“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!”
“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.”
“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.
CHAPTER XIII.
ELEVEN o’clock in the forenoon.
Only somehow Eva is not visible.
I am wearing a coarse linen shirt, open at the breast, a coat somewhat worn, but fairly good, a girdle, boots, everything that is needed. The hair of a gray wig falls in my eyes; and he would have been a keen man who could have recognized that as a wig; my beard was a masterpiece of patience. From eight o’clock in the morning I had been fastening, by means of isinglass, white hair among my own, and I had become gray in such fashion that in old age I shall not grow gray more naturally; diluted sepia gave me swarthiness; and Antek made wrinkles with the power of a genius. I seemed to be seventy years old.
Antek insists that, instead of painting, I could earn my bread as a model, which would in truth be with greater profit to art.
Half-past eleven — Eva is coming.
I send to the carriage a bundle containing my usual clothing, since, for aught I know, I may be obliged to change costume; I take the lyre then, and go down; at the door of the carriage I cry, —
“Slava Bogu!” 23
Eva is astonished and enchanted.
“A wonderful beekeeper, a wonderful grandfather!” repeats she, laughing. “Such a thing could only come to the head of an artist!”
Speaking in parenthesis, she herself looks like a summer morning. She is in a robe of raw silk and a straw hat with poppies. I cannot take my eyes from her. She came in an open carriage. Therefore people begin at once to surround us; but what does she care for that!
At last the carriage moves on; my heart beats with more animation; in a quarter of an hour I shall see the Helena dreamed of.
We have not driven a hundred yards when I see Ostrynski at a distance coming toward us. That man must be omnipresent! Seeing us, he halts, bows to Eva, then looks quickly at both of us, especially at me. I do not admit that he recognizes me; still, after we pass him I look around, and see that he is standing there all the time, following us with his eyes. Only at the turn do we lose him from sight. The carriage moves on rather swiftly; still it seems to me that the ride lasts an age. At length we stop in the alley of Belvedere.
We are before Hela’s house.
I fly to the door as if shot at it.
Eva runs after me, crying, —
“What a hateful old grandfather!”
The servant, in a very showy livery, opens the door; and the next instant opens his eyes very widely at sight of me. Eva allays his astonishment, saying that the grandfather came with her, and we go upstairs.
The waiting-maid appears in a moment, declares that the lady is dressing in the next chamber, and vanishes.
“Good-day, Hela!” cries Eva.
“Good-day, Evus!” answers a wonderful, a fresh voice, “right away! right away! I shall be ready in a moment.”
“Hela, thou knowest not what is waiting for thee, nor whom thou wilt see. I have brought thee a ‘grandfather,’ — the most genuine ‘grandfather-minstrel’ that has ever walked over the steppes of the Ukraine.”
A cry of joy is heard in the chamber; the door opens suddenly, and in rushes Hela, in her corsets, her hair hanging down.
“A grandfather! a blind grandfather! here in Warsaw!”
“He is not blind; he sees!” cried Eva, hurriedly, not wishing to carry the jest too far.
But it was late, for that instant I throw myself at Hela’s feet, and cry, —
“Cherub of the Lord!”
I embrace her feet with both hands, raising my eyes the while; I see a little more than the form of those feet. Nations kneel down! People come with censers! A Venus of Milo! a perfect one!
“Cherub!” I repeat, with genuine ecstasy.
My minstrel enthusiasm was explained by this, that after long wandering I had met the first Ukraine soul. Notwithstanding that, Hela withdraws her feet from my hands and hurries away. I see her bare shoulders during the twinkle of an eye, and her neck, which reminds me of Psyche in the Neapolitan Museum. She vanishes then through the doorway; but I remain kneeling in the middle of the room.
Eva threatens me with her parasol, and laughs, hiding her rosy face in a bouquet of reseda.
Meanwhile a dialogue is begun through the door in the most beautiful dialect ever spoken from the Pripet to Chertomelik.
I had prepared myself for every possible query, therefore I lie as if from notes. “I am a beekeeper, from near Chigirin. My daughter wandered after a Pole to Warsaw; and I, old man, was grieving, grieving on the beefarm,
till I wandered on after her. Good people give me coppers for singing — and now what? I shall see my dear child, give her my blessing, then return home, because I yearn for Mother Ukraine. There I am to die among the beehives. Every man must die; and it is time for old Philip this long while.”
What a thing the actor nature is! Evus knows who I am; but she is affected so much by my rôle that she begins to nod her beautiful head in a melancholy manner, and looks at me with sympathy. Hela’s voice quivers from the other room, also with emotion.
The door opens a little; a wonderfully white arm appears through the opening; and, unexpectedly, I find myself in possession of three rubles, which I receive; I cannot do otherwise, and what is more, I pour out on Hela’s head a torrent of blessings in the names of all the saints.
I am interrupted by the waiting-maid with the announcement that Pan Ostrynski is downstairs, and inquires if the lady will receive him.
“Don’t let him in, my dear!” cries Eva, in alarm.
Hela declares that of course she will not receive him. She even expresses astonishment at such an early visit. I, to tell the truth, also do not understand how Ostrynski, who boasts, and is celebrated for his knowledge of social forms, should come at that hour.
“There is something in this,” says Eva.
But time fails for further explanations, since Hela appears at that moment already dressed, and breakfast is announced.
Both ladies pass into the dining-room. Hela wishes to seat me at the table; but I refuse, and sit with my lyre at the threshold. Soon I receive a plate so filled with food that if six grandfathers of the Ukraine were to eat all of it, they might have a fit of indigestion. But I eat, for I am hungry, and while eating I look at Hela.
In truth, a more beautiful head there is not in any gallery on earth. As I live, I have not seen such transparent eyes; it is simply possible to see all thoughts through them, just as the bottom of a clear stream is seen. Those eyes possess this power also, that they begin to laugh before the mouth; by this the face is brightened, as if a sun-ray had fallen on it. What incomparable sweetness in the form of the mouth! That is a head somewhat in the style of Carlo Dolce, though the outline of the brows and the eyes bring to mind Raphael in his noblest type.
At last I cease to eat; I gaze and gaze; I would gaze till death.
“Thou wert not here yesterday,” says Hela to Eva. “I hoped all the afternoon to see thee run in.”
“In the morning I had a rehearsal, and in the afternoon I wanted to see Magorski’s picture.”
“Didst see it?”
“Not well, for there was a crowd — and thou?”
“I went in the morning. What a poet! — one wishes to weep with those Jews.”
Eva looks at me, and my soul rises.
“I will go again, and as often as I can,” says Hela. “Let us go together; maybe we can go to-day? It was so agreeable to me not only to look at that picture, but to think that such power appeared among us.”
And people do not glorify that woman!
Then I hear further, —
“It is a pity that such strange things are told of that Magorski. I confess that I am dying of curiosity to know him.”
“Ah!” says Eva, carelessly.
“Thou knowest him, I suppose?”
“I can assure thee that he loses much on closer acquaintance; presumptuous, vain, oh, how vain!”
I have such a desire to show Eva my tongue that I can barely restrain myself; she turns her roguish violet eyes toward me, and says, —
“Somehow thou hast lost appetite, grandfather?”
I’ll show her my tongue; I can’t restrain myself!
But she spoke again to Hela, —
“Yes, Magorski is much worthier of admiration than of acquaintance. Ostrynski has described him as a genius in the body of a ‘barber.’”
I should cut off Ostrynski’s ears if he had said anything similar; I knew that Eva has the devil at her collar; but in truth she is exceeding the measure. Fortunately, breakfast comes to an end. We go out to the grounds, where I am to give my songs. This annoys me somewhat, and I should rather be with Hela as a painter than a minstrel. But it is hard to escape! I sit at the wall in the shade of chestnut-trees, through the leaves of which the sun penetrates, forming on the ground a multitude of bright spots. Those spots quiver and twinkle, vanish and shine out anew, just as the leaves move. The garden is very deep, so the sound of the city barely reaches it, especially since it is dulled by the noise of fountains in the garden. The heat is great. Among the thick leaves, the twittering of sparrows is heard; but it is faint and, as it were, drowsy. At last there is silence.
I see that a perfectly harmonious picture is forming: A garden, a background of trees, spots of sunlight, fountains, those two women with uncommonly beautiful faces one of them leaning against the other; and I see an old minstrel sitting with a lyre at the wall, — all this has its own charm which affects me as a painter. Meanwhile I remember my rôle, and begin to sing with feeling, —
“People say that I am happy;
I laugh at their saying,
For they know not how often
I am covered with tears!
“I was born in misfortune,
In misfortune I perish.
Why didst bear me, O mother,
In that evil hour?”
Eva is affected, for she is an artist; Hela because she is from the Ukraine; and I — because both are so beautiful that the sight of them enchants me.
Hela listens without exaggerated attention, without false enthusiasm; but in her transparent eyes I see that the listening gives her pure, genuine pleasure.
How different from those Ukraine women who come to Warsaw for the carnival, and during a contra-dance annoy partners with tales of homesickness for the Ukraine; while, in fact, as an acquaintance of mine puts it, no power could draw one of them with hooks from Warsaw and the carnival to her Ukraine!
Hela listens, keeps time with her exquisite head; at moments she says to Eva, “I know that,” and sings with me; I surpass myself. I cast forth from my bosom and memory a whole stock of material from the steppe, beginning with hetmans, knights, and Cossacks, and ending with falcons, Sonyas, Marusyas, steppes, grave-mounds, and God knows what! I am astonished myself, whence so much comes to me.
Time passes as in a dream.
I return a trifle weary, but enchanted.
CHAPTER XIV.
IN the studio I find, most unexpectedly, the Suslovskis and Kazia. They have come to give me a surprise.
Why did Antek tell them that surely I should be back soon?
Neither Kazia nor the Suslovskis know me, because I am disguised. I approach Kazia and take her hand; she draws back, somewhat frightened.
“Kazia, dost thou not know me?” And laughter seizes me at sight of her astonishment.
“But it is Vladek,” says Antek.
Kazia looks at me more carefully; at last she cries, —
“Tfu! what an ugly grandfather!”
I an ugly grandfather! I am curious to know where she saw a handsomer. But for poor Kazia, reared in the ascetic principles of her father, of course every minstrel is ugly!
I withdraw to our kitchen, and after a few minutes reappear in my natural form. Kazia and her parents inquire what this masquerade means.
“A very simple thing. You see, sometimes we painters render one another a friendly service, and pose to one another for pictures. As Antek, who posed to me for an old Jew. You didn’t know him, Kazia, did you, in the picture? I am posing for Tsepkovski. Such is the custom among painters, especially as there is a lack of models in Warsaw.”
“We have come to give thee a surprise,” said Kazia; “besides, I have never visited a studio in my life. Oh, what disorder! Is it this way with all painters?”
“More or less, more or less.”
Pan Suslovski declares that he would rather find a little more system; and in this respect he hopes for a change in the future. I want t
o break his head with my lyre. Meanwhile Kazia smiles with coquettishness, and says, —
“There is one painter, a great good-for-nothing, with whom it will be different; only let me take the matter in hand, all will be put in order, arranged, cleaned, fumigated.”
Thus speaking, she raises her nose, which is in the air, looks at the festoons of spider-webs adorning the corners of our studio, and adds, —
“Such disorder might discourage a merchant even. Some one will come, and immediately find himself, as it were, in an old clothes shop. For example, look at that armor; terrible how rusty it is! Still, all that is needed is to call a servant, tell her to crush a little brick; and all will begin to shine like a new samovar.”
Jesus Mary! She talks of merchants, and wants to clean with brick-dust my armor dug out of a tomb — O Kazia, Kazia!
Suslovski, now happy, kisses her on the forehead; and Antek gives out certain ominous sounds which call to mind the grunting of a wild boar.
Kazia threatens me with forefinger on her nose, and talks on, —
“I beg thee to remember that all will be changed.” Then she concludes, “And if a certain gentleman will not come to us this evening, he will be bad, and people will not love him.”
So saying, she closes her eyes. I cannot say that there was not much charm in those tricks of hers. I promise to come; and I conduct my future family to the groundfloor.
Returning, I find Antek looking awry and distrustfully on a whole package of hundred ruble notes which are lying on the table.
“What is that?”
“Dost know what has happened?”
“I do not.”
“I, like a common thief, robbed a man.”
“How?”
“I sold him my corpses.”
“And is that the money?”
“It is; I am a low usurer.”
I embrace Antek; I congratulate him from my whole heart; he begins to relate how it happened, —
“I sit here after your departure, till some gentleman comes and asks if I am Svyatetski. I answer, ‘I am curious to know why I should not be Svyatetski!’ Then he says, ‘I saw your picture and I want to buy it.’ I say, ‘You are free to do so; but permit me to say that a man must be an idiot to buy a wretched picture!’ ‘I am not an idiot,’ says he; ‘but I have a fancy to buy pictures painted by idiots.’ ‘If that is so, very well,’ I answer. He asks the price. I say, ‘What is that to me?’ ‘I will give you so much and so much?’ ‘That is well! if you will give that price, then give it.’ He gave it, and went away. He left his card with the name Byalkovski, M. D. I am a low usurer, and that’s the end of the matter!”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 721