A quarter of an hour later I ring at Suslovski's. Kazia herself opens
the door. She is comely; she has about her yet the warmth of sleep, and
also the freshness of morning, which she brought from the garden in the
folds of her muslin robe, which is pale blue in color. Her hat, just
removed, has dishevelled her hair somewhat. Her face is smiling; her
eyes are smiling; her moist lips are smiling,--she is just like the
morning. I seize her hands, kiss them, and kiss her arms to the elbows.
She bends to my ear and inquires,--
"But who loves better?"
Then she leads me by the hand to the presence of her parents. Old
Suslovski has the mien of a Roman who is sacrificing _pro patria_ the
life of his only child; the mother is dropping tears into her coffee,
for both are at coffee. But they rise at sight of us, and Papa Suslovski
speaks,--
"Reason and duty would command me to answer, no! but the heart of a
parent has its rights--if this is weakness, let God judge me!"
Here he raises his eyes in proof that he will be ready to answer, if the
tribunal of Heaven begins to write a protocol that moment. I had never
seen anything more Roman in my life, unless macaroni sold on the Corso.
The moment is so impressive that a hippopotamus might burst from
emotion. The solemnity is increased by Pani Suslovski, who crosses her
hands, and says in a tearful voice,--
"My children, should you have trouble in the world at any time take
refuge here--here!"
While saying this, she pointed to her bosom.
She could not fool me! I was not to be taken for preservation
there--there! If Kazia had offered me a similar refuge, it would have
been different. Still I am amazed at the honesty of the Suslovskis, and
my heart is filled with gratitude. I drink so many glasses of coffee
from emotion that the Suslovskis begin to cast anxious glances at the
coffee-pot and the cream. Kazia fills my cup continually; I try at the
same time to press her foot under the table. But she draws it back
always, shaking her head meanwhile, and smiling so roguishly that I know
not how I escaped jumping out of my skin.
I sit an hour and a half; but at last I must go, for in the studio Bobus
is waiting for me,--Bobus who takes drawing-lessons, and leaves me a
note each time, with a coat of arms on it, but I lose those notes
generally. Kazia and her mother conduct me to the entrance; I am angry
at that, for I want Kazia alone to conduct me. What a mouth she has!
My road leads through the city garden. It is full of people coming from
the waters. On the way I notice that all halt at sight of me. I hear
whispers, "Magorski! Magorski! that's he--" Young ladies, dressed in
muslin of every shade under which their forms are outlined wonderfully,
cast glances at me which seem as if wishing to say, "Enter! the dwelling
is ready!" What the devil, am I so famous, or what? I fail to
understand.
I go on--always the same thing. At the entrance of the studio, I come
against the house-owner, as a ship against a rock. Oh, the rent!
But the man approaches me and says,--
"My dear sir, though I have annoyed you sometimes, believe me, I have so
much--just permit me simply--"
With that he seizes me around the neck and hugs me. Ha! I understand,
Antek must have told him that I am going to marry; and he thinks that in
future I shall pay my rent regularly. Let him think so.
I thunder upstairs. On the way I hear a noise in our quarters. I rush
in. The studio is dark from smoke. There I find Yulek Rysinski, Wah
Poterkevich, Franek Tsepkovski, old Sludetski, Karminski, Voytek
Mihalak,--all amusing themselves by driving the elegant Bobus around on
a string; but seeing me, they let him go, barely alive, in the middle of
the studio; then they raise an unearthly uproar.
"We congratulate! congratulate! congratulate!"
"Up with him!"
In one moment I am in their arms, and for a certain time they hurl me
up, howling meanwhile in a way befitting a pack of wolves; at last I
find myself on the floor. I thank them as best I can, and declare that
they must all be at my wedding, especially Antek, whom I engage in
advance as my best man.
Antek raises his hands and says,--
"That soap thinks that we are congratulating him on his marriage."
"But on what are you congratulating me?"
"How is that, don't you know?" asked every voice.
"I know nothing; what the hangman do you want?"
"Give him the morning number of 'The Kite,'" cries Poterkevich.
They give me the morning number of "The Kite," shouting, one
interrupting the other, "Look among the despatches!"
I look at the despatches, and read the following,--
"Special telegram to the 'The Kite.' Magorski's picture, 'The Jews on
the river of Babylon,' received the great gold medal of the Salon of the
present year. The critics cannot find words to describe the genius of
the master. Albert Wolff has called the picture a revelation. Baron
Hirsch offers fifteen thousand francs for it."
I am fainting! Help! I have lost my senses to that degree that I cannot
utter a word. I knew that my picture was a success, but of such a
success I had not even dreamed. The number of "The Kite" falls from my
hand. They raise it and read to me among current comments the following
notes on the despatch,--
"Note I. We learn from the lips of the master himself that he
intends to exhibit his picture in our garden of sirens.
"Note II. In answer to a question put by the vice-president of
the Society of Fine Arts to our master, whether he intends to
exhibit his masterpiece in Warsaw, he answered: 'I would rather
not sell it in Paris than not exhibit it in Warsaw.' We hope
that those words will be read by our posterity (God grant
remote) on the monument to the master.
"Note III. The mother of our master, on receiving the despatch
from Paris, fell seriously ill from emotion.
"Note IV. We learn at the moment of going to press, that the
mother of our master is improving.
"Note V. Our master has received invitations to exhibit his
picture in all the European capitals."
Under the excess of these monstrous lies, I return to my senses a
little. Ostrynski, the editor of "The Kite," and at the same time an
ex-suitor of Kazia's, must have gone mad, for this passes every measure.
It is natural that I should exhibit the picture in Warsaw; but, I. I
have not mentioned that matter to any one; II. the vice-president of the
Society of Fine Arts has made no inquiry of me touching anything; III. I
have given him no answer; IV. my mother died nine years ago; V. I have
not received an invitation from any quarter to exhibit my picture.
Worse than all, it comes to my mind in one moment that if the despatch
is as truthful as the five notes, then farewell to everything.
Ostrynski, who half a year since, in spite of the fact that her parents
were for him, received a basket[16] from Kazia, wished perhaps purposely
to make a fool of me; if that is the case "he will pay me with his head,
or something else," as says the libretto of a certain opera. My
colleagues pacify me, however, by saying that Ostrynski might fabricate
the notes, but the despatch must be genuine.
[16] Refusal.
At the same time Stah Klosovich comes with a morning number of "The
Courier." The despatch is in "The Courier." I recover breath.
Now congratulations in detail begin. Old Sludetski, false to the core,
but in manner sweet as syrup, shakes my hand and says,--
"Beloved God! I have always believed in the genius of my colleague, and
I have always defended him [I know that he used to call me an ass];
but--Beloved God, perhaps my colleague does not wish that such a
_fa-presto_ as I should call my colleague, colleague; in that event let
my colleague forgive an old habit, Beloved God!"
In my soul I wish him hanged; but I cannot answer, for at that moment
Karminski draws me aside and tells me in an undertone, but so that all
hear him,--
"Maybe my colleague needs money, if he does, let him say the word, and
then--"
Karminski is known among us for his professed willingness to oblige.
Time after time he says to some of us, "If my colleague needs aid, let
him say the word; and then--till we meet again!" In truth, he has money.
I answer that if I do not find it elsewhere, I will apply to him.
Meanwhile other men come, true as gold; and they squeeze me till my
sides ache. At last Antek appears; I see that he is moved, but he
conceals his emotion, and says roughly,--
"Though thou art becoming a Jew, as I see, I congratulate thee!"
"Though thou art becoming a fool, as I see, I thank thee," and we
embrace with all our strength. Poterkevich mentions that it is dry in
his throat. I haven't a copper; but Antek has two rubles; others have as
much. A contribution follows, and punch. They drink my health, throw me
up again; and because I tell them that the affair with the Suslovskis is
settled, they drink Kazia's health also. With that Antek comes to me and
says,--
"Dost think, youthful idiot, that they hadn't read the despatch before
the young woman wrote to thee?"
Oh, the monkey! how gladly I would give him a club on the head. On one
side the horizon was growing bright for me; on the other, the devil was
darkening it. Anything might be expected of the Suslovskis; but that
Kazik[17] should be capable of such calculation!
[17] A form of endearment for Kazia.
Still it was very likely that they had read the despatch at the waters
in the morning, and invited me straightway. At the first moment I want
to fly to the Suslovskis, and stand before their eyes. But I cannot
leave my company. Meanwhile Ostrynski comes, elegant, cold,
self-confident, gloved as usual. Shrewdness is shining from him, as
light from a fire, for he is a rogue in full armor. From the threshold
he begins to wave his cane protectingly, and says,--
"Congratulations to the master; _I_ too congratulate."
He uttered that "I" with an emphasis, as if congratulation from him
meant more than from any other man. Perhaps it did really.
"How much you have invented!" cried I; "as truly as you see me here, I
learned all about myself in 'The Kite.'"
"How does that concern me?" asked Ostrynski.
"I said nothing about exhibiting the picture either."
"But now you do," answered he, phlegmatically.
"And he has no mother, so his mother has not grown weak!" cried Voytek
Mihalak.
"That concerns me little," repeated Ostrynski, with dignity taking off
his second glove.
"But is the despatch true?"
"True."
That assurance pacifies me thoroughly. Through thankfulness I pour out
punch for him. He puts his lips to the edge of the glass, drinks a sip,
and says,--
"First to your health, and a second draught I drink you know to whom. I
congratulate you doubly."
"Where do you get your information?"
Ostrynski shrugs his shoulders. "Suslovski was in the editorial rooms
before eight o'clock this morning."
Antek begins to mutter something about mean people in general; I can
restrain myself no longer; I seize my hat. Ostrynski follows me out; but
I leave him on the street; and a couple of minutes later I am ringing
at Suslovski's for the second time. Kazia opens the door; her parents
are not at home.
"Kazia!" ask I, severely, "didst thou know of the despatch?"
"I knew," answered she, calmly.
"But, Kazik!"
"What was to be done, my dear? Do not wonder at my parents; they must of
course have some reasonable cause to accept thee."
"But thou, Kazia?"
"I seized the first opportunity; dost take that ill of me, Vladek?"
The question grows clear, and it seems to me that Kazia is perfectly
right. Speaking plainly, why did I rush hither like a madman? Kazia
comes up and rests her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her
waist; she drops her face toward my arm, closes her eyes, pushes up her
rosy mouth and whispers,--
"No, no, Vladek! not now--only after marriage, I implore thee."
In view of that request, I press her lips to mine, and we remain in that
way as long as the process of breathing permits. Kazia's eyes become
languishing. At last, she screens them with her arm, and says,--
"But I begged thee not to--"
The reproach and the look melt me to such a degree that I kiss her a
second time. When you love some one, you have naturally a greater desire
to give a kiss than a blow to that person. And I love Kazia beyond
measure and wit, during life till death, after death! She, or none, and
that's the end of it!
Kazia, with panting voice, expresses the fear that I have lost respect
for her. Dearest creature, what nonsense she utters! I pacify her as
best I can, and we begin to talk reasonably.
An agreement is made between us that if the parents pretend that they
heard of the despatch only after my coming, I am not to let them know
that I am aware how affairs stand. I bid farewell then to Kazia,
promising to come in the evening.
In fact, I must rush to the office of the Society for Promoting Fine
Arts; through it I can communicate most easily with the secretary of the
Salon.