" 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.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68