I was to dine with the Suslovskis, but I wrote them that I couldn't
come.
My teeth have never ached, it is true, but then they might ache.
Helena did not go from my eyes all day; for what sort of a painter would
he be, who would not think of such a face? I painted in my soul ten
portraits of her. To my mind came the idea of a picture, in which such a
face as Helena's would make a splendid impression. It was only necessary
to see her a couple of times more. I flew to Eva Adami's, but did not
find her. In the evening I receive a card from Kazia with an invitation
for the morning to waters in the garden, and then to coffee. Those
waters and that coffee are a regular saw!
I cannot go; for if I do not find Eva at home in the morning, I shall
not catch her all day.
Eva Adami (that is her stage appellation; her real name is Anna
Yedlinski) is an exceptional maiden. I have enjoyed her friendship this
long time, and we say "thou" to each other. This is her ninth year on
the stage, and she has remained pure in the full sense of the word. In
theatres, there are, it is true, plenty of women who are innocent
physically; but if their corsets could betray all the desires of those
women, I suppose that the most shameless baboon, on hearing the story,
might blush at all points not covered with hair. The theatre spoils
souls, especially female souls.
It is difficult even to ask that in a woman, who every evening feigns
love, fidelity, nobleness, and similar qualities, there should not be
developed at last an instinctive feeling that all these virtues belong
to the drama, but have no connection with life. The immense difference
between art and reality confirms her in this feeling; rivalry and envy
roused by applause poison the heart's noblest impulses.
Continual contact with people so spoiled as actors excites lower
instincts. There is not a white Angora cat which would not be soiled in
such an environment. This environment can be conquered only by great
genius, which purifies itself in the fire of art; or a nature so
thoroughly æsthetic that evil does not pass through it, as water does
not pass through the feathers of a swan. Of such impermeable natures is
Eva Adami.
At night, at tea, and the pipe more than once, I have talked with my
colleagues about people belonging to the world of art, beginning with
the highest, that is, poets, and ending with the lowest, that is,
actors.
A being who has imagination developed beyond ordinary mortals, a being
impressionable beyond others, sensuous, passionate, a being who, in the
domain of happiness and delight, knows everything, and desires with
unheard of intensity,--that is an artist. He should have three times the
character and will-power of others to conquer temptation.
Meanwhile, as there is no reason why a flower, beautiful beyond others,
should have greater strength to resist wind, there is no reason why an
artist should have more character than an ordinary person. On the
contrary, there is reason why, as a rule, he has less, for his vital
energy is wasted in that gulf which divides the world of art from the
world of every-day reality.
He is simply a sick bird, in a continual fever,--a bird which at times
vanishes from the eye beneath the clouds, and at times drags its wearied
wings in the dust and the mire. Art gives him a disgust for dust and
mire; but life takes strength of flight from him. Hence that discord
which is so frequent between the external and the internal life of
artists.
The world, when it asks more from artists than from others, and when it
condemns them, is right perhaps; but Christ, too, will be right when He
saves them.
Ostrynski maintains, it is true, that actors belong to the artistic
world as much as clarionets and French horns belong to it.
But that is not true; the best proof is Eva Adami, who is a thorough
artist, both by gifts and that feeling which has preserved her from evil
as a mother would. In spite of all the friendship which I have for Eva,
I had not seen her for a long time; when she saw me then, she was very
glad, though she had a certain astonished look, which I could not
explain.
"How art thou, Vladzio?"[20] asked she. "For a wonder I see thee."
[20] A form of endearment for Vladek or Vladislav.
I was delighted to find her. She wore a Turkish morning gown with split
sleeves; it had red palm-leaves on a cream-colored ground, and was
bordered with wide embroidery in old gold. The rich embroidery was
reflected with special beauty in her pale face and violet eyes. I told
her so, and she was greatly pleased. I came to the point then at once.
"My golden diva! thou knowest Pani Kolchanovski, that wonderful lady of
the Ukraine?"
"I do; she was my schoolmate."
"Take me to her."
Eva shook her head.
"My golden, my good one, as thou lovest me!"
"No, Vladek, I will not take thee!"
"See how bad thou art; but at one time I was almost in love with thee."
What a mimosa that Eva is! When she hears this, she changes, puts her
elbow on the table (a miracle, not an elbow), puts her pale face on her
palm and asks,--
"When was that?"
I was in a hurry to speak of Helena; but since on a time I had in truth
almost fallen in love with Eva, and since I wish now to bring her into
good humor, I begin the narrative,--
"We were going once, after the theatre, to the botanical garden. Dost
thou remember what a wonderful night that was? We were sitting on a
bench near the fountain; thou hadst just said, 'I should like to hear a
nightingale.' I was sad for some reason, and took off my cap, for my
head was aching; and thou, going to the fountain, moistened a
handkerchief, and put it on my forehead with thy hand. Thou didst seem
simply as good as an angel, and I thought to myself: If I take that hand
and put my lips to it, all will be over! I shall be in love to the
death."
"And then what?" asks Eva, in an undertone.
"Thou didst step aside quickly, as if divining something."
Eva sat a while in thought, then woke from it and said with nervous
haste, "Let us not speak of this matter, I pray thee."
"Well, let us not speak of it. Dost thou know, Eva, I like thee too well
to fall in love with thee? One feeling excludes the other. From the time
that I made thy acquaintance, I have had for thee a real genuine
feeling."
"But," said Eva, as if following her own thoughts, "is it true that thou
art betrothed?"
"True."
"Why hast thou not told me of it?"
"Because the engagement was broken, and then rearranged not long since.
But if thou tell me that as betrothed I should not become acquainted
with Pani Helena, I will answer, that I was a painter before I was
betrothed. However, thou hast no fear for her?"
"Do not imagine that. I will not take thee to her, for I do not wish to
expose her to people's tongues. They say that for some weeks half Warsaw
is in love with thee; they relate uncreated things of thy conduct. No
longer back than yesterday, I heard a witticism, that thou hast made the
ten commandments of God into one for thy own use. Knowest thou into what
one?"
"What one?"
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife--in vain."
"Thou, O God, seest my suffering! but the witticism is good."
"And surely pointed."
"Listen to me, Evus;[21] art thou willing to hear the whole truth? I have
ever been timid, awkward: I have not had, and have not now success with
women. People imagine, God knows what; and meanwhile they do not suspect
how much truth there is in the cry, Thou, O God, seest my suffering!"
[21] Eva.
"Povero maestro!"
"Give peace to thy Italian; take me to Pani Helena."
"My Vladek, I cannot; the more thou art thought a Don Juan, the less
does it beseem me, an actress, to take thee to a lone woman who attracts
the attention that Hela[22] does."
[22] Helena.
"Then why dost thou receive me?"
"I am different. I am an actress, and can apply to myself the words of
Shakespeare, 'Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not
escape calumny.'"
"It is possible to lose one's senses in such a case. Every one may know
her, may be at her house, may look at her; but I may not! And why?
Because I have painted a good picture and have made some reputation."
"From thy point of view, thou art right," said Eva, smiling. "Thou dost
not suspect that I knew beforehand why thou hast come to me. Ostrynski
was here, and he persuaded me that it was 'better' not to take thee to
Hela."
"Ha, I understand!--and thou hast promised him?"
"I have not; I was even angry; still I think it is 'better' not to take
thee. Let us talk now of thy picture."
"Do not torment me with the picture and painting. But since things are
so, let them be so! This is what I will tell thee: in the course of
three days I will make the acquaintance of Pani Kolchanovski, even if I
have to go in disguise to her."
"Dress up as gardener and take her a bouquet--from Ostrynski."
But at that moment an idea altogether different comes to me; this idea
seems so splendid that I strike my forehead, forget my anger and the
offence which a moment before I felt that Eva had committed, and say,--
"Give thy word not to betray me."
"I give it," says the curious Eva.
"Know, then, that I shall disguise myself as an old minstrel. I have a
whole costume and a lyre; I have been in the Ukraine, and know how to
sing songs. Pani Helena is from the Ukraine; she will be sure to
receive me. Dost thou understand now?"
"What an original idea!" cried Eva.
Eva is artistic to such a degree that the idea cannot but please her;
besides, she has given her word not to betray me, and she has no
objection to make.
"What an original idea!" repeats she. "Hela so loves her Ukraine that
she will just sob when she sees a minstrel in Warsaw; but what wilt thou
tell her? How wilt thou explain thy coming to the Vistula?"
My enthusiasm is communicated to Eva in spite of her. For a time we sit
and conspire in the best fashion possible. We agree that I am to put on
the disguise; and Eva is to take me in a carriage to avoid the curiosity
of onlookers. Pani Hela is to know nothing till Eva betrays the secret
herself, when she chooses. Eva and I amuse ourselves with this plan,
perfectly; then I fall to kissing her hands, and she keeps me for lunch.
I spend the evening at the Suslovskis. Kazia is a little gloomy because
I did not come in the morning; but I endure her humors like an angel,
besides, I am thinking of my adventure of the morrow and--of Hela.