So Runs the World

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!