So Runs the World

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.