anything. You have
+known her longer than I have, therefore I came to you as her friend
+and mine, and for answer you banter with me. In your eyes there shone
+hatred for me, although I have never wronged, you. Be the judge
+yourself! I would be more than right in asking you: What do you
+wish of me, if it were not for the reason (with pride) that it is
+immaterial to me. (He goes out.)
+
+Doctor.--We shall see.
+
+
+SCENE XIII.
+
+Jozwowicz. Servant.
+
+
+Servant.--A messenger brought this letter from Mr. Anton Zuk.
+
+Doctor.--Give it to me. (The servant goes out. Doctor looks at the
+door through which George went out.) Oh, I can no longer control my
+hatred. I will crush you into dust; and now I shall not hesitate any
+longer. (Opens letter feverishly) Damnation, I must be going there at
+once.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE XIV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska (enters swiftly).--Doctor, I am looking for you.
+
+Doctor.--What has happened?
+
+Czeska.--Stella is ill. I found her weeping.
+
+Doctor (aside.)--Poor child! (Aloud) I will go to see her at once.
+(They go out.)
+
+
+END OF ACT III.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV.
+
+The same Drawing Room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz. Drahomir.
+
+
+(Jozwowicz sits at table writing in notebook. Drahomir enters.)
+
+Drahomir.--Doctor, I came to bid you farewell.
+
+Doctor (rising suddenly).--Ah, you are going away?
+
+Drahomir.--Yes.
+
+Doctor.--So suddenly? For long?
+
+Drahomir.--I am returning to-day to Swietlenice, to George; to-morrow
+I leave for Paris.
+
+Doctor.--One word--have you said anything to any one of your plans?
+
+Drahomir.--Not yet. I only made up my mind an hour ago.
+
+Doctor.--Then Mr. Pretwic knows nothing about it as yet?
+
+Drahomir.--No; but why do you ask?
+
+Doctor (aside).--I must act now--otherwise everything is lost. (Aloud)
+Count, I have not much time to speak to you now, because in a moment I
+expect Anton in regard to a matter on which my whole future depends.
+Listen to me. I beseech you, for the sake of the peace and health
+of the princess, not to mention to any one that you are going away.
+Neither to the Prince nor to Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not understand you.
+
+Doctor.--You will understand me. Now I cannot tell you anything more.
+In a half hour pray grant me a moment of conversation. Then you will
+understand me--that I guarantee you. Here is Anton. You see I cannot
+explain now.
+
+Drahomir.--I will see you again. (He goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Anton. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Anton.--The fight is very hot. Have you the address?
+
+Doctor.--Here it is. How goes it?
+
+Anton.--Up to now everything is well, but I repeat--the fight is
+very hot. If you had not come the last time, you would have lost the
+battle, because Miliszewski has withdrawn and his partisans vote for
+Husarski. Podczaski is good for nothing. Your speech in the city hall
+was splendid. May thunder strike you! Your address was admired even by
+your enemies. Oh, we will at last be able to do something. For three
+days I have not slept--I have not eaten--I work and I have plenty of
+time, because I have lost my position.
+
+Doctor.--You have lost your position?
+
+Anton.--On account of the agitation against Husarski.
+
+Doctor.--Have you found any means against him?
+
+Anton.--I have-written an article. I have brought it to you. Read it.
+He sues me--he will beat me. They will put me in prison, but it will
+be only after the election, and my article wronged him very much.
+
+Doctor.--Very well.
+
+Anton.--But when I am in prison you must take care of my wife and
+children. I love them dearly. I have three of them. It is too
+much--but _natura lex dura_.
+
+Doctor.--Be assured.
+
+Anton.--You would not believe me if I were to tell you that I am
+almost happy. Sometimes it seems to me that our country is a moldy
+room and that I open the window and let in the fresh air. We will work
+very hard. I believe in you, because you are an iron man.
+
+Doctor.--I shall either perish or gain two victories.
+
+Anton.--Two?
+
+Doctor.--Yes; the other one even to-day, here. The events have
+surprised me in some way. The facts turned against me, and I was
+obliged to build my plans of action only a short while ago.
+
+Anton.--Eh! If we win only there. Do you know what--I would prefer
+that you abandon the idea of the other victory.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, you are mistaken.
+
+Anton.--Because you worry a great deal. You have grown awfully thin.
+Look in the mirror.
+
+Doctor.--No matter; after I have sprung the mine I shall be calmer and
+the mine is ready.
+
+Anton.--But it will cost you too much.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, but I shall not retract.
+
+Anton.--At least be careful and do not smear your hands with the
+powder.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same. Stella.
+
+
+Stella (entering, notices Anton).--Ah, excuse me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Anton Zuk, a friend of mine. (Anton bows.) What is your
+wish, princess?
+
+Stella.--You told me to stay in bed and it is so hard to lie down.
+Mrs. Czeska went to the chapel and I escaped. Do you approve?
+
+Doctor.--I cannot help it, princess, although I would like to scold
+you like a disobedient child. A few moments ago some one else begged
+for you also.
+
+Stella.--Who was it?
+
+Doctor.--Count Drahomir. And he begged so earnestly that I promised
+him that I would allow you to leave the bed. He wishes to have a talk
+with you to-day, because he will not be able to see you again.
+
+Stella (aside).--What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--He will be here at five o'clock.
+
+Stella.--Very well.
+
+Doctor.--And now, pray, return to your room. Your dress is too thin
+and you might catch cold.
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Anton.--Ah, that is the princess.
+
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it is she.
+
+Anton.--Very pretty, but looks as though she was made of mist. As for
+me, I prefer women like my wife. From such as your princess you cannot
+expect sturdy democrats.
+
+Doctor.--Enough of that.
+
+Anton.--Then I will weigh anchor and sail. I will distribute the
+pamphlet with your address, and then I will write another article
+against Husarski. If they put me in prison they shall at least have a
+reason for it. Good-bye.
+
+Doctor.--If you meet a servant, tell him that I am waiting for Count
+Drahomir.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+Jozwowicz--then Drahomir.
+
+
+Doctor (alone).--Let that golden-haired page go, but he must see her
+before he goes. This leave-taking shall be the red flag for the bull.
+(Drahomir enters.) I am waiting for you, sir. Is Mr. Pretwic in the
+château?
+
+Drahomir.--He is with the prince.
+
+Doctor.--Count, be seated, and let us talk.
+
+Drahomir (uneasily).--I am listening, sir.
+
+Doctor.--You are in love with the princess.
+
+Drahomir.--Mr. Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor.--On your honor--yes or no?
+
+Drahomir.--Only God has the right to ask me such a question. I do not
+dare to ask myself.
+
+Doctor.--And your conscience?
+
+Drahomir.--And no one else.
+
+Doctor.--Then let us turn the question. She loves you.
+
+Drahomir.--Be silent, sir. Oh, God!
+
+Doctor.--Your pride is broken. You knew of it?
+
+Drahomir.--I did not wish to know it.
+
+Doctor.--But now you are aware of it.
+
+Drahomir.--That is the reason why I am going away from here forever.
+
+Doctor.--It is too late, sir. You have tangled her life and now you
+leave her.
+
+Drahomir.--For God's sake, what shall I do, then?
+
+Doctor.--Go away, but not forever, and not without telling her
+good-bye.
+
+Drahomir.--Why should I add the last drop to an already overflowing
+cup?
+
+Doctor.--A beautiful phrase. Can you not understand that it will hurt
+her good name if you should go away suddenly without taking leave
+of her? And she--she is ill and she may not be able to bear your
+departure.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not see any remedy--
+
+Doctor.--There is only one. Find some pretext, bid her good-bye
+quietly, and tell her that you will be back. Otherwise it will be a
+heavy blow for her strength. You must leave her hope. She must not
+suspect anything. Perhaps later she will become accustomed to your
+absence--perhaps she will forget--
+
+Drahomir.--It will be better for her to forget.
+
+Doctor.--I will do my best, but I shall first throw a handful of earth
+on your memory.
+
+Drahomir.--What shall I do, then?
+
+Doctor.--To find a pretext to bid her good-bye, tell every one that
+you are going. Then come back--and go away. Mr. Pretwic also must not
+know anything.
+
+Drahomir.--When shall I bid her good-bye?
+
+Doctor.--In a moment. I told her. I will manage to be with Pretwic
+during that time. She will be here presently.
+
+Drahomir.--I would prefer to die.
+
+Doctor.--No one is certain of to-morrow. Be off now. (Drahomir goes
+out.)
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz. Then a servant.
+
+
+Doctor.--How warm it is here! My head is splitting. (He rings--a
+servant enters.) Ask Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
+My head is bursting--but then I will have a long peace.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Jozwowicz. George Pretwic.
+
+
+George (entering).--What do you wish with me?
+
+Doctor.--I wish to give you good advice about the princess's health.
+
+George.--How is she?
+
+Doctor.--Better. I allowed her to leave bed because she and Drahomir
+asked me to.
+
+George.--Drahomir?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. He wishes to talk with her. They will be here in a
+quarter of an hour.
+
+George.--Jozwowicz, I am choking with wrath and pain. Drahomir avoids
+me.
+
+Doctor.--But you do not suspect him.
+
+George.--I swear to you that I have defended myself from suspicions as
+a man dying on the steppe defends himself from the crows--that I have
+bitten my hands with pain and despair--that I still defend myself.
+But I cannot any more. I cannot. The evidence pounds on my brain. He
+avoids me. He tells me that I have become an idiot--that I have become
+a madman, because--
+
+Doctor.--Keep your temper. Even if he were in love with the princess,
+nobody rules his own heart.
+
+George.--Enough! You were right when you coupled his name with hers.
+At that moment I repulsed the thought, but it was there just the same
+(he strikes his breast). The fruit is ripened. Oh, what a ridiculous
+and dreadful part I am playing here--
+
+Doctor.--But he saved your life.
+
+George.--In order to take it when it began to have a certain value.
+His service is paid with torture, with a slain happiness, with a
+broken hope, with destroyed faith in myself, in him and in her.
+
+Doctor.--Be easy.
+
+George.--I loved that man. Tell me that I am a madman and I shall be
+calmed. How dreadful to think that it is he! Forgive me everything I
+said to you before and help me. Evil thoughts are rushing through my
+head.
+
+Doctor.--Be calm--you are mistaken.
+
+George.--Prove to me that I am mistaken and I will kneel before you.
+
+Doctor.--You are mistaken, because Drahomir is going away.
+
+George.--He is going away. (A moment of silence.) Oh, Lord! Then I can
+live without such tortures, I may hope!
+
+Doctor (coolly and slowly).--But he is not going away forever. He said
+he would return.
+
+George.--You put me on the cross again.
+
+Doctor.--Come to your senses and do not let yourself be carried away
+by madness. At any rate you gain time. You can win her heart back
+again.
+
+George.--No--it is done. I am sinking into a precipice.
+
+Doctor.--Everything will be straightened out by his absence.
+
+George (with an outburst).--But did you not tell me that he will
+return?
+
+Doctor.--Listen: I agree with you that you have repaid Drahomir for
+the services of saving your life with your tortures. Drahomir has
+betrayed you and has broken the friendship between you by winning her
+heart. But I do not think that he is going away in order to avoid your
+vengeance.
+
+George.--And to give her time to break her engagement! Yes, yes! I am
+cursed. I suspect him now of everything. He avoids me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Pretwic.
+
+George.--Enough. I am going to ask him when he will be back. He has
+saved my life once, and slain me ten times. (He tries to leave.)
+
+Doctor.--Where are you going?
+
+George.--To ask him how long he is going away.
+
+Doctor.--Wait a moment. How could you ask him such a question? Perhaps
+he is innocent, but pride will shut his mouth and everything will be
+lost. Stay here--you can leave only over my corpse. I am not afraid of
+you!--do you understand? In a moment they will be here. You wish for
+proofs--you shall have them. From the piazza you cannot hear them, but
+you can see them. You shall be persuaded with your own eyes--perhaps
+you will regret your impetuosity.
+
+George (after a while).--Very well, then. May God grant that I was
+mistaken! Thank you--but you must not leave me now.
+
+Doctor.--One word more. No matter what happens I shall consider you a
+villain if you place her life in peril by any outburst.
+
+George.--Granted. Where shall we go?
+
+Doctor.--On the piazza. But you have fever--you are already shaking.
+
+George.--I am out of breath. Some one is coming. Let us be going.
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+Drahomir. Then Stella.
+
+
+Drahomir.--The last evening and the last time. (After a while.) O
+Lord, thy will be done!
+
+Stella (enters).--The Doctor told me that you wished to see me.
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, madam. Pray forgive my boldness. A very important
+affair calls me home. I come to bid you good-bye.
+
+Stella.--You are going away?
+
+Drahomir.--To day I am going to Swietlenice, to-morrow still further.
+(A moment of silence.)
+
+Stella.--Yes, it is necessary.
+
+Drahomir.--Life has flown like a dream--it is time to wake up.
+
+Stella.--Shall we see each other again?
+
+Drahomir.--If God permits it.
+
+Stella.--Then let us shake hands in farewell. I can assure you that
+you have a friend in me. Friendship is like an immortal--it is a pale
+flower, but does not wither. May God guide you and protect you. The
+heart--of a sister--will follow you everywhere. Remember--
+
+Drahomir.--Farewell.
+
+Stella.--Farewell. (She goes toward the door. Then suddenly turns.
+With a sob in her voice.) Why do you deceive me? You are going
+forever.
+
+Drahomir.--Have mercy on me.
+
+Stella.--Are you going away forever?
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, then.
+
+Stella.--I guessed it. But perhaps it is better--for both of us.
+
+Drahomir.--Oh, yes. There are things which cannot be expressed,
+although the heart is bursting. A while ago you told me that you will
+remember--it will be better for you to forget.
+
+Stella.--I cannot. (She weeps.)
+
+Drahomir (passionately).--Then I love you, my dearest, and that is the
+reason why I escape. (He presses her to his breast.)
+
+Stella (awakening).--Oh, God! (She rushes, out.)
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Drahomir. Jozwowicz. George.
+
+(George stops with Jozwowicz near the door.)
+
+
+Drahomir.--Ah, it is you, George.
+
+George.--Do not approach me. I have seen all. You are a villain and a
+coward.
+
+Drahomir--George!
+
+George.--In order not to soil my hand, I throw in your face our broken
+friendship, my trampled happiness, lost faith in God and man, endless
+contempt for you and myself.
+
+Drahomir.--Enough.
+
+George.--Do not approach me, because I will lose my self-command
+and will sprinkle these walls with your brains. No, I shall not do
+that--because I have promised. But I slap your face, you villain. Do
+you hear me?
+
+Drahomir (after struggling with himself for a moment).--Such an insult
+I swear before God and man I will wash out with blood.
+
+George.--Yes, with blood (pointing to the doctor). Here is the witness
+of these words.
+
+Doctor.--At your service, gentlemen.
+
+
+END OF ACT IV.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT V.
+
+The same drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz enters reading a dispatch.
+
+
+The result of the ballotting until now: Jozwowicz, 613; Husarski,
+604. At ten o'clock: Jozwowicz, 700; Husarski, 700. At 11 o'clock:
+Jozwowicz, 814; Husarski, 750. The fight is hot. The final results
+will be known at three o'clock. (He consults his watch.)
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Jozwowicz. George.
+
+
+Doctor.--You are here?
+
+George.--You are as afraid of me as of a ghost.
+
+Doctor.--I thought you were elsewhere.
+
+George.--I am going directly from here to fight. I have still an hour.
+The duel will take place at Dombrowa, on the Miliszewski's estate--not
+far from here.
+
+Doctor.--Too near from here.
+
+George.--Miliszewski insisted. And then you will be here to prevent
+the news from being known until as late as possible.
+
+Doctor.--Doctor Krzycki will be with you?
+
+George.--Yes.
+
+Doctor.--Ask him to send me the news at once. I would go with you, but
+I must be here.
+
+George.--You are right. If I am killed?
+
+Doctor.--You must not think of that.
+
+George.--There are some people who are cursed from the moment they
+are born, and for whom death is the only redemption. I belong to that
+class. I have thought everything over quietly. God knows that I am
+more afraid of life than of death. There is no issue for me. Suppose I
+am not killed--tell me what will become of me, if I kill the man whom
+she loves? Tell me! I will live without her, cursed by her. Do you
+know that when I think of my situation, and what has happened, I think
+some bad spirit has mixed with us and entangled everything so that
+only death can disentangle it.
+
+Doctor.--A duel is very often ended by a mere wound.
+
+George.--I insulted Drahomir gravely, and such an insult cannot be
+wiped out by a wound. Believe me, one of us must die. But I came to
+talk with you about something else.
+
+Doctor.--I am listening to you.
+
+George.--Frankly speaking, as I do not know what will become of me,
+and whether in an hour I shall be alive or not, I came to have one
+more look at her. Because I love her dearly. Perhaps I was too rough
+for her--too stupid--but I loved her. May God punish me if I have not
+desired her happiness. As you see me here it is true that at this
+moment I pity her the most and feel miserable about her future.
+Listen: whether I am killed or not, she cannot be mine. Drahomir
+cannot marry her, because he could not marry the woman whose fiancé he
+has killed. Of the three of us you alone will remain near her. Take
+care of her--guard her. Into your hands I give her, the only treasure
+I ever possessed.
+
+Doctor (quietly).--I shall carry out your wishes.
+
+George.--And now--I may be killed. I wish to die like a Christian. If
+ever I have offended you, forgive me. (They shake hands. George goes
+out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--Yes, of the three of us I alone shall remain near
+her.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Anton (rushing in).--Man, have you become an idiot? When every moment
+is valuable, you remain here. The results are uncertain. They have put
+up big posters--Husarski's partisans are catching the votes in the
+streets. For God's sake come with me. A carriage is waiting for us.
+
+Doctor.--I must remain here. I cannot go under any consideration in
+the world. Let be what may.
+
+Anton.--I did not expect such conduct from you. Come and show
+yourself, if only for a moment, and the victory is ours. I cannot
+speak any more. I am dead tired. Have you become a madman? There--we
+have worked for him, and he clings to a petticoat and stays here.
+
+Doctor.--Anton! Even if I should lose there I would not stir one step
+from here. I cannot and I will not go.
+
+Anton.--So?
+
+Doctor.--Yes.
+
+Anton.--Do what you please, then. Very well. My congratulations. (He
+walks up and down the room; then he puts his hands in his pockets and
+stands before Jozwowicz.) What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--It means that I must remain here. At this moment Drahomir
+stands opposite Pretwic with a pistol. If the news of the fight should
+come to the princess, she would pay for it with her life.
+
+Anton.--They are fighting!
+
+Doctor.--For life or death. In a moment the news will come who is
+killed. (A moment of silence.)
+
+Anton.--Jozwowicz, you have done all this.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it is I, I crushed those who were in my way, and I shall
+act the same always. You have me such as I am.
+
+Anton.--If so, I am no longer in a hurry. Do you know what I am going
+to tell you?
+
+Doctor.--You must go for a while. The princess is coming. (He opens
+the door of a side room.) Go in there for a moment.
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz and Stella.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, what is the matter in this house?
+
+Doctor.--What do you mean, princess?
+
+Stella.--Mr. Pretwic came to tell me good-bye. He was very much
+changed and asked me to forgive him if he ever offended me.
+
+Doctor (aside).--A sentimental ass.
+
+Stella.--He said that he might be obliged to go away in a few days. I
+have a presentiment that you are hiding something from me. What does
+it mean? Do not torture me any longer. I am so miserable that you
+should have pity on me.
+
+Doctor.--Do not let anything worry you. What can there be the matter?
+An idle fancy, that is all! The care of loving hearts surrounds you.
+Why should you have such a wild imagination? You had better return to
+your apartment and do not receive any one. I will come to see you in a
+moment.
+
+Stella.--Then truly there is nothing bad?
+
+Doctor.--What an idea! Pray believe me, I should be able to remove
+anything which would threaten your happiness.
+
+Stella (stretching out her hand to him).--Oh, Mr. Jozwowicz, happiness
+is a very difficult thing to take hold of. May only the peace not
+leave us. (She goes to enter the room in which Anton is.)
+
+Doctor.--This way, princess. Some one is waiting for me in that room.
+In a moment I will come to see you. Pray do not receive any one.
+Anton! (The princess goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+Anton, Jozwowicz, then a Servant.
+
+
+Anton.--Here I am. Poor child!
+
+Doctor.--I cannot go for her sake. I must be here and not let the bad
+news reach her, for it would kill her.
+
+Anton.--What! and you, knowing this, you still expose her, and
+sacrifice her for yourself?
+
+Doctor (passionately).--I love her and I must have her, even if the
+walls of this house should crumble around our heads.
+
+Anton.--Man, you are talking nonsense.
+
+Doctor.--Man, you are talking like a nincompoop, and not like a man.
+You have plenty of words in your mouth, but you lack strength--you
+cannot face facts. Who would dare say: You have no right to defend
+yourself?
+
+Anton (after a while).--Good-bye.
+
+Doctor.--Where are you going?
+
+Anton.--I return to the city.
+
+Doctor.--Are you with me or against me?
+
+Anton.--I am an honest man.
+
+A servant (enters).--A messenger brought this letter from Miliszewski.
+
+Doctor.--Give it to me. Go (tears the envelop and reads) "Pretwic is
+dead." (After a while) Ah--
+
+Anton.--Before I go I must answer your question as to why I am going.
+I have served you faithfully. I served you like a dog because I
+believed in you. You knew how to use me, or perhaps to use me up. I
+knew that I was a tool, but I did not care for that, because--But
+now--
+
+Doctor.--You give up the public affair?
+
+Anton.--You do not know me. What would I do if I were to give up my
+ideas? And then, do you think that you personify public affairs? I
+will not give up because I have been deceived by you. But I care about
+something else. I was stupid to have cared for you, and I regret now
+that I must tell you that you have heaped up the measure and used
+badly the strength which is in you. Oh, I know that perhaps it would
+be better for me not to tell you this, perhaps to hold with you would
+mean a bright future for such a man as I, who have hardly the money to
+buy food for my wife and children. But I cannot. Before God, I cannot!
+I am a poor man and I shall remain poor, but I must at least have a
+clear conscience. Well, I loved you almost as much as I loved my wife
+and children, but from to-day you are only a political number--for
+friendship you must look to some one else. You know I have no
+scruples; a man rubs among the people and he rubs off many things; but
+you have heaped up the measure. May I be hanged if I do not prefer to
+love the people than pound them! They say that honesty and politics
+are two different things. Elsewhere it may be so, but in our country
+we must harmonize them. Why should they not go together? I do not give
+up our ideas, but I do not care for our friendship because the man who
+says he loves humanity, and then pounds the people threateningly on
+their heads--that man is a liar; do you understand me?
+
+Doctor.--I shall not insist upon your giving me back your friendship,
+but you must listen to me for the last time. If there shall begin for
+me an epoch of calamity, it will begin at the moment when such people
+as you begin to desert me. The man who was killed was in my way to
+happiness--he took everything from me. He came armed with wealth, good
+name, social position, and all the invincible arms which birth and
+fortune give. With what arms could I fight him? What could I oppose
+to such might? Nothing except the arms of a new man--that bit of
+intelligence acquired by hard work and effort. He declared a mute war
+on me. I have defended myself. With what? With the arms which nature
+has given me. When you step on a worm you must not take it amiss if
+the worm bites you; he cannot defend himself otherwise. It is the law
+of nature. I placed everything on one card, and I won--or rather it
+is not I, but intelligence which has conquered. This force--the new
+times--have conquered the old centuries. And you take that amiss? What
+do you want? I am faithful, to the principle. You are retreating. I am
+not! That woman is necessary for my happiness because I love her. I
+need her wealth and her social position for my aims. Give me such
+weapons and I will accomplish anything. Do you know what an enormous
+work and what important aims I have before me? You wish me to tear
+down the wall of darkness, prejudice, laziness, you wish me to breathe
+new life into that which is dead. I cry: "Give me the means." You do
+not have the means, therefore I wish to get them, or I shall perish.
+But what now? Across the road to my plans, to my future--not only mine
+but everybody's--there stands a lord, a wandering knight, whose whole
+merit lies in the fact that he was born with a coat of arms. And have
+I not the right to crush him? And you wish me to fall down on my knees
+before him? Before his lordship--to give up everything for his sake?
+No! You do not know me. Enough of sentiment. A certain force is
+necessary and I have it, and I shall make a road for myself and for
+all of you even if I should be obliged to trample over a hundred such
+as Pretwic.
+
+Anton.--No, Jozwowicz, you have always done as you wanted with me, but
+now you cannot do it. As long as there was a question of convictions I
+was with you, but you have attacked some principles which are bigger
+than either you or I, more stable and immutable. You cannot explain
+this to me, and you yourself must be careful. At the slightest
+opportunity you will fall down with all your energy as a man. The
+force you are attacking is more powerful than you are. Be careful,
+because you will lose. One cannot change a principle: straight honesty
+is the same always. Do what you please, but be careful. Do you know
+that human blood must always be avenged? It is only a law of nature.
+You ask me whether I am going to leave you? Perhaps you would like to
+be given the right to fire on the people from behind a fence when it
+will suit you. No, sir. From to-day there must be kept between us a
+strict account. You will be a member of parliament, but if you think
+we are going to serve you, and not you us, you are greatly mistaken.
+You thought that the steps of the ladder on which you will ascend are
+composed of rascals? Hold on! We, who have elected you--we, in whose
+probity you do not believe--we will watch you and judge you. If you
+are guilty we will crush you. We have elected you; now you must serve.
+
+Doctor (passionately).--Anton!
+
+Anton.--Quiet. In the evening you must appear before the electors.
+Good-bye, Mr. Jozwowicz. (He goes out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--He is the first.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz. Jan Miliszewski.
+
+
+Jan (appears in the half-open door).--Pst!
+
+Doctor.--Who is there?
+
+Jan.--It is I, Miliszewski. Are you alone?
+
+Doctor.--You may enter. What then?
+
+Jan.--Everything is over. He did not live five minutes. I have ordered
+them to carry the body to Miliszewo.
+
+Doctor.--Your mother is not here?
+
+Jan.--I sent her to the city. To-day is election day and mamma does
+not know that I have withdrawn, therefore she will wait for the
+evening papers in the hope that she will find my name among those
+elected.
+
+Doctor.--Did no one see?
+
+Jan.--I am afraid they will see the blood. He bled dreadfully.
+
+Doctor.--A strange thing. He was such a good marksman.
+
+Jan.--He permitted himself to be killed. I saw that very plainly. He
+did not fire at Drahomir at all. He did not wish to kill Drahomir. Six
+steps--it was too near. It was dreadful to look at his death. Truly,
+I would have preferred to be killed myself. They had to fire on
+command--one! two! three! We heard the shot, but only one. We
+rushed--Pretwic advanced two steps, knelt and tried to speak. The
+blood flowed from his mouth. Then he took up the pistol and fired to
+one side. We were around him and he said to Drahomir: "You have done
+me a favor and I thank you. This life belonged to you, because you
+saved it. Forgive me," he said, "brother!" Then he said: "Give me
+your hand" and expired. (He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.)
+Drahomir threw himself on his breast--it was dreadful. Poor Princess
+Stella. What will become of her now?
+
+Doctor.--For God's sake, not a word in her presence. She is ill.
+
+Jan.--I will be silent.
+
+Doctor.--You must control your emotion.
+
+Jan.--I cannot. My knees are trembling.
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+The same. The prince leaning on Stella's shoulder, and Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Prince.--I thought Pretwic was with you. Jozwowicz, where is Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--I do not know.
+
+Stella.--Did he tell you where he was going?
+
+Doctor.--I know nothing about it.
+
+Czeska (to Jan).--Count, what is the matter with you? You are so pale.
+
+Jan.--Nothing. It is on account of the heat.
+
+Prince.--Jozwowicz, Pretwic told me--
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+(The door opens suddenly. Countess Miliszewska rushes in).
+
+
+Countess.--Jan, where is my Jan? O God, what is the matter? How
+dreadful!
+
+Doctor (rushing toward her).--Be silent, madam.
+
+Stella.--What has happened?
+
+Countess.--Then you have not killed Pretwic? You have not fought?
+
+Doctor.--Madam, be silent.
+
+Stella.--Who is killed?
+
+Countess.--Stella, my dearest, Drahomir has killed Pretwic.
+
+Stella.--Killed! O God!
+
+Doctor.--Princess, it is not true.
+
+Stella.--Killed! (She staggers and falls.)
+
+Doctor.--She has fainted. Let us carry her to her chamber.
+
+Prince.--My child!
+
+Czeska.--Stelunia! (The prince and Jozwowicz carry Stella. The
+countess and Czeska follow them.)
+
+Jan (alone).--It is dreadful. Who could have expected that mamma
+would return! (The countess appears in the door.) Mamma, how is the
+princess?
+
+Countess.--The doctor is trying to bring her to her senses. Until now
+he has not succeeded. Jan, let us be going.
+
+Jan (in despair).--I shall not go. Why did you return from the city?
+
+Countess.--For you. To-day is election day--have you forgotten it?
+
+Jan.--I do not wish to be a member of parliament. Why did you tell her
+that Pretwic was killed?
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+The same. Jozwowicz.
+
+Countess and Jan together.--What news?
+
+
+Doctor.--Everything is over. (The bell is heard tolling in the chapel
+of the château.)
+
+Jan (frightened).--What, the bell of the chapel? Then she is dead!
+(Jozwowicz comes to the front of the stage and sits down.)
+
+
+SCENE X.
+
+The same. Podczaski.
+
+
+Podczaski (rushing in suddenly).--Victory! Victory! The deputation is
+here. (Voices behind the stage) Hurrah! Hurrah! for victory!
+
+Jozwowicz.--I have lost!
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's So Runs the World, by Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of So Runs the World, by Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: So Runs the World
+
+Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
+Release Date: December 30, 2003 [EBook #10546]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SO RUNS THE WORLD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock,Josephine Paolucci and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+SO RUNS THE WORLD
+
+BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
+
+AUTHOR OF "QUO VADIS," ETC.
+
+Translated by S.C. de SOISSONS
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
+
+ZOLA
+
+WHOSE FAULT?
+
+THE VERDICT
+
+WIN OR LOSE
+
+
+
+
+PART FIRST
+
+
+HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ.
+
+
+I once read a short story, in which a Slav author had all the lilies
+and bells in a forest bending toward each other, whispering and
+resounding softly the words: "Glory! Glory! Glory!" until the whole
+forest and then the whole world repeated the song of flowers.
+
+Such is to-day the fate of the author of the powerful historical
+trilogy: "With Fire and Sword," "The Deluge" and "Pan Michael,"
+preceded by short stories, "Lillian Morris," "Yanko the Musician,"
+"After Bread," "Hania," "Let Us Follow Him," followed by two problem
+novels, "Without Dogma," and "Children of the Soil," and crowned by a
+masterpiece of an incomparable artistic beauty, "Quo Vadis." Eleven
+good books adopted from the Polish language and set into circulation
+are of great importance for the English-reading people--just now I am
+emphasizing only this--because these books are written in the most
+beautiful language ever written by any Polish author! Eleven books of
+masterly, personal, and simple prose! Eleven good books given to
+the circulation and received not only with admiration but with
+gratitude--books where there are more or less good or sincere pages,
+but where there is not one on which original humor, nobleness, charm,
+some comforting thoughts, some elevated sentiments do not shine. Some
+other author would perhaps have stopped after producing "Quo Vadis,"
+without any doubt the best of Sienkiewicz's books. But Sienkiewicz
+looks into the future and cares more about works which he is going to
+write, than about those which we have already in our libraries, and he
+renews his talents, searching, perhaps unknowingly, for new themes and
+tendencies.
+
+When one knows how to read a book, then from its pages the author's
+face looks out on him, a face not material, but just the same full of
+life. Sienkiewicz's face, looking on us from his books, is not always
+the same; it changes, and in his last book ("Quo Vadis") it is quite
+different, almost new.
+
+There are some people who throw down a book after having read it, as
+one leaves a bottle after having drank the wine from it. There are
+others who read books with a pencil in their hands, and they mark
+the most striking passages. Afterward, in the hours of rest, in the
+moments when one needs a stimulant from within and one searches for
+harmony, sympathy of a thing apparently so dead and strange as a book
+is, they come back to the marked passages, to their own thoughts,
+more comprehensible since an author expressed them; to their own
+sentiments, stronger and more natural since they found them in
+somebody else's words. Because ofttimes it seems to us--the common
+readers--that there is no difference between our interior world and
+the horizon of great authors, and we flatter ourselves by believing
+that we are 'only less daring, less brave than are thinkers and poets,
+that some interior lack of courage stopped us from having formulated
+our impressions. And in this sentiment there is a great deal of truth.
+But while this expression of our thoughts seems to us to be a daring,
+to the others it is a need; they even do not suspect how much they are
+daring and new. They must, according to the words of a poet, "Spin
+out the love, as the silkworm spins its web." That is their capital
+distinction from common mortals; we recognize them by it at once; and
+that is the reason we put them above the common level. On the pages
+of their books we find not the traces of the accidental, deeper
+penetrating into the life or more refined feelings, but the whole
+harvest of thoughts, impressions, dispositions, written skilfully,
+because studied deeply. We also leave something on these pages. Some
+people dry flowers on them, the others preserve reminiscences. In
+every one of Sienkiewicz's volumes people will deposit a great many
+personal impressions, part of their souls; in every one they will find
+them again after many years.
+
+There are three periods in Sienkiewicz's literary life. In the
+first he wrote short stories, which are masterpieces of grace and
+ingenuity--at least some of them. In those stories the reader will
+meet frequent thoughts about general problems, deep observations of
+life--and notwithstanding his idealism, very truthful about spiritual
+moods, expressed with an easy and sincere hand. Speaking about
+Sienkiewicz's works, no matter how small it may be, one has always the
+feeling that one speaks about a known, living in general memory work.
+Almost every one of his stories is like a stone thrown in the midst
+of a flock of sparrows gathering in the winter time around barns: one
+throw arouses at once a flock of winged reminiscences.
+
+The other characteristics of his stories are uncommonness of his
+conceptions, masterly compositions, ofttimes artificial. It happens
+also that a story has no plot ("From the Diary of a Tutor in Pozman,"
+"Bartek the Victor"), no action, almost no matter ("Yamyol"), but the
+reader is rewarded by simplicity, rural theme, humoristic pictures
+("Comedy of Errors: A Sketch of American Life"), pity for the little
+and poor ("Yanko the Musician"), and those qualities make the reader
+remember his stories well. It is almost impossible to forget--under
+the general impressions--about his striking and standing-out figures
+("The Lighthouse Keeper of Aspinwall"), about the individual
+impression they leave on our minds. Apparently they are commonplace,
+every-day people, but the author's talent puts on them an original
+individuality, a particular stamp, which makes one remember them
+forever and afterward apply them to the individuals which one meets
+in life. No matter how insignificant socially is the figure chosen by
+Sienkiewicz for his story, the great talent of the author magnifies
+its striking features, not seen by common people, and makes of it a
+masterpiece of literary art.
+
+Although we have a popular saying: _Comparaison n'est pas raison_,
+one cannot refrain from stating here that this love for the poor, the
+little, and the oppressed, brought out so powerfully in Sienkiewicz's
+short stories, constitutes a link between him and Francois Coppee, who
+is so great a friend of the friendless and the oppressed, those who,
+without noise, bear the heaviest chains, the pariahs of our happy and
+smiling society. The only difference between the short stories of
+these two writers is this, that notwithstanding all the mastercraft of
+Coppee's work, one forgets the impressions produced by the reading
+of his work--while it is almost impossible to forget "The Lighthouse
+Keeper" looking on any lighthouse, or "Yanko the Musician" listening
+to a poor wandering boy playing on the street, or "Bartek the Victor"
+seeing soldiers of which military discipline have made machines rather
+than thinking beings, or "The Diary of a Tutor" contemplating the pale
+face of children overloaded with studies. Another difference between
+those two writers--the comparison is always between their short
+stories--is this, that while Sienkiewicz's figures and characters are
+universal, international--if one can use this adjective here--and can
+be applied to the students of any country, to the soldiers of any
+nation, to any wandering musician and to the light-keeper on any sea,
+the figures of Francois Coppee are mostly Parisian and could be hardly
+displaced from their Parisian surroundings and conditions.
+
+Sometimes the whole short story is written for the sake of that which
+the French call _pointe_. When one has finished the reading of "Zeus's
+Sentence," for a moment the charming description of the evening and
+Athenian night is lost. And what a beautiful description it is! If
+the art of reading were cultivated in America as it is in France
+and Germany, I would not be surprised if some American Legouve or
+Strakosch were to add to his repertoire such productions of prose as
+this humorously poetic "Zeus's Sentence," or that mystic madrigal, "Be
+Blessed."
+
+"But the dusk did not last long," writes Sienkiewicz. "Soon from the
+Archipelago appeared the pale Selene and began to sail like a silvery
+boat in the heavenly space. And the walls of the Acropolis lighted
+again, but they beamed now with a pale green light, and looked more
+than ever like the vision of a dream."
+
+But all these, and other equally charming pictures, disappear for a
+moment from the memory of the reader. There remains only the final
+joke--only Zeus's sentence. "A virtuous woman--especially when she
+loves another man--can resist Apollo. But surely and always a stupid
+woman will resist him."
+
+Only when one thinks of the story does one see that the ending--that
+"immoral conclusion" I should say if I were not able to understand the
+joke--does not constitute the essence of the story. Only then we find
+a delight in the description of the city for which the wagons cater
+the divine barley, and the water is carried by the girls, "with
+amphorae poised on their shoulders and lifted hands, going home, light
+and graceful, like immortal nymphs."
+
+And then follow such paragraphs as the following, which determine the
+real value of the work:
+
+"The voice of the God of Poetry sounded so beautiful that it performed
+a miracle. Behold! In the Ambrosian night the gold spear standing on
+the Acropolis of Athens trembled, and the marble head of the gigantic
+statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear better.... Heaven
+and earth listened to it; the sea stopped roaring and lay peacefully
+near the shores; even pale Selene stopped her night wandering in the
+sky and stood motionless over Athens."
+
+"And when Apollo had finished, a light wind arose and carried the song
+through the whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the cradle heard
+only a tone of it, that child grew into a poet."
+
+What poet? Famed by what song? Will he not perhaps be a lyric poet?
+
+The same happens with "Lux in Tenebris." One reads again and again
+the description of the fall of the mist and the splashing of the rain
+dropping in the gutter, "the cawing of the crows, migrating to the
+city for their winter quarters, and, with flapping of wings, roosting
+in the trees." One feels that the whole misery of the first ten pages
+was necessary in order to form a background for the two pages of
+heavenly light, to bring out the brightness of that light. "Those who
+have lost their best beloved," writes Sienkiewicz, "must hang
+their lives on something; otherwise they could not exist." In such
+sentences--and it is not the prettiest, but the shortest that I have
+quoted--resounds, however, the quieting wisdom, the noble love of
+that art which poor Kamionka "respected deeply and was always sincere
+toward." During the long years of his profession he never cheated nor
+wronged it, neither for the sake of fame nor money, nor for praise nor
+for criticism. He always wrote as he felt. Were I not like Ruth of
+the Bible, doomed to pick the ears of corn instead of being myself a
+sower--if God had not made me critic and worshipper but artist and
+creator--I could not wish for another necrology than those words of
+Sienkiewicz regarding the statuary Kamionka.
+
+Quite another thing is the story "At the Source." None of the stories
+except "Let Us Follow Him" possess for me so many transcendent
+beauties, although we are right to be angry with the author for having
+wished, during the reading of several pages, to make us believe an
+impossible thing--that he was deceiving us. It is true that he has
+done it in a masterly manner--it is true that he could not have done
+otherwise, but at the same time there is a fault in the conception,
+and although Sienkiewicz has covered the precipice with flowers,
+nevertheless the precipice exists.
+
+On the other hand, it is true that one reading the novel will forget
+the trick of the author and will see in it only the picture of an
+immense happiness and a hymn in the worship of love. Perhaps the poor
+student is right when he says: "Among all the sources of happiness,
+that from which I drank during the fever is the clearest and best." "A
+life which love has not visited, even in a dream, is still worse."
+
+Love and faith in woman and art are two constantly recurring themes
+in "Lux in Tenebris," "At the Source," "Be Blessed," and "Organist of
+Ponikila."
+
+When Sienkiewicz wrote "Let Us Follow Him," some critics cried angrily
+that he lessens his talent and moral worth of the literature; they
+regretted that he turned people into the false road of mysticism, long
+since left. Having found Christ on his pages, the least religious
+people have recollected how gigantic he is in the writings of Heine,
+walking over land and sea, carrying a red, burning sun instead of a
+heart. They all understood that to introduce Christ not only worthily
+or beautifully, but simply and in such a manner that we would not be
+obliged to turn away from the picture, would be a great art--almost a
+triumph.
+
+In later times we have made many such attempts. "The Mysticism" became
+to-day an article of commerce. The religious tenderness and simplicity
+was spread among Parisian newspaper men, playwrights and novelists.
+Such as Armand Sylvestre, such as Theodore de Wyzewa, are playing at
+writing up Christian dogmas and legends. And a strange thing! While
+the painters try to bring the Christ nearer to the crowd, while
+Fritz von Uhde or Lhermitte put the Christ in a country school, in a
+workingman's house, the weakling writers, imitating poets, dress Him
+in old, faded, traditional clothes and surround Him with a theatrical
+light which they dare to call "mysticism." They are crowding the
+porticos of the temple, but they are merely merchants. Anatole France
+alone cannot be placed in the same crowd.
+
+In "Let Us Follow Him" the situation and characters are known, and
+are already to be found in literature. But never were they painted so
+simply, so modestly, without romantic complaints and exclamations. In
+the first chapters of that story there appears an epic writer with
+whom we have for a long time been familiar. We are accustomed to
+that uncommon simplicity. But in order to appreciate the narrative
+regarding Antea, one must listen attentively to this slow prose and
+then one will notice the rhythmic sentences following one after the
+other. Then one feels that the author is building a great foundation
+for the action. Sometimes there occurs a brief, sharp sentence ending
+in a strong, short word, and the result is that Sienkiewicz has given
+us a masterpiece which justifies the enthusiasm of a critic, who
+called him a Prince of Polish Prose.
+
+In the second period of his literary activity, Sienkiewicz has
+produced his remarkable historical trilogy, "The Deluge," "With Fire
+and Sword," and "Pan Michael," in which his talent shines forth
+powerfully, and which possess absolutely distinctive characters from
+his short stories. The admirers of romanticism cannot find any better
+books in historical fiction. Some critic has said righteously about
+Sienkiewicz, speaking of his "Deluge," that he is "the first of Polish
+novelists, past or present, and second to none now living in England,
+France, or Germany."
+
+Sienkiewicz being himself a nobleman, therefore naturally in his
+historical novels he describes the glorious deeds of the Polish
+nobility, who, being located on the frontier of such barbarous nations
+as Turks, Kozaks, Tartars, and Wolochs (to-day Roumania), had defended
+Europe for centuries from the invasions of barbarism and gave the time
+to Germany, France, and England to outstrip Poland in the development
+of material welfare and general civilization among the masses--the
+nobility being always very refined--though in the fifteenth century
+the literature of Poland and her sister Bohemia (Chechy) was richer
+than any other European country, except Italy. One should at least
+always remember that Nicolaus Kopernicus (Kopernik) was a Pole and
+John Huss was a Chech.
+
+Historical novels began in England, or rather in Scotland, by the
+genius of Walter Scott, followed in France by Alexandre Dumas _pere_.
+These two great writers had numerous followers and imitators in all
+countries, and every nation can point out some more or less successful
+writer in that field, but who never attained the great success of
+Sienkiewicz, whose works are translated into many languages, even
+into Russian, where the antipathy for the Polish superior degree of
+civilization is still very eager.
+
+The superiority of Sienkiewicz's talent is then affirmed by this fact
+of translation, and I would dare say that he is superior to the father
+of this kind of novels, on account of his historical coloring, so much
+emphasized in Walter Scott. This important quality in the historical
+novel is truer and more lively in the Polish writer, and then he
+possesses that psychological depth about which Walter Scott never
+dreamed. Walter Scott never has created such an original and typical
+figure as Zagloba is, who is a worthy rival to Shakespeare's Falstaff.
+As for the description of duelings, fights, battles, Sienkiewicz's
+fantastically heroic pen is without rival.
+
+Alexandre Dumas, notwithstanding the biting criticism of Brunetiere,
+will always remain a great favorite with the reading masses, who are
+searching in his books for pleasure, amusement, and distraction.
+Sienkiewicz's historical novels possess all the interesting qualities
+of Dumas, and besides that they are full of wholesome food for
+thinking minds. His colors are more shining, his brush is broader,
+his composition more artful, chiselled, finished, better built, and
+executed with more vigor. While Dumas amuses, pleases, distracts,
+Sienkiewicz astonishes, surprises, bewitches. All uneasy
+preoccupations, the dolorous echoes of eternal problems, which
+philosophical doubt imposes with the everlasting anguish of the
+human mind, the mystery of the origin, the enigma of destiny, the
+inexplicable necessity of suffering, the short, tragical, and sublime
+vision of the future of the soul, and the future not less difficult to
+be guessed of by the human race in this material world, the torments
+of human conscience and responsibility for the deeds, is said by
+Sienkiewicz without any pedanticism, without any dryness.
+
+If we say that the great Hungarian author Maurice Jokay, who also
+writes historical novels, pales when compared with that fascinating
+Pole who leaves far behind him the late lions in the field of
+romanticism, Stanley J. Weyman and Anthony Hope, we are through with
+that part of Sienkiewicz's literary achievements.
+
+In the third period Sienkiewicz is represented by two problem novels,
+"Without Dogma" and "Children of the Soil."
+
+The charm of Sienkiewicz's psychological novels is the synthesis so
+seldom realized and as I have already said, the plastic beauty and
+abstract thoughts. He possesses also an admirable assurance of
+psychological analysis, a mastery in the painting of customs and
+characters, and the rarest and most precious faculty of animating
+his heroes with intense, personal life, which, though it is only an
+illusionary life, appears less deceitful than the real life.
+
+In that field of novels Sienkiewicz differs greatly from Balzac, for
+instance, who forced himself to paint the man in his perversity or in
+his stupidity. According to his views life is the racing after riches.
+The whole of Balzac's philosophy can be resumed in the deification of
+the force. All his heroes are "strong men" who disdain humanity and
+take advantage of it. Sienkiewicz's psychological novels are not
+lacking in the ideal in his conception of life; they are active
+powers, forming human souls. The reader finds there, in a
+well-balanced proportion, good and bad ideas of life, and he
+represents this life as a good thing, worthy of living.
+
+He differs also from Paul Bourget, who as a German savant counts how
+many microbes are in a drop of spoiled blood, who is pleased with any
+ferment, who does not care for healthy souls, as a doctor does not
+care for healthy people--and who is fond of corruption. Sienkiewicz's
+analysis of life is not exclusively pathological, and we find in his
+novels healthy as well as sick people as in the real life. He takes
+colors from twilight and aurora to paint with, and by doing so he
+strengthens our energy, he stimulates our ability for thinking about
+those eternal problems, difficult to be decided, but which existed and
+will exist as long as humanity will exist.
+
+He prefers green fields, the perfume of flowers, health, virtue, to
+Zola's liking for crime, sickness, cadaverous putridness, and manure.
+He prefers _l'ame humaine_ to _la bete humaine_.
+
+He is never vulgar even when his heroes do not wear any gloves, and he
+has these common points with Shakespeare and Moliere, that he does not
+paint only certain types of humanity, taken from one certain part of
+the country, as it is with the majority of French writers who do not
+go out of their dear Paris; in Sienkiewicz's novels one can find every
+kind of people, beginning with humble peasants and modest noblemen
+created by God, and ending with proud lords made by the kings.
+
+In the novel "Without Dogma," there are many keen and sharp
+observations, said masterly and briefly; there are many states of the
+soul, if not always very deep, at least written with art. And his
+merit in that respect is greater than of any other writers, if we
+take in consideration that in Poland heroic lyricism and poetical
+picturesqueness prevail in the literature.
+
+The one who wishes to find in the modern literature some aphorism
+to classify the characteristics of the people, in order to be able
+afterward to apply them to their fellow-men, must read "Children of
+the Soil."
+
+But the one who is less selfish and wicked, and wishes to collect for
+his own use such a library as to be able at any moment to take a book
+from a shelf and find in it something which would make him thoughtful
+or would make him forget the ordinary life,--he must get "Quo Vadis,"
+because there he will find pages which will recomfort him by their
+beauty and dignity; it will enable him to go out from his surroundings
+and enter into himself, _i.e_., in that better man whom we sometimes
+feel in our interior. And while reading this book he ought to leave
+on its pages the traces of his readings, some marks made with a lead
+pencil or with his whole memory.
+
+It seems that in that book a new man was aroused in Sienkiewicz, and
+any praise said about this unrivaled masterpiece will be as pale as
+any powerful lamp is pale comparatively with the glory of the sun.
+For instance, if I say that Sienkiewicz has made a thorough study of
+Nero's epoch, and that his great talent and his plastic imagination
+created the most powerful pictures in the historical background, will
+it not be a very tame praise, compared with his book--which, while
+reading it, one shivers and the blood freezes in one's veins?
+
+In "Quo Vadis" the whole _alta Roma_, beginning with slaves carrying
+mosaics for their refined masters, and ending with patricians, who
+were so fond of beautiful things that one of them for instance used to
+kiss at every moment a superb vase, stands before our eyes as if it
+was reconstructed by a magical power from ruins and death.
+
+There is no better description of the burning of Rome in any
+literature. While reading it everything turns red in one's eyes, and
+immense noises fill one's ears. And the moment when Christ appears
+on the hill to the frightened Peter, who is going to leave Rome, not
+feeling strong enough to fight with mighty Caesar, will remain one of
+the strongest passages of the literature of the whole world.
+
+After having read again and again this great--shall I say the greatest
+historical novel?--and having wondered at its deep conception,
+masterly execution, beautiful language, powerful painting of the
+epoch, plastic description of customs and habits, enthusiasm of
+the first followers of Christ, refinement of Roman civilization,
+corruption of the old world, the question rises: What is the
+dominating idea of the author, spread out all over the whole book? It
+is the cry of Christians murdered in circuses: _Pro Christo_!
+
+Sienkiewicz searching always and continually for a tranquil harbor
+from the storms of conscience and investigation of the tormented mind,
+finds such a harbor in the religious sentiments, in lively Christian
+faith. This idea is woven as golden thread in a silk brocade, not only
+in "Quo Vadis," but also in all his novels. In "Fire and Sword" his
+principal hero is an outlaw; but all his crimes, not only against
+society, but also against nature, are redeemed by faith, and as a
+consequence of it afterward by good deeds. In the "Children of the
+Soul," he takes one of his principal characters upon one of seven
+Roman hills, and having displayed before him in the most eloquent way
+the might of the old Rome, the might as it never existed before and
+perhaps never will exist again, he says: "And from all that nothing
+is left only crosses! crosses! crosses!" It seems to us that in "Quo
+Vadis" Sienkiewicz strained all his forces to reproduce from one side
+all the power, all riches, all refinement, all corruption of the
+Roman civilization in order to get a better contrast with the great
+advantages of the cry of the living faith: _Pro Christo!_ In that
+cry the asphyxiated not only in old times but in our days also find
+refreshment; the tormented by doubt, peace. From that cry flows hope,
+and naturally people prefer those from whom the blessing comes to
+those who curse and doom them.
+
+Sienkiewicz considers the Christian faith as the principal and even
+the only help which humanity needs to bear cheerfully the burden and
+struggle of every-day life. Equally his personal experience as well as
+his studies made him worship Christ. He is not one of those who say
+that religion is good for the people at large. He does not admit such
+a shade of contempt in a question touching so near the human heart.
+He knows that every one is a man in the presence of sorrow and the
+conundrum of fate, contradiction of justice, tearing of death, and
+uneasiness of hope. He believes that the only way to cross the
+precipice is the flight with the wings of faith, the precipice made
+between the submission to general and absolute laws and the confidence
+in the infinite goodness of the Father.
+
+The time passes and carries with it people and doctrines and systems.
+Many authors left as the heritage to civilization rows of books, and
+in those books scepticism, indifference, doubt, lack of precision and
+decision.
+
+But the last symptoms in the literature show us that the Stoicism
+is not sufficient for our generation, not satisfied with Marcus
+Aurelius's gospel, which was not sufficient even to that brilliant
+Sienkiewicz's Roman _arbiter elegantiarum_, the over-refined patrician
+Petronius. A nation which desired to live, and does not wish either to
+perish in the desert or be drowned in the mud, needs such a great help
+which only religion gives. The history is not only _magister vitae_,
+but also it is the master of conscience.
+
+Literature has in Sienkiewicz a great poet--epical as well as lyrical.
+
+I shall not mourn, although I appreciate the justified complaint about
+objectivity in _belles lettres._ But now there is no question what
+poetry will be; there is the question whether it will be, and I
+believe that society, being tired with Zola's realism and its
+caricature, not with the picturesqueness of Loti, but with catalogues
+of painter's colors; not with the depth of Ibsen, but the oddness of
+his imitators--it seems to me that society will hate the poetry which
+discusses and philosophizes, wishes to paint but does not feel, makes
+archeology but does not give impressions, and that people will turn to
+the poetry as it was in the beginning, what is in its deepest essence,
+to the flight of single words, to the interior melody, to the
+song--the art of sounds being the greatest art. I believe that if in
+the future the poetry will find listeners, they will repeat to the
+poets the words of Paul Verlaine, whom by too summary judgment they
+count among incomprehensible originals:
+
+  "_De la musique encore et toujours_."
+
+And nobody need be afraid, from a social point of view, for
+Sienkiewicz's objectivity. It is a manly lyricism as well as epic,
+made deep by the knowledge of the life, sustained by thinking, until
+now perhaps unconscious of itself, the poetry of a writer who walked
+many roads, studied many things, knew much bitterness, ridiculed many
+triflings, and then he perceived that a man like himself has only one
+aim: above human affairs "to spin the love, as the silkworm spins its
+web."
+
+S.C. DE SOISSONS.
+
+"THE UNIVERSITY," CAMBRIDGE, MASS.
+
+
+
+
+PART SECOND
+
+
+SO RUNS THE WORLD
+
+
+ZOLA.
+
+
+I have a great respect for every accomplished work. Every time I put
+on the end of any of my works _finis_, I feel satisfied; not because
+the work is done, not on account of future success, but on account of
+an accomplished deed.
+
+Every book is a deed--bad or good, but at any rate accomplished--and a
+series of them, written with a special aim, is an accomplished purpose
+of life; it is a feast during which the workers have the right to
+receive a wreath, and to sing: "We bring the crop, the crop!"
+
+Evidently the merit depends on the result of the work. The profession
+of the writer has its thorns about which the reader does not dream. A
+farmer, bringing the crop to his barn, has this absolute surety, that
+he brings wheat, rye, barley, or oats which will be useful to the
+people. An author, writing even with the best of faith, may have
+moments of doubt, whether instead of bread he did not give poison,
+whether his work is not a great mistake or a great misdeed, whether it
+has brought profit to humanity, or whether, were it not better for the
+people and himself, had he not written anything, nothing accomplished.
+
+Such doubts are foes to human peace, but at the same time they are a
+filter, which does not pass any dirt. It is bad when there are too
+many of them, it is bad when too few; in the first case the ability
+for deeds disappears, in the second, the conscience. Hence the
+eternal, as humanity, need of exterior regulator.
+
+But the French writers always had more originality and independence
+than others, and that regulator, which elsewhere was religion, long
+since ceased to exist for them. There were some exceptions, however.
+Balzac used to affirm that his aim was to serve religion and monarchy.
+But even the works of those who confessed such principles were not in
+harmony with themselves. One can say that it pleased the authors to
+understand their activity in that way, but the reading masses could
+understand it and often understood it as a negation of religious and
+ethical principles.
+
+In the last epoch, however, such misunderstanding became impossible,
+because the authors began to write, either in the name of their
+personal convictions, directly opposite to social principles and ties,
+or with objective analysis, which, in its action of life, marks the
+good and the evil as manifestations equally necessary and equally
+justified. France--and through France the rest of Europe--was
+overflowed with a deluge of books, written with such lightheartedness,
+so absolute and with such daring, not counting on any responsibility
+toward people, that even those who received them without any scruples
+began to be overcome with astonishment. It seemed that every author
+forced himself to go further than they expected him to. In that way
+they succeeded in being called daring thinkers and original artists.
+The boldness in touching certain subjects, and the way of interpreting
+them, seemed to be the best quality of the writer. To that was joined
+bad faith, or unconscious deceiving of himself and others. Analysis!
+They analyzed in the name of truth, which apparently must and has the
+right to be said, everything, but especially the evil, dirt, human
+corruption. They did not notice that this pseudo-analysis ceases to be
+an objective analysis, and becomes a sickish liking for rotten things
+coming from two causes: in the first place from the corruption of the
+taste, then from greater facility of producing striking effects.
+
+They utilized the philological faculty of the senses, on the strength
+of which repulsive impressions appear to us stronger and more real
+than agreeable, and they abused that property beyond measure.
+
+There was created a certain kind of travelling in putridness, because
+the subjects being exhausted very quickly, there was a necessity to
+find something new which could attract. The truth itself, in the name
+of which it was done, was put in a corner in the presence of such
+exigencies. Are you familiar with Zola's "La Terre"? This novel is to
+represent a picture of a French village. Try and think of a French
+village, or of any other village. How does it look altogether? It is
+a gathering of houses, trees, fields, pastures, wild flowers, people,
+herds, light, sky, singing, small country business, and work. In all
+that, without any doubt, the manure plays an important part, but there
+is something more behind it and besides it. But Zola's village looks
+as if it was composed exclusively of manure and crime. Therefore
+the picture is false, the truth twisted, because in nature the true
+relation of things is different. If any one would like to take the
+trouble of making a list of the women represented in French novels,
+he would persuade himself that at least ninety-five per cent. of
+them were fallen women. But in society it is not, and cannot be, so.
+Probably even in the countries where they worshipped Astarte, there
+were less bad women. Notwithstanding this, the authors try to persuade
+us that they are giving a true picture of society, and that their
+analysis of customs is an objective one. The lie, exaggeration, liking
+for rotten things--such is the exact picture in contemporary novels.
+I do not know what profit there is in literature like that, but I
+do know that the devil has not lost anything, because through this
+channel flows a river of mud and poison, and the moral sense became so
+dulled that finally they tolerated such books which a few decades
+ago would have brought the author to court. To-day we do not wish to
+believe that the author of "Madame Bovary" had two criminal suits. Had
+this book been written twenty years later, they would have found it
+too modest.
+
+But the human spirit, which does not slumber, and the organism that
+wishes to live, does not suffer excess of poison. Finally there came a
+moment for hiccoughs of disgust. Some voices began to rise asking for
+other spiritual bread; an instinctive sentiment awakes and cries that
+it cannot continue any longer in this way, that one must arise, shake
+off the mud, clean, change! The people ask for a fresh breeze. The
+masses cannot say what they want, but they know what they do not want;
+they know they are breathing bad air, and that they are suffocating.
+An uneasiness takes hold of their minds. Even in France they are
+seeking and crying for something different; they began to protest
+against the actual state of affairs. Many writers felt that
+uneasiness. They had some moments of doubt, about which I have spoken
+already, and those doubts were stronger on account of the uncertainty
+of the new roads. Look at the last books of Bourget, Rod, Barres,
+Desjardin, the poetry of Rimbaud, Verlaine, Heredia, Mallarme, and
+even Maeterlinck and his school. What do you find there? The searching
+for new essence and new form, feverish seeking for some issue,
+uncertainty where to go and where to look for help--in religion or
+mysticism, in duty outside of faith, or in patriotism or in humanity?
+Above all, however, one sees in them an immense uneasiness. They do
+not find any issue, because for it one needs two things: a great idea
+and a great talent, and they did not have either of them. Hence the
+uneasiness increases, and the same authors who arouse against rough
+pessimism of naturalistic direction fell into pessimism themselves,
+and by this the principal importance and aim of a reform became
+weaker. What remains then? The bizarre form. And in this bizarre form,
+whether it is called symbolism or impressionism, they go in deeper and
+become more entangled, losing artistic equilibrium, common sense, and
+serenity of the soul. Often they fall into the former corruption as
+far as the essence is concerned, and almost always into dissonance
+with one's self, because they have an honest sentiment that they must
+give to the world something new, and they know not what.
+
+Such are the present times! Among those searching in darkness,
+wandering and weary ones, one remained quiet, sure of himself and his
+doctrine, immovable and almost serious in his pessimism. It was Emile
+Zola. A great talent, slow but powerful and a potent force, surprising
+objectivism if the question is about a sentiment, because it is equal
+to almost complete indifference, such an exceptional gift of seeing
+the entire soul of humanity and things that it approaches this
+naturalistic writer to mystics--all that gives him a very great and
+unusual originality.
+
+The physical figure does not always reproduce the spiritual
+individuality. In Zola, this relation comes out very strikingly. A
+square face, low forehead covered with wrinkles, rough features, high
+shoulders and short neck, give to his person a rough appearance.
+Looking at his face and those wrinkles around the eyes, you can guess
+that he is a man who can stand much, that he is persevering and
+stubborn, not only in his projects but in the realization of them; but
+what is mere important, he is so in his thinking also. There is no
+keenness in him. At the first glance of the eye one can see that he
+is a doctrinarian shut up in himself, who does not embrace large
+horizons--sees everything at a certain angle, narrow-mindedly yet
+seeing distinctly.
+
+His mind, like a dark lantern, throws a narrow light in only one
+direction, and he goes in that direction with immovable surety.
+In that way the history of a series of his books called "Les
+Rougon-Macquart" becomes clear.
+
+Zola was determined to write the history of a certain family at the
+time of the Empire, on the ground of conditions produced by it, in
+consideration of the law of heredity.
+
+There was a question even about something more than this
+consideration, because this heredity had to become the physiological
+foundation of the work. There is a certain contradiction in the
+premises. Speaking historically Rougon-Macquart had to be a picture
+of French society during its last times. According to their moral
+manifestations of life, therefore, they ought to be of themselves more
+or less a normal family. But in such a case what shall one do with
+heredity? To be sure, moral families are such on the strength of
+the law of heredity--but it is impossible to show it in such
+conditions--one can do it only in exceptional cases of the normal
+type. Therefore the Rougon are in fact a sick family. They are
+children of nervousness. It was contracted by the first mother of the
+family, and since that time the coming generations, one after another,
+followed with the same stigma on their foreheads. This is the way the
+author wishes to have it, and one must agree with him. In what way,
+however, can a history of one family exceptionally attainted with a
+mental disorder be at the same time a picture of French society, the
+author does not explain to us. Had he said that during the Empire
+all society was sick, it would be a trick. A society can walk in the
+perilous road of politics or customs and be sick as a community, and
+at the same time have healthy individuals and families. These are two
+different things. Therefore one of the two: either the Rougon are
+sick, and in that case the cycle of novels about them is not a picture
+of French society during the Empire--it is only a psychological
+study--or the whole physiological foundations, all this heredity
+on which the cycle is based, in a word Zola's whole doctrine, is
+nonsense.
+
+I do not know whether any one has paid attention to Zola at this _aut
+aut_! It is sure that he never thought of it himself. Probably it
+would not have had any influence, as the criticisms had no influence
+on his theory of heredity. Critics and physiologists attacked him
+ofttimes with an arsenal of irrefutable arguments. It did not do any
+good. They affirmed in vain that the theory of heredity is not proved
+by any science, and above all it is difficult to grasp it and show it
+by facts; they pointed in vain that physiology cannot be fantastical
+and its laws cannot depend on the free conception of an author.
+Zola listened, continued to write, and in the last volume he gave
+a genealogical tree of the family of Rougon-Macquart, with such a
+serenity as if no one ever doubted his theory.
+
+At any rate, this tree has one advantage. It is so pretentious, so
+ridiculous that it takes away from the theory the seriousness which it
+would have given to less individual minds. We learn from it that from
+a nervously sick great-grandmother grows a sick family. But the one
+who would think that her nervousness is seen in descendants as it is
+in the physical field, in a certain similar way, in some inclination
+or passion for something, will be greatly mistaken. On the contrary,
+the marvellous tree produces different kinds of fruit. You can find
+on it red apples, pears, plums, cherries, and everything you might
+desire. And all that on account of great-grandmother's nervousness. Is
+it the same way in nature? We do not know. Zola himself does not have
+any other proofs than clippings from newspapers, describing different
+crimes; he preserved these clippings carefully as "human documents,"
+and which he uses according to his fancy.
+
+It can be granted to him, but he must not sell us such fancy for
+the eternal and immutable laws of nature. Grandmother did have
+nervousness, her nearest friends were in the habit of searching for
+remedies against ills not in a drug-store, therefore her male and
+female descendants are such as they must be--namely, criminals,
+thieves, fast women, honest people, saints, politicians, good mothers,
+bankers, farmers, murderers, priests, soldiers, ministers--in a word,
+everything which in the sphere of the mind, in the sphere of health,
+in the sphere of wealth and position, in the sphere of profession, can
+be and are men as well as women in the whole world. One is stupefied
+voluntarily. What then? And all that on account of grandmother's
+nervousness? "Yes!" answers the author. But if Adelaide Fouque had not
+had it, her descendants would be good or bad just the same and have
+the same occupations men and women usually have in this world.
+"Certainly!" Zola answers; "but Adelaide Fouque had nervousness." And
+further discussion is impossible, because one has to do with a man who
+his own voluntary fancy takes for a law of nature and his brain cannot
+be opened with a key furnished by logic. He built a genealogical tree;
+this tree could have been different--but if it was different, he would
+sustain that it can be only such as it is--and he would prefer to be
+killed rather than be convinced that his theory was worthless.
+
+At any rate, it is such a theory that it is not worth while to
+quarrel about it. A long time ago it was said that Zola had one good
+thing--his talent; and one bad--his doctrine. If as a consequence of
+an inherited nervousness one can become a rascal as well as a good
+man, a Sister of Charity as well as Nana, a farmer boy as well as
+Achilles--in that case there is an heredity which does not exist. A
+man can be that which he wishes to be. The field for good will and
+responsibility is open, and all those moral foundations on which human
+life is based come out of the fire safely. We could say to the author
+that there is too much ado about nothing, and finish with him as one
+finishes with a doctrinarian and count only his talent. But he cares
+for something else. No matter if his doctrine is empty, he makes from
+it other deductions. The entire cycle of his books speaks precisely.
+"No matter what you are, saint or criminal, you are such on the
+strength of the law of heredity, you are such as you must be, and in
+that case you have neither merit nor are you guilty." Here is the
+question of responsibility! But we are not going to discuss it. The
+philosophy has not yet found the proof of the existence of man, and
+when _cogito ergo sum_ of Cartesius was not sufficient for it, the
+question is still open. Even if all centuries of philosophy affirm it
+or not, the man is intrinsically persuaded that he exists, and no less
+persuaded that he is responsible for his whole life, which, without
+any regard to his theories, is based on such persuasion. And then even
+the science did not decide the question of the whole responsibility.
+Against authorities one can quote other authorities, against opinions
+one can bring other opinions, against deductions other deductions.
+But for Zola such opinion is decided. There is only one grandmother
+Adelaide, or grandfather Jacques, on whom everything depends. From
+that point begins, according to my opinion, the bad influence of the
+writer, because he not only decides difficult questions to be decided
+once and forever, but he popularizes them and facilitates the
+corruption of society. No matter if every thief or every murderer can
+appeal to a grandmother with nervousness. Courts, notwithstanding the
+cycle of Rougon-Macquart, will place them behind bars. The evil is not
+in single cases, but in this, that into the human soul a bad pessimism
+and depression flows, that the charm of life is destroyed, the hope,
+the energy, the liking for life, and therefore all effort in the
+direction of good is shattered.
+
+_A quoi bon?_ Such is the question coming by itself. A book is also an
+activity, forming human souls. If at least the reader would find
+in Zola's book the bad and good side of human life in an equal
+proportion, or at least in such as one can find it in reality! Vain
+hope! One must climb high in order to get colors from a rainbow or
+sunset--but everybody has saliva in his mouth and it is easy to paint
+with it. This naturalist prefers cheap effects more than others do; he
+prefers mildew to perfumes, _la bete humaine_ to _l'ame humaine!_
+
+If we could bring an inhabitant of Venus or Mars to the earth and ask
+him to judge of life on the earth from Zola's novels, he would say
+most assuredly: "This life is sometimes quite pure, like 'Le Reve,'
+but in general it is a thing which smells bad, is slippery, moist,
+dreadful." And even if the theories on which Zola has based his works
+were, as they are not, acknowledged truths, what a lack of pity to
+represent life in such a way to the people, who must live just the
+same! Does he do it in order to ruin, to disgust, to poison every
+action, to paralyze every energy, to discourage all thinking? In the
+presence of that, we are even sorry that he has a talent. It would
+have been better for him, for France, that he had not had it. And one
+wonders that he is not frightened, that when a fear seizes even those
+who did not lead to corruption, he alone with such a tranquillity
+finishes his Rougon-Macquart as if he had strengthened the capacity
+for life of the French people instead of having destroyed it. How is
+it possible that he cannot understand that people brought up on such
+corrupted bread and drinking, such bad water, not only will be unable
+to resist the storm, but even they will not have an inclination to do
+so! Musset has written in his time this famous verse: "We had already
+your German Rhine." Zola brings up his society in such a way that, if
+everything that he planted would take root, the second of Musset's
+verses would be: "But to-day we will give you even the Seine." But
+it is not as bad as that. "La Debacle" is a remarkable book,
+notwithstanding all its faults, but the soldiers, who will read it,
+will be defeated by those who in the night sing: "Glory, Glory,
+Halleluia!"
+
+I consider Zola's talent as a national misfortune, and I am glad that
+his times are passing away, that even the most zealous pupils abandon
+the master who stands alone more and more.
+
+Will humanity remember him in literature? Will his fame pass? We
+cannot affirm, but we can doubt! In the cycle of Rougon-Macquart there
+are powerful volumes, as "Germinal" or "La Debacle." But in general,
+that which Zola's natural talent made for his immortality was spoiled
+by a liking for dirty realism and his filthy language. Literature
+cannot use such expressions of which even peasants are ashamed. The
+real truth, if the question is about vicious people, can be attained
+by other means, by probable reproduction of the state of their souls,
+thoughts, deeds, finally by the run of their conversation, but not by
+verbal quotation of their swearings and most horrid words. As in the
+choice of pictures, so in the choice of expression, exist certain
+measures, pointed at by reason and good taste. Zola overstepped it
+to such a degree ("La Terre") to which nobody yet dared to approach.
+Monsters are killed because they are monsters. A book which is the
+cause of disgust must be abandoned. It is the natural order of
+things. From old production as of universal literature survive the
+forgetfulness of the rough productions, destined to excite laughter
+(Aristophanes, Rabelais, etc.), or lascivious things, but written
+with an elegance (Boccaccio). Not one book written in order to excite
+nausea outlived. Zola, for the sake of the renown caused by his works,
+for the sake of the scandal produced by every one of his volumes,
+killed his future. On account of that happened a strange thing: it
+happened that he, a man writing according to a conceived plan, writing
+with deliberation, cold and possessing his subjects as very few
+writers are, created good things only when he had the least
+opportunity to realize his plans, doctrines, means,--in a word, when
+he dominated the subject the least and was dominated by the subject
+most.
+
+Such was the case in "Germinal" and "La Debacle." The immensity of
+socialism and the immensity of the war simply crushed Zola with all
+his mental apparatus. His doctrines became very small in the presence
+of such dimensions, and hardly any one hears of them in the noise of
+the deluge, overflowing the mine and in the thundering of Prussian
+cannons; only talent remained. Therefore in both those books there are
+pages worthy of Dante. Quite a different thing happened with "Docteur
+Pascal." Being the last volume of the cycle, it was bound to be the
+last deduction, from the whole work the synthesis of the doctrine, the
+belfry of the whole building. Consequently in this volume Zola speaks
+more about doctrine than in any other previous volume; as the doctrine
+is bad, wicked, and false, therefore "Docteur Pascal" is the worst and
+most tedious book of all the cycle of Rougon-Macquart. It is a series
+of empty leaves on which tediousness is hand in hand with lack of
+moral sense, it is a pale picture full of falsehood--such is "Le
+Docteur Pascal." Zola wishes to have him an honest man. He is the
+outcast of the family Rougon-Macquart. In heredity there happens such
+lucky degenerations; the doctor knows about it, he considers himself
+as a happy exception, and it is for him a source of continuous inward
+pleasure. In the mean while, he loves people, serves them and sells
+them his medicine, which cures all possible disease. He is a sweet
+sage, who studies life, therefore he gathers "human documents," builds
+laboriously the genealogical tree of the family of Rougon-Macquart,
+whose descendant he is himself, and on the strength of his
+observations he comes to the same conclusion as Zola. To which? It is
+difficult to answer the question; but here it is more or less: if any
+one is not well, usually he is sick and that heredity exists, but
+mothers and fathers who come from other families can bring into the
+blood of children new elements; in that way heredity can be modified
+to such a degree that strictly speaking it does not exist.
+
+To all that Doctor Pascal is a positivist. He does not wish to affirm
+anything, but he does affirm that actual state of science does not
+permit of any further deductions than those which on the strength of
+the observation of known facts can be deducted, therefore one must
+hold them, and neglect the others. In that respect his prejudices do
+not tell us anything more than newspaper articles, written by young
+positivists. For the people, who are rushing forward, for those
+spiritual needs, as strong as thirst and hunger, by which the man felt
+such ideas as God, faith, immortality, the doctor has only a smile of
+commiseration. And one might wonder at him a little bit. One could
+understand him better if he did not acknowledge the possibility of the
+disentangling of different abstract questions, but he affirms that the
+necessity does not exist--by which he sins against evidence, because
+such a necessity exists, not further than under his own roof, in the
+person of his niece. This young person, brought up in his principles,
+at once loses the ground under her feet. In her soul arose more
+questions than the doctor was able to answer. And from this moment
+began a drama for both of them.
+
+"I cannot be satisfied with that," cries the niece, "I am choking; I
+must know something, and if your science cannot satisfy my necessity,
+I am going there where they will not only tranquillize me, not only
+explain everything to me, but also will make me happy--I am going to
+church."
+
+And she went. The roads of master and pupil diverge more and more.
+The pupil comes to the conclusion that the science which is only a
+slipknot on the human neck is positively bad and that it would be a
+great merit before God to burn those old papers in which the doctor
+writes his observations. And the drama becomes stronger, because
+notwithstanding the doctor being sixty years old, and Clotilde is only
+twenty years old, these two people are in love, not only as relations
+are in love, but as a man and woman love each other. This love adds
+more bitterness to the fight and prompts the catastrophe.
+
+On a certain night the doctor detected the niece in a criminal deed.
+She opened his desk, took out his papers, and she was ready to
+burn them up! They began to fight! Beautiful picture! Both are in
+nightgowns--they pull each other's hair, they scratch each other. He
+is stronger than she; although he has bitten her, she feels a certain
+pleasure in that experiment on her maiden skin of the strength of a
+man. In that is the whole of Zola. But let us listen, because the
+decisive moment approaches. The doctor himself, after having rested a
+while, announces it solemnly. The reader shivers. Will the doctor by
+the strength of his genius tear the sky and show to her emptiness
+beyond the stars? Or will he by the strength of his eloquence ruin her
+church, her creed, her ecstasies, her hopes?
+
+In the quietness the doctor's low voice is heard:
+
+"I did not wish to show you that, but it cannot last any longer--the
+time has come. Give me the genealogical tree of Rougon-Macquart."
+
+Yes! The genealogical tree of Rougon-Macquart! The reading of it
+begins: There was one Adelaide Fouque, who married Rougon-Macquart's
+friend. Rougon had Eugene Rougon, also Pascal Rougon, also Aristides,
+also Sidonie, also Martha. Aristides had Maxyme, Clotilde, Victor, and
+Maxyme had Charles, and so on to the end; but Sidonie had a daughter
+Angelle, and Martha, who married Mouret, who was from Macquart's
+family, had three children, etc.
+
+The night passes, pales, but the reading continues. After Rougons come
+Macquarts, then the generations of both families. One name follows
+another. They appear bad, good, indifferent, all classes, from
+ministers, bankers, great merchants, to simple soldiers or rascals
+without any professions--finally the doctor stops reading--and looking
+with his eyes of savant at his niece, asks: "Well, what now?"
+
+And beautiful Clotilde throws herself into his arms, crying:
+"_Vicisti! Vicisti!_"
+
+And her God, her church, her flight toward ideals, her spiritual needs
+disappeared, turned into ashes.
+
+Why? On the ground of what final conclusion? For what good reason?
+What could there be in the tree that convinced her? How could it
+produce any other impression than that of tediousness? Why did she
+not ask the question, which surely must have come to the lips of the
+reader: "And what then?"--it is unknown! I never noticed that any
+other author could deduct from such a trifling and insignificant
+cause such great and immediate consequences. It is as much of an
+astonishment as if Zola should order Clotilde's faith and principles
+to be turned into ashes after the doctor has read to her an almanac,
+time-table, bill of fare, or catalogue of some museum. The
+freedom surpasses here all possible limits and becomes absolutely
+incomprehensible. The reader asks whether the author deceives himself
+or if he wishes to throw some dust into the eyes of the public? And
+this climax of the novel is at the same time the downfall of all
+doctrine. Clotilde ought to have answered as follows:
+
+"Your theory has no connection with my faith in God and the Church.
+Your heredity is so _loose_ and on the strength of it one can be
+so much, _everything_, that it becomes _nothing_--therefore the
+consequences which you deduct from it also are based upon nothing.
+Nana, according to you, is a street-walker, and Angelle is a saint;
+the priest Mouret is an ascetic, Jacques Lantier a murderer, and all
+that on account of great-grandmother Adelaide! But I tell you with
+more real probability, that the good are good because they have my
+faith, because they believe in responsibility and immortality of the
+soul, and the bad are bad because they do not believe in anything. How
+can you prove that the cause of good and bad is in great-grandmother
+Adelaide Fouque? Perhaps you will tell me that it is so because it
+is so; but I can tell you that the faith and responsibility were for
+centuries a stopper for evil, and you cannot deny it, if you wish to
+be a positivist, because those are material facts. In a word, I have
+objective proofs where you have your personal views, and if it is so,
+then leave my faith and throw your fancy into the fire."
+
+But Clotilde does not answer anything like this. On the contrary, she
+eats at once the apple from this tree--passes soul and body into the
+doctor's camp, and she does it because Zola wishes to have it that
+way. There is no other reason for it and cannot be.
+
+Had she done that on account of love for the doctor, had this reason,
+which in a woman can play such an important part, acted on her,
+everything would be easy to understand. But there is no such thing!
+In that case what would become of all of Zola's doctrine? It acts
+exclusively upon Clotilde, the author wishes to have only such a
+reason. And it happens as he wishes, but at the cost of logic and
+common sense. Since that time everything would be permitted: one will
+be allowed to persuade the reader that the man who is not loved makes
+a woman fall in love with him by means of showing her a price list
+of butter or candies. To such results a great and true talent is
+conducted by a doctrine.
+
+This doctrine conducts also to perfect atrophy of moral sense. This
+heredity is a wall in which one can make as many windows as one
+pleases. The doctor is such a window. He considers himself as being
+degenerated from the nervousness of the family; it means that he is
+a normal man, and as such he would transmit his health to his
+descendants. Clotilde thinks also that it would be quite a good idea,
+and as they are in love, consequently they take possession of each
+other, and they do it as did people in the epoch of caverns. Zola
+considered it a perfectly natural thing, Doctor Pascal thinks the
+same, and as Clotilde passed into his camp, she did not make any
+opposition. This appears a little strange. Clotilde was religious only
+a little while ago! Her youth and lack of experience do not justify
+her either. Even at eight years, girls have some sentiment of modesty.
+At twenty years a young girl always knows what she is doing, and she
+cannot be called a sacrifice, and if she departs from the sentiment of
+modesty she does it either by love, which makes noble the raptures,
+or because she does it by the act of duty, but at the same time
+she wishes to be herself a legitimated duty. Even if a woman is an
+irreligious being and she refuses to be blessed by religion, she can
+desire that her sentiment were legitimated. The priest or _monsieur le
+maire_? Clotilde, who loves Doctor Pascal, does not ask for anything.
+Marriage, accomplished by a _maire_, seems to her to be a secondary
+thing. Here also one cannot understand her, because a true love would
+wish to make the knot lasting. That which really happens is quite
+different, in the novel, that first separation is the end of the
+relation between them. Were they married at least by a _maire_, they
+would have remained even in the separation husband and wife, they
+would not cease to belong to each other; but as they were not married,
+therefore at the moment of her departure he became unmarried, as
+formerly, Doctor Pascal, she--seduced Clotilde. Even during their life
+in common there happened a thousand disagreeable incidents for both of
+them. One time, for instance, Clotilde rushes crying and red, and when
+the frightened doctor asks her what is the matter, she answers:
+
+"Ah, those women! Walking in the shade, I closed my parasol and I hurt
+a child. In that moment all of the women fell on me and began to shout
+such things! Ah, it was so dreadful! that I shall never have any
+children, that such things are not for such a dishcloth as I! and many
+other things which I cannot repeat; I do not wish to repeat them; I do
+not even understand them."
+
+Her breast was moved by sobbings; he became pale, and seizing her by
+the shoulders, commenced to cover her face with kisses, saying:
+
+"It's my fault, you suffer through me! Listen, we will go very far
+from here, where no one knows us, where everybody will greet you and
+you shall be happy."
+
+Only one thing does not come to their minds: to be married. When
+Pascal's mother speaks to him about it, they do not listen to it. It
+is not dictated to her by woman's modesty, to him by the care for her
+and the desire to shelter her from insults. Why? Because Zola likes it
+that way.
+
+But perhaps he cares to show what tragical results are produced
+by illegitimate marriages? Not at all. He shares the doctor's and
+Clotilde's opinion. Were they married, there would be no drama, and
+the author wishes to have it. That is the reason.
+
+Then comes the doctor's insolvency. One must separate. This separation
+becomes the misfortune of their lives: the doctor will die of it. Both
+feel that it will not be the end, they do not wish it--and they do not
+think of any means which would forever affirm their mutual dependence
+and change the departure for only a momentary separation, but not for
+eternal farewells: and they do not marry.
+
+They did not have any religion, therefore they did not wish for any
+priest; it is logical, but why did they not wish for a _maire_? The
+question remains without an answer.
+
+Here, besides lack of moral sense, there is something more, the lack
+of common sense. The novel is not only immoral, but at the same time
+it is a bad shanty, built of rotten pieces of wood, not holding
+together, unable to suffer any contact with logic and common sense. In
+such mud of nonsense even the talent was drowned.
+
+One thing remains: the poison flows as usual in the soul of the
+reader, the mind became familiar with the evil and ceased to despise
+it. The poison licks, spoils the simplicity of the soul, moral
+impressions and that sense of conscience which distinguishes the bad
+from the good.
+
+The doctor dies from languishing after Clotilde. She comes back under
+the old roof and takes care of the child. Nothing of that which the
+doctor sowed in her soul had perished. On the contrary, everything
+grows very well. She loved the life, she also loves it now, she is
+resigned to it entirely; not through resignation but because she
+acknowledges it--and the more she thinks of it, rocking in her lap
+the child without a name, she acknowledges more. Such is the end of
+Rougon-Macquarts.
+
+But such an end is a new surprise. Here we have before us nineteen
+volumes, and in those volumes, as Zola himself says, _tant de boue,
+tant de larmes. C'etait a se demander si d'un coup de foudre, il
+n'aurait pas mieux valu balayer cette fourmiliere gatee et miserable_.
+And it is true! Any one who will read those volumes comes to the
+conclusion that life is a blindly mechanical and exasperating process,
+in which one must take part because one cannot avoid it. There is more
+mud in it than green grass, more corruption than wholesomeness, more
+odor of corpses than perfume of flowers, more illness, more madness,
+and more crime than health and virtue. It is a Gehenna not only
+dreadful but also abominable. The hair rises on the head, and in the
+mean while the mouth is wet and the question comes, will it not be
+better that a thunderbolt destroyed _cette fourmiliere gatee et
+miserable_?
+
+There cannot be any other conclusion, because any other would be a
+madman's mental aberration, the breaking of the rules of sense and
+logic. And now do you know how the cycle of these novels really ended?
+By a hymn in the worship of life.
+
+Here one's hands drop! It will be useless work to show again that the
+author comes to a conclusion which is illogical with his whole work.
+God bless him! But he must not be astonished if he is abandoned by his
+pupils. The people must think according to rules of logic. And as in
+the mean while they must live, consequently they wish to get some
+consolation in this life. Masters of Zola's kind gave them only
+corruption, chaos, disgust for life, and despair. Their rationalism
+cannot prove anything else, and if it did, it would be with too much
+zeal, it would overstep the limits. To-day the suffocated need some
+pure air, the doubting ones some hope, tormented by uneasiness, some
+quietude, therefore they are doing well when they turn therefrom where
+the hope and peace flow, there where they bless them and where they
+say to them as to Lazarus: _Tolle grabatum tuum et ambula_.
+
+By this one can explain to-day's evolutions, whose waves flow to all
+parts of the world.
+
+According to my opinion, poetry as well as novels must pass through
+it--even more: they must quicken it and make it more powerful. One
+cannot continue any longer that way! On an exhausted field, only
+weeds grow. The novel must strengthen the life, not shake it; make
+it nobler, not soil it; carry good "news," and not bad. It does not
+matter whether this which I say here please any one or not, because I
+believe that I feel the great and urgent need of the human soul, which
+cries for a change.
+
+
+
+
+PART THIRD
+
+
+WHOSE FAULT?
+
+
+_A Dramatic Picture in One Act_.
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  Jadwiga Karlowiecka.
+  Leon--A Painter.
+  A Servant.
+
+In the House of Jadwiga Karlowiecka.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+
+Servant.--The lady will be here in a minute.
+
+Leon (alone).--I cannot overcome my emotion nor can I tranquillize the
+throbbing of my heart. Three times have I touched the bell and three
+times have I wished to retreat. I am troubled. Why does she wish to
+see me! (Takes out a letter). "Be so kind as to come to see me on a
+very important matter. In spite of all that has happened I hope
+you will not refuse to grant the request of--a woman. Jadwiga
+Karlowiecka." Perhaps it would have been better and more honest to
+have left this letter without an answer. But I see that I have cheated
+myself in thinking that nothing will happen, and that it would be
+brutal of me not to come. The soul--poor moth--flies toward the light
+which may burn, but can neither warm nor light it. What has attracted
+me here? Is it love? Can I answer the question as to whether I still
+love this woman--so unlike my pure sweetheart of former years--this
+half lioness, whose reputation has been torn to shreds by human
+tongues? No! It is rather some painful curiosity which has attracted
+me here. It is the unmeasurable grief which in two years I have been
+unable to appease, that desire for a full explanation: "Why?" has been
+repeated over and over during my sleepless nights. And then let her
+see this emaciated face--let her look from nearby on that broken life.
+I could not resist. Such vengeance is my right. I shall be proud
+enough to set my teeth to stifle all groans. What is done cannot be
+undone, and I swear to myself that it shall never be done again.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+
+Jadwiga (entering).--You must excuse me for keeping you waiting.
+
+Leon.--It is my fault. I came too early, although I tried to be exact.
+
+Jadwiga.--No, I must be frank and tell you how it happened. In former
+times we were such dear friends, and then we have not seen each other
+for two years. I asked you to come, but I was not sure that you
+would grant my request, therefore--when the bell rang--after two
+years--(smiling) I needed a few moments to overcome the emotion. I
+thought it was necessary for both of us.
+
+Leon.--I am calm, madam, and I listen to you.
+
+Jadwiga.--I wished also that we should greet each other like people
+who have forgotten about the past, who know that it will not return,
+and to be at once on the footing of good friends; I do not dare say
+like brother and sisters. Therefore, Sir, here is my hand, and now be
+seated and tell me if you accept my proposition.
+
+Leon.--I leave that to you.
+
+Jadwiga.--If that is so, then I must tell you that such an agreement,
+based on mutual well-wishing, excludes excessive solemnity. We must be
+natural, sincere, and frank.
+
+Leon.--Frankly speaking, it will be a little difficult, still.
+
+Jadwiga.--It would be difficult if there were no condition: "Not a
+word about the past!" If we both keep to this, a good understanding
+will return of itself and in time we may become good friends. What
+have you been doing during the past two years?
+
+Leon.--I have been pushing the wheelbarrow of life, as all mortals
+do. Every Monday I have thought that in a week there would be another
+Monday. I assure you that there is some distraction in seeing the
+days spin out like a thread from a ball, and how everything that has
+happened goes away and gradually disappears, like a migratory bird.
+
+Jadwiga.--Such distraction is good for those to whom another bird
+comes with a song of the future. But otherwise--
+
+Leon.--Otherwise it is perhaps better to think that when all threads
+will be spun out from the ball, there will remain nothing. Sometimes
+the reminiscences are very painful. Happily time dulls their edge, or
+they would prick like thorns.
+
+Jadwiga.--Or would burn like fire.
+
+Leon.--All-wise Nature gives us some remedy for it. A fire which is
+not replenished must die, and the ashes do not burn.
+
+Jadwiga.--We are unwillingly chasing a bird which has flown away.
+Enough of it! Have you painted much lately?
+
+Leon.--I do nothing else. I think and I paint. It is true that until
+now my thoughts have produced nothing, and I have painted a very
+little. But it was not my fault. Better be good enough to tell me what
+has caused you to call me here.
+
+Jadwiga.--It will come by itself. In the first place, I should be
+justified in so doing by a desire to see a great man. You are now an
+artist whose fame is world-wide.
+
+Leon--I would appear to be guilty of conceit, but I honestly think
+that I was not the last pawn on the chessboard in the drawing-room,
+and that is perhaps the reason why I have been thinking during the
+past two years and could not understand why I was thrown aside like a
+common pawn.
+
+Jadwiga.--And where is our agreement?
+
+Leon.--It is a story told in a subjective way by a third person.
+According to the second clause in our agreement--"sincerity"--I must
+add that I am already accustomed to my wheelbarrow.
+
+Jadwiga.--We must not speak about it.
+
+Leon.--I warn you--it will be difficult.
+
+Jadwiga.--It should be more easy for you. You, the elect of art and
+the pride of the whole nation, and in the mean while its spoiled
+child--you can live with your whole soul in the present and in the
+future. From the flowers strewn under one's feet, one can always chose
+the most beautiful, or not choose at all, but always tread upon them.
+
+Leon.--If one does not stumble.
+
+Jadwiga.--No! To advance toward immortality.
+
+Leon.--Longing for death while on the road.
+
+Jadwiga.--It is an excess of pessimism for a man who says that he is
+accustomed to his wheelbarrow.
+
+Leon.--I wish only to show the other side of the medal. And then you
+must remember, madam, that to-day pessimism is the mode. You must not
+take my words too seriously. In a drawing-room one strings the words
+of a conversation like beads on a thread--it is only play.
+
+Jadwiga.--Let us play then (after a while). Ah! How many changes! I
+cannot comprehend. If two years ago some one had told me that to-day
+we would sit far apart from each other, and chat as we do, and look at
+each other with watchful curiosity, like two people perfectly strange
+to each other, I could not have believed. Truly, it is utterly
+amusing!
+
+Leon.--It would not be proper for me to remind you of our agreement.
+
+Jadwiga.--But nevertheless you do remind me. Thank you. My nerves are
+guilty for this melancholy turn of the conversation. But I feel it is
+not becoming to me. But pray be assured that I shall not again enter
+that thorny path, if for no other reason than that of self-love. I,
+too, amuse myself as best I can, and I return to my reminiscences only
+when wearied. For several days I have been greatly wearied.
+
+Leon.--Is that the reason why you asked me to come here? I am afraid
+that I will not be an abundant source of distraction. My disposition
+is not very gay, and I am too proud, too honest, and--too costly to
+become a plaything. Permit me to leave you.
+
+Jadwiga.--You must forgive me. I did not mean to offend you. Without
+going back to the past, I can tell you that pride is your greatest
+fault, and if it were not for that pride, many sad things would not
+have happened.
+
+Leon.--Without going back to the past, I must answer you that it is
+the only sail which remained on my boat. The others are torn by the
+wind of life. If it were not for this last sail, I should have sunk
+long ago.
+
+Jadwiga.--And I think that it was a rock on which has been wrecked
+not only your boat--but no matter! So much the worse for those who
+believed in fair weather and a smooth sea. We must at least prevent
+ourselves from now being carried where we do not wish to sail.
+
+Leon.--And where the sandy banks are sure--
+
+Jadwiga.--What strange conversation! It seems to me that it is a net,
+in which the truth lies at the bottom, struggling in vain to break the
+meshes. But perhaps it is better so.
+
+Leon.--Much better. Madam, you have written me that you wished to see
+me on an important matter. I am listening.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes (smiling). It is permitted a society woman to have her
+fancies and desires--sometimes inexplicable fancies, and it is not
+permitted a gentleman to refuse them. Well, then, I wished to see my
+portrait, painted by the great painter Leon. Would you be willing to
+paint it?
+
+Leon.--Madam--
+
+Jadwiga.--Ah! the lion's forehead frowns, as if my wish were an
+insult.
+
+Leon.--I think that the fancies of a society woman are indeed
+inexplicable, and do not look like jokes at all.
+
+Jadwiga.--This question has two sides! The first is the formal side
+and it shows itself thus: Mme. Jadwiga Karlowiecka most earnestly asks
+the great painter Leon to make her portrait. That is all! The painter
+Leon, who, it is known, paints lots of portraits, has no good reason
+for refusing. The painter cannot refuse to make a portrait any more
+than a physician can refuse his assistance. There remains the other
+side--the past. But we agreed that it is a forbidden subject.
+
+Leon.--Permit me, madam--
+
+Jadwiga (interrupting).--Pray, not a word about the past. (She
+laughs.) Ah, my woman's diplomacy knows how to tie a knot and draw
+tight the ends of it. How your embarrassment pleases me. But there is
+something quite different. Let us suppose that I am a vain person,
+full of womanly self-love; full of petty jealousy and envy. Well, you
+have painted the portrait of Mme. Zofia and of Helena. I wish to have
+mine also. One does not refuse the women such things. Reports of your
+fame come to me from all sides. I hear all around me the words: "Our
+great painter--our master!" Society lionizes you. God knows how many
+breasts sigh for you. Every one can have your works, every one can
+approach you, see you, be proud of you. I alone, your playmate, your
+old friend, I alone am as though excommunicated.
+
+Leon.--But Mme. Jadwiga--
+
+Jadwiga.--Ah, you have called me by my name. I thank you and beg your
+pardon. It is the self-love of a woman, nothing more. It is my nerves.
+Do not be frightened. You see how dangerous it is to irritate me.
+After one of my moods I am unbearable. I will give you three days to
+think the matter over. If you do not wish to come, write me then (she
+laughs sadly). Only I warn you, that if you will neither come nor
+write me, I will tell every one that you are afraid of me, and so
+I will satisfy my self-love. In the mean time, for the sake of my
+nerves, you must not tell, me that you refuse my request. I am a
+little bit ill--consequently capricious.
+
+Leon.--In three days you shall have my answer (rising), and now I will
+say good-bye.
+
+Jadwiga.--Wait a moment. This is not so easy as you think. Truly, I
+would think you are afraid of me. It is true that they say I am a
+coquette, a flirt. I know they talk very badly about me. Besides we
+are good acquaintances, who have not seen each other for two years.
+Let us then talk a little. Let me take your hat. Yes, that is it!
+Now let us talk. I am sure we may become friends again. As for me at
+least--what do you intend to do in the future besides painting my
+portrait?
+
+Leon.--The conversation about me would not last long. Let us
+take another more interesting subject. You had better talk about
+yourself--about your life, your family.
+
+Jadwiga.--As for my husband, he is, as usual, in Chantilly. My mother
+is dead! Poor mama! She was so fond of you--she loved you very much
+(after a pause). In fact, as you see, I have grown old and changed
+greatly.
+
+Leon.--At your age the words "I have grown old" are only a daring
+challenge thrown by a woman who is not afraid that she would be
+believed.
+
+Jadwiga.--I am twenty-three years old, so I am not talking about age
+in years, but age in morals. I feel that to-day I am not like that
+Jadwiga of Kalinowice whom you used to know so well. Good gracious!
+when I think to-day of that confidence and faith in life--those
+girlish illusions--the illusions of a young person who wished to be
+happy and make others happy, that enthusiasm for everything good and
+noble! where has all that gone--where has it disappeared? And to think
+that I was--well, an honest wild-flower--and to-day--
+
+Leon.--And to-day a society woman.
+
+Jadwiga.--To-day, when I see such a sceptical smile as I saw a few
+moments ago on your lips, it seems to me that I am ridiculous--very
+often so--even always when I sit at some ideal embroidery and when
+I begin to work at some withered flowers on the forgotten, despised
+canvas of the past. It is a curious and old fashion from times when
+faithfulness was not looked seriously on, and people sang of Filon.
+
+Leon.--At that moment you were speaking according to the latest mode.
+
+Jadwiga.--Shall I weep, or try to tie the broken thread? Well, the
+times change. I can assure you that I have some better moments, during
+which I laugh heartily at everything (handing him a cigarette). Do you
+smoke?
+
+Leon.--No, madam.
+
+Jadwiga.--I do. It is also a distraction. Sometimes I hunt _par force_
+with my husband, I read Zola's novels, I make calls and receive
+visits, and every morning I ponder as to the best way to kill time.
+Sometimes I succeed--sometimes not. Apropos, you know my husband, do
+you not?
+
+Leon.--I used to know him.
+
+Jadwiga.--He is very fond of hunting, but only _par force_. We never
+hunt otherwise.
+
+Leon.--Let us be frank. You had better drop that false tone.
+
+Jadwiga.--On the contrary. In our days we need impressions which
+stir our nerves. The latest music, like life itself, is full of
+dissonances. I do not wish to say that I am unhappy with my husband.
+It is true that he is always in Chantilly, and I see him only once in
+three months, but it proves, on the other hand, that he has confidence
+in me. Is it not true?
+
+Leon.--I do not know, and I do not wish to decide about it. But before
+all, I should not know anything about it.
+
+Jadwiga.--It seemed to me that you ought to know. Pray believe that I
+would not be as frank with any one else as I am with you. And then, I
+do not complain. I try to surround myself with youths who pretend they
+are in love with me. There is not a penny-worth of truth in all of
+it--they all lie, but the form of the lie is beautiful because they
+are all well-bred people. The Count Skorzewski visits me also--you
+must have heard of him, I am sure. I recommend him to you as a
+model for Adonis. Ha! ha! You do not recognize the wild-flower of
+Kalinowice?
+
+Leon.--No, I do not recognize it.
+
+Jadwiga.--No! But the life flower.
+
+Leon.--As a joke--
+
+Jadwiga.--At which one cannot laugh always. If our century was not
+sceptical I should think myself wild, romantic, trying to drown
+despair. But the romantic times have passed away, therefore, frankly
+speaking, I only try to fill up a great nothing. I also spin out my
+ball, although not always with pleasure. Sometimes I seem to myself so
+miserable and my life so empty that I rush to my prayer-desk, left by
+my mother. I weep, I pray--and then I laugh again at my prayers and
+tears. And so it goes on--round and round. Do you know that they
+gossip about me?
+
+Leon.--I do not listen to the gossip.
+
+Jadwiga.--How good you are! I will tell you then why they gossip. A
+missionary asked a negro what, according to his ideas, constituted
+evil? The negro thought a while, and then said: "Evil is if some one
+were to steal my wife." "And what is good?" asked the missionary.
+"Good is when I steal from some one else." My husband's friends are of
+the negro's opinion. Every one of them would like to do a good deed
+and steal some one's wife.
+
+Leon.--It depends on the wife.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes, but every word and every look is a bait. If the fish
+passes the bait, the fisherman's self-love is wounded. That is why
+they slander me (after a while). You great people--you are filled with
+simplicity. Then you think it depends on the wife?
+
+Leon.--Yes, it does.
+
+Jadwiga.--_Morbleu!_ as my husband says, and if the wife is weary?
+
+Leon.--I bid you good-bye.
+
+Jadwiga.--Why? Does what I say offend you?
+
+Leon.--It does more than offend me. It hurts me. Maybe it will
+seem strange to you, but here in my breast I am carrying some
+flowers--although they are withered--dead for a long time. But they
+are dear to me and just now you are trampling on them.
+
+Jadwiga (with an outburst).--Oh, if those flowers had not died!
+
+Leon.--They are in my heart--and there is a tomb. Let us leave the
+past alone.
+
+Jadwiga.--Yes, you are right. Leave it alone. What is dead cannot
+be resuscitated. I wish to speak calmly. Look at my situation. What
+defends me--what helps me--what protects me? I am a young woman, and
+it seems not ugly, and therefore no one approaches me with an honest,
+simple heart, but with a trap in eyes and mouth. What opposition have
+I to make? Weariness? Grief? Emptiness? In life even a man must lean
+on something, and I, a feeble woman, I am like a boat without a helm,
+without oar and without light toward which to sail. And the heart
+longs for happiness. You must understand that a woman must be loved
+and must love some one in the world, and if she lacks true love she
+seizes the first pretext of it--the first shadow.
+
+Leon (with animation).--Poor thing.
+
+Jadwiga.--Do not smile in that ironical way. Be better, be less severe
+with me. I do not even have any one to complain, and that is why I do
+not drive away Count Skorzewski. I detest his beauty, I despise his
+perverse mind, but I do not drive him away because he is a skilful
+actor, and because when I see his acting it awakens in me the echo of
+former days. (After a while.) How shall I fill my life? Study? Art?
+Even if I loved them, they would not love me for they are not
+living things. No, truly now! They showed me no duties, no aims, no
+foundations. Everything on which other women live--everything which
+constitutes their happiness, sincere sorrow, strength, tears, and
+smiles, is barred from me. Morally I have nothing to live on--like a
+beggar. I have no one to live for--like an orphan. I am not permitted
+to yearn for a noble and quiet life; I may only nurture myself with
+grief and defend myself with faded, dead flowers, and remembrances
+of former pure, honest, and loving Jadwinia. Ah! again I break my
+promise, our agreement. I must beg your pardon.
+
+Leon.--Mme. Jadwiga, both our lives are tangled. When I was most
+unhappy, when everything abandoned me, there remained with me the love
+of an idea--love of the country.
+
+Jadwiga (thoughtfully).--The love of an idea--country. There is
+something great in that. You, by each of your pictures, increase the
+glory of the country and make famous its name, but I--what can I do?
+
+Leon.--The one who lives simply, suffers and quietly fulfils his
+duties--he also serves his country.
+
+Jadwiga.--What duties? Give them to me. For every-day life one great,
+ideal love is not enough for me. I am a woman! I must cling to
+something--twine about something like the ivy--otherwise truly, sir, I
+should fall to the ground and be trampled upon (with an outburst). If
+I could only respect him!
+
+Leon.--But, madam, you should remember to whom you are speaking of
+such matters. I have no right to know of your family affairs.
+
+Jadwiga.--No. You have not the right, nor are you obliged nor willing.
+Only friendly hearts know affliction--only those who suffer can
+sympathize. You--looking into the stars--you pass human misery and do
+not turn your head even when that misery shouts to you. It is your
+fault.
+
+Leon.--My fault!
+
+Jadwiga.--Do not frown, and do not close your mouth (beseechingly). I
+do not reproach you for anything. I have forgiven you long ago,
+and now I, the giddy woman whom the world always sees merry and
+laughing--I am really so miserable that I have even no strength left
+for hatred.
+
+Leon.--Madam! Enough! I have listened to your story--do not make me
+tell you mine. If you should hear it a still heavier burden would fall
+on your shoulders.
+
+Jadwiga.--No, no. We could be happy and we are not. It is the fault
+of both. How dreadful to think that we separated on account of almost
+nothing--on account of one thoughtless word--and we separated forever
+(she covers her face with her hands), without hope.
+
+Leon.--That word was nothing for you, but I remember it still with
+brain and heart. I was not then what I am to-day. I was poor, unknown,
+and you were my whole future, my aim, my riches.
+
+Jadwiga.--Oh, Mr. Leon, Mr. Leon, what a golden dream it was!
+
+Leon.--But I was proud because I knew that there was in me the divine
+spark. I loved you dearly, I trusted you--and nothing disturbed the
+security around me. Suddenly one evening Mr. Karlowiecki appeared, and
+already the second evening you told me that you gave more than you
+received.
+
+Jadwiga.--Mr. Leon!
+
+Leon.--What was your reason for giving that wound to my proud misery?
+You could not already have loved that man, but as soon as he appeared
+you humiliated me. There are wrongs which a man cannot bear with
+dignity--so those words were the last I heard from you.
+
+Jadwiga.--Truly. When I listen to you I must keep a strong hand on
+my senses. As soon as the other appeared you gave vent to a jealous
+outburst. I said that I gave more than I took, and you thought I spoke
+of money and not sentiment? Then you could suspect that I was capable
+of throwing my riches in your face--you thought I was capable of that?
+That is why he could not forgive! That is why he went away! That is
+why he has made his life and mine miserable!
+
+Leon.--It is too late to talk about that. Too late! You knew then
+and you know to-day that I could not have understood your words
+differently. The other man was of your own world--the world of which
+you were so fond that sometimes it seemed to me that you cherished it
+more than our love. At times when I so doubted you did not calm me.
+You were amused by the thought that you were stretching out to me a
+hand of courtly condescension, and I, in an excess of humiliation, I
+cast aside that hand. You knew it then, and you know it to-day!
+
+Jadwiga.--I know it to-day, but I did not know then. I swear it by my
+mother's memory. But suppose it was even as you say. Why could you not
+forgive me? Oh God! truly one might go mad. And there was neither time
+nor opportunity to explain. He went away and never returned. What
+could I do? When you became angry, when you shut yourself up within
+yourself, grief pressed my heart. I am ashamed even to-day to say
+this. I looked into your eyes like a dog which wishes to disarm the
+anger of his master by humility. In vain! Then I thought, when taking
+leave, I will shake hands with him so honestly and cordially that he
+will finally understand and will forgive me. While parting my hand
+dropped, for you only saluted me from afar. I swallowed my tears and
+humiliation. I thought still he will return to-morrow. A day passed,
+two days, a week, a month.
+
+Leon.--Then you married.
+
+Jadwiga (passionately).--Yes. Useless tears and time made me think it
+was forever--therefore anger grew in my heart--anger and a desire
+for vengeance on you and myself. I wished to be lost, for I said to
+myself, "That man does not love me, has never loved me." I married
+in the same spirit that I should have thrown myself through a
+window--from despair--because, as I still believe, you never loved me.
+
+Leon.--Madam, do not blaspheme. Do not provoke me. I never loved you!
+Look at the precipice which you have opened before me--count the
+sleepless nights during which I tore my breast with grief--count the
+days on which I called to you as from a cross--look at this thin face,
+at these trembling hands, and repeat once more that I never loved you!
+What has become of me? What is life for me without you? To-day my
+head is crowned with laurels and here in my breast is emptiness
+and exhaustless sorrow, and tears not wept--and in my eyes eternal
+darkness. Oh, by the living God, I loved you with every drop of my
+blood, with my every thought--and I was not able to love differently.
+Having lost you, I lost everything--my star, my strength, faith,
+hope, desire for life, and not only happiness, but the capacity for
+happiness. Woman, do you understand the dreadful meaning of those
+words? I have lost the capacity for happiness. I have not loved you!
+Oh, despair! God alone knows for how many nights I have cried to Him:
+"Lord, take my talent, take my fame, take my life, but return to me
+for only one moment my Jadwiga as she was of old!"
+
+Jadwiga.--Enough! Lord, what is the matter with me? Leon, I love you!
+
+Leon.--Oh, my dearest! (He presses her to his breast. A moment of
+silence.)
+
+Jadwiga.--I have found you. I loved you always. Ah! how miserable
+I was without you! With love for you I defended myself from all
+temptations. You do not know it, but I used to see you. It caused me
+grief and joy. I could not live any longer without you, and I asked
+you to come--I did it purposely. If you had not come, something
+dreadful would have happened. Now we shall never separate. We shall
+never be angry--is it not so? (A moment of silence.)
+
+Leon (as though awakening from slumber).--Madam, you must pardon me--I
+mistook the present for the past, and permitted myself to be carried
+away by an illusion. Pardon me!
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon, what do you mean?
+
+Leon (earnestly).--I forgot for a moment that you are the wife of
+another.
+
+Jadwiga.--Oh, you are always honest and loyal. No, there shall be no
+guilty love between us. I know you, my great, my noble Leon. The hand
+which I stretch out to you is pure--I swear it to you. You must also
+forgive me a moment of forgetfulness. Here I stand before you, and
+say to you: I will not be yours until I am free. But I know that my
+husband will consent to a divorce. I will leave him all my fortune,
+and because I formerly offended your pride--it was my fault--yes, my
+own fault--you shall take me poor, in this dress only--will it suit
+you? Then I will become your lawful wife. Oh, my God! and I shall be
+honest, loving, and loved. I have longed for it with my whole soul.
+I cannot think of our future without tears. God is so good! When you
+return from your studio at night, you will come neither to an empty
+room nor to grief. I will share your every joy, your every sorrow--I
+will divide with you the last piece of bread. Truly, I cannot speak
+for tears. Look, I am not so bad, but I have been so miserable. I
+loved you always. Ah, you bad boy, if it were not for your pride we
+should have been happy long ago. Tell me once more that you love
+me--that you consent to take me when I shall be free--is it not so,
+Leon?
+
+Leon.--No, madam!
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon, my dearest, wait! Perhaps I have not heard well. For I
+cannot comprehend that when I am hanging over a precipice of despair,
+when I seize the edge with my hands, you, instead of helping me--you
+place your feet on my fingers! No! it is impossible. You are too good
+for that! Do not thrust me away. My life now would be still worse. I
+have nothing in the world but you, and with you I lost happiness--not
+alone happiness but everything in me which is good--which cries for a
+quiet and saintly life. For now it would be forever. But you do not
+know how happy you yourself will be when you will have forgiven me
+and rescued me. You have loved me, have you not? You have said it
+yourself. I have heard it. Now I stretch out my hands to you like a
+drowning person--rescue me!
+
+Leon.--We must finish this mutual torture. Madam, I am a weak man. I
+would give way if--but I wish to spare you--if not for the fact that
+my sore and dead heart cannot give you anything but tears and pity.
+
+Jadwiga.--You do not love me!
+
+Leon.--I have no strength for happiness. I did love you. My heart
+throbbed for a moment with a recollection as of a dead person. But the
+other one is dead. I tell you this, madam, in tears and torture. I do
+not love you.
+
+Jadwiga.--Leon!
+
+Leon.--Have pity on me and forgive me.
+
+Jadwiga.--You do not love me!
+
+Leon.--What is dead cannot be resuscitated. Farewell.
+
+Jadwiga (after a while).--Very well. If you think you have humiliated
+me enough, trampled on me, and are sufficiently avenged, leave me then
+(to Leon, who wishes to withdraw). No! no! Remain. Have pity on me.
+
+Leon.--May God have pity on us both. (He goes away.)
+
+Jadwiga.--It is done!
+
+A Servant (entering).--Count Skorzewski!
+
+Jadwiga.--Ha! Show him in! Show him in! Ha! ha! ha!
+
+
+
+
+PART FOURTH
+
+
+THE VERDICT
+
+
+Apollo and Hermes once met toward evening on the rocks of Pnyx and
+were looking on Athens.
+
+The evening was charming; the sun was already rolled from the
+Archipelago toward the Ionian Sea and had begun to slowly sink its
+radiant head in the water which shone turquoise-like. But the summits
+of Hymettus and Pentelicus were yet beaming as if melted gold had been
+poured over them, and the evening twilight was in the sky. In its
+light the whole Acropolis was drowned. The white walls of Propyleos,
+Parthenon, and Erechtheum seemed pink and as light as though the
+marble had lost all its weight, or as if they were apparitions of a
+dream. The point of the spear of the gigantic Athena Promathos shone
+in the twilight like a lighted torch over Attica.
+
+In the space hawks were flying toward their nests in the rocks, to
+pass the night.
+
+The people returned in crowds from work in the fields. On the road
+to Piraeus, mules and donkeys carried baskets full of olives and
+wine-grapes; behind them, in the red cloud of dust, marched herds of
+nannygoats, before each herd there was a white-bearded buck; on the
+sides, watchdogs; in the rear, shepherds, playing flutes of thin
+oat-stems.
+
+Among the herds chariots slowly passed, carrying holly barlet, pulled
+by slow, heavy oxen; here and there passed a detachment of Hoplites or
+heavy armed troops, corseleted in copper, going to guard Piraeus and
+Athens during the night.
+
+Beneath, the city was full of animation. Around the big fountain at
+Poikile, young girls in white dresses drew water, singing, laughing,
+or defending themselves from the boys, who threw over them fetters
+made of ivy and wild vine. The others, having already drawn the water,
+with the amphorae poised on their shoulders, were turned homeward,
+light and graceful as immortal nymphs.
+
+A light breeze blowing from the Attic valley carried to the ears of
+the two gods the sounds of laughter, singing, kissing. Apollo, in
+whose eyes nothing under the sun was fairer than a woman, turned to
+Hermes and said:
+
+"O Maya's son, how beautiful are the Athenian women!"
+
+"And virtuous too, my Radiant," answered Hermes; "they are under
+Pallas' tutelage."
+
+The Silver-arrowed god became silent, and listening looked into space.
+In the mean while the twilight was slowly quenched, movement gradually
+stopped. Scythian slaves shut the gates, and finally all became quiet.
+The Ambrosian night threw on the Acropolis, city, and environs, a dark
+veil embroidered with stars.
+
+But the dusk did not last long. Soon from the Archipelago appeared the
+pale Selene, and began to sail like a silvery boat in the heavenly
+space. And then the walls of the Acropolis lighted again, only they
+beamed now with a pale-green light, and looked even more like a vision
+in a dream.
+
+"One must agree," said Apollo, "that Athena has chosen for herself a
+charming home."
+
+"Oh, she is very clever! Who could choose better?" answered Hermes.
+"Then Zeus has a fancy for her. If she wishes for anything she has
+only to caress his beard and immediately he calls her Tritogenia, dear
+daughter; he promises her everything and permits everything."
+
+"Tritogenia bores me sometimes," grumbled Latona's son.
+
+"Yes, I have noticed that she becomes very tedious," answered Hermes.
+
+"Like an old peripatetic; and then she is virtuous to the ridiculous,
+like my sister Artemis."
+
+"Or as her servants, the Athenian women."
+
+The Radiant turned to the Argo-robber Mercury: "It is the second time
+you mention, as though purposely, the virtue of the Athenian women.
+Are they really so virtuous?"
+
+"Fabulously so, O son of Latona!"
+
+"Is it possible!" said Apollo. "Do you think that there is in town one
+woman who could resist me?"
+
+"I do think so."
+
+"Me, Apollo?"
+
+"You, my Radiant."
+
+"I, who should bewitch her with poetry and charm her with song and
+music!"
+
+"You, my Radiant."
+
+"If you were an honest god I would be willing to make a wager with
+you. But you, Argo-robber, if you should lose, you would disappear
+immediately with your sandals and caduceus."
+
+"No, I will put one hand on the earth and another on the sea and swear
+by Hades. Such an oath is kept not only by me, but even by the members
+of the City Council in Athens."
+
+"Oh, you exaggerate a little. Very well then! If you lose you must
+supply me in Trinachija with a herd of long-horned oxen, which you may
+steal where you please, as you did when you were only a boy, stealing
+my herds in Perea."
+
+"Understood! And what shall I get if I win?"
+
+"You may choose what you please."
+
+"Listen, my Far-aiming archer," said Hermes. "I will be frank with
+you, which occurs with me very seldom. Once, being sent on an errand
+by Zeus--I don't remember what errand--I was playing just over your
+Trinachija, and I perceived Lampecja, who, together with Featusa,
+watches your herds there. Since that time I have no peace. The thought
+about her is never absent from my mind. I love her and I sigh for her
+day and night. If I win, if in Athens there can be found a virtuous
+woman, strong enough to resist you, you shall give me Lampecja--I wish
+for nothing more."
+
+The Silver-arrowed god began to shake his head.
+
+"It's astonishing that love can nestle in the heart of a
+merchants-patron. I am willing to give you Lampecja--the more
+so because she is now quarrelling with Featusa. Speaking _intra
+parentheses_, both are in love with me--that is why they are
+quarrelling."
+
+Great joy lighted up the Argo-robber's eyes.
+
+"Then we lay the bet," said he. "One thing more, I shall choose the
+woman for you on whom you are to try your godly strength."
+
+"Provided she is beautiful."
+
+"She will be worthy of you."
+
+"I am sure you know some one already."
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"A young girl, married, widow, or divorced?"
+
+"Married, of course. Girl, widow, or divorcee, you could capture by
+promise of marriage."
+
+"What is her name?"
+
+"Eryfile. She is a baker's wife."
+
+"A baker's wife!" answered the Radiant, making a grimace, "I don't
+like that."
+
+"I can't help it. It's the kind of people I know best. Eryfile's
+husband is not at home at present; he went to Megara. His wife is the
+prettiest woman who ever walked on Mother-Earth."
+
+"I am very anxious to see her."
+
+"One condition more, my Silver-arrowed, you must promise that you will
+use only means worthy of you, and that you will not act as would
+act such a ruffian as Ares, for instance, or even, speaking between
+ourselves, as acts our common father, the Cloud-gathering Zeus."
+
+"For whom do you take me?" asked Apollo.
+
+"Then all conditions are understood, and I can show you Eryfile."
+
+Both gods were immediately carried through the air from Pnyx, and in
+a few moments they were over a house situated not far from Stoa. The
+Argo-robber raised the whole roof with his powerful hand as easily as
+a woman cooking a dinner raises a cover from a saucepan, and pointing
+to a woman sitting in a store, closed from the street by a copper
+gate, said:
+
+"Look!"
+
+Apollo looked and was astonished.
+
+Never Attica--never the whole of Greece, produced a lovelier flower
+than was this woman. She sat by a table on which was a lighted
+lamp, and was writing something on marble tables. Her long drooping
+eyelashes threw a shadow on her cheeks, but from time to time she
+raised her head and her eyes, as though she were trying to remember
+what she had to write, and then one could see her beautiful eyes, so
+blue that compared with them the turquoise depths of the Archipelago
+would look pale and faded. Her face was white as the sea-foam, pink as
+the dawn, with purplish Syrian lips and waves of golden hair. She was
+beautiful, the most beautiful being on earth--beautiful as the dawn,
+as a flower, as light, as song! This was Eryfile.
+
+When she dropped her eyes she appeared quiet and sweet; when she
+lifted them, inspired. The Radiant's divine knees began to tremble;
+suddenly he leaned his head on Hermes' shoulder, and whispered:
+
+"Hermes, I love her! This one or none!"
+
+Hermes smiled ironically, and would have rubbed his hands for joy
+under cover of his robe if he had not held in his right hand the
+caduceus.
+
+In the mean while the golden-haired woman took a new tablet and
+began to write on it. Her divine lips were disclosed and her voice
+whispered; it was like the sound of Apollo's lyre.
+
+"The member of the Areopagus Melanocles for the bread for two months,
+forty drachmas and four obols; let us write in round numbers forty-six
+drachmas. By Athena! let us write fifty; my husband will be satisfied!
+Ah, that Melanocles! If you were not in a position to bother us about
+false weight, I never would give you credit. But we must keep peace
+with that locust."
+
+Apollo did not listen to the words. He was intoxicated with the
+woman's voice, the charm of her figure, and whispered:
+
+"This one or none!"
+
+The golden-haired woman spoke again, writing further:
+
+"Alcibiades, for cakes on honey from Hymettus for Hetera Chrysalis,
+three minae. He never verifies bills, and then he once gave me in Stoa
+a slap on the shoulder--we will write four minae. He is stupid; let
+him pay for it. And then that Chrysalis! She must feed with cakes her
+carp in the pond, or perhaps Alcibiades makes her fat purposely, in
+order to sell her afterwards to a Phoenician merchant for an ivory
+ring for his harness."
+
+Again Apollo paid no attention to the words--he was enchanted with the
+voice alone and whispered to Hermes:
+
+"This one or none!"
+
+But Maya's son suddenly covered the house, the apparition disappeared,
+and it seemed to the Radiant Apollo that with it disappeared the
+stars, that the moon became black, and the whole world was covered
+with the darkness of Chimera.
+
+"When shall we decide the wager?" asked Hermes.
+
+"Immediately. To-day!"
+
+"During her husband's absence she sleeps in the store. You can stand
+in the street before the door. If she raises the curtain and opens the
+gate, I have lost my wager."
+
+"You have lost it already!" exclaimed the Far-darting Apollo.
+
+The summer lightning does not pass from the East to the West as
+quickly as he rushed over the salt waves of the Archipelago. There he
+asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, put around it the rays of
+the sun, and returned to Athens with a ready formiga.
+
+In the city everything was already quiet. The lights were out, and
+only the houses and temples shone white in the light of the moon,
+which had risen high in the sky.
+
+The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate and a curtain, the
+beautiful Eryfile was asleep. Apollo the Radiant began to touch the
+strings of his lyre. Wishing to awake softly his beloved, he played at
+first as gently as swarms of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening
+on Illis. But the song became gradually stronger like a brook in the
+mountain after a rain; then more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating,
+and it filled the air voluptuously.
+
+The secret Athena's bird flew softly from the Acropolis and sat
+motionless on the nearest column.
+
+Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or Praxiteles, whiter than
+Pantelican marble, drew aside the curtain. The Radiant's heart stopped
+beating with emotion. And then Eryfile's voice resounded:
+
+"Ha! You booby, why do you wander about and make a noise during the
+night? I have been working all day, and now they won't let me sleep!"
+
+"Eryfile! Eryfile!" exclaimed Silver-arrowed. And he began to sing:
+
+  "From lofty peaks of Parnas--where there ring
+    In all the glory of light's brilliant rays
+  The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing
+    To me, by turns, in rapture and praise--
+  I, worshiped god--I fly, fly to thee,
+    Eryfile! And on thy bosom white
+  I shall rest, and the Eternity will be
+    A moment to me--the God of Light!"
+
+"By the holy flour for sacrifices," exclaimed the baker's wife,
+"that street boy sings and makes love to me. Will you go home, you
+impudent!"
+
+The Radiant, wishing to pursuade her that he was not a common mortal,
+threw so much light from his person, that all the earth was lighted.
+But Eryfile, seeing this, exclaimed:
+
+"That scurrilous fellow has hidden a lantern under his robe, and he
+tries to make me believe that he is a god. O daughter of mighty Dios!
+they press us with taxes, but there is no Scythian guard to protect us
+from such stupid fellows!"
+
+Apollo, who did not wish yet to acknowledge defeat, sang further:
+
+  "Ah, open thine arms--rounded, gleaming, white--
+    To thee eternal glory I will give.
+  Over goddess of earth, fair and bright,
+    Thy name above immortal shall live.
+  I kiss the dainty bloom of thy cheek,
+    To thy lustrous eyes the love-light I bring,
+  From the masses of thy silken hair I speak,
+    To thy beauty, peerless one, I sing.
+  White pearls are thy ruby lips between--
+    With might of godly words I thee endow;
+  An eloquence for which a Grecian queen
+    Would gladly give the crown from her brow.
+            Ah! Open, open thine arms!
+
+  "The azure from the sea I will take,
+    Twilight its wealth of purple shall give too;
+  Twinkling stars shall add the sparks which they make,
+   And flowers shall yield their perfume and dew.
+  By fairy touch, light as a caress,
+    Made from all this material so bright,
+  My beloved rainbow, in Chipryd's rich dress
+    Thou shalt be clothed by the God of Light."
+
+And the voice of the God of Light was so beautiful that it performed a
+miracle, for, behold! in the ambrosian night the gold spear standing
+on the Acropolis of Athens trembled, and the marble head of the
+gigantic statue turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear better.
+Heaven and Earth listened to it; the sea stopped roaring and lay
+peacefully near the shore; even the pale Selene stopped her night
+wandering in the sky and stood motionless over Athens.
+
+And when Apollo had finished, a light wind arose and carried the song
+throughout the whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the cradle
+heard only a tone of it, that child became a poet.
+
+But before Latona's son had finished his divine singing, the angry
+Eryfile began to scream:
+
+"What an ass! He tries to bribe me with flowers and dew; do you think
+that you are privileged because my husband is not at home? What a pity
+that our servants are not at hand; I would give you a good lesson! But
+wait; I will teach you to wander during the night with songs!"
+
+So saying she seized a pot of dough, and, throwing it through the
+gate, splashed it over the face, neck, robe, and lyre of the Radiant.
+Apollo groaned, and, covering his inspired head with a corner of his
+wet robe, he departed in shame and wrath.
+
+Hermes, waiting for him, laughed, turned somersaults, and twirled his
+caduceus. But when the sorrowful son of Latona approached him, the
+foxy patron of merchants simulated compassion and said:
+
+"I am sorry you have lost, O puissant archer!"
+
+"Go away, you rascal!" answered the angry Apollo.
+
+"I shall go when you give me Lampecja."
+
+"May Cerberus bite your calves. I shall not give you Lampecja, and I
+tell you to go away, or I will twist your neck."
+
+The Argo-robber knew that he must not joke when Apollo was angry, so
+he stood aside cautiously and said:
+
+"If you wish to cheat me, then in the future be Hermes and I will be
+Apollo. I know that you are above me in power, and that you can harm
+me, but happily there is some one who is stronger than you and he will
+judge us. Radiant, I call you to the judgment of Chronid! Come with
+me."
+
+Apollo feared the name of Chronid. He did not care to refuse, and they
+departed.
+
+In the mean time day began to break. The Attic came out from
+the shadows. Pink-fingered dawn had arisen in the sky from the
+Archipelago. Zeus passed the night on the summit of Ida, whether
+he slept or not, and what he did there no one knew, because,
+Fog-carrying, he wrapped himself in such a thick cloud that even Hera
+could not see through it. Hermes trembled a little on approaching the
+god of gods and of people.
+
+"I am right," he was thinking, "but if Zeus is aroused in a bad humor,
+and if, before hearing us, he should take us each by a leg and throw
+us some three hundred Athenian stadia, it would be very bad. He has
+some consideration for Apollo, but he would treat me without ceremony,
+although I am his son too."
+
+But Maya's son feared in vain. Chronid waited joyfully on the earth,
+for he had passed a pleasant night, and was gladsomely gazing on the
+earthly circle. The Earth, happy beneath the weight of the gods' and
+people's father, put forth beneath his feet green grass and young
+hyacinths, and he, leaning on it, caressed the curling flowers with
+his hand, and was happy in his proud heart.
+
+Seeing this, Maya's son grew quiet, and having saluted the generator,
+boldly accused the Radiant.
+
+When he had finished, Zeus was silent a while, and then said:
+
+"Radiant, is it true?"
+
+"It is true, father Chronid," answered Apollo, "but if after the shame
+you will order me to pay the bet, I shall descend to Hades and light
+the shades."
+
+Zeus became silent and thoughtful.
+
+"Then this woman," said he finally, "remained deaf to your music, to
+your songs, and she repudiated you with disdain?"
+
+"She poured on my head a pot of dough, O Thunderer!"
+
+Zeus frowned, and at his frown Ida trembled, pieces of rock began to
+roll with a great noise toward the sea, and the trees bent like ears
+of wheat.
+
+Both gods awaited with beating hearts his decision.
+
+"Hermes," said Zeus, "you may cheat the people as much as you
+like--the people like to be cheated. But leave the gods alone, for if
+I become angry I will throw you into the ether, then you will sink so
+deep into the depths of the ocean that even my brother Poseidon will
+not be able to dig you out with his trident."
+
+Divine fear seized Hermes by his smooth knees; Zeus spoke further,
+with stronger voice:
+
+"A virtuous woman, especially if she loves another man, can resist
+Apollo. But surely and always a stupid woman will resist him.
+
+"Eryfile is stupid, not virtuous; that's the reason she resisted.
+Therefore you cheated the Radiant, and you shall not have Lampecja.
+Now go in peace."
+
+The gods departed.
+
+Zeus remained in his joyful glory. For a while he looked after Apollo,
+muttering:
+
+"Oh, yes! A stupid woman is able to resist him."
+
+After that, as he had not slept well the previous night, he called
+Sleep, who, sitting on a tree in the form of a hawk, was awaiting the
+orders of the Father of gods and people.
+
+
+
+
+PART FIFTH
+
+
+WIN OR LOSE.
+
+_A Drama in Five Acts_.
+
+CHARACTERS:
+
+  Prince Starogrodzki.
+  Stella, his daughter.
+  George Pretwic, Stella's fiance.
+  Karol Count Drahomir, Pretwic's friend.
+  Countess Miliszewska.
+  Jan Count Miliszewski.
+  Anton Zuk, secretary of the county.
+  Dr. Jozwowicz.
+  Mrs. Czeska.
+  Mr. Podczaski.
+  Servants.
+
+
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+The stage represents a drawing-room with the principal door leading to
+the garden. There are also side doors to the other rooms.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Princess Stella. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska.--Why do you tell me this only now? Really, my dear Stella, I
+should be angry with you. I live only a mile from here; I was your
+teacher before you were put into the hands of English and French
+governesses. I see you almost every day. I love my darling with all my
+soul, and still you did not tell me that for several weeks you have
+been engaged. At least do not torture me any longer, but tell me, who
+is he?
+
+Stella.--You must guess, my dear mother.
+
+Czeska.--As long as you call me mother, you must not make me wait.
+
+Stella.--But I wish you to guess and tell me. Naturally it is he and
+not another. Believe me, it will flatter and please me.
+
+Czeska.--Count Drahomir, then.
+
+Stella.--Ah!
+
+Czeska.--You are blushing. It is true. He has not been here for a long
+time, but how sympathetic, how gay he is. Well, my old eyes would be
+gladdened by seeing you both together. I should at once think what a
+splendid couple. Perhaps there will be something in it.
+
+Stella.--There will be nothing in it, because Count Drahomir, although
+very sympathetic, is not my fiance. I am betrothed to Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Czeska.--Mr. George Pretwic?
+
+Stella.--Yes. Are you surprised?
+
+Czeska.--No, my dear child. May God bless you. Why should I be
+surprised? But I am so fond of Count Drahomir, so I thought it was he.
+Mr. George Pretwic!--Oh, I am not surprised at all that he should
+love you. But it came a little too soon. How long have you known each
+other? Living at my Berwinek I do not know anything that goes on in
+the neighborhood.
+
+Stella.--Since three months. My fiance has inherited an estate in this
+neighborhood from the Jazlowieckis, and came, as you know, from far
+off. He was a near relation of the Jazlowieckis, and he himself comes
+of a very good family. Dear madam, have you not heard of the Pretwics?
+
+Czeska.--Nothing at all, my dear Stella. What do I care for heraldry!
+
+Stella.--In former times, centuries ago, the Pretwics were related to
+our family. It is a very good family. Otherwise papa would not have
+consented. Well then, Mr. Pretwic came here, took possession of the
+Jazlowieckis estate, became acquainted with us, and--
+
+Czeska.--And fell in love with you. I should have done the same if I
+were in his place. It gives him more value in my eyes.
+
+Stella.--Has he needed it?
+
+Czeska.--No, my little kitten--rest easy. You know I am laughed at for
+seeing everything in a rosy hue. He belongs to a good family, he is
+young, rich, good-looking, well-bred, but--
+
+Stella.--But what?
+
+Czeska.--A bird must have sung it, because I cannot remember who told
+me that he is a little bit like a storm.
+
+Stella.--Yes, his life has been stormy, but he was not broken by it.
+
+Czeska.--So much the better. Listen! Such people are the best--they
+are true men. The more I think of it, the more sincerely I
+congratulate you.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. I am glad I spoke to you frankly. The fact is that
+I am very lonesome here: papa is always ailing and our doctor has been
+away for three months.
+
+Czeska.--Let that doctor of yours alone.
+
+Stella.--You never liked him.
+
+Czeska.--You know that I am not easily prejudiced against any one, but
+I do not like him.
+
+Stella.--And do you know that he has been offered a professorship
+at the university, and that he is anxious to be elected a member of
+parliament? Mother, you are really unjust. You know that he sacrificed
+himself for us.
+
+He is famous, rich, and a great student, but notwithstanding all that
+he remains with us when the whole world is open to him. I would surely
+have asked his advice.
+
+Czeska.--Love is not an illness--but no matter about him. May God help
+him! You had better tell me, dear kitten--are you very much in love?
+
+Stella.--Do you not see how quickly everything has been done? It is
+true that Countess Miliszewska came here with her son. I know it was
+a question about me, and I feared, although in vain, that papa might
+have the same idea.
+
+Czeska.--You have not answered my question.
+
+Stella.--Because it is a hard matter to speak about. Mother, Mr.
+Pretwic's life is full of heroic deeds, sacrifices, and dangers. Once
+he was in great peril, and he owes his life to Count Drahomir. But how
+dearly he loves him for it. Well, my fiance bears the marks of distant
+deserts, long solitudes, and deep sufferings. But when he begins to
+tell me of his life, it seems that I truly love that stalwart man. If
+you only knew how timidly, and at the same time how earnestly he told
+me of his love, and then he added that he knows his hands are too
+rough--
+
+Czeska.--Not too rough--for they are honest. After what you have told
+me, I am in his favor with all my soul.
+
+Stella.--But in spite of all that, sometimes I feel very unhappy.
+
+Czeska.--What is the matter? Why?
+
+Stella.--Because sometimes we cannot understand each other. There are
+two kinds of love--one is strong as the rocks, and the other is like a
+brook in which one can see one's self. When I look at George's love,
+I see its might, but my soul is not reflected in it like a face in a
+limpid brook. I love him, it is true, but sometimes it seems to me
+that I could love still more--that all my heart is not in that love,
+and then I am unhappy.
+
+Czeska.--But I cannot understand that. I take life simply. I love, or
+I do not love. Well Stella, the world is so cleverly constructed, and
+God is so good that there is nothing more easy than to be happy. But
+one must not make a tangle of God's affairs. Be calm. You are very
+much in love indeed. No matter!
+
+Stella.--That confidence in the future is exactly what I need--some of
+your optimism. I knew that you would frown and say: No matter! I am
+now more happy. Only I am afraid of our doctor. Well (looking through
+the window), our gentlemen are coming. Mr. Pretwic and Count Drahomir.
+
+Czeska (looking through the window.)--Your future husband is looking
+very well, but so is Count Drahomir. Since when is he with Mr.
+Pretwic?
+
+Stella (looking through the window).--For the past two weeks. Mr.
+Pretwic has invited him. They are coming.
+
+Czeska.--And your little heart is throbbing--
+
+Stella.--Do not tease me again.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Mrs. Czeska. Stella. George Pretwic. Count Drahomir.--The count has
+his left arm in a sling.--A servant.
+
+
+Servant (opening the door).--The princess is in the drawing-room.
+
+Stella.--How late you are to-day!
+
+George.--It is true. The sun is already setting. But we could not come
+earlier. Do you not know that there has been a fire in the neighboring
+village? We went there.
+
+Czeska.--We have heard of it. It seems that several houses were
+burned.
+
+George.--The fire began in the morning, and it was extinguished only
+now. Some twenty families are without a roof and bread. We are also
+late because Karol had an accident.
+
+Stella (with animation).--It is true. Your arm is in a sling!
+
+Drahomir.--Oh, it is a mere trifle. If there were no more serious
+wounds in the world, courage would be sold in all the markets. Only a
+slight scratch--
+
+Stella.--Mr. Pretwic, how did it happen?
+
+George.--When it happened I was at the other end of the village, and I
+could not see anything on account of the smoke. I was only told that
+Karol had jumped into a burning house.
+
+Stella.--Oh, Lord!
+
+Drahomir (laughing).--I see that my deed gains with distance.
+
+Czeska.--You must tell us about it yourself.
+
+Drahomir.--They told me that there was a woman in a house of which
+the roof had begun to burn. Thinking that this salamander who was not
+afraid of fire was some enchanted beauty, I entered the house out of
+pure curiosity. It was quite dark owing to the smoke. I looked and
+saw that I had no luck, because the salamander was only an old Jewish
+woman packing some feathers in a bag. Amidst the cloud of down she
+looked like anything you please but an enchantress. I shouted that
+there was a fire, and she shouted too, evidently taking me for a
+thief--so we both screamed. Finally I seized hold of my salamander,
+fainting with fear, and carried her out, not even through a window,
+but through the door.
+
+George.--But you omitted to say that the roof fell in and that a spar
+struck your hand.
+
+Drahomir.--True--and I destroyed the dam of my modesty, and will add
+that one of the selectmen of the village made a speech in my honor. It
+seems to me that he made some mention of a monument which they would
+erect for me. But pray believe that the fire was quenched by George
+and his people. I think they ought to erect two monuments.
+
+Czeska.--I know that you are worthy of each other.
+
+Stella.--Thank God that you have not met with some more serious
+accident.
+
+Drahomir.--I have met with something very pleasant--your sympathy.
+
+Czeska--You have mine also--as for Mr. Pretwic, I have a bone to pick
+with him.
+
+George--Why, dear madam?
+
+Czeska.--Because you are a bad boy. (To Stella and Drahomir.) You had
+better go to the Prince, and let us talk for a while.
+
+Stella.--Mother, I see you wish to flirt with Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Czeska.--Be quiet, you giddy thing. May I not compete with you? But
+you must remember, you Mayflower, that before every autumn there is a
+spring. Well, be off!
+
+Stella (to Drahomir).--Let us go; Papa is in the garden and I am
+afraid that he is feeling worse. What a pity it is that the doctor is
+not here.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+Mrs. Czeska, George, then Stella.
+
+
+Czeska.--I should scold you, as I have my dear girl, for keeping the
+secret. But she has already told me everything, so I only say, may God
+bless you both.
+
+George (kissing her hand).--Thank you, madam.
+
+Czeska.--I have reared that child. I was ten years with her, so I know
+what a treasure you take, sir. You have said that your hands are too
+rough. I have answered her--not too rough, for they are honest. But
+Stella is a very delicate flower. She must be loved much, and have
+good care taken of her. But you will be able to do it--will you not?
+
+George.--What can I tell you? As far as it is in human power to make
+happy that dearest to me girl, so far I wish to assure her happiness
+with me.
+
+Czeska.--With all my soul, I say: God bless you!
+
+George.--The Princess Stella loves you like her own mother, so I will
+be as frank with you as with a mother. My life has been a very
+hard one. There was a moment when my life was suspended by one
+thread--Karol rescued me then, and for that I love him as a brother;
+and then--
+
+Czeska.--Stella told me. You lived far from here?
+
+George.--I was in the empty steppe, half wild myself, among strangers,
+therefore very sad and longing for the country. Sometimes there was
+not a living soul around me.
+
+Czeska.--God was over the stars.
+
+George.--That is quite different. But a heart thrown on earth must
+love some one. Therefore, with all this capacity for love, I prayed to
+God that he permit me to love some one. He has granted my prayer, and
+has given her to me. Do you understand me now?
+
+Czeska.--Yes, I do understand you!
+
+George.--How quickly everything has changed. I inherited here an
+estate and am able to settle--then I met the princess, and now I love
+her--she is everything in this world to me.
+
+Czeska.--My dear Mr. Pretwic, you are worthy of Stella and she will be
+happy with you. My dear Stelunia--
+
+Stella (appearing in the doorway leading to the garden. She claps her
+hands).--What good news! The doctor is coming. He is already in the
+village. Papa will at once be more quiet and is in better humor.
+
+Czeska.--You must not rush. She is already tired. Where is the prince?
+
+Stella.--In the garden. He wishes you to come here.
+
+George.--We will go.
+
+Stella (steps forward--then stops).--But you must not tell the doctor
+anything of our affair. I wish to tell him first. I have asked papa
+also to keep the secret. (They go out.)
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+
+Jozwowicz (enters through the principal door).--Jan, carry my trunk
+up-stairs and have the package I left in the antechamber sent at once
+to Mr. Anton Zuk, the secretary of the county.
+
+Servant (bows).--Very well, doctor.
+
+Jozwowicz (advances).--At last (servant goes out). After three months
+of absence, how quiet this house is always! In a moment I will greet
+them as a future member of the parliament. I have thrown six years of
+hard work, sleepless nights, fame, and learning into the chasm which
+separates us--and now we shall see! (He goes toward the door leading
+to the garden.) They are coming--she has not changed at all.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+(Through the door enter Stella, Mrs. Czeska, George, followed by
+Drahomir, arm and arm with the Prince Starogrodzki.)
+
+
+Stella.--Here is our doctor! Our dear doctor! How do you do? We were
+looking for you!
+
+Czeska (bows ceremoniously).--Especially the prince.
+
+Jozwowicz (kissing Stella's hand).--Good evening, princess. I have
+also been anxious to return. I have come to stay for a longer time--to
+rest. Ah, the prince! How is Your Highness's health?
+
+Prince (shaking hands).--Dear boy. I am not well. You did well to
+come. You must see at once what is the matter with me.
+
+Jozwowicz.--But now Your Highness will introduce me to these
+gentlemen.
+
+Prince.--It is true. Doctor Jozwowicz, the minister of my interior
+affairs--I said it well, did I not? For you do look after my health.
+Count Karol Drahomir.
+
+Drahomir.--Your name is familiar to me, therefore, strictly speaking,
+I alone ought to introduce myself.
+
+Doctor.--Sir.
+
+Prince (introducing).--Mr. George Pretwic, our neighbor, and--(Stella
+makes a sign) and--I wish to say--
+
+George.--If I am not mistaken, your schoolmate.
+
+Doctor.--I did not wish to be the first to recollect.
+
+George.--I am glad to see you. It is quite a long time since then, but
+we were good comrades. Truly, I am very glad, especially after what I
+have heard here about you.
+
+Drahomir.--You are the good spirit of this house.
+
+Stella.--Oh, yes!
+
+Prince.--Let me tell you my opinion of him.
+
+George.--How often the best student, Jozwowicz, helped Pretwic with
+his exercises.
+
+Doctor.--You have a good memory, sir.
+
+George.--Very good, indeed, for then we did not call each other "sir."
+Once more, Stanislaw, I welcome you.
+
+Doctor.--And I return the welcome.
+
+George--But do I not remember that after you went through college you
+studied law?
+
+Doctor.--And afterward I became a doctor of medicine.
+
+Prince.--Be seated. Jan, bring the lights.
+
+Stella.--How charming that you are acquainted!
+
+Doctor.--The school-bench, like misery, unites people. But then,
+social standing separates them. George's future was assured. I was
+obliged to search for mine.
+
+Prince.--He has searched also, and found adventures.
+
+Drahomir.--In two parts of the world.
+
+Czeska.--That is splendid.
+
+Doctor.--Well, he followed his instinct. Even in school he broke the
+horses, went shooting and fenced.
+
+George.--Better than I studied.
+
+Doctor (laughing).--Yes--we used to call him the general, because he
+commanded us in our student fights.
+
+Drahomir.--George, I recognized you there.
+
+Czeska.--But now, I think, he will stop fighting.
+
+Stella.--Who knows?
+
+George.--I am sure of it.
+
+Doctor.--As for me, I was his worst soldier. I never was fond of
+playing that way.
+
+Prince.--Because those are the distractions of the nobility and not of
+a doctor.
+
+Doctor.--We begin to quarrel already. You are all proud of the fact
+that your ancestors, the knights, killed so many people. But if the
+prince knew how many people I have killed with my prescriptions! I can
+guarantee you that none of Your Highness's ancestors can be proud of
+such great number.
+
+Drahomir.--Bravo. Very good!
+
+Prince.--And he is my doctor!
+
+Stella.--Papa! The doctor is joking.
+
+Prince.--Thanks for such jokes. But it is sure that the world is now
+upside-down.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, we will live a hundred years more. (To
+George.) Come, tell me, what became of you? (They go out.)
+
+Prince.--You would not believe how unhappy I am because I cannot get
+along with that man. He is the son of a blacksmith from Stanislawow.
+I sent him to school because I wished to make an overseer of him. But
+afterwards he went to study at the University.
+
+Drahomir.--He is twice a doctor--he is an intelligent man. One can see
+that by merely looking at him.
+
+Stella.--Very much so.
+
+Czeska.--So intelligent that I am afraid of him.
+
+Drahomir.--But the prince must be satisfied.
+
+Prince.--Satisfied, satisfied! He has lost his common sense. He became
+a democrat--a _sans culotte_. But he is a good doctor, and I am sick.
+I have some stomach trouble. (To Drahomir.) Have you heard of it?
+
+Drahomir.--The prince complained already some time ago.
+
+Czeska.--For twenty years.
+
+Prince.--Sorrow and public service have ruined my health.
+
+Czeska.--But Your Highness is healthy.
+
+Prince (angrily).--I tell you that I am sick. Stella, I am sick--am I
+not?
+
+Stella.--But now you will feel better.
+
+Prince.--Because he alone keeps me alive. Stella would have died also
+with heart trouble if it had not been for him.
+
+Drahomir.--If that is so, he is a very precious man.
+
+Stella.--We owe him eternal gratitude.
+
+Prince (looking at George).--He will also be necessary to Pretwic.
+What, Stella, will he not?
+
+Stella (laughing).--Papa, how can I know that?
+
+Drahomir.--Truly, I sometimes envy those stalwart men. During the
+battle they strengthen in themselves the force which lessens and
+disappears in us, because nothing nourishes it. Perhaps we are also
+made of noble metal, but we are eaten up with rust while they are
+hardened in the battle of life. It is a sad necessity.
+
+Czeska.--How about Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--George endured much, it is true, and one feels this
+although it is difficult to describe it. Look at those two men. When
+the wind blows George resists like a century-old tree, and men like
+the doctor subdue it and order it to propel his boat. There is in that
+some greater capacity for life, therefore the result is more easy to
+be foreseen. The tree is older, and although still strong, the more it
+is bitten by the storms, the sooner it will die.
+
+Prince.--I have said many times that we die like old trees. Some other
+thicket grows, but it is composed only of bushes.
+
+Stella.--The one who is good has the right to live--we must not doubt
+about ourselves.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not doubt, even for the reason that the poet says:
+"Saintly is the one who knows how to be a friend" (bows to Stella)
+"with saints."
+
+Stella.--If he has not secured their friendship by flattery.
+
+Drahomir.--But I must be permitted not to envy the doctor anything.
+
+Stella.--The friendship is not exclusive, although I look upon the
+doctor as a brother.
+
+Prince.--Stella, what are you talking about? He is your brother as I
+am a republican. I cannot suffer him, but I cannot get along without
+him.
+
+Czeska.--Prince, you are joking--
+
+Drahomir (smiling).--Why should you hate him?
+
+Prince.--Why? Have I not told you? He does with us what he pleases. He
+does as he likes in the house, he does not believe anything, and he is
+ambitious as the deuce. He is already a professor in the University,
+and now he wishes to be a member of parliament. Do you hear?--he will
+be a member of parliament! But I would not be a Starogrodzki if I had
+permitted it. (Aloud.) Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor (he is near a window).--Your Highness, what do you order?
+
+Prince.--Is it true that you are trying to become a member of
+parliament.
+
+Doctor.--At your service, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--Mrs. Czeska. Have you heard--the world is upside down,
+Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor.--What is it, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--And perhaps you will also become a minister.
+
+Doctor.--It may be.
+
+Prince.--Did you hear? And do you think that I will call you "Your
+Excellency"?
+
+Doctor.--It would be proper.
+
+Prince.--Jozwowicz, do you wish to give me a stroke of apoplexy?
+
+Doctor.--Be calm, Your Highness. My Excellency will always take care
+of your Grace's bile.
+
+Prince.--It is true. The irritation hurts me. What, Jozwowicz--does it
+hurt me?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it excites the bile, but it gives you an appetite. (He
+approaches with George.)
+
+Stella.--What were you talking about?
+
+Doctor.--I have been listening to George. Horrible! Dreadful! George
+made a mistake by coming into the world two hundred years too late.
+Bayards are not appreciated nowadays.
+
+Czeska.--Providence is above all.
+
+Drahomir.--I believe it also.
+
+Doctor.--Were I a mathematician, without contradicting you I would say
+that, as in many cases we do not know what X equals, we must take care
+of ourselves.
+
+Prince.--What are you saying?
+
+Stella.--Doctor, pray do not talk so sceptically, or there will be a
+war--not with papa, but with me.
+
+Doctor.--My scepticism is ended where your words begin, therefore I
+surrender.
+
+Stella.--How gallant--the member of parliament.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+The same Servant.
+
+
+Servant.--Tea is served.
+
+George.--I must bid you good-bye.
+
+Stella.--Why, why are you going so early to-night?
+
+Doctor (aside).--My old schoolmate is at home here.
+
+George.--You must excuse me. I am very happy with you, but to-night I
+must be going home. I will leave Drahomir--he will replace me.
+
+Stella.--To be angry with you would be to make you conceited. But you
+must tell me why you are going.
+
+George.--The people who have lost their homes by fire are in my house.
+I must give some orders and provide for their necessities.
+
+Czeska (aside).--He is sacrificing pleasure to duty. (Aloud.) Stella!
+
+Stella.--What is it?
+
+Czeska.--To-morrow we must make some collections for them, and provide
+them with clothing.
+
+Doctor.--I will go with you, ladies. It will be the first case in
+which misery did not search for the doctor, but the doctor searched
+for misery.
+
+Czeska.--Very clever.
+
+Prince (rapping with the stick).--Pretwic!
+
+George.--Your Highness, what do you order?
+
+Prince.--You say that this rabble is very poor?
+
+George.--Very poor, indeed.
+
+Prince.--You say that they have nothing to eat?
+
+George.--Almost nothing, my prince.
+
+Prince.--God punishes them for voting for such a man (he points to
+Jozwowicz) as that one.
+
+Doctor (bows).--They have not elected me yet.
+
+Stella.--Papa.
+
+Prince.--What did I want to say? Aha! Pretwic!
+
+George.--I listen to you, my prince.
+
+Prince.--You said that they were starving?
+
+George.--I said--almost.
+
+Prince.--Very well, then. Go to my cashier, Horkiewicz, and tell him
+to give that rabble a thousand florins. (He raps with the stick.) They
+must know that I will not permit any one to be hungry.
+
+Stella--Dear father!
+
+Drahomir.--I knew it would end that way.
+
+Prince.--Yes, Mr. Jozwowicz! _Noblesse oblige!_ Do you understand,
+your Excellency, Mr. Jozwowicz?
+
+Doctor.--I understand, Your Highness.
+
+Prince (giving his arm to Mrs. Czeska).--And now let us take some tea.
+(George takes leave and goes out.)
+
+Doctor.--I must also be going. I am tired and I have some letters to
+write.
+
+Prince.--Upon my honor, one might think that he was already a
+minister. But come to see us--I cannot sleep without you.
+
+Doctor.--I will be at the service of Your Highness.
+
+Prince (muttering).--As soon as this Robespierre arrived, I
+immediately felt better.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, wait a moment. I do not take any tea. I will only put
+papa in his place, and then I will be back immediately. I must have a
+talk with you.
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Jozwowicz alone--then Stella.
+
+
+Doctor.--What are these people doing here, and what does she wish to
+tell me? Is it possible--But no, it is impossible. I am uneasy, but in
+a moment everything will be cleared up. What an ass I am! She simply
+wishes to talk to me about the prince's health. It is this moonlight
+that makes me so dreamy--I ought to have a guitar.
+
+Stella (entering).--Mr. Jozwowicz?
+
+Doctor.--I am here, princess.
+
+Stella.--I did my best not to make you wait too long. Let us be seated
+and have a talk, as formerly, when I was small and not well and you
+took care of my health. I remember sometimes I used to fall asleep,
+and you carried me in your arms to my room.
+
+Doctor.--The darling of every one in the house was very weak then.
+
+Stella.--And to-day, if she is well, it is thanks to you. If she has
+any knowledge, it is also thanks to you. I am a plant of which you
+have taken good care.
+
+Doctor.--And my greatest pride. There were few calm, genial moments in
+my life--and peace I found only in that house.
+
+Stella.--You were always good, and for that reason I look upon you as
+an older brother.
+
+Doctor.--Your words form the only smile in my life. I not only respect
+you, but I also love you dearly--like a sister, like my own child.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. I have not the same confidence in any one else's
+judgment and honesty as I have in yours, so I wished to speak to you
+about an important matter. I hope even that what I am going to tell
+you will please you as much as it pleases me. Is it true that you are
+going to become a member of parliament?
+
+Doctor (with uneasiness).--No, it is only probable. But speak of what
+concerns you.
+
+Stella.--Well, then--ah, Lord! But you will not leave papa, will you?
+
+Doctor (breathing heavily).--Oh, you wish to speak of the prince's
+health?
+
+Stella.--No, I know that papa is getting better. I did not expect that
+it would be difficult--I am afraid of the severe opinion that you have
+of people.
+
+Doctor (with simulated ease).--Pray, do not torture my curiosity.
+
+Stella.--Then I will close my eyes and tell you, although it is not
+easy for any young girl. You know Mr. George Pretwic well, do you not?
+
+Doctor (uneasily).--I know him.
+
+Stella.--How do you like him? He is my fiance.
+
+Doctor (rising).--Your fiance?
+
+Stella.--Good gracious!--then you do not approve of my choice? (A
+moment of silence.)
+
+Doctor.--Only one moment. Your choice, princess, if it is of your
+heart and will, must be good--only--it was unexpected news to me;
+therefore, perhaps, I received it a little too seriously. But I could
+not hear it with indifference owing to the affection I have for--your
+family. And then, my opinion does not amount to anything in such a
+matter. Princess, I congratulate you and wish you all happiness.
+
+Stella.--Thank you. Now I shall be more easy.
+
+Doctor.--You must return to your father. Your news has been so sudden
+that it has shocked me a little. I must collect my wits--I must
+familiarize myself with the thought. But in any event, I congratulate
+you.
+
+Stella.--Good night. (She stops in the door, looks at the Doctor and
+goes in.)
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+
+Jozwowicz (alone).--Too late!
+
+
+END OF ACT I.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+The stage represents the same drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Doctor.--Anton, come here. We can talk quietly, for they are preparing
+my room. What news from the city?
+
+Anton.--Good news. In an hour or so a delegation of the voters will be
+here. You must say something to them--you understand? Something about
+education--public roads, heavy taxes. You know what to say better than
+I do.
+
+Doctor.--I know, I know; and how do they like my platform?
+
+Anton.--You have made a great hit. I congratulate you. It is written
+with scientific accuracy. The papers of the Conservative party have
+gone mad with wrath.
+
+Doctor.--Very good. What more?
+
+Anton.--Three days ago your election was doubtful in the suburbs. I
+learned about it, however--gathered the electors and made a speech.
+"Citizens," I said, in the end, "I know only one remedy for all your
+misery--it is called Jozwowicz. Long live Progress!" I also attacked
+the Conservative party.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, you are a great boy. Then there is a hope of victory?
+
+Anton.--Almost a surety. And then, even if we do not win now, the
+future is open to us. And do you know why? Because--leaving out the
+details of the election, you and I, while talking of our business
+affairs, need not laugh at each other, like Roman augurs. Progress and
+truth are on our side, and every day makes a new breach in the old
+wall. We are only aiding the centuries and we must conquer. I am
+talking calmly: Our people, our electors are merely sheep, but we wish
+to make men of them, and therein lies our strength. As for me, if I
+were not persuaded that in my principles lie truth and progress, I
+would spit on everything and become a monk.
+
+Doctor.--But it would be a dreadful thing if we do not win this time.
+
+Anton.--I am sure we will win. You are a fearful candidate for
+our adversaries. You have only one antagonist who is at all
+dangerous--Husarski, a rich and popular nobleman.
+
+Doctor.--Once I am in parliament, I will try to accomplish something.
+
+Anton.--I believe in you, and for that reason I am working for you.
+Ha! ha! "They have already taken from us everything," said Count
+Hornicki at the club yesterday, "importance, money--even good
+manners." Well, at least I have not taken their good manners from
+them. To the devil with them!
+
+Doctor.--No, you have truly not taken their good manners from them.
+
+Anton.--But it is said in the city that your prince has given a
+thousand florins to those whose houses were burned. This may be bad
+for us. You must do something also.
+
+Doctor.--I did what I could.
+
+Anton.--I must also tell you that yesterday--What is the matter with
+you? I am talking to you and you are thinking about something else.
+
+Doctor.--Excuse me. I am in great trouble. I cannot think as calmly as
+usual.
+
+Anton.--The idea!
+
+Doctor.--You could not understand it.
+
+Anton.--I am the coachman of the carriage in which you are riding--I
+must know everything.
+
+Doctor.--No. It does not concern you.
+
+Anton.--It does concern me, because you are losing your energy. We
+have no need of any Hamlets.
+
+Doctor (gloomily).--You are mistaken. I have not given up.
+
+Anton.--I see. You close your mouth on this subject. It is not in your
+character to give up.
+
+Doctor.--No. You must work to have me elected. I would lose doubly if
+we were bitten.
+
+Anton.--They must have burned you like the deuce, for you hiss
+dreadfully.
+
+Doctor.--An old story. A peasant did not sleep for six years, did not
+eat, bent his neck, wounded his hands, and carried logs for a hut.
+After six years a lord came along, kicked the hut and said: "My castle
+shall stand here." We are sceptical enough to laugh at such things.
+
+Anton.--He was a real lord!
+
+Doctor.--A lord for generations. He carried his head so high that he
+did not notice what cracked beneath his feet.
+
+Anton.--I like the story. And what about the peasant?
+
+Doctor.--According to the peasant tradition, he is thinking of a flint
+and tinder.
+
+Anton.--Glorious idea! Truly we despise tradition too much. There are
+good things in it.
+
+Doctor.--Enough. Let us talk of something else.
+
+Anton (looking around).--An old and rich house. It would make a
+splendid cabin.
+
+Doctor.--What do you say?
+
+Anton.--Nothing. Has the old prince a daughter?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. Why?
+
+Anton (laughing).--Ha, ha! Your trouble has the scent of a perfume
+used by a lady. I smell here the petticoat of the princess. Behind the
+member of parliament is Jozwowicz, just as behind the evening dress
+there is the morning gown. What a strong perfume!
+
+Doctor.--You may sell your perspicacity at another market. It is my
+personal affair.
+
+Anton.--Not at all, for it means that you put only half your soul into
+public affairs. To the deuce with such business! Look at me. They howl
+at me in the newspapers, they laugh at me--but I do not care. I will
+tell you more! I feel that I shall never rise, although I am not
+lacking in strength nor intelligence. I could try to get the first
+place in camp to command, but I do not do it. Why? Because I know
+myself very well. Because I know that I am lacking in order,
+authority, tact. I have been and I am a tool, used by such as you, and
+which to-morrow may be kicked aside when it is no more needed. But
+my self-love does not blind me. I do not care most for myself--I am
+working for my convictions--that is all. Any day I may be ousted from
+my position. There is often misery in my house, and although I love my
+wife and children--no matter. When it is a question of my convictions,
+I will work, act, agitate. I put my whole soul in it. And for you, the
+petticoat of a princess bars your way. I did not expect this from you.
+Tfu! spit on everything and come with us.
+
+Doctor.--You are mistaken. I have no desire for martyrdom, but for
+victory. And the more personal ties there are between me and public
+affairs, the more I will serve them with my mind, heart, and
+deeds--with all that constitutes a man. Do you understand?
+
+Anton.--Amen. His eyes shine like the eyes of a wolf--now I recognize
+you.
+
+Doctor.--What more do you wish?
+
+Anton.--Nothing more. I will only tell you that our motto should be:
+Attack the principles, and not the people.
+
+Doctor.--Your virginal virtue may rest assured. I shall not poison any
+one.
+
+Anton.--I believe you, but I must tell you that I know you well. I
+appreciate your energy, your learning, your common sense, but I should
+not like to cross you in anything.
+
+Doctor.--So much the better for me.
+
+Anton.--But if it is a question of the nobility, notwithstanding our
+programme I make you a present of them. You shall not cut their heads
+off.
+
+Doctor.--To be sure. And now go and get to work for me--or rather, for
+us.
+
+Anton.--For us, Jozwowicz. Do not forget that.
+
+Doctor.--I will not swear it to you, but I promise you that I will not
+forget.
+
+Anton.--But how will you manage that nobleman?
+
+Doctor.--Do you require that I make you my confidant?
+
+Anton.--In the first place, I do not need your confidence, because in
+our camp we have sufficient perspicacity. There is the matter of the
+prince's daughter--that is all. But I am always afraid that for her
+sake you will abandon public affairs. As I am working for you, I am
+responsible for you, therefore we must be frank.
+
+Doctor.--Let us be frank.
+
+Anton.--Therefore you have said to yourself: I shall get rid of that
+nobleman. Do it then. It is your business--but I ask you once more: Do
+you wish to become a member of parliament for us, or for the princess?
+That is my business.
+
+Doctor.--I throw my cards on the table. I, you, we are all new people,
+and all of us have this quality--we are not dolls, painted with the
+same color. There is room in us for convictions, love, hatred--in a
+word, as I told you, for everything of which a man of complex nature
+is composed. Nature has given me a heart and the right to live,
+therefore I desire for happiness; it gave me a mind, therefore I serve
+my chosen idea. One does not exclude the other. Why should you mix the
+princess with our public affairs--you, an intelligent man? Why do you
+wish to replace life by a phrase? I have the right to be happy, and I
+shall achieve it. And I shall know how to harmonize the idea with the
+life, like a sail with a boat. I shall sail more surely then. You must
+understand me; in that is our strength--that we know how to harmonize.
+In that lies our superiority over others, for they do not know how to
+live. What I will amount to with that woman, I do not know. You call
+me a Hamlet--perhaps I may become a Hamlet, but you have no need of
+it.
+
+Anton.--It seems to me that you are again right. But thus you will
+fight two battles, and your forces will have to be divided.
+
+Doctor.--No! I am strong enough.
+
+Anton.--Say frankly--she is betrothed.
+
+Doctor.--Yes.
+
+Anton.--And she loves her fiance.
+
+Doctor.--Or she deceives herself.
+
+Anton.--At any rate, she does not love you.
+
+Doctor.--In the first place, I must get rid of him. In the mean while,
+go and work.
+
+Anton (consulting watch).--In a few moments the committee will be here
+to see you.
+
+Doctor.--Very well. The prince is coming with the Countess Miliszewska
+and her son, my opponent. Let us be going.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Prince, Stella, Mrs. Czeska, Countess Miliszewska, Jan Miliszewski,
+Podczaski.
+
+
+Countess.--It is impossible to understand. The world grows wild
+nowadays.
+
+Prince.--I say the same. Stella, do I not say so?
+
+Stella.--Very often.
+
+Countess (low to her son).--Sit near the princess and entertain her.
+Go ahead!
+
+Jan.--I am going, mamma.
+
+Countess.--There is too much of that audacity. I have sent
+Mr. Podczaski to the electors, and they say: "We do not need
+representatives without heads." I am only surprised that the prince is
+not more indignant. I rush here and there, I pray and work, and they
+dare to oppose to my son Mr. Jozwowicz.
+
+Prince.--But madam, what can I do?
+
+Countess.--And who is Mr. Jozwowicz--a physician? What does a
+doctor amount to? Jan has influence, importance, social position,
+relatives--and what has the doctor? From whence did he come here? Who
+ever heard of him? Really, I cannot speak calmly, and I think it must
+be the end of the world. Is it not, Mr. Podczaski?
+
+Podczaski (saluting).--Yes, countess, God's wrath. There were never
+such loud thunders.
+
+Prince.--Thunders? Mrs. Czeska, what? Have your heard thunder?
+
+Czeska.--It is a very usual thing at the end of spring. Do not mind
+it.
+
+Countess (in a low voice).--Jan, go ahead.
+
+Jan.--Yes, mamma, I am going.
+
+Countess.--Prince, you will see that Jan will not be elected purely on
+account of the hatred against us. They say that he does not know the
+country, and does not understand its needs. But before all we must not
+allow such people as Jozwowicz to become important in the country.
+Prince, is it not so?
+
+Prince.--He will not ask your permission.
+
+Countess.--That is exactly why the world must be coming to an
+end--that such people can do as they please! They dare to say that Jan
+will not be able to make a good representative, and that Mr. Jozwowicz
+will. Jan was always an excellent student in Metz. Jan, were you not a
+good student?
+
+Jan.--Yes, mamma.
+
+Podczaski.--Countess, you are perfectly right. It is the end of the
+world.
+
+Stella.--What did you study especially?
+
+Jan.--I, madam? I studied the history of heresy.
+
+Princess.--Mrs. Czeska--what? Have studied what?
+
+Countess.--They reproach us with not having talent, but for diplomacy
+one must have talent.
+
+Podczaski.--The count does even look like a diplomat.
+
+Prince (aside).--Well, not very much.
+
+Czeska.--The count does not have much to say.
+
+Jan.--No, madam, but sometimes I speak quite enough.
+
+Countess.--For my part, I declare that if Jan is not elected, we will
+leave the country.
+
+Podczaski.--They will be guilty of it.
+
+Countess.--It will be the fault of the prince.
+
+Prince.--Mine?
+
+Countess.--How can you permit such as Jozwowicz to compete with
+society people? Why do you retain him?
+
+Prince.--Frankly speaking, it is not I who keep him--it is he who
+keeps me. If it were not for him, I should long since be (he makes a
+gesture).
+
+Countess (angrily).--By keeping him, you serve the democracy.
+
+Prince.--I--I serve the democracy? Stella, do you hear? (He raps with
+his stick.)
+
+Countess.--Every one will say so. Mr. Jozwowicz is the democratic
+candidate.
+
+Prince.--But I am not, and if it is so I will not allow him to be. I
+have enough of Mr. Jozwowicz's democracy. They shall not say that I am
+the tool of democracy. (He rings the bell. A servant enters.) Ask the
+doctor to come here.
+
+Countess.--Now the prince is a true prince.
+
+Prince.--I serve democracy, indeed!
+
+Stella.--Papa, dear.
+
+Countess.--We must bid the prince good-bye. Jan, get ready. Good-bye,
+dear Stella. Good-bye, my child. (To her son.) Kiss the princess's
+hand.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same.
+
+
+Jozwowicz.--Your Highness must excuse me if I am too late, but I was
+obliged to receive the delegates.
+
+Countess.--What delegates are here? Jan, go ahead.
+
+Doctor (saluting).--Count, you must hasten, they are leaving.
+
+Podczaski.--I am Your Highness's servant. (Countess, Jan, Podczaski go
+out. Stella and Mrs. Czeska follow them.)
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Prince. (A moment of silence.)
+
+
+Prince (rapping with his stick).--I forbid you to become a member of
+parliament.
+
+Doctor.--I shall not obey.
+
+Prince.--You make me angry.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness closes to me the future.
+
+Prince (angrily).--I have brought you up.
+
+Doctor.--I preserve Your Highness's life.
+
+Prince.--I have been a second father to you.
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, let us speak calmly. If you have been to me a
+father, I have until now been to you a son. But the father must not
+bar to his son the road to distinction.
+
+Prince.--Public distinction is not for such people as you, sir.
+
+Doctor (laughing).--A moment ago Your Highness called me a son.
+
+Prince.--What son?
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness, were I your son I would be rich and have a
+title--in a word everything Your Highness possesses. But being a poor
+man, I must make my way, and no one has the right to bar it to me,
+especially if my road is straight and honest. (Laughing.) Unless Your
+Highness would like to adopt me in order to preserve the family.
+
+Prince.--What nonsense you are talking.
+
+Doctor.--I am only joking. Well, Your Highness, let us cease this
+irritation.
+
+Prince.--It is true, it hurts me. Why will you not give up the idea of
+becoming a member of parliament?
+
+Doctor.--It is my future.
+
+Prince.--And in the mean time I am vexed by every one on that account.
+When I was young I was in many battles and I did not fear. I can show
+my decorations. I was not afraid of death on the battlefield, but
+those Latin illnesses of yours--Why do you look at me in that way?
+
+Doctor.--I am looking as usual. As for your illness, I will say that
+it is more the imagination of Your Highness than anything else. The
+constitution is strong, and with my assistance Your Highness will live
+to the age of Methusaleh.
+
+Prince.--Are you sure of it?
+
+Doctor.--Positive.
+
+Prince.--Good boy! And you will not leave me?
+
+Doctor.--Your Highness may be assured of that.
+
+Prince.--Then you may become a member of parliament or whatever you
+please. Stella! Oh, she is not here! Upon my honor, that Miliszewski
+is an ass. Don't you think so?
+
+Doctor.--I cannot contradict Your Highness.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+The same. Stella and Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Stella.--I came because I was afraid you would quarrel. Well, what is
+the end of the discussion?
+
+Prince.--Well, that good-for-nothing man will do what he pleases.
+
+Doctor.--The fact is that the prince has approved of my plans and has
+granted me permission to try my luck at the election.
+
+Mrs. Czeska.--We had better all go to the garden. Mr. Pretwic and
+Count Drahomir are waiting--we are going for a sail on the lake.
+
+Prince.--Then let us be going (they go out). You see, madam, that
+Miliszewska!
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz, Stella. Then Drahomir.
+
+
+Stella.--How is my father's health?
+
+Doctor.--All that can be expected. But you are pale, princess.
+
+Stella.--Oh, I am well.
+
+Doctor.--It is the consequence of the betrothal.
+
+Stella.--It must be.
+
+Doctor.--But health requires one to be merry--to enjoy life.
+
+Stella.--I do not wish for any other distraction.
+
+Doctor.--If not distraction, at least enjoyment. We here are too grave
+for you. Perhaps we cannot understand you.
+
+Stella.--You are all too good.
+
+Doctor.--At least solicitous. If you have a moment to spare let us be
+seated and have a talk. My solicitude must explain my boldness. With
+the dignity of a fiance, serenity and happiness generally go hand in
+hand. When the heart is given willingly, all longing ceases and the
+future is viewed with serenity.
+
+Stella.--My future contains something which might cause even the most
+valiant to fear.
+
+Doctor.--Of what are you talking? You have called me a sceptic, but it
+is I who says: who loves, believes.
+
+Stella.--What then?
+
+Doctor.--Who doubts?
+
+Stella.--Doctor.
+
+Doctor.--Princess, I do not inquire. There are moments when the
+serenity visibly departs from your face, therefore I question you,
+which is my duty as a physician and a friend. Be calm. Pray, remember
+that this is asked by a man whom a while ago you called "brother," and
+who knows how dear to him is the happiness of such a sister! I have no
+one in this world--all my love of family is centred in your house. My
+heart has also its sorrows. Pray, quiet my apprehensions--that is all
+I ask you.
+
+Stella.--What apprehensions?
+
+Doctor.--Apprehensions of which I dare not speak. Since my return I
+have watched you constantly, and the more I watch you the more do I
+fear. You fear the future--you do not look into it with confidence and
+hope.
+
+Stella.--Permit me to go.
+
+Doctor.--No, madam. I have the right to ask, and if you fear to look
+into the bottom of your heart, then I have the right to say that you
+lack courage, and for such sinful weakness one pays later with his own
+happiness and the happiness of others. I suffer also--but I must--I
+must. Madam, listen to me. If in your heart there is even the shadow
+of a doubt, you have mistaken your sentiments.
+
+Stella.--Is it possible to make such a mistake?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. Sometimes--often one mistakes sympathy, pity,
+commiseration for love.
+
+Stella.--What a dreadful mistake!
+
+Doctor.--Which one recognizes as soon as the heart flies in another
+direction. The dignity of a fiance is a hidden pain. If I am mistaken,
+pray forgive me.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, I do not wish to think of such things.
+
+Doctor.--Then I am not mistaken. Do not look on me with fear. I wish
+to save you, my dear child. Where is your heart? The moment that you
+recognize you do not love Mr. Pretwic, that moment will tell you whom
+you do love. No, I shall not withdraw my question. Where is your
+heart? By God, if he is not equal to you, he shall rise to your
+height! But no, I have become a madman.
+
+Stella.--I must be going.
+
+Doctor (barring the way).--No, you shall not go until you have given
+me an answer. Whom do you love?
+
+Stella.--Doctor, spare me--otherwise I shall doubt everything. Have
+pity on me.
+
+Doctor (brutally)--Whom do you love?
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+The same. Drahomir
+
+
+Drahomir.--Princess.
+
+Stella.--Ah!
+
+Drahomir.--What! Have I frightened you? I came to tell you that the
+boats are waiting. What is the matter with you?
+
+Stella.--Nothing. Let us be going.
+
+(Drahomir offers his arm--they go out.)
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+
+Doctor (alone--looking after them).--Oh! I--under--stand!
+
+
+END OF ACT II.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+The same Drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+(Mr. Podczaski enters, followed by a servant.)
+
+
+Podczaski.--Tell the Doctor that Mr. Podczaski wishes to see him on an
+important matter.
+
+Servant.--The Doctor is very busy. The princess is ill. But I will
+tell him (goes out).
+
+Podczaski (alone).--I have enough of this work for nothing. The
+countess sends me about to agitate for her, but when I ask her for
+some money, she answers: We shall see about it after the election. She
+is an aristocrat and she refuses a hundred florins to a nobleman. To
+the deuce with such business. I had better try elsewhere, to serve the
+Doctor. He pays because he has common sense. And as he will bite them,
+then I will rise in consideration.
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Podczaski. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Podczaski.--Your servant, sir.
+
+Doctor.--What can I do for you?
+
+Podczaski.--Well, sir, I am going to come right to the point. You know
+what services I have rendered the Countess Miliszewski?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, you have been agitating against me in favor of Count
+Miliszewski. Podczaski.--No, not at all, sir. Well, sir, it was so,
+but I am going to change that, and you may be certain--
+
+Doctor.--In a word, what do you wish, sir?
+
+Podczaski.--God sees, sir, that I served the countess faithfully, and
+it cost me quite a little, but on consulting my conscience I have
+concluded not to act any more against such a man as you, sir, for the
+sake of the country.
+
+Doctor.--I appreciate your sentiments, which are those of a good
+citizen. You do not wish to act against me any longer?
+
+Podczaski.--No, sir!
+
+Doctor.--You are right. Then you are with me?
+
+Podczaski.--If I may offer my services--
+
+Doctor.--I accept.
+
+Podczaski (aside).--He is a man--I have a hundred florins in my pocket
+already. (Aloud) My gratitude--
+
+Doctor.--Mine will be shown after the election.
+
+Podczaski.--Oh!
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same. Jan Miliszewski--then Anton.
+
+
+Jan.--Good-morning, doctor. Is my mother here?
+
+Doctor.--The countess is not here.
+
+Jan.--We came together, but mamma went directly to the prince's
+apartment. I remained alone and I cannot find my way to the prince's
+apartment. (Seeing Podczaski, who bows to him) Ah! Mr. Podczaski, what
+are you doing here?
+
+Podczaski.--Your servant, sir. Well, I came to consult the doctor--I
+have rheumatism in my feet.
+
+Jan.--Doctor, will you be kind enough to show me to the Prince's
+apartment?
+
+Doctor.--They are in the left wing of the chateau.
+
+Jan.--Thank you. But later I would like to have a talk with you.
+
+Doctor.--I will be at your service, sir.
+
+(Jan goes toward the door. He knocks against Anton.)
+
+Anton.--I beg your pardon, sir.
+
+Jan.--Pardon (he adjusts his monocle and looks at Anton--then goes
+out).
+
+Anton (to Doctor).--I was told you were here and I rushed. Listen, a
+matter of great importance. (Seeing Podczaski) What! You are here? Our
+adversary here?
+
+Podczaski (speaking in Anton's ear).--I am no longer your adversary.
+
+Anton (looking at him).--So much the better then--but leave us alone
+just the same.
+
+Podczaski (aside).--Bad. (Aloud) Gentleman, do not forget me. (Aside)
+The devil has taken my hundred florins. (He goes out.)
+
+Anton.--What did he wish?
+
+Doctor.--Money.
+
+Anton.--Did you give it to him?
+
+Doctor.--No.
+
+Anton.--You did well. We do not bribe. But no matter about that. What
+good luck that they put up Miliszewski for a candidate. Otherwise you
+would be lost because Husarski would have had the majority.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, I am sure that we will be defeated.
+
+Anton.--No! What am I for? Uf! How tired I am. Let me rest for five
+minutes (he sits down). Good gracious! how soft the furniture is here.
+We must donate some money for some public purpose. Have you any money?
+
+Doctor.--I have some.
+
+Anton.--We are going to give that money to build a school.
+
+Doctor.--Here is the key of my desk--you will find some ready money
+there, and some checks.
+
+Anton.--Very well, but I must rest a moment. In the mean while what is
+the news here? You are not looking well. Your eyes have sunken. Upon
+my word, I was not so much in love with my wife. Speak--I will rest in
+the mean while--but speak frankly.
+
+Doctor.--I will be frank with you.
+
+Anton.--What more?
+
+Doctor.--That marriage will be broken off.
+
+Anton.--Why.
+
+Doctor.--Because there are times when these people do not succeed in
+anything.
+
+Anton.--To the garret with those peacocks. And what about that
+cannibal Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--A long story. The princess has mistaken the sympathy which
+she feels for him for something more serious. To-day she knows that
+she does not love him.
+
+Anton.--That is good. Truly, it looks as though they were pursued by
+fate. It is the lot of races that have lived too long.
+
+Doctor.--Implacable logic of things.
+
+Anton.--Then she is not going to marry him. I pity them, but to the
+deuce with sentimentality!
+
+Doctor.--She would marry him if it killed her to keep her word. But
+there is a third person entangled in the matter--Count Drahomir.
+
+Anton.--At every step one meets a count! He betrays Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--What a blockhead you are.
+
+Anton.--Well, frankly speaking, I do not care one whit for your
+drawing-room affairs.
+
+Doctor.--Drahomir and she do not know that they love each other. But
+something attracts them to each other. What is that force? They do not
+ask. They are like children.
+
+Anton.--And how will you profit from all this?
+
+Doctor.--Listen, you democrat. When two knights are in love with one
+noble damsel, that love usually ends dramatically--and the third party
+usually gets the noble damsel.
+
+Anton.--And the knights?
+
+Doctor.--Let them perish.
+
+Anton.--What then do you suppose will happen?
+
+Doctor.--I do not know. Pretwic is a passionate man. He does not
+foresee anything--I see only the logic of things which is favorable
+to me, and I shall not be stupid enough to place any obstacles to my
+happiness.
+
+Anton.--I am sure you will help it along in case of need.
+
+Doctor.--Well, I am a physician. It is my duty to assist nature.
+
+Anton.--The programme is ready. I know you. I only wish to ask you how
+you know what you say is so. Maybe it is only a story.
+
+Doctor.--I can have verification of it through the princess's
+ex-governess.
+
+Anton.--You must know as soon as possible.
+
+Doctor.--Mrs. Czeska will be here in a moment. I asked her to come
+here.
+
+Anton.--Then I am going. Do you know what? Do not help nature too
+much, because it would be--
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+The same. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska (entering).--You wished to speak to me?
+
+Doctor.--Yes, madam.
+
+Anton (bows to Mrs. Czeska, then speaks to Jozwowicz).--I am going to
+get the money and I will be back in a moment.
+
+Doctor.--Very well. (Anton goes out.)
+
+Czeska.--Who is that gentleman?
+
+Doctor.--A pilot.
+
+Czeska.--What do you mean?
+
+Doctor.--He guides the boat in which I am sailing. As for the rest, he
+is a horribly honest man.
+
+Czeska.--I do not understand very well. What did you wish to speak to
+me about?
+
+Doctor.--About the princess. You are both like mother and daughter,
+and you should have her entire confidence. What is the matter with
+her? She conceals something--some sorrow. As a doctor I must know
+everything, because in order to cure physical disease one must know
+the moral cause. (Aside) The spirit of Aesculapius forgive me this
+phrase.
+
+Czeska.--My good sir, what are you asking about?
+
+Doctor.--I have told you that the princess conceals some sorrow.
+
+Czeska.--I do not know.
+
+Doctor.--We both love her; let us then speak frankly.
+
+Czeska.--I am willing.
+
+Doctor.--Then, does she love her fiance?
+
+Czeska.--How can you ask me such a question? If she did not, she would
+not be betrothed to him. It is such a simple thing that even I do not
+talk to her about it any more.
+
+Doctor.--You say: "I do not talk about it any more"; so you have
+already talked about it.
+
+Czeska.--Yes. She told me that she was afraid she did not love him
+enough. But every pure soul fears that it does not fulfil its duty.
+Why did you ask me that?
+
+Doctor (saluting her).--I have my reasons. I wished to know. (Aside) I
+am wasting my time with her.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+The same. Jan Miliszewski.
+
+
+Jan.--I could not find mamma. Good-morning, madam. Do I intrude?
+
+Czeska.--Not at all, sir. (To Jozwowicz) She will do her duty; rest
+assured of that.
+
+Doctor.--Thank you. (Czeska goes out.)
+
+Jan.--Doctor.
+
+Doctor.--I am listening to you, sir.
+
+Jan.--Let us speak frankly. Mamma wishes me to become a member of
+parliament, but I do not care for it.
+
+Doctor.--You are too modest, sir.
+
+Jan.--You are sneering, and I do not know how to defend myself. But
+I am frank with you--I would not care a bit about being elected
+to parliament if it were not for my mamma. When mamma wishes for
+something it must be accomplished. All women of the family of
+Srokoszynski are that way, and mamma is of that family.
+
+Doctor.--But, count, you have a will of your own.
+
+Jan.--That is the trouble--the Miliszewskis are all ruled by the
+women. It is our family characteristic, sir.
+
+Doctor.--A knightly characteristic indeed! But what can I do for you?
+
+Jan.--I am not going to oppose you.
+
+Doctor.--I must be as frank with you as you are with me. Until now you
+have helped me.
+
+Jan.--I don't know how, but if it is so, then you must help me in your
+turn.
+
+Doctor.--In what?
+
+Jan.--It is a very delicate question. But you must not tell mamma
+anything about it.
+
+Doctor.--Certainly not.
+
+Jan.--Mamma wishes me to marry the princess, but I, sir, I do not
+want--
+
+Doctor.--You do not want?
+
+Jan.--It astonishes you?
+
+Doctor.--I must be frank--
+
+Jan.--I do not wish to because I do not wish to. When a man does not
+feel like marrying, then he does not feel like it. You will suppose
+that I am in love with some one else? It may be. But it is not with
+the princess. Naturally, when mamma says: "Jan, go ahead," I go ahead,
+because I cannot help it. The Miliszewskis knew how to manage the men,
+but not the women.
+
+Doctor.--I do not understand--how can I be useful to you?
+
+Jan.--You can do anything in this house, so you must help me secretly,
+to be refused.
+
+Doctor.--Count, you may rely on me in that matter.
+
+Jan.--Thank you.
+
+Doctor.--And it will be so much the easier done because the princess
+is betrothed.
+
+Jan.--I did not know that any one dared to compete with me.
+
+Doctor (aside).--What an idea! (Aloud) It is Mr. George Pretwic.
+
+Jan.--Then they wished to make sport of me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Pretwic is an audacious man. You were perfectly right
+when you said the question was a delicate one. The people are afraid
+of Mr. Pretwic; if you were to give up, people would say that--
+
+Jan.--That I am also afraid? Then I will not give up. My dear sir, I
+see you do not know the Miliszewskis. We do not know how to handle the
+women, but there is not a coward in our family. I know that people
+laugh at me, but the one who would dare to call me a coward would not
+laugh. I will show them at once that I am not a coward. Where is Mr.
+Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--He is in the garden (pointing through the window). Do you see
+him there, near the lake?
+
+Jan.--Good-bye.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz alone--then Anton.
+
+
+Doctor.--The men who have not such sons are great! Ha! ha! ha!
+
+Anton (rushing in).--You are here? Here are your receipts for the
+money. Why are you laughing?
+
+Doctor.--Miliszewski has gone to challenge Pretwic.
+
+Anton.--Are they crazy?
+
+Doctor.--What an opinion she would have of Pretwic if he were to
+quarrel with such an idiot!
+
+Anton.--You have done it.
+
+Doctor.--I told you that I shall assist nature.
+
+Anton.--Do as you please; I withdraw.
+
+Doctor.--Good-bye. Or no, I am going also. I must prevent the
+adventure from going too far.
+
+Anton.--I wanted to tell you that I must buy some food for my
+children. I will return the money--later on. Is it all right?
+
+Doctor.--How can you ask? (Goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Stella and Drahomir. (They enter from the garden.)
+
+
+Stella.--That walk tired me. See how weak I am (sits down). Where is
+Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--Young Miliszewski asked to speak to him a moment. The
+countess is speaking to the prince. It seems that their conversation
+is very animated because the countess did not know that you were
+betrothed, and she had some designs on you. But pray excuse me; I
+laugh and you suffer by it.
+
+Stella.--I would laugh too if I did not know how much it troubles my
+father. And then, I pity Count Miliszewski.
+
+Drahomir.--I understand how a similar situation would be painful to a
+man who was in love, but such is not the case with the count. He will
+console himself if his mother orders it.
+
+Stella.--Sometimes one may be mistaken about people.
+
+Drahomir.--Do you speak about me or Miliszewski?
+
+Stella.--Let us say it is about you. They told me that you were a
+mirror of all perfections.
+
+Drahomir.--And have you discovered that I am the personification of
+all faults?
+
+Stella.--I did not say so.
+
+Drahomir.--But you think so. But I am not deceived. Your portrait
+drawn by Mr. Pretwic and the Doctor is exactly like you.
+
+Stella.--How was the portrait?
+
+Drahomir.--With wings at the shoulders.
+
+Stella.--That means that I have as much dignity as a butterfly.
+
+Drahomir.--Angels' wings are in harmony with their dignity.
+
+Stella.--True friendship should speak the truth. Tell me some bitter
+one.
+
+Drahomir.--Very bitter?
+
+Stella.--As wormwood--or as is sometimes the case--with life.
+
+Drahomir.--Then you are kind to me.
+
+Stella.--For what sin shall I begin penitence?
+
+Drahomir.--For lack of friendship for me.
+
+Stella.--I was the first to appeal for friendship--in what respect am
+I untrue to it?
+
+Drahomir.--Because you share with me your joys, sports, laughter, but
+when a moment of sorrow comes, you keep those thorns for yourself.
+Pray share with me your troubles also.
+
+Stella.--It is not egotism on my part. I do not wish to disturb your
+serenity.
+
+Drahomir.--The source of my serenity does not lie in egotism either.
+George told me of you when I came here: "I know only how to look at
+her and how to pray to her; you are younger and more mirthful, try to
+amuse her." Therefore I brought all my good spirits and laid them at
+your feet. But I notice that I have bored you. I see a cloud on your
+face--I suspect some hidden sorrow, and being your best friend, I am
+ready to give my life to dispel that cloud.
+
+Stella (softly).--You must not talk that way.
+
+Drahomir (clasping his hands).--Let me talk. I was a giddy boy, but I
+always followed my heart, and my heart guessed your sorrow. Since that
+moment a shadow fell across my joy, but I overcame it. One cannot
+recall a tear which has rolled down the cheek, but a friendly hand can
+dry it. Therefore I overcame that cloud in order that the tears should
+not come to your eyes. If I have been mistaken, if I have chosen the
+wrong path, pray forgive me. Your life will be as beautiful as a
+bouquet of flowers, therefore be mirthful--be mirthful.
+
+Stella (with emotion, giving him her hand).--I shall be; being near
+you, I am capricious, spoiled, and a little bit ill. Sometimes I do
+not know myself what is the matter with me, and what I wish. I am
+happy; truly I am happy.
+
+Drahomir.--Then, no matter, as Mrs. Czeska says. Let us be merry,
+laugh, and run in the garden and play pranks with the countess and her
+son.
+
+Stella.--I have discovered the source of your mirth; it is a good
+heart.
+
+Drahomir.--No, madam. I am a great good-for-nothing. But the source of
+true happiness is not in this.
+
+Stella.--Sometimes I think that there is none in this world.
+
+Drahomir.--We cannot grasp it with our common sense, and will not fly
+after that winged vision. Sometimes perhaps it flies near us, but
+before we discover it, before we stretch out our hands, it is too
+late!
+
+Stella.--What sad words--too late!
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+The same. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Doctor (entering, laughs).--Ha! ha! Do you know what has happened?
+
+Stella.--Is it something amusing?
+
+Doctor.--A dreadful, tragic, but before a ridiculous thing.
+Miliszewski wished to challenge Pretwic.
+
+Stella.--For Heaven's sake!
+
+Doctor.--You must laugh with me. If there were anything dreadful I
+would not frighten you, princess.
+
+Drahomir.--And what has been the end of it?
+
+Doctor.--I was angry with Mr. Pretwic for taking the matter so
+seriously.
+
+Drahomir.--How could he help it?
+
+Doctor.--But it would be shameful for a man like Mr. Pretwic to fight
+with such a poor thing.
+
+Stella.--The doctor is right. I do not understand Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Doctor.--Our princess must not be irritated. I have made peace between
+them. Mr. Pretwic did not grasp the real situation and his naturally
+sanguine disposition carried him away. But now that I have explained
+to him, he agrees that it would be too utterly ridiculous.
+
+Drahomir.--And what about Miliszewski?
+
+Doctor.--I have sent him to his mamma. He is a good boy.
+
+Stella.--I shall scold Mr. Pretwic, nevertheless.
+
+Drahomir.--But you must not be too severe.
+
+Stella.--You are laughing, gentlemen. I am sorry that it was necessary
+to explain the matter to Mr. Pretwic. I must scold him immediately
+(she goes out).
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Drahomir. Doctor.
+
+
+Drahomir.--The princess is a true angel.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, there is not a spot in the crystalline purity of her
+nature.
+
+Drahomir.--It must be true when even you, a sceptic, speak of her with
+such enthusiasm.
+
+Doctor.--I have been here six years. When I came she wore short
+dresses. She grew by my side. Six years have their strength--it was
+impossible not to become attached to her.
+
+Drahomir.--I believe you. (After a while of silence) Strange, however,
+that you self-made people have no hearts.
+
+Doctor.--Why?
+
+Drahomir.--Because--I know what you would say about her social
+position, but hearts are equal, so it does not matter. Then how did it
+happen that you, being so near the princess, did not--
+
+Doctor (interrupting).--What?
+
+Drahomir.--I cannot find an expression.
+
+Doctor.--But I have found it. You are asking me why I did not fall in
+love with her?
+
+Drahomir.--I hesitated to pronounce the too bold word.
+
+Doctor.--Truly, if you, count, are lacking in boldness, I am going to
+help you out, and I ask you: And you, sir?
+
+Drahomir.--Doctor, be careful.
+
+Doctor.--I hear some lyrical tone.
+
+Drahomir.--Let us finish this conversation.
+
+Doctor.--As you say, although I can speak quietly, and in order to
+change the conversation, I prefer to ask you: Do you think she will be
+happy with Mr. Pretwic?
+
+Drahomir.--What a question! George loves her dearly.
+
+Doctor.--I do not doubt it, but their natures are so different. Her
+thoughts and sentiments are as delicate as cobweb--and George? Have
+you noticed how hurt she was that he accepted the challenge?
+
+Drahomir.--Why did you tell her about it?
+
+Doctor.--I was wrong. Therefore George--
+
+Drahomir.--Will be happy with her.
+
+Doctor.--Any one would be happy with her, and to every one one might
+give the advice to search for some one like her. Yes, count, search
+for some one like her (he goes out).
+
+Drahomir (alone).--Search for some one like her--and if there is some
+one like, her--too late (he sits down and covers his face with his
+hand).
+
+
+SCENE X.
+
+Stella. Drahomir.
+
+
+Stella (seeing Drahomir, looks at him for a while).--What is the
+matter with you?
+
+Drahomir.--You here? (A moment of silence.)
+
+Stella (confused).--I am searching for papa. Excuse me, sir, I must
+go.
+
+Drahomir (softly)--Go, madam. (She goes out. At the door she stops,
+hesitates for a while and then disappears.) I must get away from here
+as soon as possible.
+
+
+SCENE XI.
+
+Drahomir. Prince. Finally Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Prince (rushing in).--She has tormented me until now. Good gracious!
+Ah, it is you, Drahomir.
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, prince. Who tormented you?
+
+Prince.--The Countess Miliszewski. My dear boy, how can he be a member
+of parliament when he is so densely stupid!
+
+Drahomir.--It is true.
+
+Prince.--Don't you see! And then she proposed to marry him to Stella.
+The idea! She is already betrothed. But of course they did not know.
+
+Drahomir.--How did you get rid of her?
+
+Prince.--The doctor helped me out. Jozwowicz is a smart man--he has
+more intelligence than all of us together.
+
+Drahomir.--It is true.
+
+Prince.--But you, Drahomir, you are smart also, are you not?
+
+Drahomir.--How can I either affirm or deny? But Jozwowicz is very
+intelligent, that much is certain.
+
+Prince.--Yes. I do not like him, and I am afraid of him and I am fond
+of him, but I tell you I could not live without him.
+
+Drahomir.--He is an honest man, too.
+
+Prince.--Honest? Very well, then, but you are better because you are
+not a democrat. Drahomir, I love you. Stella, I love him--Ah! She is
+not here.
+
+Drahomir.--Thank you, prince.
+
+Prince.--If I had another daughter, I would--well--
+
+Drahomir.--Prince, pray do not speak that way. (Aside) I must run
+away.
+
+Prince.--Come, have a cigar with me. We will call the others and have
+a talk. Jozwowicz! Pretwic!
+
+Doctor (entering).--What are your orders, Your Highness?
+
+Prince.--You, Robespierre, come and have a cigar. Thank you, my boy.
+You have rid me of the countess.
+
+Doctor.--I will send for Pretwic, and we will join you. (He rings the
+bell. A servant comes in--the prince and Drahomir go out.) Ask Mr.
+Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--Anton was right. I am helping along the logic. But
+I do not like the sap--because I am accustomed to break. (Pretwic
+enters.)
+
+
+SCENE XII.
+
+Pretwic. Jozwowicz.
+
+George.--I was looking for you.
+
+
+Doctor.--The prince has invited us to smoke a cigar with him.
+
+George.--Wait a moment. For God's sake tell me what it means. Stella
+changes while looking at her--there is something heavy in the air.
+What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--That melancholy is the mode now.
+
+George.--You are joking with me.
+
+Doctor.--I know nothing.
+
+George.--Excuse me. The blood rushes to my head. I see some
+catastrophe hanging over me. I thought you would say something to
+pacify me. I thought you were my friend.
+
+Doctor.--Do you doubt it?
+
+George.--Shake hands first. Then give me some advice.
+
+Doctor.--Advice? Are you ill?
+
+George (with an effort).--Truly, you play with me as a cat with a
+mouse.
+
+Doctor.--Because I know nothing of presentiments.
+
+George.--Did you not tell me that she is not ill?
+
+Doctor.--No, she is wearied.
+
+George.--You speak about it in a strange way and you have no
+conception of the pain that your words cause me.
+
+Doctor.--Then try to distract her.
+
+George.--What? Who?
+
+Doctor.--Who? Count Drahomir, for instance.
+
+George.--Is she fond of him?
+
+Doctor.--And he of her also. Such poetical souls are always fond of
+each other.
+
+George.--What do you mean by that?
+
+Doctor (sharply).--And you--how do you take my words?
+
+George (rises.)--Not another word. You understand me, and you must
+know that I do not always forgive.
+
+Doctor (rises also, approaches George and looks into his eyes).--I
+believe you wish to frighten me. Besides this, what more do you wish?
+
+George (after a moment of struggle with himself).--You must ask me
+what I did wish, because I do not now wish for anything. You have
+known her longer than I have, therefore I came to you as her friend
+and mine, and for answer you banter with me. In your eyes there shone
+hatred for me, although I have never wronged, you. Be the judge
+yourself! I would be more than right in asking you: What do you
+wish of me, if it were not for the reason (with pride) that it is
+immaterial to me. (He goes out.)
+
+Doctor.--We shall see.
+
+
+SCENE XIII.
+
+Jozwowicz. Servant.
+
+
+Servant.--A messenger brought this letter from Mr. Anton Zuk.
+
+Doctor.--Give it to me. (The servant goes out. Doctor looks at the
+door through which George went out.) Oh, I can no longer control my
+hatred. I will crush you into dust; and now I shall not hesitate any
+longer. (Opens letter feverishly) Damnation, I must be going there at
+once.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE XIV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Czeska (enters swiftly).--Doctor, I am looking for you.
+
+Doctor.--What has happened?
+
+Czeska.--Stella is ill. I found her weeping.
+
+Doctor (aside.)--Poor child! (Aloud) I will go to see her at once.
+(They go out.)
+
+
+END OF ACT III.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV.
+
+The same Drawing Room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz. Drahomir.
+
+
+(Jozwowicz sits at table writing in notebook. Drahomir enters.)
+
+Drahomir.--Doctor, I came to bid you farewell.
+
+Doctor (rising suddenly).--Ah, you are going away?
+
+Drahomir.--Yes.
+
+Doctor.--So suddenly? For long?
+
+Drahomir.--I am returning to-day to Swietlenice, to George; to-morrow
+I leave for Paris.
+
+Doctor.--One word--have you said anything to any one of your plans?
+
+Drahomir.--Not yet. I only made up my mind an hour ago.
+
+Doctor.--Then Mr. Pretwic knows nothing about it as yet?
+
+Drahomir.--No; but why do you ask?
+
+Doctor (aside).--I must act now--otherwise everything is lost. (Aloud)
+Count, I have not much time to speak to you now, because in a moment I
+expect Anton in regard to a matter on which my whole future depends.
+Listen to me. I beseech you, for the sake of the peace and health
+of the princess, not to mention to any one that you are going away.
+Neither to the Prince nor to Mr. Pretwic.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not understand you.
+
+Doctor.--You will understand me. Now I cannot tell you anything more.
+In a half hour pray grant me a moment of conversation. Then you will
+understand me--that I guarantee you. Here is Anton. You see I cannot
+explain now.
+
+Drahomir.--I will see you again. (He goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Anton. Jozwowicz.
+
+
+Anton.--The fight is very hot. Have you the address?
+
+Doctor.--Here it is. How goes it?
+
+Anton.--Up to now everything is well, but I repeat--the fight is
+very hot. If you had not come the last time, you would have lost the
+battle, because Miliszewski has withdrawn and his partisans vote for
+Husarski. Podczaski is good for nothing. Your speech in the city hall
+was splendid. May thunder strike you! Your address was admired even by
+your enemies. Oh, we will at last be able to do something. For three
+days I have not slept--I have not eaten--I work and I have plenty of
+time, because I have lost my position.
+
+Doctor.--You have lost your position?
+
+Anton.--On account of the agitation against Husarski.
+
+Doctor.--Have you found any means against him?
+
+Anton.--I have-written an article. I have brought it to you. Read it.
+He sues me--he will beat me. They will put me in prison, but it will
+be only after the election, and my article wronged him very much.
+
+Doctor.--Very well.
+
+Anton.--But when I am in prison you must take care of my wife and
+children. I love them dearly. I have three of them. It is too
+much--but _natura lex dura_.
+
+Doctor.--Be assured.
+
+Anton.--You would not believe me if I were to tell you that I am
+almost happy. Sometimes it seems to me that our country is a moldy
+room and that I open the window and let in the fresh air. We will work
+very hard. I believe in you, because you are an iron man.
+
+Doctor.--I shall either perish or gain two victories.
+
+Anton.--Two?
+
+Doctor.--Yes; the other one even to-day, here. The events have
+surprised me in some way. The facts turned against me, and I was
+obliged to build my plans of action only a short while ago.
+
+Anton.--Eh! If we win only there. Do you know what--I would prefer
+that you abandon the idea of the other victory.
+
+Doctor.--Anton, you are mistaken.
+
+Anton.--Because you worry a great deal. You have grown awfully thin.
+Look in the mirror.
+
+Doctor.--No matter; after I have sprung the mine I shall be calmer and
+the mine is ready.
+
+Anton.--But it will cost you too much.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, but I shall not retract.
+
+Anton.--At least be careful and do not smear your hands with the
+powder.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+The same. Stella.
+
+
+Stella (entering, notices Anton).--Ah, excuse me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Anton Zuk, a friend of mine. (Anton bows.) What is your
+wish, princess?
+
+Stella.--You told me to stay in bed and it is so hard to lie down.
+Mrs. Czeska went to the chapel and I escaped. Do you approve?
+
+Doctor.--I cannot help it, princess, although I would like to scold
+you like a disobedient child. A few moments ago some one else begged
+for you also.
+
+Stella.--Who was it?
+
+Doctor.--Count Drahomir. And he begged so earnestly that I promised
+him that I would allow you to leave the bed. He wishes to have a talk
+with you to-day, because he will not be able to see you again.
+
+Stella (aside).--What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--He will be here at five o'clock.
+
+Stella.--Very well.
+
+Doctor.--And now, pray, return to your room. Your dress is too thin
+and you might catch cold.
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Anton.--Ah, that is the princess.
+
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it is she.
+
+Anton.--Very pretty, but looks as though she was made of mist. As for
+me, I prefer women like my wife. From such as your princess you cannot
+expect sturdy democrats.
+
+Doctor.--Enough of that.
+
+Anton.--Then I will weigh anchor and sail. I will distribute the
+pamphlet with your address, and then I will write another article
+against Husarski. If they put me in prison they shall at least have a
+reason for it. Good-bye.
+
+Doctor.--If you meet a servant, tell him that I am waiting for Count
+Drahomir.
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+Jozwowicz--then Drahomir.
+
+
+Doctor (alone).--Let that golden-haired page go, but he must see her
+before he goes. This leave-taking shall be the red flag for the bull.
+(Drahomir enters.) I am waiting for you, sir. Is Mr. Pretwic in the
+chateau?
+
+Drahomir.--He is with the prince.
+
+Doctor.--Count, be seated, and let us talk.
+
+Drahomir (uneasily).--I am listening, sir.
+
+Doctor.--You are in love with the princess.
+
+Drahomir.--Mr. Jozwowicz!
+
+Doctor.--On your honor--yes or no?
+
+Drahomir.--Only God has the right to ask me such a question. I do not
+dare to ask myself.
+
+Doctor.--And your conscience?
+
+Drahomir.--And no one else.
+
+Doctor.--Then let us turn the question. She loves you.
+
+Drahomir.--Be silent, sir. Oh, God!
+
+Doctor.--Your pride is broken. You knew of it?
+
+Drahomir.--I did not wish to know it.
+
+Doctor.--But now you are aware of it.
+
+Drahomir.--That is the reason why I am going away from here forever.
+
+Doctor.--It is too late, sir. You have tangled her life and now you
+leave her.
+
+Drahomir.--For God's sake, what shall I do, then?
+
+Doctor.--Go away, but not forever, and not without telling her
+good-bye.
+
+Drahomir.--Why should I add the last drop to an already overflowing
+cup?
+
+Doctor.--A beautiful phrase. Can you not understand that it will hurt
+her good name if you should go away suddenly without taking leave
+of her? And she--she is ill and she may not be able to bear your
+departure.
+
+Drahomir.--I do not see any remedy--
+
+Doctor.--There is only one. Find some pretext, bid her good-bye
+quietly, and tell her that you will be back. Otherwise it will be a
+heavy blow for her strength. You must leave her hope. She must not
+suspect anything. Perhaps later she will become accustomed to your
+absence--perhaps she will forget--
+
+Drahomir.--It will be better for her to forget.
+
+Doctor.--I will do my best, but I shall first throw a handful of earth
+on your memory.
+
+Drahomir.--What shall I do, then?
+
+Doctor.--To find a pretext to bid her good-bye, tell every one that
+you are going. Then come back--and go away. Mr. Pretwic also must not
+know anything.
+
+Drahomir.--When shall I bid her good-bye?
+
+Doctor.--In a moment. I told her. I will manage to be with Pretwic
+during that time. She will be here presently.
+
+Drahomir.--I would prefer to die.
+
+Doctor.--No one is certain of to-morrow. Be off now. (Drahomir goes
+out.)
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz. Then a servant.
+
+
+Doctor.--How warm it is here! My head is splitting. (He rings--a
+servant enters.) Ask Mr. Pretwic to come here. (The servant goes out.)
+My head is bursting--but then I will have a long peace.
+
+
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+Jozwowicz. George Pretwic.
+
+
+George (entering).--What do you wish with me?
+
+Doctor.--I wish to give you good advice about the princess's health.
+
+George.--How is she?
+
+Doctor.--Better. I allowed her to leave bed because she and Drahomir
+asked me to.
+
+George.--Drahomir?
+
+Doctor.--Yes. He wishes to talk with her. They will be here in a
+quarter of an hour.
+
+George.--Jozwowicz, I am choking with wrath and pain. Drahomir avoids
+me.
+
+Doctor.--But you do not suspect him.
+
+George.--I swear to you that I have defended myself from suspicions as
+a man dying on the steppe defends himself from the crows--that I have
+bitten my hands with pain and despair--that I still defend myself.
+But I cannot any more. I cannot. The evidence pounds on my brain. He
+avoids me. He tells me that I have become an idiot--that I have become
+a madman, because--
+
+Doctor.--Keep your temper. Even if he were in love with the princess,
+nobody rules his own heart.
+
+George.--Enough! You were right when you coupled his name with hers.
+At that moment I repulsed the thought, but it was there just the same
+(he strikes his breast). The fruit is ripened. Oh, what a ridiculous
+and dreadful part I am playing here--
+
+Doctor.--But he saved your life.
+
+George.--In order to take it when it began to have a certain value.
+His service is paid with torture, with a slain happiness, with a
+broken hope, with destroyed faith in myself, in him and in her.
+
+Doctor.--Be easy.
+
+George.--I loved that man. Tell me that I am a madman and I shall be
+calmed. How dreadful to think that it is he! Forgive me everything I
+said to you before and help me. Evil thoughts are rushing through my
+head.
+
+Doctor.--Be calm--you are mistaken.
+
+George.--Prove to me that I am mistaken and I will kneel before you.
+
+Doctor.--You are mistaken, because Drahomir is going away.
+
+George.--He is going away. (A moment of silence.) Oh, Lord! Then I can
+live without such tortures, I may hope!
+
+Doctor (coolly and slowly).--But he is not going away forever. He said
+he would return.
+
+George.--You put me on the cross again.
+
+Doctor.--Come to your senses and do not let yourself be carried away
+by madness. At any rate you gain time. You can win her heart back
+again.
+
+George.--No--it is done. I am sinking into a precipice.
+
+Doctor.--Everything will be straightened out by his absence.
+
+George (with an outburst).--But did you not tell me that he will
+return?
+
+Doctor.--Listen: I agree with you that you have repaid Drahomir for
+the services of saving your life with your tortures. Drahomir has
+betrayed you and has broken the friendship between you by winning her
+heart. But I do not think that he is going away in order to avoid your
+vengeance.
+
+George.--And to give her time to break her engagement! Yes, yes! I am
+cursed. I suspect him now of everything. He avoids me.
+
+Doctor.--Mr. Pretwic.
+
+George.--Enough. I am going to ask him when he will be back. He has
+saved my life once, and slain me ten times. (He tries to leave.)
+
+Doctor.--Where are you going?
+
+George.--To ask him how long he is going away.
+
+Doctor.--Wait a moment. How could you ask him such a question? Perhaps
+he is innocent, but pride will shut his mouth and everything will be
+lost. Stay here--you can leave only over my corpse. I am not afraid of
+you!--do you understand? In a moment they will be here. You wish for
+proofs--you shall have them. From the piazza you cannot hear them, but
+you can see them. You shall be persuaded with your own eyes--perhaps
+you will regret your impetuosity.
+
+George (after a while).--Very well, then. May God grant that I was
+mistaken! Thank you--but you must not leave me now.
+
+Doctor.--One word more. No matter what happens I shall consider you a
+villain if you place her life in peril by any outburst.
+
+George.--Granted. Where shall we go?
+
+Doctor.--On the piazza. But you have fever--you are already shaking.
+
+George.--I am out of breath. Some one is coming. Let us be going.
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+Drahomir. Then Stella.
+
+
+Drahomir.--The last evening and the last time. (After a while.) O
+Lord, thy will be done!
+
+Stella (enters).--The Doctor told me that you wished to see me.
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, madam. Pray forgive my boldness. A very important
+affair calls me home. I come to bid you good-bye.
+
+Stella.--You are going away?
+
+Drahomir.--To day I am going to Swietlenice, to-morrow still further.
+(A moment of silence.)
+
+Stella.--Yes, it is necessary.
+
+Drahomir.--Life has flown like a dream--it is time to wake up.
+
+Stella.--Shall we see each other again?
+
+Drahomir.--If God permits it.
+
+Stella.--Then let us shake hands in farewell. I can assure you that
+you have a friend in me. Friendship is like an immortal--it is a pale
+flower, but does not wither. May God guide you and protect you. The
+heart--of a sister--will follow you everywhere. Remember--
+
+Drahomir.--Farewell.
+
+Stella.--Farewell. (She goes toward the door. Then suddenly turns.
+With a sob in her voice.) Why do you deceive me? You are going
+forever.
+
+Drahomir.--Have mercy on me.
+
+Stella.--Are you going away forever?
+
+Drahomir.--Yes, then.
+
+Stella.--I guessed it. But perhaps it is better--for both of us.
+
+Drahomir.--Oh, yes. There are things which cannot be expressed,
+although the heart is bursting. A while ago you told me that you will
+remember--it will be better for you to forget.
+
+Stella.--I cannot. (She weeps.)
+
+Drahomir (passionately).--Then I love you, my dearest, and that is the
+reason why I escape. (He presses her to his breast.)
+
+Stella (awakening).--Oh, God! (She rushes, out.)
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+Drahomir. Jozwowicz. George.
+
+(George stops with Jozwowicz near the door.)
+
+
+Drahomir.--Ah, it is you, George.
+
+George.--Do not approach me. I have seen all. You are a villain and a
+coward.
+
+Drahomir--George!
+
+George.--In order not to soil my hand, I throw in your face our broken
+friendship, my trampled happiness, lost faith in God and man, endless
+contempt for you and myself.
+
+Drahomir.--Enough.
+
+George.--Do not approach me, because I will lose my self-command
+and will sprinkle these walls with your brains. No, I shall not do
+that--because I have promised. But I slap your face, you villain. Do
+you hear me?
+
+Drahomir (after struggling with himself for a moment).--Such an insult
+I swear before God and man I will wash out with blood.
+
+George.--Yes, with blood (pointing to the doctor). Here is the witness
+of these words.
+
+Doctor.--At your service, gentlemen.
+
+
+END OF ACT IV.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ACT V.
+
+The same drawing-room.
+
+
+SCENE I.
+
+Jozwowicz enters reading a dispatch.
+
+
+The result of the ballotting until now: Jozwowicz, 613; Husarski,
+604. At ten o'clock: Jozwowicz, 700; Husarski, 700. At 11 o'clock:
+Jozwowicz, 814; Husarski, 750. The fight is hot. The final results
+will be known at three o'clock. (He consults his watch.)
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+Jozwowicz. George.
+
+
+Doctor.--You are here?
+
+George.--You are as afraid of me as of a ghost.
+
+Doctor.--I thought you were elsewhere.
+
+George.--I am going directly from here to fight. I have still an hour.
+The duel will take place at Dombrowa, on the Miliszewski's estate--not
+far from here.
+
+Doctor.--Too near from here.
+
+George.--Miliszewski insisted. And then you will be here to prevent
+the news from being known until as late as possible.
+
+Doctor.--Doctor Krzycki will be with you?
+
+George.--Yes.
+
+Doctor.--Ask him to send me the news at once. I would go with you, but
+I must be here.
+
+George.--You are right. If I am killed?
+
+Doctor.--You must not think of that.
+
+George.--There are some people who are cursed from the moment they
+are born, and for whom death is the only redemption. I belong to that
+class. I have thought everything over quietly. God knows that I am
+more afraid of life than of death. There is no issue for me. Suppose I
+am not killed--tell me what will become of me, if I kill the man whom
+she loves? Tell me! I will live without her, cursed by her. Do you
+know that when I think of my situation, and what has happened, I think
+some bad spirit has mixed with us and entangled everything so that
+only death can disentangle it.
+
+Doctor.--A duel is very often ended by a mere wound.
+
+George.--I insulted Drahomir gravely, and such an insult cannot be
+wiped out by a wound. Believe me, one of us must die. But I came to
+talk with you about something else.
+
+Doctor.--I am listening to you.
+
+George.--Frankly speaking, as I do not know what will become of me,
+and whether in an hour I shall be alive or not, I came to have one
+more look at her. Because I love her dearly. Perhaps I was too rough
+for her--too stupid--but I loved her. May God punish me if I have not
+desired her happiness. As you see me here it is true that at this
+moment I pity her the most and feel miserable about her future.
+Listen: whether I am killed or not, she cannot be mine. Drahomir
+cannot marry her, because he could not marry the woman whose fiance he
+has killed. Of the three of us you alone will remain near her. Take
+care of her--guard her. Into your hands I give her, the only treasure
+I ever possessed.
+
+Doctor (quietly).--I shall carry out your wishes.
+
+George.--And now--I may be killed. I wish to die like a Christian. If
+ever I have offended you, forgive me. (They shake hands. George goes
+out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--Yes, of the three of us I alone shall remain near
+her.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+Jozwowicz. Anton.
+
+
+Anton (rushing in).--Man, have you become an idiot? When every moment
+is valuable, you remain here. The results are uncertain. They have put
+up big posters--Husarski's partisans are catching the votes in the
+streets. For God's sake come with me. A carriage is waiting for us.
+
+Doctor.--I must remain here. I cannot go under any consideration in
+the world. Let be what may.
+
+Anton.--I did not expect such conduct from you. Come and show
+yourself, if only for a moment, and the victory is ours. I cannot
+speak any more. I am dead tired. Have you become a madman? There--we
+have worked for him, and he clings to a petticoat and stays here.
+
+Doctor.--Anton! Even if I should lose there I would not stir one step
+from here. I cannot and I will not go.
+
+Anton.--So?
+
+Doctor.--Yes.
+
+Anton.--Do what you please, then. Very well. My congratulations. (He
+walks up and down the room; then he puts his hands in his pockets and
+stands before Jozwowicz.) What does it mean?
+
+Doctor.--It means that I must remain here. At this moment Drahomir
+stands opposite Pretwic with a pistol. If the news of the fight should
+come to the princess, she would pay for it with her life.
+
+Anton.--They are fighting!
+
+Doctor.--For life or death. In a moment the news will come who is
+killed. (A moment of silence.)
+
+Anton.--Jozwowicz, you have done all this.
+
+Doctor.--Yes, it is I, I crushed those who were in my way, and I shall
+act the same always. You have me such as I am.
+
+Anton.--If so, I am no longer in a hurry. Do you know what I am going
+to tell you?
+
+Doctor.--You must go for a while. The princess is coming. (He opens
+the door of a side room.) Go in there for a moment.
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+Jozwowicz and Stella.
+
+Stella.--Doctor, what is the matter in this house?
+
+Doctor.--What do you mean, princess?
+
+Stella.--Mr. Pretwic came to tell me good-bye. He was very much
+changed and asked me to forgive him if he ever offended me.
+
+Doctor (aside).--A sentimental ass.
+
+Stella.--He said that he might be obliged to go away in a few days. I
+have a presentiment that you are hiding something from me. What does
+it mean? Do not torture me any longer. I am so miserable that you
+should have pity on me.
+
+Doctor.--Do not let anything worry you. What can there be the matter?
+An idle fancy, that is all! The care of loving hearts surrounds you.
+Why should you have such a wild imagination? You had better return to
+your apartment and do not receive any one. I will come to see you in a
+moment.
+
+Stella.--Then truly there is nothing bad?
+
+Doctor.--What an idea! Pray believe me, I should be able to remove
+anything which would threaten your happiness.
+
+Stella (stretching out her hand to him).--Oh, Mr. Jozwowicz, happiness
+is a very difficult thing to take hold of. May only the peace not
+leave us. (She goes to enter the room in which Anton is.)
+
+Doctor.--This way, princess. Some one is waiting for me in that room.
+In a moment I will come to see you. Pray do not receive any one.
+Anton! (The princess goes out.)
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+Anton, Jozwowicz, then a Servant.
+
+
+Anton.--Here I am. Poor child!
+
+Doctor.--I cannot go for her sake. I must be here and not let the bad
+news reach her, for it would kill her.
+
+Anton.--What! and you, knowing this, you still expose her, and
+sacrifice her for yourself?
+
+Doctor (passionately).--I love her and I must have her, even if the
+walls of this house should crumble around our heads.
+
+Anton.--Man, you are talking nonsense.
+
+Doctor.--Man, you are talking like a nincompoop, and not like a man.
+You have plenty of words in your mouth, but you lack strength--you
+cannot face facts. Who would dare say: You have no right to defend
+yourself?
+
+Anton (after a while).--Good-bye.
+
+Doctor.--Where are you going?
+
+Anton.--I return to the city.
+
+Doctor.--Are you with me or against me?
+
+Anton.--I am an honest man.
+
+A servant (enters).--A messenger brought this letter from Miliszewski.
+
+Doctor.--Give it to me. Go (tears the envelop and reads) "Pretwic is
+dead." (After a while) Ah--
+
+Anton.--Before I go I must answer your question as to why I am going.
+I have served you faithfully. I served you like a dog because I
+believed in you. You knew how to use me, or perhaps to use me up. I
+knew that I was a tool, but I did not care for that, because--But
+now--
+
+Doctor.--You give up the public affair?
+
+Anton.--You do not know me. What would I do if I were to give up my
+ideas? And then, do you think that you personify public affairs? I
+will not give up because I have been deceived by you. But I care about
+something else. I was stupid to have cared for you, and I regret now
+that I must tell you that you have heaped up the measure and used
+badly the strength which is in you. Oh, I know that perhaps it would
+be better for me not to tell you this, perhaps to hold with you would
+mean a bright future for such a man as I, who have hardly the money to
+buy food for my wife and children. But I cannot. Before God, I cannot!
+I am a poor man and I shall remain poor, but I must at least have a
+clear conscience. Well, I loved you almost as much as I loved my wife
+and children, but from to-day you are only a political number--for
+friendship you must look to some one else. You know I have no
+scruples; a man rubs among the people and he rubs off many things; but
+you have heaped up the measure. May I be hanged if I do not prefer to
+love the people than pound them! They say that honesty and politics
+are two different things. Elsewhere it may be so, but in our country
+we must harmonize them. Why should they not go together? I do not give
+up our ideas, but I do not care for our friendship because the man who
+says he loves humanity, and then pounds the people threateningly on
+their heads--that man is a liar; do you understand me?
+
+Doctor.--I shall not insist upon your giving me back your friendship,
+but you must listen to me for the last time. If there shall begin for
+me an epoch of calamity, it will begin at the moment when such people
+as you begin to desert me. The man who was killed was in my way to
+happiness--he took everything from me. He came armed with wealth, good
+name, social position, and all the invincible arms which birth and
+fortune give. With what arms could I fight him? What could I oppose
+to such might? Nothing except the arms of a new man--that bit of
+intelligence acquired by hard work and effort. He declared a mute war
+on me. I have defended myself. With what? With the arms which nature
+has given me. When you step on a worm you must not take it amiss if
+the worm bites you; he cannot defend himself otherwise. It is the law
+of nature. I placed everything on one card, and I won--or rather it
+is not I, but intelligence which has conquered. This force--the new
+times--have conquered the old centuries. And you take that amiss? What
+do you want? I am faithful, to the principle. You are retreating. I am
+not! That woman is necessary for my happiness because I love her. I
+need her wealth and her social position for my aims. Give me such
+weapons and I will accomplish anything. Do you know what an enormous
+work and what important aims I have before me? You wish me to tear
+down the wall of darkness, prejudice, laziness, you wish me to breathe
+new life into that which is dead. I cry: "Give me the means." You do
+not have the means, therefore I wish to get them, or I shall perish.
+But what now? Across the road to my plans, to my future--not only mine
+but everybody's--there stands a lord, a wandering knight, whose whole
+merit lies in the fact that he was born with a coat of arms. And have
+I not the right to crush him? And you wish me to fall down on my knees
+before him? Before his lordship--to give up everything for his sake?
+No! You do not know me. Enough of sentiment. A certain force is
+necessary and I have it, and I shall make a road for myself and for
+all of you even if I should be obliged to trample over a hundred such
+as Pretwic.
+
+Anton.--No, Jozwowicz, you have always done as you wanted with me, but
+now you cannot do it. As long as there was a question of convictions I
+was with you, but you have attacked some principles which are bigger
+than either you or I, more stable and immutable. You cannot explain
+this to me, and you yourself must be careful. At the slightest
+opportunity you will fall down with all your energy as a man. The
+force you are attacking is more powerful than you are. Be careful,
+because you will lose. One cannot change a principle: straight honesty
+is the same always. Do what you please, but be careful. Do you know
+that human blood must always be avenged? It is only a law of nature.
+You ask me whether I am going to leave you? Perhaps you would like to
+be given the right to fire on the people from behind a fence when it
+will suit you. No, sir. From to-day there must be kept between us a
+strict account. You will be a member of parliament, but if you think
+we are going to serve you, and not you us, you are greatly mistaken.
+You thought that the steps of the ladder on which you will ascend are
+composed of rascals? Hold on! We, who have elected you--we, in whose
+probity you do not believe--we will watch you and judge you. If you
+are guilty we will crush you. We have elected you; now you must serve.
+
+Doctor (passionately).--Anton!
+
+Anton.--Quiet. In the evening you must appear before the electors.
+Good-bye, Mr. Jozwowicz. (He goes out.)
+
+Doctor (alone).--He is the first.
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+Jozwowicz. Jan Miliszewski.
+
+
+Jan (appears in the half-open door).--Pst!
+
+Doctor.--Who is there?
+
+Jan.--It is I, Miliszewski. Are you alone?
+
+Doctor.--You may enter. What then?
+
+Jan.--Everything is over. He did not live five minutes. I have ordered
+them to carry the body to Miliszewo.
+
+Doctor.--Your mother is not here?
+
+Jan.--I sent her to the city. To-day is election day and mamma does
+not know that I have withdrawn, therefore she will wait for the
+evening papers in the hope that she will find my name among those
+elected.
+
+Doctor.--Did no one see?
+
+Jan.--I am afraid they will see the blood. He bled dreadfully.
+
+Doctor.--A strange thing. He was such a good marksman.
+
+Jan.--He permitted himself to be killed. I saw that very plainly. He
+did not fire at Drahomir at all. He did not wish to kill Drahomir. Six
+steps--it was too near. It was dreadful to look at his death. Truly,
+I would have preferred to be killed myself. They had to fire on
+command--one! two! three! We heard the shot, but only one. We
+rushed--Pretwic advanced two steps, knelt and tried to speak. The
+blood flowed from his mouth. Then he took up the pistol and fired to
+one side. We were around him and he said to Drahomir: "You have done
+me a favor and I thank you. This life belonged to you, because you
+saved it. Forgive me," he said, "brother!" Then he said: "Give me
+your hand" and expired. (He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.)
+Drahomir threw himself on his breast--it was dreadful. Poor Princess
+Stella. What will become of her now?
+
+Doctor.--For God's sake, not a word in her presence. She is ill.
+
+Jan.--I will be silent.
+
+Doctor.--You must control your emotion.
+
+Jan.--I cannot. My knees are trembling.
+
+
+SCENE VII.
+
+The same. The prince leaning on Stella's shoulder, and Mrs. Czeska.
+
+
+Prince.--I thought Pretwic was with you. Jozwowicz, where is Pretwic?
+
+Doctor.--I do not know.
+
+Stella.--Did he tell you where he was going?
+
+Doctor.--I know nothing about it.
+
+Czeska (to Jan).--Count, what is the matter with you? You are so pale.
+
+Jan.--Nothing. It is on account of the heat.
+
+Prince.--Jozwowicz, Pretwic told me--
+
+
+SCENE VIII.
+
+(The door opens suddenly. Countess Miliszewska rushes in).
+
+
+Countess.--Jan, where is my Jan? O God, what is the matter? How
+dreadful!
+
+Doctor (rushing toward her).--Be silent, madam.
+
+Stella.--What has happened?
+
+Countess.--Then you have not killed Pretwic? You have not fought?
+
+Doctor.--Madam, be silent.
+
+Stella.--Who is killed?
+
+Countess.--Stella, my dearest, Drahomir has killed Pretwic.
+
+Stella.--Killed! O God!
+
+Doctor.--Princess, it is not true.
+
+Stella.--Killed! (She staggers and falls.)
+
+Doctor.--She has fainted. Let us carry her to her chamber.
+
+Prince.--My child!
+
+Czeska.--Stelunia! (The prince and Jozwowicz carry Stella. The
+countess and Czeska follow them.)
+
+Jan (alone).--It is dreadful. Who could have expected that mamma
+would return! (The countess appears in the door.) Mamma, how is the
+princess?
+
+Countess.--The doctor is trying to bring her to her senses. Until now
+he has not succeeded. Jan, let us be going.
+
+Jan (in despair).--I shall not go. Why did you return from the city?
+
+Countess.--For you. To-day is election day--have you forgotten it?
+
+Jan.--I do not wish to be a member of parliament. Why did you tell her
+that Pretwic was killed?
+
+
+SCENE IX.
+
+The same. Jozwowicz.
+
+Countess and Jan together.--What news?
+
+
+Doctor.--Everything is over. (The bell is heard tolling in the chapel
+of the chateau.)
+
+Jan (frightened).--What, the bell of the chapel? Then she is dead!
+(Jozwowicz comes to the front of the stage and sits down.)
+
+
+SCENE X.
+
+The same. Podczaski.
+
+
+Podczaski (rushing in suddenly).--Victory! Victory! The deputation is
+here. (Voices behind the stage) Hurrah! Hurrah! for victory!
+
+Jozwowicz.--I have lost!
+
+
+FINIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's So Runs the World, by Henryk Sienkiewicz,
+
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